Smug Can Eat A Dick

I have to get this thought out of my head before I go to bed tonight.  I just sat through ten mostly painful minutes or so of Ricky Gervais having an intimate conversation in front of a television camera and goddammit, I really wish I hadn’t.

I’m a huge fan of Ricky Gervais.  Have been for over a decade.  I love his TV shows, his podcasts, and some of his standup.  The less said about his movies, the better.  But the point is, I’m a fan.  A huge fan.  Just so we’re clear.

So I sat through this horrible conversation where Gervais and Dawkins congratulate themselves on their mutual distaste for religion.  Feel free to follow that link.  Or not.  Here’s the point:  Fuck smug.  I fucking hate smug.  I hate smug atheists, smug Christians, smug Jews, smug Buddhists, smug I probably don’t need to elaborate on this point.

Smug is a huge character flaw.  Like being a rapist.

Oh my God, can you imagine how fucking annoying a smug rapist would be?

Anyway, if you have smug anywhere within you, I don’t care how much I love you, it’s a side to you that I really fucking hate.  The way I hate rapists.  And you should seriously work on it.*  It won’t be enough to make me stop loving you.  I still love Ricky Gervais.  But I love him more when he’s not being a smug prick.  Or making movies.

Anyway, that’s something that’s been coming to a boil in my head for a few years now and this seemed like a good opportunity to get it out of there.

Off to bed…

*In the interests of staving off the people who want to know if I’m talking about them, no, I’m not.  I don’t hang out with smug cocks.  Congratulations.


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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