You Can Make It Up: People Tell Carrie Prejean What An Asshole She Is

Carrie Prejean turned the video camera off, put on some clothes, and stepped out of her house. It was a beautiful day outside. The air smelled like apples, and the late morning light hit the world in just such a way. Next door, a milk man was making his deliveries. Carrie Prejean waved.

“Hi, asshole!” the milk man said, waving back with one hand as he set some milk with a clink on the neighbor’s porch.

Just then a paper boy rode by on his bike, tossing papers left and right, his baseball hat cocked jauntily to the side. “You are an asshole!” he yelled behind him, the playing cards in his spokes filling the air with a rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat.

Carrie Prejean ignored the paper boy, and held her head high as she walked to her car. She was very proud of herself for some reason. An old man in a pastel nylon jogging suit powerwalked down the sidewalk, purple wrist-weights around his wrists, an Aiwa walkman clipped to his pants, and a fanny pack strapped to his waist. “ASSHOLE!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Carrie Prejean. Then he was gone, his arms swinging wildly.

Everywhere she went that day, Carrie Prejean was told that she was an asshole. The young man working at the coffee shop where she got her coffee called her a “venti asshole.” A new mother carrying her baby in a sling across her chest looked down at her pink child and asked “do woo see an asshole? Do woo? Yes, woo see a bwig asshole!” Some children playing patty-cake stopped momentarily, and when they resumed they were playing something called “asshole-cake.”

And all day, Carrie Prejean smirked and showed her teeth and it was hard to tell if there was even anything in her head.

Obviously, a couple of people did not tell Carrie Prejean that she was an asshole. Her mother, who called to ask Carrie a question about an upcoming visit home, didn’t call Carrie Prejean an asshole, although she did say “I love you, assh–” before catching herself. A dog whose leash was tied to a parking meter in front of a nail salon didn’t bark out the word “asshole” (although another dog whose leash was tied to a parking meter in front of a jewelry store, did. “Assharooooooooooo,” the dog said).

A little girl tugged on Carrie Prejean’s dress. “I’m lost, can you help me, you are an asshole,” the little girl said. Carrie Prejean helped the girl find her mother, who was browsing a sale at the shoe store. “Oh my God, Jenny, where have you been?” the mother said to the little girl, her voice a mix of panic and relief. “Thank you, you fucking asshole,” the mother said. “Thank you for finding my little girl, you complete shithead stupid asshole.”

It slowly occurred to Carrie Prejean that a lot of people were calling her an asshole, but she didn’t know what to think. Ever. But also now. She called her lawyer. “Everyone is calling me an asshole,” she said.

“Yes,” the lawyer said.

Carrie Prejean didn’t know what to say next, so she held the phone away from her face and smiled at it. The lawyer waited for a few minutes for Carrie Prejean to say something else, but eventually he hung up. He had lawyer work to do. Carrie Prejean called back. “Everyone is calling me an asshole,” Carrie Prejean said.

“You said that already, asshole.”

Again, there was silence. But the lawyer could hear Carrie Prejean breathing. It sounded like crying. It might have just been crying, actually. Finally, Carrie Prejean said, “I don’t know anything.” Close enough.

“Look,” the lawyer said, “the reason people are calling you an asshole, Carrie, is because of your incredibly ignorant beliefs, and the pride you seem to be taking in being so dumb and awful. You wear your ignorance and your bigotry like a badge of honor, and that’s just the worst. Also, why the FUCK did you write a book.” Of course, lawyers don’t usually talk to their clients this way, but Carrie Prejean’s lawyer knew he could get away with it because of how stupid Carrie Prejean was. Although, she was also incredibly self-absorbed and had this weird self-worth that no one could explain, so it was always a risk. But in the end stupid won out.

“I didn’t write the book,” Carrie Prejean said. “A ghost wrote the book.”

The lawyer told her to just hang in there and called her an asshole in a kind of slightly nicer voice, but Carrie Prejean didn’t hear him, because she had put the phone into her vagina. Carrie Prejean wished she had her video camera.

Carrie Prejean frowned. She was standing in front of a tree. “I’m going to leave your show,” she said to the tree. “You are being very inappropriate.” The tree stood silently, it was a tree after all. But the wind blew through the trees leaves, and if you listened closely it sounded like “ahhhhhhhhh,” “ssssssssssssssssss,” “hoooooooooooooooooo,” “le.”

Carrie Prejean would have taken off her mic, if she had been wearing a mic, but people don’t wear mics when they’re just outside. “I’m going to leave your show,” she told the tree again. “I’m leaving now.” She stood there and looked at the tree. It got dark. Carrie Prejean looked at that tree. “I’m going to leave your show.” An hour passed. “What?” Carrie Prejean asked. She stared at the tree.

Eventually she died of over-exposure.