You know this. I've alluded to it more than once. I'm out of the woods. I have been surging forward both professionaly and personally. But, you see there is something in me, dear reader, that will never go away. And for the past two weeks I haven't slept very well, my eating habits have changed, and I've had the urge to just punch the shit out of somebody for almost no reason and without the slightest hint of remorse or regard for the well-being of anybody around me.
Why the sudden change? Why the sudden craving for destruction?
You ever see a caged lion turn on it's trainer and just maul the face off of him? It's not because the lion "went bad" or that the trainer did something to provoke this. Check this out:
 Bear Attack Caught on TVThis video clip shows a bear attack caught on tape! A lady is a guest on a TV show when she is attacked by a bear. |
Now, what would make that bear just ruin that ugly lady? The answer is nothing, and that is essentially my point. The bear and the lion don't need reasons to do what they do. It is what they were born to do and it is what they were put on this goddamn Earth to do. I have been on a leash of good food, external stimulation, and regular adult funtime. Like any wild animal, I feel as if I am once again in touch with the venom inside me, and none of you are safe. A short list of people who should watch their ass:
Objective: Rid the world of douchebaggery
Target: Spencer Pratt
Weapon of Choice: Piano wire, blunt object
Implementation: Using the blunt object (think 2x4 with a nail in it), render victim semi-unconscious. Explain to him that people in this world have to earn their money, not just marry some broad with a set of store-boughts and show up at clubs. Piano wire does the rest.
Projected outcome: Go old-school, leave the body in front of a Hollywood club frequented by wanna-be starlets and douchebags as a message. Work for your money like your parents did, you self-absorbed pricks
Objective: Bring back everything good about sports
Targets: David Stern, Roger Goddell, Bud Selig, Gary Bettman
Weapons of Choice: Bamboo Shoots, Gasoline soaked trashbag, duct tape
Implementation: Explain to all parties (after being strapped to conference room table) that they are all guilty in ruining what is left of American sport culture. Bamboo shoots inserted in fingernails as I tell them everything they have done to wrong us all in the past years. Selig making our nation and our national sport even more of a joke than our foreign policy. Goodell housing more felons than a federal penitentiary. Bettman for taking a fast and exciting sport and running it into soccer-level attendance. And Stern because for one, I hate the NBA, and two for making his superstars so lazy that we can't even win gold medals anymore. Use gasoline soaked trashbag to cover heads, render all near death, but keep alive to fix everything. Also, have them all void contracts with ESPN, because Chris Berman, Steven A. Smith, and Tony Kornheiser should all be writing columns for some no-name paper in Bumblefuck, Arkansas.
Objective: Bring back exciting television
Target: Whoever stopped running "To Catch a Predator"
Weapons of Choice: That crazy guy with the knife strap-on from "Seven"
Implementation: Pretty simple really. Go the route of John Doe in aformentioned movie and make the show come back. So what if a couple of kiddie-porn fanatics killed themselves as a result of that show. As far as I'm concerned, it served its purpose. You show up at a house with a twelver of condoms and wine coolers, maybe you should off yourself. That's all I'm saying. Let's not forget how much better we all feel at the end of a shit day when we can all say "Well fuck, at least I'm not the kind of guy to drive a hundred miles for some 13-year-old's berry patch." I have at least some decency. Furthermore, why are all the dudes on that show Indian (dot not feather) computer programmers? Can anybody tell me that?
That's all I got for now, but you people better start looking under your bed at night and asking whatever religion you prescribe to for some serious reconciliation, 'cause the kid is coming, and he's almost out of his Xanax.
Sleep tight, fuckers...
R Von D
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