Sarcasmus (sar’kaz’-mus): Use of mockery, verbal taunts, or bitter irony.
You chicken-shit blubber butt. You hide behind Mommy pants pooper. You macaroni-armed lord of the limp dicks. You face-stuffing food fiend. You part-time human. You beet-brained barn smell. You fart-breathed toilet face. You bag of dirty bandaids.
Mel Rose is my name. Insults are my game. I am an “Insult Contractor.” I mostly write what I call “Nastygrams” for pay, and help people “get back” at other people, and initiate what I call an “insulgasm.” The insulgasm is the feeling of deep satisfaction and relaxation that one feels when one’s insult hits home—when it can’t be denied as an accurate, compressed, description of a target’s shortcoming in a specific category—from honesty to body shape, and more.
But my insults aren’t solely about “getting back,” I have clients who don’t care who the particular people are who they insult. They just fling the insults around, often at “types” of people who aren’t used to being insulted for any reason. For example, I have a client who specializes in elderly women in wheelchairs. One insult I wrote for him was: “You can’t even stand up for what you believe in.” As an act of resistance the woman tried to stand up, fell out of her chair, and fractured her skull. My client was delighted and ordered three more insults. This is what I came up with: “You’ll never run for office,” “Why do you let somebody push you around all time?,” “Your ankles look like coffee cans wearing stockings.”
I first realized my talent for producing insults for others when I was nearly 18. I was riding the train home from school. A drunken bum stumbled up to where I was sitting. He started asking the guy sitting next to me for money, and sex, and his briefcase. He stunk of the classic homeless blend: alcohol, urine, and B.O. Suddenly, my brain lit up. I whispered in the guy next to me’s ear: “Ask him: ‘When’s the last time you wiped your ass? You smell like a pile of shit’ and he’ll fold.” The guy next to me said it, and bam, the drunk hung his head and staggered away asking the other passengers if they had any toilet paper. Then, I realized I had a gift for reading insult targets and insulting them with one or two sentences that hit home, maybe tearing it down to the ground and leaving it reduced to smoking rubble. So, I started my own little insult business and advertised myself as “Insult Contractor.” My tag line is: “Revenge is an Insult.” I started off advertising on bondage chats where people routinely demean others with words. The business started to come in. I had found my niche. Within my moral compass, everything was fair game, from alopecia to xenophobia. However, I did reserve the right to turn down a contract for “personal reasons.”
My first commission as “Insult Contractor” was directed at an unfaithful wife that the client had seen (by accident) on the bondage site “Lucky Whip.” The insult: “Our kids don’t need a whore for a role model.” The insult illustrates the outside edge of all insults. The depth of their viscousness may insult anybody who hears or reads them. Their effect is not limited to their target—they have the power to offend one and all, everywhere, all the time, regardless of the context of their presentation, or to whom they’re presented. And, of course, they squarely contradict basic religious dogma that sets agape or selfless love as a foundation for human happiness and eternal life. What I traffic in rides in the fast lane on the Highway to Hell. The Highway is packed with cruel and vengeful travelers. It’s almost like the insults I write help pay their toll and speed their trip to the Lake of Fire.
Oh, I should tell you—the man on the train who used my insult to chase the drunk wasn’t just a man on the train! He was one of Old Nick’s talent scouts. Before he got off the train, he reached inside me and grabbed my soul, and channelled its river of insults, helping it to cultivate strife and fulfill my destiny as a divider of people.
Remember, while sticks and stones may break your bones, insults may totally destroy you.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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