8/14/2019 The Ranting of a Closet Cynic

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-ranting-of-a-closet-cynic 1/2

“The Ranting of a Closet Cynic” – Part One

Walking upstairs, I notice the Christmas tree standing dormant in front of the living roomwindows. The plastic artificial evergreen remains idle with its adornment of cracked

candy canes; a slightly grotesque scene. The counterfeit tree establishes a gloomy aura

that incinerates happiness upon its attempted passage into my fiery home. The tree’svolatile existence remains hidden as the snow begins to fade away, replaced by sporadic

 brown patches of Kentucky blue grass. 'Tis proof of my procrastination.

I don’t have any aspirations in life, however, if in some rather odd way you, for some

reason, feel better about yourself due to my recent displays of cynicism, I consider that an

indirect form of misanthropy on my part.

I have to admit this isn’t my first attempt at writing a book; however, none of my “books”

seem to advance past the pamphlet stage. I have already completed the task of 

embellishing the God-awesome title of this book with quotation marks to signify that, if 

all else should fail, as it obviously has, this literary unit shall end up morphing into ashort story, thanks in part to my horrid time management skills.

You may thank me, personally, for not handwriting this book, due to my cryptic usage of 

cursive “writing” that is only readable by myself and a few elite others that were gifted

with magnificent peepers. I accept gratuities in many forms, if you are in a generous

mood. If you feel like sending fan mail, I accept that, too, however, for safety precautions, refer to the phone book.

If, for some strange reason, you believe I come off as arrogant, selfish, or egotistical,your thoughts are simply misconstrued. I like to think of myself as the non-existent God’s

gift to the world. Yes, I’ve had some faults with religion. I’ve tried, yet have not failed, by any means. Heaven just isn’t ready to handle someone like me, but once I lock-pick those pearly gates, I shall be hanging out in the clouds, possibly; if it occurs to me upon

 being placed in my death box that there certainly is such a destination.

As I write this musing, my fellow comrades are engaging in a conversation that involves

the comparison of cup sizes and bosom shapes. I find it hard to concentrate on MY story

when THEY won’t shut their traps.

 Now, where was I…Ah, yes, hats.

I like hats. Hats are mighty fine. They have a way of keeping your head safe from possible infernos caused by nuclear fall-outs, and they protect my rather large cranium

from acid rain, flying monkeys, and the occasional sphincter-less fowl.

Walking upstairs, I notice the Christmas tree standing dormant in front of the living room

windows. The plastic artificial evergreen remains idle with its adornment of cracked

candy canes; a slightly grotesque scene. The counterfeit tree establishes a gloomy aura

that incinerates happiness upon its attempted passage into my fiery home. The tree’s

8/14/2019 The Ranting of a Closet Cynic

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-ranting-of-a-closet-cynic 2/2

volatile existence remains hidden as the snow begins to fade away, replaced by sporadic

 brown patches of Kentucky blue grass. 'Tis proof of my procrastination.

I don’t have any aspirations in life, however, if in some rather odd way you, for some

reason, feel better about yourself due to my recent displays of cynicism, I consider that an

indirect form of misanthropy on my part.

I have to admit this isn’t my first attempt at writing a book; however, none of my “books”

seem to advance past the pamphlet stage. I have already completed the task of embellishing the God-awesome title of this book with quotation marks to signify that, if 

all else should fail, as it obviously has, this literary unit shall end up morphing into a

short story, thanks in part to my horrid time management skills.

You may thank me, personally, for not handwriting this book, due to my cryptic usage of 

cursive “writing” that is only readable by myself and a few elite others that were gifted

with magnificent peepers. I accept gratuities in many forms, if you are in a generous

mood. If you feel like sending fan mail, I accept that, too, however, for safety precautions, refer to the phone book.

If, for some strange reason, you believe I come off as arrogant, selfish, or egotistical,

your thoughts are simply misconstrued. I like to think of myself as the non-existent God’s

gift to the world. Yes, I’ve had some faults with religion. I’ve tried, yet have not failed,

 by any means. Heaven just isn’t ready to handle someone like me, but once I lock-pick those pearly gates, I shall be hanging out in the clouds, possibly; if it occurs to me upon

 being placed in my death box that there certainly is such a destination.

As I write this musing, my fellow comrades are engaging in a conversation that involves

the comparison of cup sizes and bosom shapes. I find it hard to concentrate on MY story

when THEY won’t shut their traps.

 Now, where was I…Ah, yes, hats.

I like hats. Hats are mighty fine. They have a way of keeping your head safe from

 possible infernos caused by nuclear fall-outs, and they protect my rather large cranium

from acid rain, flying monkeys, and the occasional sphincter-less fowl.

(More later) *runs off to steal candy from small children whilst humming a random Bob

Dylan song (or Cat Stevens, can't decide)*