An all too common occurrence. You’re a master swordsman for hire, and you’ve kidnapped the woman betrothed to the prince along with your weird boss and a giant. You think you’re doing pretty well because you’re on top of a cliff, and no asshole would be crazy enough to climb that cliff after you. Yet here comes a sexy pirate, and the situation comes into focus. You are going to fight this fuckable pirate, and one of you will die.
A sword in your left hand and your penis in the right, you both dance upon the rocks, each sword swipe and stab not an attempt at a kill blow but a chance to learn a little about the other. These kinds of fights take on the appearance of a relationship. You meet, you date, maybe a few minor penetrations break up the monotony (or maybe they don’t), you marry and seemingly out of nowhere, you divorce. All the warning signs were there all along, inevitable and painful and disgusting.
But you are more interesting than a typical relationship, so when the monotony sets in, you don’t resort to fucking as a way to keep things fresh, you grin. You have a surprise.
“I admit you are better,” you declare, and you think about your mother and father to avoid jizzing.
“Why are you smiling?” the strong but beautiful pirate asks.
“Because I know something you don’t know,” you reply, your grin becoming a challenge.
“And what’s that?”
“I’m not left-handed.”
You let go of your cock and pass the sword to your right hand. A few back and forths commence before the rock-hard pirate mimics your smile.
“Why are you smiling, hot stuff?” you ask.
“I’m not left-handed either,” he laughs, transferring his sword from left hand to right.
As you are probably aware, you are now a ghost. Not only is hunk-pirate a fuck-god, but he beat you at your own mind game. Mind games are literally the only thing that separates a good swordsman from a bad one. I wish it weren’t so, but the divorce is final and this jacked up pirate is keeping the kids, the house, the car, and all the money.
This probably has you wondering how you could have avoided bleeding to death from the place your dick used to be (oh yeah, I should have mentioned that’s how you died). Fair inquiry, and it’s a ponderance I am prepared to answer. Mother fucker, you should have been left-handed.
If your stupid ghost mind is capable of doing so, imagine for a second you’re alive and back in the fight. That pirate with abs like six cans of spam packed into a skin-crate has just switched his sword hand. Your cocks swing in unison, hardening as he advances. This is the hottest goddamn moment of your sex-deprived life, but it’s about to be over because, as the tip of his sword caresses your quivering manhood, you whisper something.
“I have another secret,” you coo. “I lied when I said I wasn’t left-headed.”
WHAT
THE
FUCK
?
That’s right. You faked faking being left handed and then you faked being right handed. And while you expect his penis to go flaccid in defeat, if anything, it swells to three times its normal size like a mutated Grinch heart.
You have two choices now. You can make love to this pirate who is oozing with “fuck me” or you can kill him. Either choice is yours, but the important thing is that it’s your choice, and it’s your choice because you were left-handed. And yes, right-handers could start with their right hand and switch to the left then switch back, but nobody is going to believe them when they fake being left-handed because who the fuck is left-handed?
Welcome to the wonderful world of having the upper hand, but not literally. Literally, the hand is on the left. Figuratively, though, it’s the upper hand. Shit, I should explain this phrase. It means that you can fuck up anyone you want. And you can do this because you are left-handed.
I take no pleasure in saying this, but if you aren’t left-handed, you’re pretty much fucked. Deal with it. Being left-handed is like being a 6’3” white male from an upper-class family. You can basically do whatever the shit you want, and it doesn’t matter if you are a complete fucking idiot. God, I just imagined a dude who is 6’3”, white, from a rich family and left handed. That’s really fucked up. I have to get the thought out of my mind somehow. Maybe by thinking of oranges, the shittiest non-tropical fruit?
That’s better. Okay, I’m feeling okay now.
By being in a world created for right-handed people, the left-handed among us have a unique advantage. These godlike “people” subvert our expectations because most of us are right-handed and it barely occurs to us that anyone would be left-handed. But unlike other minority groups, left-handers can avoid overt prejudice by hiding their left-handedness until it is time to strike.
I realize it’s dangerous to imply that left-handers are sneaky, don’t have a hard time in a society made for right-handers, or have mythical powers. In my recent article on bees, I fought against those very things. And I’d be remised if I didn’t mention the fact that every product known to humankind is made for right-handers, which has to be stupid annoying.
