Jerry's Marginalia — Quit Pulling My Fucking Leg
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
You know what really grinds my fucking gears?
People who start a game they have absolutely no intention of finishing.
Oh, I'll play along. I'll commit to the bit so fucking hard that the director quits, the audience evacuates, and the goddamn theater catches fire.
You want ridiculous? I'll bring ridiculous.
You want crazy? I'll show up with a fucking marching band, a three-ring circus, and a certified emotional-support goblin riding a unicycle through the flames.
BUT DON'T FUCKING INVITE ME TO THE CIRCUS AND THEN PRETEND YOU DON'T OWN A TENT.
That's what pisses me off.
Not rejection. Not disappointment. Not somebody telling me no.
It's the endless parade of almost, maybe, soon, and I promise.
Jesus tap-dancing Christ on a pogo stick.
If you're going to do something, FUCKING DO IT.
If you're going to say something, mean it.
And if you're just blowing smoke up my ass, at least have the common courtesy to bring a goddamn chimney sweep.
I'm perfectly capable of being an absolute, unhinged, smiling lunatic without anybody's assistance.
But underneath all that nonsense, I still believe a person's word ought to mean something.
Call me old-fashioned. Call me stupid. Call me a fucking cactus with legs.
Just don't call me gullible because I gave you the benefit of the doubt.
Kindness is not stupidity. Patience is not permission. And a smile is not an invitation to waste my fucking time.
I'll happily play the fool.
Just don't mistake me for one.
With love, respect, and a suspiciously large bag of premium Grade-A ego.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand