PulpLit.net

My Civic Duty

Ok, so everybody wants to know what the deal is, man, how come this guy Henry got the poetry spot in this quarter's issue and how come now he's the poetry editor, and what kind of contest did he win, and how come I didn't know about the contest, and who the hell was the judge, or was the he the judge? Cause that would make sense, you know, why not crown yourself winner, I mean, if you were the judge of the contest you'd do the same thing, right?

Which reminds me, how come he don't do his PSC thing no more, I mean, come on, what a frickin tease-ball...dammitt I could do that once a week, hell I could do it twice a week, maybe even once a day or one in the morning and one in the evening, you know, after I get home from work...I mean, from school...ok, what I really mean is when I get home from sitting all day face down in the McDonald's on State Street in the back of the last smoking section on the face of the Earth. That's what I really meant.

So then what's the deal, huh? Ran out of hip underground bands and films? Ran out of Ninja Turtle shoelaces and LA Gear jeans? Did he lose his Bedazzler in a poker game or what? There are some things that just shouldn't be given away that easily. Like this poetry spot in this quarter's pulplit and the poetry editor position.

Ok, ok, so maybe Henry's good at this stuff, who knows, right, or am I right? You know, I got his phone number around hurrrrr somewhere. Here it is, I'm gonna call him up and find out just what the hell all this is about.

(Dialing)

Ok, it's ringing. Ahem.

BEN: Hello?
RANT: Yeah, is this Ben Henry?
BEN: Are you trying to sell me something?
RANT: What? No.
BEN: So?
RANT: Why are you poetry editor?
BEN: Who told you?
RANT: It's all over the damn site. Why wasn't I told about the contest?
BEN: What contest?
RANT: You tellin me you were just given the position just cause you're...?
BEN: Just cause I'm what? Say it.
RANT: Well, I was gonna say 'just cause you're the only one they asked'
BEN: I don't know who they asked.
RANT: So then what gives?
BEN: You tell me.
RANT: Well, I mean, why did they pick you? What makes you think you're the hot shit?
BEN: I wrote for wildpoets.com for nearly two years, and I've been epublished there going on four times or something really great like that. So I'm guessing that's why they picked me.
RANT: oh.
BEN: And before that I was champ at the 2001 Syracuse Poetry Slam, and then later received Honorable Mention at a NYC slam sponsored by the Onion. And I won some undergraduate writing awards at Syracuse University, and have been published in Or/Else twice and, um, got paid to be a headliner at a NYC poetry reading, and I, uh, enjoy eating toast and I like starfish.
RANT: I see.
BEN: And as for me being the 'hot shit', friend, my shit is ice cold...like my nerves.
RANT: uh huh. Well, thanks for talking to me.
BEN: Anytime.

(Hangs up)

Man, I could totally take him in a fight, or some kind of rap freestyle where we also get to breakdance, cause I'm a damn good breakdancer, and I bet I could bench-press him, he seems like a weakling. Pen mightier than the sword? Hell, not where I come from. That's right, who's the man now, Henry? I don't even want your stupid position, keep it. And so what that Pulplit didn't publish my poem, I'm gonna save it for a real special girl and then publish it in the classifieds section of Reader's Digest for her birthday.

Sucker.