Kirby's Rant

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Editorial and Opinion  |  House: Booksie Classic

Kirby's gone caveman and decided to scribble on the walls of the dining hall at his university. He will live to regret this.

As Kirby wandered into the deserted hall. He looked at the white walls. Blank, ready to receive enlightenment, like naïve children staring up at their teacher, wanting knowledge. Kirby smirked as he walked to the very top of the ladder and pulled out the permanent marker out of his dressing gown and began to write. Receiving enlightenment, he thought.


You know what’s keeping me up tonight? Well, there are a fair number of things, actually, the first of which being that I’m out of paper and the rest of the things on this list need to go down on paper before I can sleep soundly. This started when I was a young boy. Actually no, sorry, this started from before I was born. I’m going to talk about my parents. I was raised in what society would consider a new type of family. I was raised with two fathers. For purposes of concealing identity and not getting arrested for the whole writing all over the walls thing, I’m not going to name them, but they are prominent Broadway and West End stars. They met in high school and back in the ‘10s, there were still a bunch of people who were not unhappy with the idea that people were different. One of my fathers is certainly more stereotypical than the other and he got bullied far worse than my other father who, apart from once getting the crap beat out of him after revealing he got great enjoyment out of fucking men, acted almost completely straight. The first thing that is bothering me here, folks, is that humans appear to want to exist as one, grey being. As soon as someone shows a different shade, they automatically band together to wash them back out to fit in. That’s why you see so many people struggling to fit in when in truth, they don’t have to. Everybody is allowed to be different and people should be allowed to behave the way they like. Of course, there are limits like don’t rob a bank or don’t eat that endangered species of giraffe, but you get what I mean. What really bothers me is that despite the fact that you’re probably reading this and going, “Yeah, I agree with that, I’m totally on board!” you unwittingly do the same thing. Having extensively tried to avoid society as hard as I could, I found that a certain freedom comes with being rejected. For one thing, nobody cares about how you look. On several occasions, I’ve stopped showering for long periods of time, nobody told me to take one. I’ve thrown myself off the roof of a building, no one told me not to. It’s fantastic, people not caring what you do, who you do or how you do it. But back to my original point, my parents. Despite society trying to hammer into them that what they were doing was wrong, they managed a successful relationship and got married in New York on the twenty-seventh of June, 2017. Of course, this did not sit well with a bunch of people, but they did it anyway, because it was what they wanted. I love my parents, purely for the fact that they went against everything they were told to believe and did what they wanted. And became incredibly happy. This is probably why you hear so many tales of people unhappy with their lives. I don’t think I recall my parents saying at any point that they were unhappy with themselves. Not even when I myself became a rebellious teenager, did they ever complain. Well, they did a few times, but they were very understanding. I actually adore people who go against everything society says is wrong and unacceptable. I take inspiration from a douchebag known as John Mayer when I say, “Who says?” I mean, think about this. Who says it’s unacceptable to go playing soccer in a ball gown? Sounds ridiculous, but give it a good, long think. Apart from design, they’re still clothes, right? You can still run in one with great difficulty, but still, you can do it, so why not? Just because it’s a tiny bit impractical, because it requires a little more effort, we don’t do it. That’s what I hate about society. If something takes a tiny bit more effort than another, lazier option, we’ll go for the lazier option. For instance! Take my room Jesse Barton. He’s a friend of mine. Friend to all, actually. Good guy. Not a douchebag. (And ladies and queer gentlemen, he’s single!) He’s one of those people who will never, ever take the easy way out. It’s the little things. Unlike myself, he won’t dump his bag on the nearest available object after class. He’ll take the extra few steps across the room to hang it up on the hooks provided. What a revolutionary thing, I know, but it’s bigger than that. Tiny habits translate into bigger things too. I recently discovered that my dislike for the unknown links to a number of things in my life. I the fact that I look up the plot endings to movies so I can avoid them if they’re a waste of time, translates into something bigger as my fear of what comes after death, except I can’t avoid that if I don’t like what comes next. Just as Jesse’s willingness to walk to extra few steps translates to doing an extra assignment here and there to make