I must admit, these long spells between posts provide me such pleasure, because those poor saps who think god has finally listened to them are so soon to be despondent again, and those who actually like me write and say such nice things. It's like those folks who fake their own deaths so they can go to their funerals. Alas, the stories of my demise are premature.
No, even murderers must face the necessities of the daily grind—all is not just the blood and gore that movies and television promise. No, we murderers are accountants, teachers, ministers (you’d be surprised), SAHDs, and checkout clerks, and we have to fuss with landlords, go to PTA meetings, and shop for groceries.
So, for the past weeks, I’ve been fighting with the school district about busing and whether duct tape is appropriate for the mouths of elementary riders. Imagine my horror to find that the populace believes bus drivers are fully justified in doing such things! Does no one value the safety of our children anymore?
I can hear the confusion in your minds at such shock, but honestly, who values life more than we murderers? I mean really, what fun would killing be if we did not value the life that we were taking? What would the point be? I know there are some who kill simply to get rid of a person whom they don’t like (and that’s another thing, WHY THE FUCK CAN’T ANYONE USE “WHOM” CORRECTLY! “WHO” IS THE SUBJECT PRONOUN AND “WHOM” IS THE OBJECT PRONOUN! IT’S THAT SIMPLE!), but those of us who appreciate the finer elements of the kill respect the wonder of life, and thus, when it leaves a body, we can find a deeper meaning in the act. However, in terms of hillbillies (they seem to be the ones most find of duct tape as invaluable tool in bus driving), I am willing to make exceptions. Maybe the world would be better with a whole lot less of them, and maybe that would take care of this whole Tea Party fiasco as well.
NOTE: some hillbillies have been known to masquerade as conservatives who in turn seem to masquerade as zombies, so don’t be fooled. Err on the side of death.
SECOND NOTE: All zombies are not bad, just the ones who vote Republican.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION
Most murderers plan the details of their kills. The perfect weapon, the alibi, how to dispose of the evidence, and other such factors, but they often overlook the getaway.
My strategy, which has yet to let me down, is to first find a location with at least two, if not three, secluded escape routes. Having only one is tempting fate—traffic, construction, random pedestrians, unexpected weather can all jeopardize a perfectly good kill if you can’t escape successfully.
Now I know that this might sound like I am planning my murders backward, and I guess you are right to a degree, but I truly believe the benefits outweigh the costs.
By finding your site first, you are limited in your targets, but if done carefully, you can enjoy a wonderful hunt.
FIRST: Once you find your site, and you map out two or three good escape routes, ask yourself, what kind of target might I acquire here?
If hoboes and derelicts are the only ones who might frequent your location, ask yourself the next question: does killing a derelict who’s only moments from going into kidney failure really that satisfying?
If a jogging path is your location, think about this: do you want to startle your target first and make for a little sport, or do you simple want a clean kill?
If an urban setting is your cup of tea, do you wait for a rich person to pass by, preferably a lawyer or politician, or do you take any poor sap who might pass your way?
SECOND: Once you’ve acquired your target, taken your shot (or stabbed or whatever), do you flee immediately, rush to the person’s aid and pretend to be a Good Samaritan (stupid idea: the cops are onto this one), or simply stash your weapon, and walk calmly in a different direction (try not to go in the OPPOSITE direction, that can be a bit obvious, but a nice oblique angle is my choice).
FINALLY: Do not look back. If the Bible has taught us anything, besides God likes to kill folks, it’s that looking back is a sure sign of guilt—just ask Lot’s wife.
Then, once you return home, make a nice pot of tea or pour yourself a glass of vintage Merlot, close your eyes, and replay your kill. I’d also suggest a nice piece of music, like Mozart’s Requiem. (Personally, I prefer the Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient music rendition.)
The perfect end to a successful day—and you'll be amazed at how much a good kill improves your outlook on life! If only there were more killings, there would be less depressed people (and less annoyingly happy people too). WIN WIN WIN!
My strategy, which has yet to let me down, is to first find a location with at least two, if not three, secluded escape routes. Having only one is tempting fate—traffic, construction, random pedestrians, unexpected weather can all jeopardize a perfectly good kill if you can’t escape successfully.
Now I know that this might sound like I am planning my murders backward, and I guess you are right to a degree, but I truly believe the benefits outweigh the costs.
By finding your site first, you are limited in your targets, but if done carefully, you can enjoy a wonderful hunt.
FIRST: Once you find your site, and you map out two or three good escape routes, ask yourself, what kind of target might I acquire here?
