Well, it is time to spout off some more lies in order to make people feel good about themselves and better serve my fellow man. My preference would be to pull out a Mossberg Maverick eighty-eight and unleash a magazine or two of steadily shot hollow points into the unsuspecting faces of the whore sheep that herd closer and closer together with their: cameras, tape recorders, notepads, and all the other mental masturbatory devices used to record falsities. I stand here, fingering the podium; shuffling papers; ready to hang myself. Press conferences bore me but you know what they say, "sometimes—" Well, you know how it goes.
Look at them. I have literally become God to these people over night. Just like the Hebrews in the day of Moses, these slaves of Western idealism and disengaged consumerism have been itching for someone to release them from their unnecessary bondage. The only difference between these twits and the Hebrews is that the Hebrews supposedly didn't deserve it. I wasn't there so I can't really say but I know this—these dolts deserve every bit.
Five till ten. All right man, pull it together. See, this is always my problem. I get so worked up thinking about the true purpose behind my endeavor that I become lost in my own world of genius. It's time to put on the dead smile and suck the souls out of this ignoramus crowd. My toe taps rhythmically—always a good sign. There must be at least a hundred reporters stuffed into this tiny lobby, staring at me like dogs tend to do. Look at that obtuse blob. He should paint himself white, add a couple dozen black dots, and change his name to Roley. And her—would it kill her to tame that frizz just a bit? I guess I didn't realize that this was an open invitation to fast food gluttons and creatures from the Black Lagoon. God help me.
Four till ten. I stare at the floor, trying to hide any tell that might give away my true intentions of destroying all of these worthless kumquats, their children, and their children's children. It's not that I wish any true harm to the youngsters of this world. It's more like I'm offering a gift of salvation—something that would deliver these kids from their future misery. As for the accursed adults, shame on them for bringing excess lives into their society of excessiveness.
Callahan, the organizer of the event and monetary provider of the cause, steps up and quiets the crowd. I wouldn't mind jumping on his back and grabbing that hideous imperial moustache with both hands. Then I could ride him like the ass that he is and spur him in the side until his kidneys fall out. I know it's not often acceptable to say such things about a well respected politician and former war hero that funds your project but come on, he's still a politician, which means I've got lines in the wrinkles of my scrotum straighter than Nietzsche over there.
Listen to him. He speaks like a constipated baboon. He can't even say "rhinovirus" right. I guess it could be "rheenovirus" if you're an autistic child playing checkers by yourself under a bridge. Sweet boneless Christ. How long does it take to explain the rudimentary processes I utilized to form the cure? It's not rocket science. It's just an answer to the oldest virus that has plagued man since day one: the common cold.
He's starting to wrap it up. Okay, focus. Whatever you do, just don't go mad and start blurting obscenities at every media rapist in sight. Keep cool, Doctor. But I ever so badly want to watch them spontaneously combust now. Six years after they take my vaccination seems entirely too long. I've never had a knack for patience. Oh great. They're clapping. I wish a band of Roman soldiers would just burst through the door and nail each and every hand of all these overwhelming charlatans to one giant blood-splattered cross. Okay, no more of that.
The claps stop and I swallow a nice pool of saliva that I've been saving a while to ensure my mouth doesn't dry out. Then, I switch it to autopilot and I start to speak. I don't even know what I'm saying. I just read as I imagine the audience being avid Fleetwood Mac fans, singing, "Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies. Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies." What’s hurting them more—this or the truth? Honestly, I don’t care.
Showing posts with label disgust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disgust. Show all posts
12.27.2007
12.08.2007
Mammoth Christmas Party 1956: From Left to Right (Part 7)
THE SCIENTIST
Seven faces.
Well, six and a half faces. Four women -- three men. A couple partially empty bottles of champagne, pearl necklaces, and an empty chair in the foreground.
