Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity.
- Graffiti
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Relative Peace
You call this relative peace
The war is done.
Mission accomplished.
And yet, the bodies fall as the coffins fill.
When you can’t see an enemy you can’t fight a war.
The fight rages on.
Is this good enough for you ‘cause it sure isn’t good enough for us?
What’s the point,
If you create more destruction than peace,
If the hatred grows,
How can you call this relative peace?
The war is done.
Mission accomplished.
And yet, the bodies fall as the coffins fill.
When you can’t see an enemy you can’t fight a war.
The fight rages on.
Is this good enough for you ‘cause it sure isn’t good enough for us?
What’s the point,
If you create more destruction than peace,
If the hatred grows,
How can you call this relative peace?
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Pulse
The music pulsated in his veins as he walked, seemingly in slow motion, through the multitude of people. As he walked through the gyrating crowd, a woman in red gave him a smile and a quick wink. He smiled back and continued on. He walked over to the bar, ordered a glass of water, and swallowed it all in one breath. He then proceeded to the back, passing the DJ. As he stepped up onto the official dance floor, which was continuously changing colors, he gave a quick glance up to the office above the floor. He watched as two people entered the office and one man simultaneously closed the blinds. He walked over to the first door, which was being watched by two large guards. Still in stride, he pulled out his wallet and handed each guard one hundred dollars. Without hesitation, they let him pass. He continued up the stairs and looked away from the video-surveillance camera. As he neared the door to the office, he took the fake VIP card that he had made the previous night out of his blue jeans. He showed the card to the guards, they examined it and then opened the door for him. He stepped in to a darkly lit room with a desk in the corner and chairs surrounding what seemed to be a quite expensive glass table. Three people, including Mr. Barborosa, were sniffing lines of cocaine and barely noticed him enter. Mr. Barborosa caught movement from the area near the door and reached for his gun on the table. Too late for you Mr. Barborosa, he thought as he pulled his silencer and put three bullets into Mr. Barborosa’s forehead. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one man scrambling for the door as the other reached for his gun in his coat jacket. He systematically shot the man in the side who went for the door and the other man only managed to fire one poorly aimed shot before receiving two bullets in the heart. With the last sound of the muffled silencer firing in the darkness, the shooting temporarily ceased. The noise created from inside was loud enough to bring the guards from outside the door to burst into the office, weapons drawn. He dove behind the two-inch-thick steel desk as the guards began firing their automatic weapons at him. The expensive tapestry on the wall was filled with countless holes, the glass figurines on the table were shattered, and the paper on the desk was shredded and flew around the room in a storm not unlike a blizzard. He heard the ominous click of an empty clip and coolly raised his head and shot one of the guards between the eyes as he looked up in fear. The other guard ducked behind the chair, reloaded, and began spraying more bullets across the wall. With his back to the desk, he noticed Mr. Barborosa’s hand crafted shotgun adhered to the steel with clips. He pulled the shotgun out of its clips and waited patiently. Once again, he heard the click. He then dove over the desk, rolled over to the chair and as the guard stood up to see, he sprayed the guards chest all over the door. He stood up, put another clip into his silencer, and walked over to the office window. The guards he had handed hundred dollar bills were nowhere in sight. He picked up Mr. Barborosa’s handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and wiped the door handle of the blood. He walked down the hall only to meet the other guards. They raised their guns and fired. One bullet piercing the plaster next to him, temporarily blinding him as the dust shot out of the wall. He shot one guard in the knee and the other in the back, fracturing his spinal cord. The one hit in the knee fell to the ground, only to be shot in the back of the head. He walked out onto the dance floor, wiped the dust from his eyes, and put away his gun. He then proceeded to the woman in red, got her number, and then left the club into the cool, crisp night.
Friday, November 19, 2004
The Monthly Funnies
It is here that I will post the funniest quotes I have heard this month. Hope you enjoy 'em.
Mr. Burns: And remember, the heart is the strongest muscle in the body.
Homer: Really!? I thought it was the weiner because I saw a guy on tv who lifted a can of paint.
Mr. Burns: And remember, the heart is the strongest muscle in the body.
Homer: Really!? I thought it was the weiner because I saw a guy on tv who lifted a can of paint.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Strange Parallels
"Of course the people don't want war. But after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger."
-- Herman Goering at the Nuremberg trials
-- Herman Goering at the Nuremberg trials
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Within Reach
Who are you,
to tell me who I am.
Who are you,
to tell me what I should be.
I own myself.
But you thought I was within your grasp,
But I was farther than you could imagine.
I feel your pain,
but I do not cry for your tears.
to tell me who I am.
Who are you,
to tell me what I should be.
I own myself.
But you thought I was within your grasp,
But I was farther than you could imagine.
I feel your pain,
but I do not cry for your tears.
Monday, November 15, 2004
An American Ballad
I'm hangin' by a thread,
Always counting up the dead,
Watching as the cost
goes up and up.
Look who has to pay the price,
With a roll of the dice,
Another's gone in the fight,
lost to the sky oh yeah the sky.
