Days of Pork Belly & Roses.

When I was in high school, one of my teachers gave us a writing assignment she called a "55 word short story." The parameters are fantastically manageable. 55 words? I got that covered. On a good day, I type at 140 WPM. Thinly veiled innuendo not withstanding, I can pump out more than 2 of 'em in a minute. It's also the perfect amount for my generation's attention span (I probably could fit a 55 word short story in a tweet!). Without further ado, I present to you two 55 word short stories:

The Kiss

The two teens were more concerned with experimenting on the effects of exchanging saliva than they were with photosynthesis. Inexperienced passion filled the room. Hearing the call, they rushed to make it to dinner on time. They hastily put back on their clothes. She told him, “Thank God you’re adopted and not my real brother.”

The Argument

He rattled against the wood panel. “Can anyone hear me?” Furious, he kept pounding, his impotent rage matched only by the muddled cacophony he created. “They must be able to hear me,” he thought. He desperately needed to have a word with his wife. Unfortunately, six feet of dirt stood between the two of them.

Okay, I've decided that I'm going to take a temporary break from writing 55 word short stories until I can employ themes that aren't incest or death. I'll be back.

The Worst of the Wurst.

Like your high school sweetheart, I can completely neglect you for years and the moment I return demanding your attention, you become putty in my hands, easily forgetting about that time I intentionally forgot your birthday to watch a Law & Order: Special Victims Unit marathon.

There's a site on the internet called FMyLife (for the record, the "F" stands for "Fuck"). In case you're unfamiliar with the site, it's the most efficient internet schadenfreude delivery service that is currently operational. People announce that their significant other is engaged with another person's genitalia, they got their period at an awkward time, or that their teacher doesn't like them. You can usually click "I agree, your life sucks" (which I never click) or "you totally deserved it" (which I usually click despite whether or not the person actually deserved it).

Overall, there are more misses than hits, but I still am disproportionately engaged with that site. The more time you spend with it the more time you want to yell at whomever is announcing "FML."

That being said, I recently have shamefully found myself clicking the "Moderate the FMLs." I assume this is to use the wisdom of crowds in order to avoid having to pay someone to moderate the submissions. The process is thus: someone writes their story of self pity and you click a green check mark or a red "x" to show your level of approval. Enough approval garnered, the story hits the website proper for the world to see.

People who submit to this internet website are the worst. I'm so angry at some of these people that I decided to write a blog post on my blog that I've neglected for a year. Here are some selections of FMLs that are currently under moderation and my anger that follows:

"Today, my dad is a piece of shit whore who said pick up bbs and then made me mow the lawn fold all the clothes and pick up my toys at the foot of my bed when there aren't any fucking piece of shit toys"

I think I have theory of mind (the psychological concept of being able to be conscious of the fact that other people have independent thoughts), yet as I put myself in this person's shoes, I still want to wring his scrawny little neck. Forensic analysis of the writing clearly reveals that this person has a scrawny, wringable neck. Also, it makes me feel bad about myself that I've written a public violence fantasy about someone who is clearly only 10 years old.

"my boyfriend of two years broke up with me. for a girl on face book. on my friends list."

This person clearly doesn't understand context. I don't think I've interacted with a human being today that didn't possess a facebook account. If you want me to revel in your abandonment, please tell me that they met on facebook because they were both fans of "Homework Sucks." Forensic analysis of the writing tells me that she was way too suffocating the past years, her meddling impeding his ability to perform on the PSATs.

"Today, the elevator broke in my dorm, and wont be fixed for another week. I live on the 26th floor. FML"

Forensic analysis of this writing sample clearly shows that the author is obese, the social group that draws the least amount of pity.

"Today, I found out that the guy I've been crushing on is my long lost uncle. Fml"

This person's problem is a problem of information. Most of society's problems are caused by having too much information. Like microscopic shrimp in the tap water, this issue could have easily been avoided with ignorance.

"Today I was walking home from work and i got rob. The robber comes up to mr and say you are going to get rob now. Well than he robs me. FML"

I kind of feel bad reveling in this individual's misery because he clearly has been robbed of his ability to employ the English language successfully.

"Today, my girlfriend's best friend asked her if she would dump me for a free pizza, she did. FML"

I like pizza, too! Now after reading this submission I'm hungry and have no pizza. FML.