I like to think of myself as a fairly flexible person. Ishly speaking.

Of course, there is always a caveat seeing as how flexibility tends to slow dance with an individual’s personality. As humans, we all have innately constructed qualities fed by mother nature’s purpose and our particular upbringing. It’s an amalgam of surreptitiously rendered little post it notes stickering our insides with uniquely adorned characteristics. Imagine our personalities as being Cleveland Browns fans in that every single one possesses a fatalish flaw. With Browns fans, it’s either mother nature (they were born in Cleveland) or horrible parenting (generational season ticket holders) that renders them beer guzzling biomes who waste more weekends than an A-Ha cover band. With the rest of us, it’s something else. But it’s always something.

We’re all hardwired in a certain way; and as a man of a certain age, my wires are fixed and resolute little bastards whose toes ain’t gonna be stepped on without the requisite holler. Think catechisms with swear words. I am plenty familiar with my built in Shakespeare tool box, and therein lies the rub.

My flexible nature is tested daily by the every day obstacle course that is life. Perhaps the most thorny of these personality pop quizzes is delivered to me by self righteous people. You know the kind. They’re slathered in sanctimony. They never met a pious they couldn’t bake into a more sour tasting bite. They’re more preach than teach, more hypocritical than Trump’s press secretary, more superior than a mother@#$!*$. These peeps are better at fucking shit up than the government, but they won’t dwell on it when their time is much better spent talking about how fucked up everybody else is.

The recipe for my flexibility is made of equal parts experience, patience and a chill manner. Ain’t no understanding in the mix. So when I have to deal with a self righteous individual, I tend to keep my distance because my mouth has a solid thirty second head start over the rest of me. In other words, I tend to shoot first, second and third and by the time I finally get around to asking questions, it’s all chalk lines and donuts.

So there’s this dude, I’ll call him Huckabee since that’s not his name (it’s a snarky homage to former Arkansas Governor, Mike). Huckabee doesn’t have a Jesus complex, only because he would probably be insulted by the comparison. But really, Huckabee is the living embodiment of Jesus Christ in that he suffers all of us sinners and he walks on water. Ice, not so much but hey, Jesus wasn’t born in the Northeast.

I avoid interactions with Huckabee as much as is humanly possible, because I would rather not call him out on the fact he’s a sanctimonious douche. I mean, just because you have the nuclear arsenal doesn’t mean you should use it. And besides, I think it a flaw to let someone else’s flaws bring yours out to play.

And then this happened . . .

“So Marc, what’s up with (name redacted)?” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

What can I say, my civility is not an on demand kind of thing.

“She was asking about you,” Said Huckabee.

“I just talked to her . . what was she asking,” I replied.

“She was talking about you,” Said Huckabee.

“Okay so she was talking about me . . not asking about me,” I corrected him.

Remember what I said about being patient and having a chill manner? Yeah well, that shit was over. I was well aware that I was navigating my way into the multiple choice of choice words, dressed in four letters and sealed with a kiss my ass. Unfortunately, self righteous behavior doesn’t care what yard it ends up pissing in and he was fully intent on pissing in mine.

“She says you’re a good dude,” Said Huckabee.

If you haven’t caught on by now, Huckabee was vetting with his libido. A dude rarely brings up a girl in casual conversation with another dude unless he A) wants out, B) wants in. Evidently, you can’t be complex whilst owning a penis.

“She’s a good dude too,” I replied.

Huckabee laughed as I began my exit strategy as if a general in a fruitless war against an out-manned enemy whose only advantage is attrition.

“You guys ever have a thing?” Huckabee asked.

Told ya.

“A thing? No, we never had a thing,” 

“Oh, because the way she was talking about you . . how sweet you are and all, I just figured you guys had been together,” Huckabee said.

“The fact that she considers me sweet proves we never had a thing,” I replied dryly.

“Maybe I misinterpreted what it was she was saying,” Huckabee blabbered.

Some things are easily misinterpreted. Like for instance, Nietzsche . . the details of gym memberships . . riblets as a legitimate food . . and Sofia Vergara’s rich and succulent accent. And some other things are purposely misinterpreted . . .

“So why don’t you ask her out?” I wondered, aloud. Because I can. 

“Hey, I’m married,” He replied.

“So why’re you texting a single chica in the first place is really the question,” 

Boom. I mean BOOM.

“It was about work,”

“N  . . kay,”

The placement of that N was some inspired shit, tell you what. Huckabee had been posterized and he knew it.

“I don’t mess with crazy women,” He laughed.

“Oh . . . so if she wasn’t crazy then you wouldn’t be married?” I laughed.

“You should see some of the crazy shit she posts on Instagram,” He replied. 

“You sound jealous,” 

“Huh?” Huckabee had a blank stare on his face that was busy ape walking Darwin’s theory of evolution all the way back to the Cro-Magnon Era.

“She can do crazy shit on Instagram whenever she wants to. She can be the nastiest of nasty girls. You have to sneak your crazy and hide your nasty,” 

I had to call the fight and walk away at this point, despite all the comebacks I was packing and despite all the nonsense he was shitting out. Dealing with this imbecile was exhausting.

So Imma have to get to stretching, because my flexibility needs some fine tuning. And it probably would be a good idea if I stopped chasing these energy vampires with sarcasm, because they’re always gonna win that fight. Getting in the last word would’ve meant nothing to Huckabee, because the only thing he’s gonna hear is the sound of his own voice.

If I was a mime, I would’ve beat the shit out of him.