What I am saying is left-handers have a power most of them don’t even know they have. Consider me Glass from Glass because I’m here to help left-handers realize their true potential and their advantages. And I also want them to count their blessings, as they are many.
One such blessing is in regard to mutilation. This is a true story, but it’s going to sound like one of my weird, dark jokes because I’m a sick fuck. Whenever I say anything that’s true but strange, I run into a Boy Who Cried Wolf situation, but this is not that. The story I’m about to recount is actually true for real. I realize the more I say this, the less truthful I sound, so I’ll dive in now.
When I was a small child, my grandfather, who was a master carpenter (and who died about a year ago), was cutting some wood with his circular saw, and you know exactly where this story is going. The sleeve of his shirt wandered too close to the saw’s teeth and saw itself becoming food. My grandfather’s right arm became food as well. He ran up to the house (which was one of several houses he himself built!), calling for my grandmother. She did what any of us would do, which is freak the fuck out.
“Calm down and call 911,” he said.
She did, and he almost died but didn’t die. And the doctors told him he wouldn’t be able to do any of the rad shit he liked to do, to which he replied, “This isn’t going to slow me down one bit.”
He was correct to an extent. He still drove. He still skied. He won some Senior Olympics tennis thing. He did a lot of stuff, and he didn’t merely do it one handed. My grandfather did it while learning how to use his nondominant hand – his left hand.
At the funeral, my father called my grandfather his hero. While he wasn’t my hero, it’s not difficult to see why someone would view him as such. He overcame a lot, and some might say that the biggest obstacle he overcame wasn’t the loss of an arm but the obstacle that loss forced upon him. If he had been left-handed, his transition into being one handed would have been infinitely easier. And I have to wonder if the continued forced use of his nondominant hand was a constant source of mental and physical stress upon him.
Put one in the score column for left-handedness. In cases where people accidentally cut off their right hand with a circular saw, it’s better to be left-handed. This borders on undeniable.
Popular knowledge has already sided with left-handers when it comes to sports as right-handers shit themselves when playing against left-handed people. Batters forget how to bat while playing against left-handed pitchers in the really boring sport known as baseball. In basketball, defenders close out on the right side when trying to contest shooters, which is great until they face left-handers. Similar for trying to contest passes in American football. Hockey doesn’t exist, but if it did, players would have trouble grabbing Tim Horton’s coffee cups if the barista were left handed.
But all of these advantages pale in comparison to the biggest advantage left-handers hoard over normie right-handers like you and me, which is entering figures into a database using the number key when the fucking assholes at my job didn’t make it possible to move to the next data field using the keyboard, so I always have to click on the next field with the fucking mouse.
Doesn’t sound like a big deal, does it? Well, it is. You see, the number pad is in no way designed for left-hand use. To use this pad with my left hand, I would have to reach far across my body and type using unnatural finger movements of which I have developed zero muscle memory. So I have to use my right hand to use the num pad. But since the mouse is also on the right side, as I am right handed, I can only use the mouse with my right hand for the same reason.
The keyboard is not designed for simultaneous use of the number pad and mouse…
Unless….
Unless…
Un-fucking-less…
You are left handed.
Let me explain.
You see, left-handed people typically use their mouse left of the keyboard, meaning they are capable of simultaneous num pad (right hand) and mouse (left hand) use. To be able to breeze through my job being able to use both at the same time? That would be a pleasure I have yet to experience in my lifetime. That would be the greatest moment in anyone’s life ever. And that is a pleasure I will never know.
Some mornings I wake up hoping I can channel my grandfather’s dead energy to be able to learn how to use my left hand almost as well as my right. Then I could flip that mouse over to the other side of the keyboard and finally know just a second of joy in my terrible fucking life.
This is true power. This is power that will forever elude me. This is my easy jump shot. This is my mind game sword fight. This is the ripped pirate I would love to overcome.
I am certain this advantage manifests itself in other unlikely places as well. If you have a story about your own downfalls of being right-handed or your triumphs of being left-handed, shove it. Keep them to yourself. Don’t try to upstage me in my own fucking article. Whatever you do, don’t share them in the comments below or I’ll be really pissed. Bye.