My poems were rejected at a magazine. Since I knew the editor, I asked him why. Another editor I knew, responded saying nobody else ever demanded a reason. I was angry at this response. I wasn't demanding anything, I just asked.
I considered my response to him. I decided that I'd never ask why? again.
As I sat in a car, a man walked by and told me that he didn't consider me an important part of American poetry these days because I don't write, I don't publish and I don't blog. I'm inconsequential now.
I told him that I didn't care what he thinks and that I moved on to something bigger and more important.
A police officer came up and handcuffed the rude man.
I asked the officier if he was arresting the rude man and the officier said yes.
I asked if I could tase the rude man.
The officer chuckled.
I asked if I could stick my finger in the rude man's butt.
The officer chuckled again.
Another man walked up and said he wanted to rape the rude man.
That crossed the boundary of a good joke.
The officer didn't think that was funny and took the rude man away.