Pilgrim's Progress

I remember the old days,
when it took some effort
for me to insult people,
when I had to think
for a minute before
I could do or say
something offensive.

I used to be a nice guy,
I was always polite
in thought and act
and everyone loved me for it,
deemed me charming, chivalrous, suave.

Nowadays I fart a lot
and pick my nose at dinner.
I stare at people
with an ugly stare,
pick fights with the nicest people.
Every other word out of my mouth
is "fuck" or "bitch" or "asshole"
or "fuck you, you asshole bitch."

Still some people love me.
They know that with them
I'm joking when I say
they've got shit for eyeballs
and piss for blood.
They think my farts
are a quaint manifestation
of my grand eccentricity.

As for the rest of you,
I'm being truthful with my insults.
My manners towards you are atrocious
because I just don't care
for you.

But when you see me
glaring at some nun
as I piss on the sidewalk
in the late afternoon
or early evening
in the middle of a crowd of people
just getting off from work,
don't feel sorry for me
and don't hold your heads up high with disdain,
thinking there's something
wrong with me.

Just remember
that in a better world
I'd be a role model, a saint.
I'd be the guru with bloodshot eyes,
the oracle with a six pack
you turn to
in times of need
and in times of trouble,
the one who'll tell you
where you can go,
who you should fuck,
and where you can shove it.

And as you walk through the wilderness of this world
let my frank words and ways sustain you.
Let them be your bedlam and your vanity,
your guiding light and your exquisite confusion.

Because although you may end up
smelling just as bad as I do
you'll become truly refined,
truly wise,
and truly bright,
and this world will be a better place
because of it.