The couple on the right is the most mysterious. Their backgrounds, their minds -- all is off limits to a certain extent. Everyone else at the table thinks they know this couple but rest assured, they don't. They are a power couple but they don't flaunt it. Instead, they just do and leave it at that. No need to talk, no need to gloat, and definitely no need to make themselves spectacles. The man on the outside, who refuses to fully expose his face, is the ringleader. He does not want his face in this picture. The only reason he looks at the camera, partially showing himself, is to not draw too much attention. If he were completely missing, that would be a little too suspicious. He has much too much on his mind to focus completely on the camera.
This party is the fruition of his plan and his wishes. He has a very unique relationship with each individual. The Soldier and he served in the war together; only he was the lieutenant rather than just a private. Although the Soldier has no idea, this man witnessed many of the secrets and ritual killings that took place overseas. The lieutenant had observed from afar but never been noticed and never brought it up. They remain friends but the lieutenant is utterly disgusted with the private that served under him -- completely disgusted.
He was a close friend of the Socialite's parents. The mother had confided in him many a time that she suspected something peculiar between her husband and her daughter. Naturally, he comforted her and reassured her that it was an absurd presumption. When he later heard about the murder, he knew that he had given false comfort. In his heart, he knows that the surviving young woman was the cause for two deaths and yet she acts as if nothing ever happened. She sees him as a sweet longtime family friend that has always offered support. His disgust runs deep for the socialite. He sees her as a human abomination.
The Satanist was a cute that he ran into outside one day while he was walking his Labrador. They became relatively good friends. He would invite her over for tea, cigarettes, and the occasional gin. It was a nonsexual relationship that involved mostly a good amount of talking about everything from popular culture to politics to what America has become in the last fifty years and where it will be in the next fifty. It was a beautifully healthy relationship until spirituality entered the picture. He made it well known that he believed in an all powerful creator, although he was unsure whether or not the ideas believed in the Judeo-Christian world were enough for him. The conversation took a turn when he mentioned that the idea of a fallen angel trying to fight against God was a preposterous notion. "It would be like a house cat trying to fight a good sized dog," he said. The Satanist forced a smile but that was the last time she came over. Two weeks later, the man's Labrador disappeared from the front porch area of his house. However, there was a black house cat tied to the dog's leash. He knew exactly what had happened but he never brought it up in the sporadic subsequent conversations that took place later on. She would always smile and he would smile back. Deep in his heart, he knew what she was and she disgusted him.
His relationship with the Sophisticate was an interesting one to say the least. They had known each other in the early years of the Sophisticate's horse racket. Offering his connections and vast leads, he helped his friend’s business flourish. They were stellar partners. After that run ended and the Sophisticate was hanging by a thin thread, the man offered him a job. He kindly thanked him but refused the offer because of his pride. So instead, the man gave him some money, which did not need to be paid back, in order to reestablish himself. Later, the man heard that the Sophisticate was back on his feet with a new late night business. This brought a smile to his face. He was happy to have helped someone in need and eager to see what his money had been put toward. As soon as the man walked into the Sophisticate's new office, he left -- disgusted.
For a number of years, he had a relationship with the Saint because she often was his teller at the bank. He liked her as a person. She was cordial, personable, and had a good spirit. Many a time she would talk to him about Christianity but never in a pushy way -- he liked that. He never swayed toward her beliefs but he respected them because he so highly respected her. When he found out that she had married the Sophisticate, he also found out that her sister-in-law was the Satanist. He could not believe that someone so sweet could be so naive. How could she be involved with such a disgusting pair? From then on, he ceased going to her at the bank. Her ignorance disgusted him.
