I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!
It’s recently come out that I’m only five feet tall. You’d probably think I was kidding, but you made me.
Being a man this short is worse than the Holocaust. The last time I went out jogging alone, a cop stuck me on a school bus and the kids beat me up. Whenever I try to buy beer, the shopkeepers just laugh at me. I am 37 years old! A grown man, a big boy!
Even with lifts, I top out at 5’3”. Maybe I went too far claiming I was 5’9”, but people lie about their height all the time, and if you’re going to tell a lie, go big or go home.
My wife was carrying me home from Sabbath last weekend (my little legs get tired) and told me not to worry about it, that there are “worse things than being a mid-—a person with a slight—with a more economical frame.” Wasn’t it great to have all that room on airplanes? And I came in so handy whenever a quarter rolled behind the refrigerator.
I gazed up at her and asked “really?”, but looking down at me in her arms like a baby, she almost dry heaved, and when she thought I’d looked away, I saw her roll her eyes.
Being really skinny helps me to look taller, but do you know how scary it is weighing 70 pounds? A Maine Coon could probably kill me, and even regular house cats are kind of scary. When one sits on my chest, I have trouble breathing.
This is why I hate liberals and their victimhood. No one ever sticks up for the short white rich guy. I’d get that Gattaca surgery to make me taller, but is all that pain really worth just two inches? Would anyone even notice the difference? And I’m afraid of any physical pain or discomfort anyway.
Why did you do this to me? I could have been President! I will be President! Do you understand how humiliating this is? I screamed at AOC once and she just picked me up and put me in a closet. Before closing the door, she laughed at my tiny erection. She of all people should know that you can’t choose your kink (unless it’s being gay).
I’m afraid to have children. How long would I be able to control them, until they were nine? Believe me, there’s nothing worse than getting beat up by a 4th grade girl, especially when your wife is watching, and I’m not even allowed to ride on Space Mountain!
How could you do this to me?
I thought your whole gimmick was being the conservative munchkin who hates unions despite your membership in the Lollipop Guild. Without that, who would you even be? Just a snarky, condescending asshole who argues with dumb people in order to feel smart? You’re like the puppet version of Tucker Carlson, only more annoying.
The truth is you were supposed to be born 2,000 years ago, at a time when your height would have been considered average. You’d have only been a couple of inches shorter than I was, actually. You were supposed to be in My posse, where you would have beaten up money changers in temples, cursed fig trees, and done all that other gangser shit Me and the boys got up to. Unfortunately, there was a mix-up with your paperwork, and, well, the rest is history. Trust Me, it’s better to be a tiny man in the modern world than an average-sized guy in the olden days. At least you probably won’t get leprosy.
Instead of crying about being short, you might want to try embracing the perks of being mistaken for a child. Maybe you can’t ride on Space Mountain, but at least you can hang out in a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit without someone calling the cops. And you could totally get away with that thing Jim Carrey did in Me, Myself and Irene where he latched onto a breastfeeding woman’s nipple and had himself a little snack. Plus, you can totally ride on a Big Wheel!
Like most problems, your height issue could be solved with a good old-fashion deal with the devil—something like five extra inches in exchange for your soul. The problem is, you’re already going to Hell, so my standard contract wouldn’t work. Fortunately, there’s still a solution. Instead of forking over payment upon death (which you’re doing anyway), this new arrangement would stipulate that you have to be my monkey while you’re still alive. What does that mean exactly? Basically, you do whatever I tell you to do for my amusement. For example, I might ask you to make a public announcement that you’re totally in love with Nancy Pelosi and that you often fantasize about parting her dry, cave-like pussy lips and jamming your entire head inside of her. Another time, I might ask you to appear on Fox News to argue in favor of the Green New Deal while riding naked on a Big Wheel. After that, I might ask you to open an OnlyFans account where you post videos of you taking huge cocks up the ass, jerking off large, furry men, and occasionally fucking farm animals.
Be honest. Some of this sounds at least a little fun.
Have an uncomfortable question? Need some advice about your deviant behavior? If so, then it’s time to pray. Email your question to firstname.lastname@example.org, and it shall be answered in a Divine Advice column by Jesus and Satan.