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A droll (and at times heated) exchange between two psychoneurotic writers. The annoyance of listening to obstinate know-it-all’s can have unexpected outcomes. How refreshing it would be to start each day honestly, with a clean slate, and with no creative predispositions.
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At the start... two cockroaches find a puddle of spilled coffee on a deserted patio. As they’re guzzling, one begins blustering… “Do you know what a pain it is, watching so many foraging for poetic gems, and then slobbering with glee when they discover ‘screw you too’ rhymes?”
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“That’s a bit cynical.”
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“You think so? The internet is filled with mushrooms that pop up and disappear; there’s not much sincerity or vision anymore. Look, I know what I’m talking about. I have a PhD, and I teach at a university.”
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“Well... I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, but some of the dumbest dweebs I’ve ever known had PhD’s.”
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“That’s certainly not me. I can be critical of anyone I please. Besides, you should talk. Do you know how long you’ve been duping readers into believing you’re something other than a crash-test-dummy faking literary erudition?”
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“You know something… the worst thing about you is you don’t care if you offend people. It’s what you’re best at. You’re a born asshole, but I suppose people should expect that, especially from a mediocre roach who’s mastered the pseudo-donnish stereotype.
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“Is that envy I smell?”
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“No. No envy, just pity. Let me ask you this: are there any truly original writers left in this woke caffeinated age? Because much of what I read seems like the brain vomit of dabblers.”
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“You’ve described yourself there pretty well. A prosaic dipwad dishing up jejune words on a flimsy paper plate.”
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“Piss off! You’re the fraud, and you juice on it. In this computer age, it’s just too easy for roaches like you to plagiarize others, and then pretend it’s your writing. You’re not fooling me. You’re busted.”
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“Busted? You gotta be kidding. You’re the self-centered dork who doodles Neoplatonism on toilet paper parchments, and then spouts quaint Patrician platitudes to bolster himself. Touché.”
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“Touché my ass. You’re just another pea brain spouting balderdash while he slurps up stale coffee. Look, I’ll remind you for the umpteenth time; if you don’t want blisters, stop starching your socks.”
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“Socks? I don’t wear socks.”
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“There ya’ go… How the heck can you call yourself a writer and not grasp metaphors. The way I see it… you’ll always be unhappy without respect and acceptance, especially when you’re as deceitful a roach as you.”
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“I’m not deceitful, and I’m not convinced.”
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“Nothing new about that!”
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“Perhaps you have a more cogent example?”
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“As a matter of fact, I do! Here’s one for your burned-out synapses. Finding anything literary about you would be like trying to anagrammatize the dangling participles in your writing to find the hidden meaning of life.”
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“You’re a piece of crap!”
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“Maybe…. But I tell it the way I see it.”
“The only way you see it is out your ass.”
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“Well, why don’t you kiss it then, and take a long walk off a short pier!”
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“You cheeky wanker…. UP YOURS!”
“UP MINE? Give me a break…. you’re the one who thinks you’re better than everybody.”
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“I don’t think I’m better than everybody – JUST YOU!”
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Suddenly, the backdoor of the home opens and out walks a man and a woman.
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“Oh, honey, look,” the woman points, “somebody spilled Starbucks.”
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“Hey, look at that will you,” the man’s eyes open wide. “There’re two cockroaches spitting at each other.”
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“Oh gosh…” the woman shudders, “I HATE when they do that.”
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Obligingly, the man walks over and stomps both of them, and then kicks what’s left under a bush.
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Crying out joyfully, she embraces and kisses him. “You’re a giant of a man, and you’re my hero. I love you!”
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“I love you too. Hey… I’ll hose everything down. It’ll be nice getting things clean again. Fresh starts are always the best.”
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© richard lloyd cederberg
2023
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BTW, quite a collection of quotes you've garnered here, a human-cockroach festival.