The Greatest Man Alive

Wake up. 

Look at yourself in the mirror. Wash your face.

*Splash Splash*

Tell yourself you're the greatest man in the greatest generation of the greatest species. 

Gently caress your face with lukewarm water while maintaining perfect eye contact with yourself. Do not blink. 

Light your cigarette. Sit on the pot. Wither away your lungs 15 bucks at a time. Scroll. Scroll. Instagram. Facebook. Instagram. WhatsApp. Wipe your butt with twenty seven thousand trees. Flush away last night's takeaway killing five kids in Africa instantly. 

Brush. 

Brush so hard your gums bleed. Make them pearly white. Gleaming white. Republican white. KKK white.

Look at yourself in the mirror. The bigger kind. Your whole self. This is who you are. Nothing on the inside. Nothing on the outside. Grab your crotch. Do a monkey dance. Laugh maniacally. These are things you can only do in the comfort of closed doors. Tell yourself you respect women. You do. But not really. You want to put their head down into the bed while you insert yourself from behind. You want to do unsayable things. Unsayable. You cannot even say them out loud to yourself. You've watched too much porn. But you know you can control yourself. You'll never do those things in reality. You're actually quite gentle in bed. You will never be sexually satisfied. 

Make Breakfast. Two pieces of bread in the toaster. Two Eggs on the stove. A glass of milk on the side. 

*Ting Ting*

You dig in the eggs. You taste the torture of 305 million hens. Yum. You apply butter on the still hot toast. You gulp down a sip of milk. Yes. You taste the pain of 10 million cows. 

*Burp Burp*

You wear an H&M shirt. Bangladeshi kids sewed that carefully for you. Now they're dead. You wear a black pant with a nice sheen. It was made in a village not too far for 23 rupees. You bought it for 2,500. You slide your apple phone carefully inside your pocket. It has a crack on the side. The company refuses to change unless paid 42,000 rupees. You paid 65,000 for the whole phone. You'll just buy another when the new ones come out. The new one's supposed to have talking emojis. Emojis that fucking talk, yes. Evolution. You tie up the shirt and the pant with a great leather belt. You tie up your grand leather shoes. You don't even know which animals were killed for these. You like a little mystery in your life. You practice your fake smile for your office. You give yourself a nod. Good to fucking go. 

Yes. Auto!

80 bucks for two kilometers? Perfect. 

*Honk Honk*

30 minutes. You see drunk men lying on the footpath. You see dogs eating trash. You see cows you're yet to kill. You see thousands of people going in the other direction. None of them like you. All of them ugly. Blurred. Sweaty. You check yourself out in the mirror of the auto-rickshaw. Adjust your hair to exactly how it looked before adjusting. You're a star. No. You're the star. Scroll. Scroll. Instagram. Facebook. Instagram. WhatsApp. 

Office. Twenty four degree Celsius. Fake smile. Fake smile. Fuck. Almost genuinely smiled. Read your fucking emails. Read them. Dear fucking Samantha, thank you for your fucking follow up. I could not get back to you earlier because you work nine to five in a first world country and I work nine to nine in a "developing" country. Additionally, I get paid 5% of what you do so forgive me for not giving a shit. Anyhow, I am checking on the matter right now and will get the fuck back to you. P.S - we're both getting fucked royally by the partners so cheers on that. Thanks & Regards, A Corporate Slave. 

Coffee. Drink your coffee. Hmmm. Nestle. The motherfucker from Africa that packed this amazing coffee must have had magic in his feeble almost dead hands. Milk? No. Tortured cows this morning. Drink that coffee. Gulp it down. Work like a motherfucker. 

Have your lunch. Order a chicken McMaharaja. Hmmmm. 9 Billion motherfukin' chickens birthed and died just for me. What an accomplishment. I am a fucking god. Yes. 

Dear Samantha, here are the list of clients we are overcharging. Its ok however, since they have also overcharged their clients who in turn also have overcharged their clients until the chain comes down to the working middle class who've had to pay for all of the above. Capitalism regulates itself! Capitalism has won again. Everyone else has lost. Karl Marx rolled in his grave again and has now reached halfway to Japan. If you need anything else, please suck my big fat cock. Regards, A working middle class. 

Light your cigarette. 

*Puff Puff*

Blow everything that was ever real into the air. Burn it. Ash it. Blow away everything that you ever wanted to do. Throw it. Tap it. Blow away everything until only anxiety and existential dread remains. Blow. 

Chat with your colleagues. Tell them stories of your weekend. Tell them you're happy. Tell yourself you're happy. You're happy. 

Talk about spirituality. No you don't believe in religions. Ugh. Bullshit. You believe in a god though. Yes one good god who is up there. So many magical things in life cannot be a random coincidence. Talk about meditation. Instantly talk about marijuana. Back to meditation. Make plans about meditating together. End up having weed together. 

Have sex with your colleagues. Complicate things. Fuck them more than once. Fuck more than one of your colleagues. Complicate things. Fuck the friends of the colleagues you've fucked. Complicate things. Fuck the friends of the friends of the colleagues you've fucked. Complicate things. 

Make small talk about the weather to your boss. Tell your boss about the fuckin weather. Tell your boss how you feel about the fuckin weather. Tell. Ask him about what he feels about this fuckin weather. Ask him if he wants to masturbate in this weather. Ask. Switch to politics for two minutes. You both know fuckall. Express your disgust towards the current situation. Express it. Loud yet sophisticated. You're in an office god damn it. 

Make them excel sheets work. Make em dance. Make em do things they didn't imagine they'll ever do. Make Bill proud. Make yourself proud. Make your mom proud. Maybe call her. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Good talk. Bye. 

Leave. Order a take away. Take some juice with it. Look at the stars just for one second. They make you feel insignificant. Stop looking! Pray for more pollution so you cannot see stars. Call your on again, off again girlfriend. Make plans with her this weekend. You'll take her somewhere nice. You've already planned how you'll fuck her. Go back home. Open your dinner. Disgusting. Vegetable Pulao. Yuck. No animal was killed for this. Bite. You taste some ghee. Yes - animal motherfucking abuse. Eat. Swallow. Continue watching Netflix documentary on Hitler. Maybe he was just misunderstood. 60 million people died in world war two. 156 billion animals die every year for us. We're misunderstood too. 

Go to bed. 

Watch porn. Open 10 tabs. Imagine yourself abusing the women. Imagine stuff you'll never do in real life. Perfect way to end the day. Yes . Yes. Jerk off. Orgasm. Release. Oxytocin. Heaven for two minutes. Close the unused 8 tabs. 

Go to the washroom. Wash your hands. Splash your face. Wipe your face. Look in the mirror. Tell yourself you're the greatest man alive. You're the greatest everything alive. Justify all the killing. Justify all the torture. Justify your opinion that you cannot do anything alone. 

Put your phone on charge. Try to sleep. You try sleeping against all the voices that are inside your head. They are saying something. They are deep inside. You're dozing off. You're dozing off. What are those voices saying? You've slept now. And the voices keep saying

Wake up.