Fuck off

Fuck off!

That doesn't even make sense, if you think about it.

Fuck off? Fuck off. Fuck off! Fuck. Off. Fuckoff! Fuck off.

Go away is better. Nobody says fuck off in Canadia, except me. It doesn't even make grammatical sense. Va chier. Away and shite. Fuck off.

Fuck off! To lurch off, priapic and thrusting like a gibbering, drooling sex fiend. That's how you fuck off.

I say fuck off the best in all of Canadia. Fuck off!

We went to the cinema today. Some cunt in the line wouldn't be accommodating and stood awkwardly forcing everyone to move around him. Fuck off! I poured his cardboard coke drink all over his head and booted him roughly in the arse. Fuck off, I whispered softly in his ear. Fuck off.

The film was preceded by the worst, shitiest advertisements and in-house skits I've ever seen. Fuck off! I threw a small toffee hammer I always carry around with me right at the canvas screen, ripping a big fucking hole in it. Fuck off, I roared. 

Fuck off, I thought again, as I realised I'd potentially lost my wee hammer. I went up onto the stage to get it. Some twat tried to remonstrate with me on the way up, I told him to fuck off. I got the wee hammer, thank goodness. Fuck off. I threatened him, a German man with dreadlocks, with the hammer. He didn't look scared. Fuck off.

When the film (Shutter Island) began, I murmured contentedly, softly, inaudibly, "Mmm... fuck off... fuck off... fuck off" between mouthfuls of peanut M&Ms. This had better be good, I thought. Fuck off, I said.

And it was good. I knew the twist already, which made it less enjoyable for me than it could have been. My fault, really. I looked it up on the internet, because I couldn't wait.

And so I watched it with this knowledge, and enjoyed it still. A good movie! A good film. I watched it with the big rip in the screen, and didn't tell anyone else to fuck off.

I'm still thinking about it now. I'd like to watch it again. I'm thinking too about fuck off. About how good a phrase it is, how final and curt. So quick to say! Fuck off. 

Yet I've said it so much, it's lost its meaning. Try it! Look in the mirror and say anything, over and over, and it becomes a noise, like the croak of a frog. It loses its potency. A wee, weak fuck off where once a mighty lion roared.

Now my fuck off doesn't mean a thing. I tried it there, at the shop when I went to buy some cheese. I told the wee man at the counter to fuck off, I screamed it at him. He just smiled and said "Oui, monsieur".

I am the boy who cried fuck off.

Fuck off?