R/T/M Read online

  Do what you’re going to do. But don’t apologize after you’ve done it.

  Apologizing is supposed to imply that given the very same situation, you would have done things differently.

  That’s just impossible.

  What apologizing should really mean is that you did what you did because it made sense at the time, but now, having done it, you realize that it was a bad idea, and you’ll try not to do the same thing in the future.

  I never understood the concept of guilt or remorse about things that you already did.

  Maybe that’s part of what makes me who and what I am.

  I wasn’t always like this.

  I didn’t always do the things that I do now.

  That would have just been ridiculous.

  No one is born a racist.

  No one is born a rapist.

  No one is born a molester.

  No one is born a murderer.

  Not that I’m a racist or a child molester.

  And just so you know, I didn’t torture animals when I was a child.

  Actually, I’m quite fond of animals in the abstract.

  It’s humans that I’m not so big on.

  I like animals and children in much the same way.

  I like to hang out with them and play with them.

  And not play with them like, sexually, but like playing fetch or roughhousing.

  I like visiting other people’s pets and children, but I know I don’t want either for myself.

  Keeping an animal prisoner in your home for your amusement just seems cruel.

  I know that most people take good care of their pets, but it just doesn’t sit right with me and I’m not going to change my mind, so we may as well move onto something else.

  Like going to the zoo.

  Keeping animals in cages so that the human animals can come and look at them.

  It’s like they’re being punished for being interesting.

  You wouldn’t do that to people.

  Well.

  You wouldn’t.

  That’s why I appreciate earning the friendship of stray cats and wild animals.

  Any interested asshole can pet a friendly dog, but it takes a certain kind of calmness and patience to get a squirrel to trust you enough to come close enough to take a peanut from between your pinched fingertips at the end of an outstretched hand at the end of an outstretched arm.

  And just so you know, my sexual development was pretty natural.

  And by natural, I mean it progressed organically in fits and starts from curiosity to experimentation to a relative proficiency until I was a fully functioning adult member of sexual society.

  Most people that do what I do are supposed to be sexually dysfunctional.

  I’m not a confused and frustrated homosexual filled with self-loathing.

  I don’t think there’s anything wrong with homosexuality.

  I just hate it when homosexuals make a big deal about their homosexuality.

  I don’t make a big deal about my heterosexuality.

  I wouldn’t put a sticker on the back of my car proclaiming my heterosexuality.

  I wouldn’t get together with a bunch of other heterosexuals and march through the streets of the city to demand respect for or demonstrate the merits of heterosexuality.

  Whatever.

  In a thousand years we’re all going to be asexual anyway.

  Oh, and that whole thing about crimes against women being a result of frustration at being unable to achieve or maintain an erection, and the frustration that this inspires causing them to vent their frustration as sexual violence against their victims doesn’t apply to me.

  People that do what I do are alleged to be sexually dysfunctional.

  I am not impudent, impotent, or suffering from “erectile difficulty”.

  I think that the people that presume to know what motivates their behaviors have absolutely no idea what motivates those behaviors.

  I don’t do what I do because I have a broken penis and I’m using a weapon as a replacement for my erection and metaphorically penetrating my victims.

  I’ve never had a hard time getting a hard-on.

  If anything I get them too often.

  I’ve jerked off at every job I’ve ever worked.

  Not in the line of duty, that kind of shit will get you fired or arrested.

  But if I get a break, you can be sure that I’m milking one out in some relatively private and secluded place. Usually the restroom, but I’m not picky. Anywhere dark with a lock on the door will do.

  And I know what you’re thinking.

  Yes. I did work in the “food service industry”.

  But I never put a load into the ingredients.

  Every Burger King there’s some crazy motherfucker that just has to put his own special ingredient into the mayonnaise or the “secret sauce”.

  Not me.

  I always shot my load into the sink or toilet and washed my hands afterwards.

  I may be certifiably insane, but jizzing in the foodstuff? That’s just icky.

  I’m not physically impotent.

  I’m emotionally impotent.

  I’m a receptive, perceptive, inventive, and compassionate lover when I want to be.

  I understand how other people feel.

  I just don’t care.

  I have just as much fun making love as I do making hate.

  It’s all the same to me.

  What I do is different than sex.

  It hasn’t replaced sex for me.

  It’s different.

  I still have sexual desires and express them in a relatively normal manner.

  But sometimes I take things one step further.

  To me it seems the next logical step, but maybe you’ll disagree.

  I crossed a line that few do.

  Maybe everyone else doesn’t feel compelled to take that step.

  It wasn’t like it was something that I planned.

  I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions.

  In a way, what you do makes you who you are.