And yet there isn't anyone,
Held responsible for what's been done.
Are we doing what is right,
Or is this just a big mistake.
Will you take me in your arms,
Please kiss me when I come
home sweet home.
It comes to a point,
Where it's only one big fight,
For who is wrong and who is right.
And we are forgotten on the field,
Alone,
And hangin' by a thread.
Always counting up the dead,
Watching as the cost
goes up and up.
Look who has to pay the price,
With a roll of the dice,
Another's gone in the fight,
lost to the sky oh yeah the sky.
And yet there isn't anyone,
Held responsible for what's been done.
Are we doing what is right,
Or is this just a big mistake.
Will you take me in your arms,
Please kiss me when I come
home sweet home.
It comes to a point,
Where it's only one big fight,
For who is wrong and who is right.
And we are forgotten on the field,
Alone,
And hangin' by a thread.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Scream
I awoke.
I opened my eyes. I saw white padded walls all around me. I was lost. I knew not where I was or how I got there. I panicked and threw my arms into the air. Dear God, I can’t move my arms! I looked down to see my body clothed in white. I was in a straight jacket. My brain frantically searched for an explanation. I heard a loud, piercing scream come from the small space under the door. Then I remembered. And I smiled.
I traced my steps to the very beginning in Chicago where I successfully completed my first cleansing of the world. I entered into a home full of worthless brats and pigs. It was a family of three; the father was a greedy businessman who I happened to work for. He stole every year about one million dollars from under the boss’s nose. He lived richly while the low class individual who worked overtime for mere scraps of food to fill his plate watched in agony. One day I followed him home, having to take off early to do so. He entered his Lexus and drove home to his mansion in Lake Forest, an extremely rich suburb of Chicago. I saw him get out of his car and go into the house where I watched with binoculars as he hit his wife for no reason. This disgusted me. I then saw a stupid, fat, drooling child of around twelve playing on his playstation in the living room as his mother was being beaten nearly in front of him. Then the commotion wound down and I waited again. Soon, a group of males came to the house, picked up my boss and took him out. Around half an hour later, I saw another male pull into the driveway to be greeted by the mother. I saw them kiss and walk up the staircase. They reentered in the upstairs bedroom. After fooling around by the window, who I assumed was the boyfriend, closed the drapes. After two hours, the male left, and an hour later the husband came back drunk. He beat his wife again, then proceeded to the child, and then got bored and passed out on the couch.
I then set my mind in motion on how to cleanse the world of such filth. I reasoned that the best way to cleanse the world was by murder. People like this existed all over the world and needed to be stopped. I pulled my gun out of the glove box that I had always used for protection purposes only, loaded it and began walking to the front door. By now it was around eleven o-clock and pitch black outside. I rang the doorbell. The husband never moved in the coach. I heard noise upstairs as the wife moved to the front door. She opened it and I shot her in the forehead. My boss moved slightly but I shot him three times in the chest. He did not move after that. I proceeded to the child’s room upstairs. I entered the room. The room appeared empty but the TV was on with another game on the screen. I searched in the room but found nothing. I then looked in the bathroom where I saw him in a "certain position" let’s just say for the purpose of being politically correct. His headphones were on and had heard none of the four shots. He looked at me in astonishment and embarrassment trying to tuck it away. I then shot him several times in the chest.
I heard sirens in the distance, left the house, and got into my car and left. I had felt exhilarated and felt a burden lifted off my shoulders. I went to work the next day listening to the news about the family I had killed. The police had found no prints or any physical evidence of any kind. I realized how reckless I had been and began changing my ways of murder. Anything could have let them know it was me. I now had to be careful. I will make it clear now that I am not insane. I am the cleanser of the world and doing you a mere favor. I was born to fulfill this duty. Several months later, it was discovered that my boss had been stealing millions and coworkers of mine felt that god had worked his punishment. I was now the punisher on a mission from god.
I cleansed the world for ten years. Each family carefully chosen and executed. I quit my job and lived off the welfare checks. I planned for months for each kill and felt that I knew each pig’s thoughts and emotions. After two years one bright FBI agent finally linked all the murders that had been spread all over the country. Soon, they followed a lead that connected my whereabouts to every state that one of the murders took place in. One afternoon I was in a hotel when the police and FBI staked out the hotel. I barely noticed them until the last moment when the bellboy was looking shifty. I ran. I had never felt more scared in my life. I hated being scared. I exited out the back door, managed to shoot the officer leaning against the concrete wall, shot a civilian at the nearby stoplight and got into his car. The car chase lasted for six hours down the city streets of Philadelphia. I had traced an escape route never thinking I actually needed to use it, but it worked in the confusing residential neighborhood.
Thus began the eight-year manhunt that traversed the country. They tried everything to get me only succeeding when they sent a picture of me onto all of the big network television stations which forced me to be on the move all the time. I became worn down and volatile. They had found my weakness, sleep deprivation. I fell asleep at the wheel one morning at dawn, crashed, and woke up in custody at the police station. I managed to almost escape killing one FBI agent before being stunned. That is last thing I remembered, I was probably drugged and questioned but I don’t remember anymore. In total I had killed sixty-eight people, around eighteen or nineteen families. I was so invincible, unstoppable. I was god’s punisher and I did a damn good job of it. Now I was stuck, certainly for life. I smiled as I remembered my great work.