If hoboes and derelicts are the only ones who might frequent your location, ask yourself the next question: does killing a derelict who’s only moments from going into kidney failure really that satisfying?
If a jogging path is your location, think about this: do you want to startle your target first and make for a little sport, or do you simple want a clean kill?
If an urban setting is your cup of tea, do you wait for a rich person to pass by, preferably a lawyer or politician, or do you take any poor sap who might pass your way?
SECOND: Once you’ve acquired your target, taken your shot (or stabbed or whatever), do you flee immediately, rush to the person’s aid and pretend to be a Good Samaritan (stupid idea: the cops are onto this one), or simply stash your weapon, and walk calmly in a different direction (try not to go in the OPPOSITE direction, that can be a bit obvious, but a nice oblique angle is my choice).
FINALLY: Do not look back. If the Bible has taught us anything, besides God likes to kill folks, it’s that looking back is a sure sign of guilt—just ask Lot’s wife.
Then, once you return home, make a nice pot of tea or pour yourself a glass of vintage Merlot, close your eyes, and replay your kill. I’d also suggest a nice piece of music, like Mozart’s Requiem. (Personally, I prefer the Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient music rendition.)
The perfect end to a successful day—and you'll be amazed at how much a good kill improves your outlook on life! If only there were more killings, there would be less depressed people (and less annoyingly happy people too). WIN WIN WIN!
I AM STILL NOT DEAD
There’s nothing like silence to make Christians believe that God is alive and active in the world. Counterintuitive, to say the least. You’d be amazed how many emails I’ve received congratulating me on my entrance into Hell. Like Hell would have Internet access.
No, I am still alive, although I have been in hiding since I believe that I am being stalked by god (I have no idea which one it is—they all look the same to me) and a gaggle of mimes (it turns out that they’ve learned how to get out of the box, but they appear to only be armed with imaginary weapons, so unless they drive me to suicide, I should be okay).
People are just too easily offended. Can't we all just get along. (Rodney King does not approve of this site, but the LAPD seems quite supportive.)
No, I am still alive, although I have been in hiding since I believe that I am being stalked by god (I have no idea which one it is—they all look the same to me) and a gaggle of mimes (it turns out that they’ve learned how to get out of the box, but they appear to only be armed with imaginary weapons, so unless they drive me to suicide, I should be okay).
People are just too easily offended. Can't we all just get along. (Rodney King does not approve of this site, but the LAPD seems quite supportive.)
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
NIETZSCHE: WHERE’S THE CORPSE?
Before I get to today’s post, I’d like to comment on the vast amounts of correspondence that I’ve received on killing mimes. It turns out everyone likes it—you have no idea how good it feels to finally have a positive response instead of all those complaints from folks who don’t want to be killed. Sure, everyone is fine with killing until I pick their group as a viable target, then wa wa wa. Technically, there was one mime who gestured revenge, and a lot of silence in my voice mail box, but I’ll take that compared with my normal vitriolic feedback.
I’d like to think that god is dead, but I have yet to see a body. And until then, I don’t believe the concept of deicide should be retired. (Of course, until the god-fearers can produce a god, I don’t think we should waste our Sundays or Saturdays or whatevers either.)
Deicide: to kill one’s god, or I guess you could kill someone else’s god too—I think this strategy has been the Fundamentalists’ (of all persuasions) modi operandi and even raisons d’être since they first coalesced into factions.
SO HOW CAN YOU KILL A GOD?
Most people assume that gods are immortal, but anyone who watched (or read, but so few people seem to know how to read these days that I’ve about given up on that medium—and yes, I understand the irony, but until I get a film deal or a TV show or can even figure out YouTube, I am confined to this space) the Lord of the Rings should have realized that the Elves are immortal but a broad axe or arrow are perfectly effective of ending their journeys through Middle Earth.
Face it, gods can die. Ask Jesus the next time he happens to walk down the road to Emmaus. Or Osiris, if you can find all his parts (my guess you can probably find him in an afterlife court suing Jesus for plagiarism). And the Greeks and Aztecs and Hindus and pretty much everyone else seems to have dead gods somewhere in their genealogies.
So if gods can die, why do we not hear more about deicide? Excellent question. Once the first couple gods died, the rest got nervous. Face it, you create a bunch of people, screw with their lives, and then expect them to idolize you? Gods figured out rather quickly that their best defense was hiding, first up on mountains and in the oceans, then in the sky, and finally so far out in space that Voyagers I and II won’t find them until long after we’ve gone extinct. Every time one comes on the planet, they get killed. Name one that has come on the planet and stayed … See?
