This week’s prompt is
Chandler Ear was a victim. Indeed, not just a victim, but the victim.
As a child and, especially a teen, he accused his parents of neglect when they gave him space, of smothering him if they sought to show an interest and when, eventually after his constant demands that they help him decide on his options for schooling that the opinions they tentatively proffered were judgemental, controlling and undermining to both his prospects and metal health.
He chose his university degree in social work the better to understand why society had singled him out for egregious disappointment and how, all things considered, the world should try and make amends.
Worthy people tried to befriend him, to help him understand the skills and talents he possessed but, invariably they focused on the areas where he felt most belittled and misunderstood and merely increased the sense of abandonment and lack of empathy.
He felt sure that the award of a degree was an attempt to humiliate him publicly and criticised the teaching staff and university authorities for being a variety of -ists in the way they discriminated against him.
At twenty-seven and due to a failure by a distant relative to make a will, he inherited a significant sum of money and business. He complained to the lawyer administering the estate that the money would have been significantly larger had his relative bothered to learn more about him and the appalling way he had been treated in life and he was close to commencing proceedings to challenge the distribution of the estate until his own lawyer pointed out (a) he would lose and (b) he would have to meet the other parties’ costs. Instead he reported his lawyer to the regulatory body for the grossly insensitive and negligent advice offered.
His dating experiences that never went beyond a first encounter and sometimes barely that led him to decide to write a guide to modern dating manners, including some of the bitter responses he had shared through successive insensitive disappointments.
Having his own money and no agent or publisher prepared to take him on, he self-published a vanity work that became an unexpected success.
He employed a series of staff to deal with the various people who contacted him wanting to share their own victimhood, none of whom lasted beyond three months and all of whom would have sold their stories had they not been the subject of eye-wateringly tight NDAs. His appearances on TV and radio were more often than not depressing whinges about how having money was a burden most people couldn’t understand, that being famous merely entitled people to think they might have the necessary personality and self-sacrificing nature that he had to make a go of things themselves and how far from being thin skinned, he was the epitome of an well adjusted, empathetic man.
Eventually rich, well known and mostly shunned he turned to politics. His well honed barbs and passive aggressive debating made him popular with certain outlets and to much gnashing and wailing he was elected to Parliament on a populist anti everything entitlement agenda.
Promotion to the Whips office followed where his bone deep dislike of anyone who didn’t immediately become sycophantic at his lifelong race to overcome enormous odds made him ideal in the role.
His death, at forty was unexpected if not exactly unwelcome. Members of his office and party felt he would not want any sort of celebration of his life and in a small unattended ceremony he was interred swiftly. His headstone, a simple slab of grey stone with his name, his dates of birth and death and the single word ‘arsehole’ underneath remain the most unvisited of any recent public figure. Even his detractors couldn’t be bothered to deface it.
He is survived by a rather sour taste in the back of the mouth.
TanGental 
Hilarious story!
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Ah, much thank yous!
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You’re welcome
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What an abomination of a man! Anyone we know, or knew?! Well done.
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An amalgam of several, sadly
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Anyone special inspired this bio of Meh?
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Not just one…
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Another gem Geoff.
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Thank you Di
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I think you must have known my first boss.
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I fear he may have spawned a pan continental collective of arses…
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The size of his arse was capable of a spawning of epic proportions.
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And that is an image we need to bury…
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Agreed.
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Had he survived he would, no doubt, have been ennobled.
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Indeed, it was the only way to go… elevation onto a throne
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Never mind the prompt, divulge the inspiration!
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He (and she) come in many guises
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You were divinely inspired for this one – or perhaps you read the latest news about the former NFL quarterback Colin Kapernich, who has made a fortune whining about the NFL and its racist treatment of him and who is now dumping on his adoptive (white) parents who gave him everything but who are also apparently racist and responsible for his failures!
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There are so many examples from which to chose
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so true!
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This could have been written about any of the rising generation of so-called ‘humans’ these days.
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There are indeed a legion from whom one may say I took inspiration
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His life can’t have been as bad as mine 🙂
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Ah the Man Who Would Be Warmed…
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🙂
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Well, don’t we all know someone a bit like this!
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Indeed it is a fairly universal portrait
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Oh my, quite the guy. I think many of us have memories of such a person. 😊
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Yep, he’s not even close to going extinct
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Brilliant. So often, your writing contains phrases that leap off the page and dance around the head. This is no exception: “He chose his university degree in social work the better to understand why society had singled him out for egregious disappointment”—is perfection and the whole thing gathers incisive comic momentum from there.
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Thank you, George. Even arses can trigger humour if kept far enough away.
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