This is a man who loves his wife. She is the only one who truly knows him. Everyone else thinks him to be a businessman, or a retired military man, or just an intellectual. But in actuality, he is a devoted scientist who refuses to expose his talent and livelihood to anyone -- except for his wife. After all, she is his creation. After his encounters with all of these people at the table, he lost his faith in humanity and decided that only an artificial being could satisfy him. Really though, he created her as a tool -- a tool to destroy the ones who had so jaded his perception. For years, he has been planning this event. This is the third and final Christmas party that all of these individuals will attend together. They're comfortable and unsuspecting. The time is perfect. After this picture is taken, the rest of the guests leave, and it is just their table left drinking some late night beverages mixed with a powerful sedative, he will murder every last one of them.
He knows that his wife plans to murder him after the others are gone. She doesn't know he knows but that's because she is only a machine. That is why he will force her to kill herself in front of the others so that those scarred by suicides will rekindle their horror. Then he will systematically kill the rest, starting with the Satanist -- the piece of filth that stole his dog. That way, everyone will die having been a witness to, or at least affected by, a suicide and a murder. Next will be the Socialite. She will be spinning after seeing another woman murdered. It will conjure up memories of his parents. Her death will hurt the Soldier. Then the man will tell him that he knows his secrets and witnessed his ritual killings. Then he will slice the Soldier’s throat. The last two left will be the Sophisticate and the Saint. The man will kill the Sophisticate and speak to the Saint as she cries. He will explain that these were all terrible people and that she should have known better. And right when she thinks that God will save her because she is the only good one there, the man will tell her that she will not want to go on living with these kinds of images burned into her memory. Then he will kill her.
At that point, he will use his knowledge of science to dispose of the bodies and completely clean the scene of any evidence. After that, he will take a small dose of cyanide and take a nap in a large incinerator because he will not be able to live with himself. He will know that what he did was just but his mind will never be the same and no achievement will ever live up to the complexity and precision of this particular plan. In the end, it will simply seem as if none of them ever existed. The earth will be rid of seven corrupt individuals and the abuse of life will be replaced by necessary death. And no one will remember the Mammoth Christmas Party of 1956.
Seven faces.
Well, six and a half faces. Four women -- three men. A couple partially empty bottles of champagne, pearl necklaces, and an empty chair in the foreground.
The couple on the right is the most mysterious. Their backgrounds, their minds -- all is off limits to a certain extent. Everyone else at the table thinks they know this couple but rest assured, they don't. They are a power couple but they don't flaunt it. Instead, they just do and leave it at that. No need to talk, no need to gloat, and definitely no need to make themselves spectacles. The man on the outside, who refuses to fully expose his face, is the ringleader. He does not want his face in this picture. The only reason he looks at the camera, partially showing himself, is to not draw too much attention. If he were completely missing, that would be a little too suspicious. He has much too much on his mind to focus completely on the camera.
This party is the fruition of his plan and his wishes. He has a very unique relationship with each individual. The Soldier and he served in the war together; only he was the lieutenant rather than just a private. Although the Soldier has no idea, this man witnessed many of the secrets and ritual killings that took place overseas. The lieutenant had observed from afar but never been noticed and never brought it up. They remain friends but the lieutenant is utterly disgusted with the private that served under him -- completely disgusted.
He was a close friend of the Socialite's parents. The mother had confided in him many a time that she suspected something peculiar between her husband and her daughter. Naturally, he comforted her and reassured her that it was an absurd presumption. When he later heard about the murder, he knew that he had given false comfort. In his heart, he knows that the surviving young woman was the cause for two deaths and yet she acts as if nothing ever happened. She sees him as a sweet longtime family friend that has always offered support. His disgust runs deep for the socialite. He sees her as a human abomination.