So if all these gods are in hiding, how can we get one down here to kill? That, dear Watson, is the real enigma. We’ve tried obeying, we’ve tried sacrifice, we’ve tried devotion and war and self-righteousness, and what, NO GODS!!!
THE ANSWER: the answer may seem counter-intuitive, but that is the genius of it. We have to, all of us, ignore the gods. After a few generations (although my suspicion is that it would take less than a year or so—the gods are so fuckin’ vain) they’ll have to come down to prove themselves, explain where the hell they’ve been for these past millennia, do a few miracles or create new planets or something. And then, we have them. Personally, I’d prefer a simple beheading, but I know there are centuries and more of bad governance to atone for. I can understand the desire to torture, but somehow the gods always use suffering to their advantage. So I’d say, kill ‘em quick, send them all through a tree shredder, and feed the carnage to pigs and goats. I can’t imagine that anything coming out of goat or pig shit could stake any claims to divinity.
I’d like to think that god is dead, but I have yet to see a body. And until then, I don’t believe the concept of deicide should be retired. (Of course, until the god-fearers can produce a god, I don’t think we should waste our Sundays or Saturdays or whatevers either.)
Deicide: to kill one’s god, or I guess you could kill someone else’s god too—I think this strategy has been the Fundamentalists’ (of all persuasions) modi operandi and even raisons d’être since they first coalesced into factions.
SO HOW CAN YOU KILL A GOD?
Most people assume that gods are immortal, but anyone who watched (or read, but so few people seem to know how to read these days that I’ve about given up on that medium—and yes, I understand the irony, but until I get a film deal or a TV show or can even figure out YouTube, I am confined to this space) the Lord of the Rings should have realized that the Elves are immortal but a broad axe or arrow are perfectly effective of ending their journeys through Middle Earth.
Face it, gods can die. Ask Jesus the next time he happens to walk down the road to Emmaus. Or Osiris, if you can find all his parts (my guess you can probably find him in an afterlife court suing Jesus for plagiarism). And the Greeks and Aztecs and Hindus and pretty much everyone else seems to have dead gods somewhere in their genealogies.
So if gods can die, why do we not hear more about deicide? Excellent question. Once the first couple gods died, the rest got nervous. Face it, you create a bunch of people, screw with their lives, and then expect them to idolize you? Gods figured out rather quickly that their best defense was hiding, first up on mountains and in the oceans, then in the sky, and finally so far out in space that Voyagers I and II won’t find them until long after we’ve gone extinct. Every time one comes on the planet, they get killed. Name one that has come on the planet and stayed … See?
So if all these gods are in hiding, how can we get one down here to kill? That, dear Watson, is the real enigma. We’ve tried obeying, we’ve tried sacrifice, we’ve tried devotion and war and self-righteousness, and what, NO GODS!!!
THE ANSWER: the answer may seem counter-intuitive, but that is the genius of it. We have to, all of us, ignore the gods. After a few generations (although my suspicion is that it would take less than a year or so—the gods are so fuckin’ vain) they’ll have to come down to prove themselves, explain where the hell they’ve been for these past millennia, do a few miracles or create new planets or something. And then, we have them. Personally, I’d prefer a simple beheading, but I know there are centuries and more of bad governance to atone for. I can understand the desire to torture, but somehow the gods always use suffering to their advantage. So I’d say, kill ‘em quick, send them all through a tree shredder, and feed the carnage to pigs and goats. I can’t imagine that anything coming out of goat or pig shit could stake any claims to divinity.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
KILLING MIMES: SALACIOUSLY SILENT
For those of you who were concerned that my radio silence indicated that one of the millions of readers whom I have offended may have killed me, such worries are ill-founded.
For those of you praying that I had died, “Cry aloud: for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing [which is the KJV’s polite term for “bowel movement”], or he is in a journey, or peradventure, he sleepeth and must be awaked” (I Kings 18: 26), I am still here. I guess moving mountains is easier than getting rid of heretical bloggers.
No, I was so depressed by the failure of my riddle in the last post, that I figured I needed to take out my aggressions. So, when all else fails, kill someone.
Now since my lack of wit was the source of my anxiety, I figured I should kill a comedian, but that seemed cliché and predictable. Alas, that led to more depression, so I gave in a killed closer to home than I would recommend, but still far enough away that no one will find me out.
As chance would have it, I was out driving looking for something enticing, when what should I happen upon but a mime school. That was my epiphany, my Road to Damascus moment. I went to the nearest Target (which does not endorse or even acknowledge this site) and bought a pair of black pants, a black and white, horizontally striped shirt, a red bandana, and a black beret, et voilá! I zipped back to the studio, slipped my favorite stiletto in my sock, and enrolled for Beginning Mime: Fermez la bouche!