  But maybe I’m an example of the next evolutionary step in the development of humanity as sexual beings.

  Maybe I’m just more evolved than everyone else.

  More self-actualized.

  I didn’t have a fucked up childhood either.

  My mother didn’t dress me in girl’s clothes and call me a girl’s name because she always wanted a little girl.

  Yes, my parents hit me. But not any more than anyone else’s and a little less than some. Back then everyone’s parents hit them, and in the unlikely event that I ever have kids, I’m hitting them too. Well, at least when they deserve it. There’s just something about a smack upside the head that gets the message across a lot better than “taking a time-out”.

  The way that people raise their children now is unnatural.

  Our species has gone for ten thousand years disciplining their children with corporal punishment.

  And now these fruity new-age hippie parents think that they can just bust an improv and everything’s going to work out fine.

  They let their children think that they are the reason that the world turns and then are surprised when their kid throws a temper tantrum when they don’t get what they want.

  Even a fool should be able to figure out the reason for these annoying outbursts.

  These children are experiencing a natural reaction to disappointment.

  The frustration of desire.

  It’s like an allergic reaction.

  These spoiled little shits haven’t been immunized against the frustration of desire that everyone experiences everyday.

  Life is full of disappointment.

  Life is soul-stranglingly boring mediocrity scattered with brief moments of transcendent beauty.

  But without the perpetual suffering of existence, those brief moments of contentment and pleasure would seem less sweet.

  Without death, life has less value.
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  Doing what I do, I’m practically providing a public service.

  You should really thank me.

  Every time I kill someone, someone else thinks, “Fuck! That could have been me.” and maybe they try to live a more fully actualized existence.

  Probably not.

  They probably just shrug and go back to shouldering the weight of the world.

  But I don’t care.

  I’ll whistle while the church burns.

  I know what’s coming.

  What’s in store for the self-important parents of these self-centered children.

  If you don’t like the way that I look at life, wait twenty years.

  We’re going to be living like Logan’s Run.

  It’s going to be Soilent Green time.

  The human species will continue growing exponentially.

  There will be too many people and not enough resources available to perpetuate the human experiment.

  The kids that these parents worked so hard for, to make candy-coated golden sparkling rainbow bubbles for them to grow up in?

  Those same kids are going to toss them into industrial sized wood chippers and plow them into the ground so that they’ll have enough to eat.

  With the continual advance of medical science, people are living longer lives, but medical science hasn’t done much to prevent the deterioration of age.

  People are living longer, but they’re like mummies, or zombies out of a George Romero movie.

  They cheated death, and death in its disappointment lingers around them like a fart in a car.

  The old are the ghosts of the young. They’re already dead, but they just don’t know it yet.

  The social security system is already over-taxed by the unnatural extension of human life.

  The financial burden of the old on the young steadily increases.

  The age for retirement gets rolled back every now and then. But how long do you think the young will complacently tolerate being forced to sacrifice a steadily increasing percentage of their wages to support a class of society that, embittered by their dwindling vitality, think that their artificially enhanced ability to defy death makes them a privileged class entitled to all of the benefits of society without doing any of the work necessary to keep things running smoothly?

  With all of their complaining about the youth of today, they continually piss in the punchbowl of the hand that feeds them.

  Eventually the young and able are going to get sick of it.

  When do you think that resentment of the burden of supporting the elderly will eclipse parental fidelity?

  How long can you live on your knees, with someone else’s shit under your fingernails?

  The young will realize the old for what they are.

  Dead weight.

  The pilgrims had things worked out.

  They figured it out pretty quickly.

  There were those that thought themselves aristocratically predisposed and thought that working the land was below them. But after that first winter they figured things out right fast.

  “He who does not work will not eat.”

  Do you think that people have changed that much since then?

  The shit will hit the fan, and the planes will hit the buildings.

  I think it’s going to be great.

  I hope I’m alive when it happens.

  Only the smart, the quick, and the strong will survive.

  And as much as I’m as full of myself as anybody else that spends their lives covered head-to-toe in their own bullshit and convinces themselves that it doesn’t stink.

  As much as I rationalize how I’m different and special and better than everyone else.

  As much as all that, I’m not entirely confident that I’m going to be one of the ones around after the great instant death dodgeball game which is bound to occur when reality shows become reality.

  I don’t think I’m going to get eliminated in the first couple of episodes, but I’m bound to get voted off of the island given enough time.

  When the supermarkets have all been picked clean and left to rot and fall in on themselves.

  Sure I’m smart and fit and capable.

  At least a lot smarter than most people.

  But it doesn’t matter how smart you are when there are five guys that have their minds made up to take what you have for themselves.