sure he’s doing everything properly. Seriously, people, impress the man because one day, he’s gonna do big things. Then you get lazy people who constantly fall short in life like myself whose grades, despite being absurdly talented, currently do not reflect that due to sheer fucking laziness. My grades are poor because I barely ever sleep and all this stuff is constantly bouncing around in my brain. Seriously, I could drug myself into oblivion and I still couldn’t get any peace. I tried it once and had absolutely no desire to do it again. But back on topic, I don’t have a total disregard for society. I’ll occasionally make-out with a girl just to keep those heteronormative crusaders happy. (Yes, I’m gay, yes it is purely coincidental that I gay and so are my parents, no, they did not brainwash me into fucking men, don’t bother pointing it out, alright?) I won’t even enjoy it but I’ll do it. Just for society’s sake. Plus, I work and don’t rely on the spectacular welfare system that Britain has going. I’m a movie reviewer who points out ridiculously huge plot holes on a site that is represented by a man who wears glasses, part-time. I’m also a part time waiter and prostitute. Surprised? Of course you are. Guys can’t be prostitutes. It’s a fucking double standard. Actually, let’s elaborate on double standards, shall we? Double standards are a real big pain in the arse to me. If a girl gets raped by a man, it’s a horrible, terrible thing, obviously. But what if a man gets raped by a woman? What would you think? Would it be something along the lines of, “But that’s impossible! Guys constantly want to have sex! They can’t have sex against their will!”? No? Well, what about this one, it goes both ways. What about a girl getting abused by her boyfriend? Terrible. A man getting abused by his girlfriend? Unheard of! Guys can’t feel that pain! After all, it’s inflicted by a girl. Girls are weak and completely devoted to men! They can’t, nor would they ever dare to hit their master. I mean, man. And you know who is to blame for these? You, society. You bunch of douchebags practice and ALLOW these things to happen and become common practice. What’s the first thing a father tells a young man? Stop crying, that’s what girls do. What does a mother tell her daughter? Stay out of the dirt; you’re a young lady, not a little boy.  I mean, really. Someday, if I ever by some horrible accident I have a child, I’m going to teach him to treat everyone, good and bad, the same damn way. After all, everybody’s blithering on about equality and yet, deep down, we all still judge. Seriously, society is just made up of a bunch of fucked up individuals being fed the wrong information on a daily basis, thereby causing even more fucked up individuals in an already insane society who takes note to weed out the half-decent human beings before they can even grow their roots. I know a bunch of people are going to turn around and go, “You’re preaching about how fucked up society is, and yet you are part of it!” Actually, no. I’m a social pariah and misanthropist. I have no problem with being an unknown outcast for the remainder of my life because it means I can’t be judged because, after all, you don’t know me and what you do know about me could be a complete fabrication of a combination of boredom, senseless ranting and an incredibly sore arm. No matter, I’m not done, I must press on, no matter how much it feels like it’s going to fall off. I remember somebody saying they felt like their arm was going to fall off after playing a cover of Platypus (I Hate You) by Green Day. Yeah, that’s my favourite song and band. Yes, I’m gay and I like Green Day. Didn’t expect that either, did you? Gay people can’t like punk rock! They’re meant to like show tunes and Patti Lupone! Not this fag. I cannot STAND theatre. I take pride in breaking stereotypes. Actually, yeah, let’s talk about stereotypes! Unlike characters in books, thankfully, humans are slightly varied creatures. I once met a homeless boy who did stand up, whose favourite animal was a duck and busked in malls playing indie folk rock. He was awesome. I wonder how he’s been. But no, there are bad stereotypes too. Like the way gay men are presented on television. If half of those traits they have were applied to women, there’d be complaints and outrage but seeing as they stick them on a guy, it’s ok. Go fucking figure. It annoys me because I’ve met men like that in real life, and I usually tell them this before they go off saying that I’m a homophobic bastard which I later have to point out is entirely false seeing as I’m gay as well. I hate those kinds of men. I refuse to go out with them because I date men who still have their dignity. I also find it rather annoying that when people find out that I am gay they go, “Oh, really? You don’t seem like it!” WELL, DUH! How am I meant to act? Like a girl? It really bugs me that people, once they get to know me a little, think my bombastism (I don’t think that’s a word. Oh well.) automatically means I’m a classical music fan. WRONG. Punk rock is my cup of tea any day. I hate it when people who find out that I like punk rock automatically think that I’m a non-conformist social rebel. Wait…