The Satanist was a cute that he ran into outside one day while he was walking his Labrador. They became relatively good friends. He would invite her over for tea, cigarettes, and the occasional gin. It was a nonsexual relationship that involved mostly a good amount of talking about everything from popular culture to politics to what America has become in the last fifty years and where it will be in the next fifty. It was a beautifully healthy relationship until spirituality entered the picture. He made it well known that he believed in an all powerful creator, although he was unsure whether or not the ideas believed in the Judeo-Christian world were enough for him. The conversation took a turn when he mentioned that the idea of a fallen angel trying to fight against God was a preposterous notion. "It would be like a house cat trying to fight a good sized dog," he said. The Satanist forced a smile but that was the last time she came over. Two weeks later, the man's Labrador disappeared from the front porch area of his house. However, there was a black house cat tied to the dog's leash. He knew exactly what had happened but he never brought it up in the sporadic subsequent conversations that took place later on. She would always smile and he would smile back. Deep in his heart, he knew what she was and she disgusted him.
His relationship with the Sophisticate was an interesting one to say the least. They had known each other in the early years of the Sophisticate's horse racket. Offering his connections and vast leads, he helped his friend’s business flourish. They were stellar partners. After that run ended and the Sophisticate was hanging by a thin thread, the man offered him a job. He kindly thanked him but refused the offer because of his pride. So instead, the man gave him some money, which did not need to be paid back, in order to reestablish himself. Later, the man heard that the Sophisticate was back on his feet with a new late night business. This brought a smile to his face. He was happy to have helped someone in need and eager to see what his money had been put toward. As soon as the man walked into the Sophisticate's new office, he left -- disgusted.
For a number of years, he had a relationship with the Saint because she often was his teller at the bank. He liked her as a person. She was cordial, personable, and had a good spirit. Many a time she would talk to him about Christianity but never in a pushy way -- he liked that. He never swayed toward her beliefs but he respected them because he so highly respected her. When he found out that she had married the Sophisticate, he also found out that her sister-in-law was the Satanist. He could not believe that someone so sweet could be so naive. How could she be involved with such a disgusting pair? From then on, he ceased going to her at the bank. Her ignorance disgusted him.
This is a man who loves his wife. She is the only one who truly knows him. Everyone else thinks him to be a businessman, or a retired military man, or just an intellectual. But in actuality, he is a devoted scientist who refuses to expose his talent and livelihood to anyone -- except for his wife. After all, she is his creation. After his encounters with all of these people at the table, he lost his faith in humanity and decided that only an artificial being could satisfy him. Really though, he created her as a tool -- a tool to destroy the ones who had so jaded his perception. For years, he has been planning this event. This is the third and final Christmas party that all of these individuals will attend together. They're comfortable and unsuspecting. The time is perfect. After this picture is taken, the rest of the guests leave, and it is just their table left drinking some late night beverages mixed with a powerful sedative, he will murder every last one of them.
He knows that his wife plans to murder him after the others are gone. She doesn't know he knows but that's because she is only a machine. That is why he will force her to kill herself in front of the others so that those scarred by suicides will rekindle their horror. Then he will systematically kill the rest, starting with the Satanist -- the piece of filth that stole his dog. That way, everyone will die having been a witness to, or at least affected by, a suicide and a murder. Next will be the Socialite. She will be spinning after seeing another woman murdered. It will conjure up memories of his parents. Her death will hurt the Soldier. Then the man will tell him that he knows his secrets and witnessed his ritual killings. Then he will slice the Soldier’s throat. The last two left will be the Sophisticate and the Saint. The man will kill the Sophisticate and speak to the Saint as she cries. He will explain that these were all terrible people and that she should have known better. And right when she thinks that God will save her because she is the only good one there, the man will tell her that she will not want to go on living with these kinds of images burned into her memory. Then he will kill her.
At that point, he will use his knowledge of science to dispose of the bodies and completely clean the scene of any evidence. After that, he will take a small dose of cyanide and take a nap in a large incinerator because he will not be able to live with himself. He will know that what he did was just but his mind will never be the same and no achievement will ever live up to the complexity and precision of this particular plan. In the end, it will simply seem as if none of them ever existed. The earth will be rid of seven corrupt individuals and the abuse of life will be replaced by necessary death. And no one will remember the Mammoth Christmas Party of 1956.
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