guns don’t kill people, roving hordes of chainsaw-wielding hellbeasts do

Well, well, well; who do we have here? I’ve been expecting you, old friend. You see, while there aren’t many advantages to having spent so much time inside your head, one of the few is the fact that I can predict your every move in this deadly chess game we’ve been playing for years now. It became particularly easy to stay several moves ahead of you once it became clear that your predictability is exceeded only by your idealism. So you can see how I was able to deduce the plan brewing in your naive 17 year-old brain to construct a time machine to come and kill your 35 year-old self once you started to suspect what an incredible asshole you would one day become.

I am impressed that you were able to pull yourself away from your drum circles and pleading with passersby in the street to sign your Greenpeace petitions long enough to master time travel, but what a pity that you wasted the technology to this end, rather than profiting from it. Better you had employed that brainpower to further the unending quest for power and wealth that will propel your future self to the top of his- your? my? our? oh, it doesn’t matter- profession, and all the attendant spoils, like these outrageously expensive alligator shoes.

You’re only making it more difficult for yourself. Put down the gun and embrace your future as a cutthroat son of a bitch who will crush anyone in your path. Don’t struggle, as I once did, with the slow erosion of the ethics of your youth on your way to the top; make peace with it, as I have. My actions in public so often elicit exclamations of, “Nice going, asshole!” that the phrase has lost most of its intended meaning for me, for I have learned that when you’re an asshole, the going is always nice, because assholes always win. Don’t blame me, my young patchouli-scented former self; blame the capitalistic society that created me by superficially discouraging asshole behavior, while simultaneously rewarding it in ways that far exceed any penny-ante admonition from an elderly woman I might steal a cab from on any given rainy day. In fact, I think I may have my name changed to reflect that, thereby completing the transformation from the unrealistic expectations of my young ignorance. Yes, that would look nice on a business card: “Nice Going Asshole, Attorney at Law”. Now, if you’ll please stand still while I press this button underneath my desk, I believe you have a date with a trap door and the ravenous, man-eating alligators waiting for you underneath it. They came with the shoes.


2 Responses to “guns don’t kill people, roving hordes of chainsaw-wielding hellbeasts do”

  1. August 5, 2010 at 10:03 am

    the alligator shoes are just . . . love ’em.

  2. 2 Your Brother
    August 5, 2010 at 11:11 am

    was this inspired by the Wal Mart guy that I tried to coax into fighting me?

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August 2010
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