After about five minutes struggling to get out of my box, I realized I had a key in my pocket and proceeded to walk out of my box, to the gesticulated horror of the rest of the class, who had no idea the boxes even had doors. I strode to each box, opened it, and slit the neck of each mime, who, alas, was forced to scream in utter silence, as if lost in the vacuum of space. Have you ever seen a mime on a cell phone, talk about worth the five minutes in the box. As the first mime died, the rest, stuck in their boxes, dialed on their cells, but could say nothing. And then, one by one, the entire class was reduced to a carpet of black, white, and red. And oh, such beautiful silence.
Feeling much better, but not wanting to pass up such an perfect opportunity, I continued down the hall to the more advanced classes, Advanced Mime: Annoying in Public, and Graduate Mime: Welcome to Poverty and Scorn. But could any of these figure out the Mime-Cellphone conundrum, no, not even the professors, who too fell quietly into that silent night.
So, if you call your local mime studio, looking to take a class, and find that it has been closed, or that no one answers the phone (as if a mime studio should have a phone anyway), you know at least what has happened.
The moral of this story, when you get down, kill a mime, when you get really down, take out the whole damn mime studio.
The other moral, if you keep praying for god to kill me or get me to stop writing, clearly your god sucks and you should find a new one. Or maybe your god is a mime and is stuck in a box or simply can’t talk. Who knows? Maybe I’ll discuss deicide on a later post.
For those of you praying that I had died, “Cry aloud: for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing [which is the KJV’s polite term for “bowel movement”], or he is in a journey, or peradventure, he sleepeth and must be awaked” (I Kings 18: 26), I am still here. I guess moving mountains is easier than getting rid of heretical bloggers.
No, I was so depressed by the failure of my riddle in the last post, that I figured I needed to take out my aggressions. So, when all else fails, kill someone.
Now since my lack of wit was the source of my anxiety, I figured I should kill a comedian, but that seemed cliché and predictable. Alas, that led to more depression, so I gave in a killed closer to home than I would recommend, but still far enough away that no one will find me out.
As chance would have it, I was out driving looking for something enticing, when what should I happen upon but a mime school. That was my epiphany, my Road to Damascus moment. I went to the nearest Target (which does not endorse or even acknowledge this site) and bought a pair of black pants, a black and white, horizontally striped shirt, a red bandana, and a black beret, et voilá! I zipped back to the studio, slipped my favorite stiletto in my sock, and enrolled for Beginning Mime: Fermez la bouche!
After about five minutes struggling to get out of my box, I realized I had a key in my pocket and proceeded to walk out of my box, to the gesticulated horror of the rest of the class, who had no idea the boxes even had doors. I strode to each box, opened it, and slit the neck of each mime, who, alas, was forced to scream in utter silence, as if lost in the vacuum of space. Have you ever seen a mime on a cell phone, talk about worth the five minutes in the box. As the first mime died, the rest, stuck in their boxes, dialed on their cells, but could say nothing. And then, one by one, the entire class was reduced to a carpet of black, white, and red. And oh, such beautiful silence.
Feeling much better, but not wanting to pass up such an perfect opportunity, I continued down the hall to the more advanced classes, Advanced Mime: Annoying in Public, and Graduate Mime: Welcome to Poverty and Scorn. But could any of these figure out the Mime-Cellphone conundrum, no, not even the professors, who too fell quietly into that silent night.
So, if you call your local mime studio, looking to take a class, and find that it has been closed, or that no one answers the phone (as if a mime studio should have a phone anyway), you know at least what has happened.
The moral of this story, when you get down, kill a mime, when you get really down, take out the whole damn mime studio.
The other moral, if you keep praying for god to kill me or get me to stop writing, clearly your god sucks and you should find a new one. Or maybe your god is a mime and is stuck in a box or simply can’t talk. Who knows? Maybe I’ll discuss deicide on a later post.
Friday, October 1, 2010
KNOCK ‘EM DEAD
Why is it when someone tells you to "knock 'em dead," they get so upset when you do it?
Anyway, back to the post for today. Since so many of you think this site gets a bit heavy at times, I'll try for a bit of levity:
What do you call a person who commits the perfect murder?
Who.
(Also acceptable: I don’t know.)
Anyway, back to the post for today. Since so many of you think this site gets a bit heavy at times, I'll try for a bit of levity:
What do you call a person who commits the perfect murder?
Who.
(Also acceptable: I don’t know.)
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