I'm Fighting Back
Last night, I got this text:
It wasn’t the first time I’d received a message like this. And if I’m being honest, it won’t be the last. The truth is, Ritam is on my ass all the time. It’s fucking awful. It’s like I’m being held at gunpoint doing this thing:
Imagine me, going about my charmed life, full of whimsy and sex appeal, and I keep getting peppered with his little reminders. Tiny, disgusting gnats popping in to ruin my day. Just wheedling little shits. Imagine that. Imagine how I must feel.
This is me, producing useful work for the world, enjoying time with my White Friends, securing relationships that will scatter bountiful seed across the fertile soil of our culture in hopes that we may one day reap from a nourishing harvest:
And here’s Ritam, waiting until Thursday night every other week to give me a little spanking, to stand on the periphery of my vision, curl his crooked, nagging finger towards me, and ask if I’ve eaten my vegetables:
How can a fella enjoy his life with this kind of shit hanging over his head every other Thursday? Thursday is the beginning of the weekend. That means my mind is gone, bro. I’m not like you; I’m built different. I’m a damn purebred, built to indulge in excess as my friends Friday, Saturday, and Sunday dap me up and ask what the vibe is. You can’t tamper with greatness. You can’t do that. You just can’t.
I mean, look at this:
Well, guess what?
No. I don’t have one. And you’ve all been had got gotten. Got. I mean, Got gotten. No. You all got got. Yeah 😂
Ritam’s Footnote
What the hell? We get to just screenshot old texts, sent in the vulnerable intimacy of our friendship, and juice them for content in which the other person looks like a hardass taskmaster?
Unable to even ask the full question. He sends the text, vitriol dripping from each letter, disdain evident in the limp appendage—“Lol”—that serves to couch his cruelty and dismissal of my time, my schedule, my life.
oH ShIT. NeWSLetTer? Nah I’m just playing bro love you fr. Go dubs!