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Thursday, September 1, 2011

day of pardon

Criminal vermin, gangster overlord - thug of every stripe - whatever your position in the constellation of assholes, today I extend my hand to you in salutation. Take it. It will not happen again. Ordinarily I would arrange for you only a firing squad, but today, in a gesture of magnanimity, I salute you human to human. I say to you: how do you do? How is business? How was it beating the crap out of that teenager you sold on to become the plaything of a sheik or drug-lord?
On a regular day I would devise ways to set your ass on a spike, like in Spartacus (the-movie), and I would think how best to rally a rabble of townsmen to bombard you with rocks and leftovers. And in the evening, because I am studious, I would consult reference books at the public library to draw inspiration from the Middle Ages and the great “practitioners” of the Inquisition. But on this exceptional day of pardon, I find it in myself to commend you as an entrepreneur and a risk-taker in times of economic hardship.
Likewise, to the crack-dealing mutherfucker, I extend a kind hand of brotherhood and I say to him: How fare you gentleman? How is business in this underprivileged neighborhood? And I ask the toothless junky slobbering on himself behind me if he would please wait his turn so that I may take my time to bid this crack-dealing mutherfucker farewell.
Perhaps I will not sustain this magnanimity an entire day. Perhaps even as I take leave of this crack-dealing entrepreneur, I might already be devising ingenious ways to give him a taste of his own medicine: a slow-release, salami-sized butt-plug filled with his own product, so that this gentleman may feel in a single “sitting” the combined experience of a thousand of his loyal customers.
But no, you see, today I salute this mutherfucker, as I salute the politician and his slut, the backroom-banker (one to wage war under false pretenses so the other may kill for profit). To such kleptomaniac gangster assholes I extend a salutatory hand, knowing full well I am looking at a diseased soul with a God-complex; knowing full well that I will be scrubbing this hand with soap and hard bristles at home. You see, pressing the flesh with such a man is like clutching a hand-shaped volume of vomit. But this he will never know, nor will he know that the smile on my face is not real, just a great feat of dissimulation and self-control.
I will do my utmost, you understand. Even the most dastardly mutherfucker in the great constellation of assholes will be greeted cordially. Today.