Shitty Excerpt from A Shitty Baby Born out of Wedlock

Shitty Excerpt from A Shitty Baby Born out of Wedlock

The man, the man is not important, the man didn’t shit out the baby. And I’m not really saying this because I’m a man and I want to call attention to the whole struggle of men being unfeminine and how they can never catch a break- et cetera. He’s just not important. He’s not my father, or even the father of anyone remotely important in this story. In fact, that entire scene with “Kate” was a red herring. A fakery. A trick to make you think that that was my mother, or the mother of someone important, because god forbid that people include irrelevant details in their writing. Wait, no, they do. That’s what we call stream of consciousness. But this book isn’t that, either. I think.
Here’s where we start. I am a fifteen year old. That’s all I’m really going to say, because anonymity is very valued in the places that I like to frequent. You could say that the places I frequent are like the matrix, except inverse. Oh God that analogy only makes half-sense. But hell, I am going to have to give this plot a structure and a beginning and resolution or else people will label it as absurdist or stream of consciousness or something. They’re probably already doing it now.
    Here’s where we- oh, I already used that phrase.

    The gymnasium is filled with a bunch of identically dressed students, except not identical, because every kid is too self-absorbed to realize he or she is identical to the other students. The day is hot and clammy, giving rise to that distinct prepubescent odor which wafts throughout the cafeteria, over the conversations about things that minds have yet to wrap around completely or even partially. The conversations about things that are just there.
    Funnily enough, there were no uniforms in this school.
    “Attention, please.” Tap tap, on the microphone. Tap tap, a hundred or so yards away a woman walks towards the podium.
    “Attention please!” Louder now, the voice reverberates throughout the room. Children turn their heads and pretend to pay attention so well they might as well be paying attention. Tap tap. The distance has closed to about fifty yards.
    “I’m so fucking late.” She mutters to herself, checking her watch, breathing the breath of a woman very much overweight but not very much obese. She’s thirty-four, petit, but not in a cute way, more like an awkwardly short and hunched sort of way, as if she spent her youth skulking in crevices. It’s why she wears high heels, but in all honesty (and kids are anything if not honest) her silhouette looked something like a “tryhard Hunchback of Notre Dame”, tryhard being synonymous with things like “lame”, and “uncool”, and “stiff”. If girls went to college to get more knowledge, this thirtysomething’s silhouette went to Jupiter to get more stupider. If she had a saving grace, it was her face, innocuous and innocent looking, the kind of face that strong men defiled in videos for sexually repressed youth. Whoops. Praise Freud. Anyways, it was such a cute face- soft, baby-like, with pug dog brown eyes that seemed to glimmer at you everytime you stared into them. In fact at her local community college she gained the somewhat infamous/famous nickname of ‘reverse butterface’ throughout her underclassmen years- even when she dressed sluttily she couldn’t get any sex. Such a shame, really, any man who came close enough through beer goggles, a sense of inferiority/pity, or simple attraction couldn’t bring himself to fuck her- that puppydog face with the cutest glimmering eyes and the expression of almost adoration. Yes, you see, if she had a hot body instead, one toned and not overweight and one where the boobs didn’t sag and drawl like a poor white old man who was very much racist and not afraid to show it- yes, if her boobs didn’t sag like that, she would’ve gotten so much sex that whoever she eventually married would have his sense of monopolization on her violated when she told him about past sexual experiences. Probably not enough to consider her a used rag though. But no, she had to not exercise and eat shittily and have that terrible combination of being overweight with a flat ass- and now look at her. A 34 year old virgin. The only hope she had now was basically finding an even older male virgin- and god, who the hell wanted one of those? They were always creepy, or gross, or just antisocial and shit people in general. God, if only she got-
Tap tap.