And then I heard another scream from under the door, and became scared. God I hate being scared.
I opened my eyes. I saw white padded walls all around me. I was lost. I knew not where I was or how I got there. I panicked and threw my arms into the air. Dear God, I can’t move my arms! I looked down to see my body clothed in white. I was in a straight jacket. My brain frantically searched for an explanation. I heard a loud, piercing scream come from the small space under the door. Then I remembered. And I smiled.
I traced my steps to the very beginning in Chicago where I successfully completed my first cleansing of the world. I entered into a home full of worthless brats and pigs. It was a family of three; the father was a greedy businessman who I happened to work for. He stole every year about one million dollars from under the boss’s nose. He lived richly while the low class individual who worked overtime for mere scraps of food to fill his plate watched in agony. One day I followed him home, having to take off early to do so. He entered his Lexus and drove home to his mansion in Lake Forest, an extremely rich suburb of Chicago. I saw him get out of his car and go into the house where I watched with binoculars as he hit his wife for no reason. This disgusted me. I then saw a stupid, fat, drooling child of around twelve playing on his playstation in the living room as his mother was being beaten nearly in front of him. Then the commotion wound down and I waited again. Soon, a group of males came to the house, picked up my boss and took him out. Around half an hour later, I saw another male pull into the driveway to be greeted by the mother. I saw them kiss and walk up the staircase. They reentered in the upstairs bedroom. After fooling around by the window, who I assumed was the boyfriend, closed the drapes. After two hours, the male left, and an hour later the husband came back drunk. He beat his wife again, then proceeded to the child, and then got bored and passed out on the couch.
I then set my mind in motion on how to cleanse the world of such filth. I reasoned that the best way to cleanse the world was by murder. People like this existed all over the world and needed to be stopped. I pulled my gun out of the glove box that I had always used for protection purposes only, loaded it and began walking to the front door. By now it was around eleven o-clock and pitch black outside. I rang the doorbell. The husband never moved in the coach. I heard noise upstairs as the wife moved to the front door. She opened it and I shot her in the forehead. My boss moved slightly but I shot him three times in the chest. He did not move after that. I proceeded to the child’s room upstairs. I entered the room. The room appeared empty but the TV was on with another game on the screen. I searched in the room but found nothing. I then looked in the bathroom where I saw him in a "certain position" let’s just say for the purpose of being politically correct. His headphones were on and had heard none of the four shots. He looked at me in astonishment and embarrassment trying to tuck it away. I then shot him several times in the chest.
I heard sirens in the distance, left the house, and got into my car and left. I had felt exhilarated and felt a burden lifted off my shoulders. I went to work the next day listening to the news about the family I had killed. The police had found no prints or any physical evidence of any kind. I realized how reckless I had been and began changing my ways of murder. Anything could have let them know it was me. I now had to be careful. I will make it clear now that I am not insane. I am the cleanser of the world and doing you a mere favor. I was born to fulfill this duty. Several months later, it was discovered that my boss had been stealing millions and coworkers of mine felt that god had worked his punishment. I was now the punisher on a mission from god.
I cleansed the world for ten years. Each family carefully chosen and executed. I quit my job and lived off the welfare checks. I planned for months for each kill and felt that I knew each pig’s thoughts and emotions. After two years one bright FBI agent finally linked all the murders that had been spread all over the country. Soon, they followed a lead that connected my whereabouts to every state that one of the murders took place in. One afternoon I was in a hotel when the police and FBI staked out the hotel. I barely noticed them until the last moment when the bellboy was looking shifty. I ran. I had never felt more scared in my life. I hated being scared. I exited out the back door, managed to shoot the officer leaning against the concrete wall, shot a civilian at the nearby stoplight and got into his car. The car chase lasted for six hours down the city streets of Philadelphia. I had traced an escape route never thinking I actually needed to use it, but it worked in the confusing residential neighborhood.
Thus began the eight-year manhunt that traversed the country. They tried everything to get me only succeeding when they sent a picture of me onto all of the big network television stations which forced me to be on the move all the time. I became worn down and volatile. They had found my weakness, sleep deprivation. I fell asleep at the wheel one morning at dawn, crashed, and woke up in custody at the police station. I managed to almost escape killing one FBI agent before being stunned. That is last thing I remembered, I was probably drugged and questioned but I don’t remember anymore. In total I had killed sixty-eight people, around eighteen or nineteen families. I was so invincible, unstoppable. I was god’s punisher and I did a damn good job of it. Now I was stuck, certainly for life. I smiled as I remembered my great work.
And then I heard another scream from under the door, and became scared. God I hate being scared.
The Beginnings
I now start my own extravaganza of fun and entertainment for all those little boys and girls out there. I hope you like it ... correction ... you will enjoy it.
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