  Your food or your woman or your life.

  Sure you can get some weapons. Some firearms.

  Stack the odds.

  Prepare for the inevitable.

  But when society implodes, even the bullet factories are going to stop running.

  No matter how strong you are, there’s always someone stronger or a couple guys that might not be as strong, but they’re willing to work together to take your ass out.

  You’ve got to sleep sometime.

  No matter how smart you are there’s always someone that’s smarter.

  Unless you’re fucking Stephen Hawking.

  But when the time comes, he’s going to be one of the first to go.

  A paralyzed guy in a wheelchair that spends his time daydreaming about outer space?

  That motherfucker better get a bulletproof bubble he can cruise around with that wheelchair in.

  He’d better have a bunker in his basement a mile underground with fifty years worth of food stashed away. And someone that’s willing to help him piss and shit in exchange for food and shelter. And even then, what’s to keep that person from letting good old Steve starve and rot in his own filth?

  The elemental goodness inherent in humanity?

  The natural tendency of people to “Do unto others” as they would have done unto them?

  Fuck that.

  You want to talk about the fundamental kindness of people, talk to a policeman, or someone that works at a home for children that have been physically or sexually abused, or someone that works at a rape-crisis center, or battered woman’s shelter.

  Or someone that works with drug addicts.

  Yeah. There are some real winners.

  You know the difference between an alcoholic and a heroin addict? An alcoholic will steal your wallet. A junkie will steal your wallet and then help you look for it.

  The irony is that after the fall, these human pieces of shit, they’ll be the ones that will take you out.

  All of those guys that you laughed at because they weren’t as smart as you were and had to take remedial classes?

  They will drag you kicking and screaming out from under the rock you’ve crawled under with your family and bash your head to a pulp while they fuck your wife and children and rifle through your pockets.

  You don’t think that some drug-addled asshole has what it takes to live in the brave new world waiting just around the corner?

  So close that the news reads like an advertisement for armageddon?

  So close that you can smell stale blood and the smoke of burning bodies and buildings in your dreams?

  You realize the amount of effort it takes to live a lie?

  To continually pretend that you’re something other than what you are so you can take advantage of people?

  They are the cockroaches of humanity.

  They’re not invincible. But they’re a lot more prepared for the collapse of society than you are.

  They know how to survive.

  How to lie and cheat and steal and remorselessly take advantage of others.

  How to do whatever it takes to perpetuate the empire of the self.

  When the police stop showing up for work and the military is too overwhelmed trying to keep their shit together and everyone stays home to try to protect their homes and families instead of yours.

  Those addicts that you turn your nose up at and make that sour milk face?

  Those drug-damaged brain-tumors of society?

  They’ll know just what to do.

  They’ll rape you and kill you and eat you.

  Not necessarily in that order.
/>   Not that I’m in any position to judge, but at least I’m honest about it.

  I know what I am.

  I recognize my natural tendencies and I follow them.

  Addicts always act as if their addiction isn’t their fault.

  That they’re somehow not responsible for their actions.

  The government spends a significant percentage of its budget each year fueling the machinery that administers to this considerable sub-section of our society. Throwing money at the problem and building more prisons when that doesn’t work.

  Statistical research indicates that 85% of heroin addicts that participate in Methadone Maintenance Treatment Programs return to the use of illicit substances.

  What does that tell you?

  The inability to control the yearning for drugs and alcohol is diagnosed as a medical problem.

  A psychological disorder.

  Espousing the philosophy that the predisposition towards addictive tendencies is reflective of an individual’s attempt to use illicit substances to try to establish a kind of mental equilibrium to address the body’s natural inability to maintain a natural psychological equilibrium.

  They’re diagnosed with anxiety, and depression, and manic-depression, and bipolar disorder resulting from post-traumatic stress because their parents used to hit them or because they were raped.

  And maybe that’s true for some people.

  But a little bit of stress is natural.

  There are whole parts of our genetic code that have been honed by thousands of years of evolution to deal with stress and anxiety and trauma.

  For thousands of years of human evolution, life has been merciless and unforgiving.

  The wolf has always been at the door.

  A change in the weather and the crops fail and everyone starves.

  Eat and you become hungry again.

  Sleep and you become tired again.

  Enough is never enough.

  Contentment is temporary and equilibrium is illusory.

  Sleep, health and wealth must be disturbed to be appreciated.

  Maybe drugs and alcohol and caffeine and nicotine are just convenient shortcuts.

  Maybe some people just like to get high.

  Have you ever done drugs?

  I’ve done my fair share.

  Have you ever drank enough that the sound of everything is dull?