If I Only Had a Heart…

I am an inclement heartless robotic being. There are no means that I will not bypass, if proven beneficial to my personal cause. I am overly sarcastic; passing the threshold of being scurrilous. I take pleasure in deteriorating a person’s tenacity enamel and undermining their self-assurance. I lack a full house of empathy, but I have apathy in spades. I am an asshole.

At least that is the consensus that many have reached. The accuracy of the perceived assumption is mostly counterfactual. I will not deny all claims. I can be all of the aforementioned things, but to say that is who I am is inaccurate. I make jokes without a smile, but do not confuse my intentions; they are jokes.

In actuality, my comedic banter should be recognized as a badge of honor. I have analyzed your demeanor and have judged you applicable to receive my comments. This is not to insinuate that my comments embrace paramount value, but in layman’s caveman’s terms it means: me think you strong.

The calamity of my judgment:

People fabricate different faces or facades. A thin sheet of frozen ice distorts their amour propre and the isotope dilution manifests an air of confidence. Once I denote a person as having the wherewithal to handle jokes, I am often unknowingly engaging in a scenario similar to Hasbro’s “Don’t Break the Ice.”

When the ice breaks, I am labeled an asshole. Unfairly so. I was merely going along with the image they presented. It is not my fault. People should not front a wall that they are unable to hold up. They can hate me for my brand of humor, but love me for pointing out the weakness in their shields. If I am an asshole, I’m a lovable one.