Never mind. Not the point, just because somebody likes one thing doesn’t mean they automatically like or hate a certain thing. Now, here’s a little story I want to tell, also from my childhood.

There once was a boy named Carter Tallis,

Whose brain matter consisted entirely of a phallus,

He grew up a douchebag,

And decided to be bad.

He really was rather callous.

I’m sorry for that abrupt bit of poetry, I’m bored, but that’s good. It means all this crap is draining out. Anyway, Carter Tallis is the kind of homophobic arsehole that’s reduced me to scribbling on the walls of this shithole known as the dining hall like a caveman. When I first came to Oxford all the way from the very gay friendly Chicago, I hit the clubs on the first night. I’d found a guy and was getting to know him better (i.e. making out with him like there was no tomorrow) when I was socked across the face. I was knocked to the ground and my companion fled. As I rubbed my stinging cheek, I looked up to find a face I would get to know very well over the next year. Curly red hair not dissimilar to Ronald McDonald’s, a small frame and a girlish face growled at me from above, surrounded by cronies, including a strong-looking guy who’d knocked me out. “Get up and fight, you bloody faggot!’ Carter had said, brandishing his fists.

“I’m finding that quite difficult, actually, seeing as somebody just tried to knock me out,” I retorted, lying on the ground. Apparently, Carter has no appreciation for wit, and gave me a kick for good measure. I’m not a pacifist or one of those wimps, I’m quite the opposite, actually, but I was on my last warning for assault and bar fighting so,  for the rest of the night, I lay on the ground and pondered what Carter had done to me and why. Eventually, I sat up and thought, “Oh well, I’ll never see him again.” Guess again, morons, because guess who I found on my first day of college in my Philosophy lecture. Carter Fucking Tallis. And you know what? When I saw him in the light of day, I found he was actually quite scrawny and little. I could have killed him easily. I managed to eyeball him and smiled as I waved in a particularly campy manner. He gave me a look of revulsion before turning his attention back to the ever so delightful Professor Klock. Usually, I’m not really bothered by homophobes. It’s their perspective and it’s not something I have any right to disagree with, but most of the ones I met were prominent and were usually shunned, but here, he just flies under the radar. It’s like people don’t even care that he goes around bashing people based on sexual orientation! Nobody cares! Does anyone care that nobody cares about anything anymore? If it was happening to you, wouldn’t you want someone else to care whether you were okay or not? Okay, look, reader, I understand that not all of this is entirely your fault. The blame should be shared around equally, even if it is the only kind of equality we have. I will not be one of those people who will complain about everything and doesn’t offer a solution to any of it. Here’s what we should do; nothing. You heard me. Well, read me. I’ve been complaining and moaning and whinging about the evils of society for the last few hours now and I’ve really been trying so incredibly hard to think about a solution, and there isn’t one. People never change. That’s why history always repeats itself, that’s why we always hear to the same things on the news over and over again. Until one experiences the evil of society, nobody will want it to change. Those lucky devils who have it good are settled into a rut and as much as I’d like to disturb their rut, I wouldn’t want somebody doing it to me once I’ve dug mine. Besides, if it does change that means I have to start mixing with all the phonies and everyone else I don’t like. I don’t want to join the rat race, the rat race doesn’t want me and I’m happy to keep it that way. I’d rather live an empty, honest life than a full lie. Plus, people who didn’t have power previously will get a head rush. Like when the internet was invented, and nerds got power they invented Anonymous and 4chan, yeah. It shows that the underdogs don’t dream of equality, they dream of being in charge and ruling over everyone and I gotta say that I’ve dreamt of that too. Besides, if society changes, what will I have to whinge about? But seriously here, if you’ve bothered reading this all the way through, if you take something, anything, for the love of some unknown, non-existent deity, please try to make a difference. Even if it’s a tiny one. If something bothers you, whinge like I am, because whingers change the world. If all of society changed, it’d suck, but just a little change would be nice. Oh, that feels so much better. You know what? I’m gonna go to bed. I’m really tired and I’ve got a History of Literature lecture in a few hours, so I’m out of here.

Rage and anarchy,

Toronto K. Anderson.


The next morning, Kirby was being shaken awake, pulled out of the craziest dream where he was scribbling all over the walls of the dining hall in big letters, blasting society. Kirby opened his gold eyes, ready to glare at the devil that dare disturb his slumber. It was Jesse Barton. Eternally happy Jesse Barton. That should be his entire name, thought Kirby.

“What do you want, Barton?” he asked.

Jesse beamed. “I love what you did with the dining hall.”

Kirby bolted up. “How did you-?”

“Kirby, Siloh told me about the whole Toronto thing and who else would chew out society like that?” he asked rhetorically.

“Fair point,” said Kirby, rolling over and going back to sleep.

“Hey!” said Jesse, slapping him awake. “You should see what you’ve done! The BBC is outside interviewing people on it! Get dressed!”

Screw that, thought Kirby. He ran out in his boxers and his dressing gown with Jesse on his heels in his soccer gear. Kirby came to a halt as the crowd huddled around the dining hall came into view. He saw a BBC van and some slutty reporter was broadcasting. Kirby laughed in shock. Siloh was hot on their heels, signing frantically at Jesse who was trying to explain. Once he got it, they both laughed hysterically while I just stood in complete shock. This was a brand new day.



Submitted: August 17, 2011

© Copyright 2021 Boron Von Twiddle. All rights reserved.

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