I just don't give
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This is the day I just don't give a shit.
Not. A. Shit.
Today, I don't give a shit about anybody or anything. I woke up, saw the sun crack the horizon and realized it was the dawn of a day of No Shit-Giving. No person on this day would be able to earn my shit. No thing on this day would rise to level of being deemed worthy of receiving my shit.
Ain't giving it to you, not to her, not to some dread-locked canvasser at my door clutching a clipboard and talking about the environment. Me, today: hoarding my shit. Shit-Retentive. No shit gets out, not with a hand-stamp, not for a shiny green apple, not for a blowjob. Shit checks in but it don’t check out. I am the ACME shit hotel.
I barely gave a shit about anything yesterday. Tomorrow I have no idea. I do not trade in shit futures. Any coupon borne by you that you seek to redeem for shit tomorrow will most likely not be honored. Today, please see above. Ixnay on the Itshay.
As I hope I've made clear, I ain't giving a shit. I ain't selling it. Ain't leasing, letting, renting or otherwise time-sharing a shit. You may not sublet my shit without express written permission from owner, namely me, which permission, needless to say, is not hereby granted, and if you attempt to acquire by common law, squat upon, or otherwise make any part of my shit your own I will evict you and your stained mattress and your stupid Louis L’Amour box sets and your New Order tapes so fast your ears will ring. There will be neither a shit auction, shit red-tag sale nor shit clearance deal. Everything must go? Not my shit. Not today. Go fish. No shit for you.
No shit I give to you, nor you, nor you nor you nor you.
Why?
Shitless I am. I'm all out of shit, I'm so lost without you. Shit was here, and now it's gone. I’ve given all the shit I can, and I’m not giving any more. The bank of shit that once was me is busted, and not even the FDIC of shit can restore a shit to my sorry ass. I have been declared a shit disaster area and the FEMA of shit can’t get to me for another six months. My shitless self is covered with a blue tarp and I sit shivering beneath it eating Spaghetti-O’s out of a can. Which Spaghetti-O’s, even in my extreme state of stress and dehydration, I do not shit it out, for I give no shit. I don’t give a shit. Shit has no quarter with me.
If shit is what you need, well, then, buddy, you are SHIT out of luck.
MEMO:
Re: Me Giving a ShitNO!
Does this make me selfish? Fine. I don't give a shit about you and all you stand for. How could I? (I would say "all the shit you stand for," but that would be giving you more shit than you are EVER getting from me, buster.)
Because -- as I've said -- I don't give a shit. Not one teeny, drippy, corny, 3 AM, too-much-kielbasa at the barbecue, scare the bathroom fan Piece of Shit.
But if what you need is a Flying Fuck?
Well, then we should talk.
Will Layman and Chris Osmond know how Über feels sometimes.