I’m a closed book. My home is a public library. I’m on display for society to see. Authored by my previous experiences. The title on the cover says “RUDE, VIOLENT ASSHOLE”. A title as bold as the font it’s written in. It’s perfectly embedded on an image of a man with bloodshot eyes and a gun in hand. Unappealing right? Take a fucking chance and read; or don’t. It’s not like I actually give a rat’s ass.

Preface:
You went past the cover. Impressive. What do you want, a fucking biscuit? Don’t shit yourself with joy yet. All you did was open a book. Lord knows that’s not exactly Nobel Prize work. Wow, you’re still reading. You’re a tough one, I like you. You’re obviously interested so let’s move on.

Chapter 1:
Who am I? My name is Pascal. Well, that’s my middle name. It was given to me by my goddess of a mother who raised me and my two older brothers to be “as sweet as strawberries that were dipped in a barrel of sugar”. That’s how she puts it anyway. I was taught respect, empathy and kindness. “So how did you become a ‘Rude, violent Asshole’ if you were raised so well?” If that’s what you’re thinking, just finish the damn chapter. It wouldn’t kill you to have a little patience; it doesn’t cost money. If that’s not what you were thinking, let us be on our merry way.

Chapter 2:
“Friends”. In primary school, I was verbally bullied and beat up a lot. Even though I would come home with a fresh bruise on my body or a new tear in my uniform almost daily, my mother would preach forgiveness to me. She’d always look at the depths of my soul and say: “I know you’re angry and you want payback. I want you to remember that revenge is for the Lord, not human beings.” Luckily I finished primary school before those little sadists killed me. I would venture on to high school, where my creative and academic work would flourish. That gave me a wide range of jealous, back stabbing, gossiping and lying pieces of… I mean friends to choose from. The assholes would gossip and spread rumours about me. Needless to say they were pretentious jerks; after doing all that, they would smile at me and say, “You’re so cool Pascal”, trying to make it sound as genuine as their pretentious voices would let them. Yeah, high school sucked too. I was miserable, and why wouldn’t I be because there I was, surrounded by people that hated me when I all wanted was to be loved, or at least left alone.

Climax.
Matric year. By now all the hatred I’ve received has turned me into a mean psycho who will kick the ass of anyone who messes with me. The years of abuse have turned me into a monster. The sweet little boy has been swallowed by rage and thus the Rude, Violent Asshole replaces him. I don’t give a flying, fuzzy fuck about anything. I’m now a nonchalant person with no regard for how the next person feels. I believe in an eye for an arm, a leg, tongue and head. I don’t want to get even, I want to win.

Last chapter:
After bitch slapping or insulting damn near everyone who wronged me, I realised something. The kindness and empathy weren’t completely gone. Those who had never wronged me in any way, thought I was sweet and compassionate. “What? But you’ve been a vulgar piece of shit throughout the entire read!” True, but I still have feelings and I actually do care about people. My then girlfriend and best friend, bless their hearts, helped me realise this. I cared deeply for them. I would have done anything for both of them. Their problems were my problems, and their joy was my joy. I loved them so much. I keep my dark side around because my experience, the wise author, has taught me nice people are treated like pushovers or doormats, and assholes aren’t.

My story is not actually about a crass, gun toting moron with red eyes. It’s about a young man who presents himself as such to ward off people who think they can take advantage of him. It’s the story of a sheep in wolf’s skin. He has learned that to prevent himself from being prey, he must look like a predator. This is the tale of a young man who knows that the crocodiles won’t eat him if he looks like them. Instead of completely turning into one of them, he wears a costume to change his exterior but, on the inside, he remains himself.

To fully understand the closed book and why the cover is so provocative, you have to take a fucking chance and read. “Oh, I get it now!” Is that what you’re thinking; have you reached an epiphany of some sort? I hope so, otherwise the shit was pointless. You did, however, take your time to understand me and I’m grateful either way.