Yesterday, my friend cursed me out and said I’m caustic. I was shocked. Not because it’s not true, but because he called me that, and he was serious.
My friend is an ass. We met freshman year of college. I always thought it was our shared loathing of things, behaviors, fads, sayings, hype, pop culture – whatever – that brought us together. We’d talk in a sort of circling negativity, and when the topic would at last lose momentum and collapse on itself, it – or we – exploded in a supernova of sarcastic wit that would put us in riotous laughter for days.
I know, as I’ve always known, my negativity – my causticness – had nothing to do with my outlook on life. I’m a happy guy, and I’m an optimist. But I’ve always been drawn to that grumpy humor. Nothing tickles me more than someone who’s dead set on a bleak world. My favorite Sesame Street character was Oscar the Grouch. I grew up with Married With Children – Ed O’Neil is a prophet of pessimism. In high school I quoted Professor Farnsworth’s lines from Futurama. To me, the unsettling darkness of a despondent mind is the stuff of comedic gold.
I don’t know what drove my friend to think similarly to me back then. I don’t know why he now criticizes for it, though he’s still doing the “Have you ever noticed…” routine and shitting on people’s achievements. And, after writing all of this, I’m not even sure what my point is.
I guess, if there’s anything to be learned, it’s that I have a damn good sense of humor. And my friend is a hypocritical douche.