Prologue
It seems everybody that pulls an intervention on me accuses me of not listening. Not true!
I remember some conversations with my Mom, here are a couple when I was five or six;
“You need to be home by midnight or I am going to tell your father!” Or;
“What ever possessed you to pull a stunt like that?” (I hated the word “stunt”–there was so much spittle at her volume–I preferred “spontaneous acts of irresponsibility” even though it caused a bit more spittle, it was face saving in a strange sort of way.)
There were a couple maternal threats about fire starting, hygiene, and fratricide (I was the oldest…) but the one line that looks like it may come true (and the theme of this post);
“If you continue to hang out with the wrong crowd, you are going to end up in prison, just like….”
“Like who?” I asked.
“Nevermind.” she replied.
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Last Monday (seven days ago) I hung out with one of the worst crowds known to undercooked poultry–ended up in the hospital and somebody is going to pay–I suggest you pay attention because I am serious. And I am not talking lawyers here…
Over the past week I have watched every Charles Bronson movie, every Steven Segal movie, and have a new life long idol: Buford Pusser–how could I not? As one skilled in the art of woodworking, his skills are obvious and enviable (I wish he would he would have left plans for his stick);
The crowd? Here’s a pic;
Salmonella–a bad crowd for sure–trust me. (Note: The fat bastard towards the upper right-hand corner is the leader.)
Before the hospital visit, the Emergency Response Team from my local fire department paid me a visit. They all looked like a bunch of 6’4″ flat-bellied actors in rubber gloves playing fire department guys. My wife was VERY impressed–offered to cook them a Thanksgiving dinner on the spot if they would stay.
They asked me a bunch of questions that were hard to comprehend while in the curly fry position. I passed on the ambulance ride and fifteen minutes later found myself in the hospital–man those lights were bright.
Never saw my doctor–eyes hurt from the light but I do remember her asking me;
“John, can you provide us a stool sample?”
“What? How am I supposed to that?” I painfully moaned.
“I am going to give you a cup and you need to hold it to catch the sample–I know it sounds gross–can you do that?”
“Gross? You got to be kidding me. Next time you are at home watching the NatGeo special on killer volcanoes on your HDTV, flip the screen upside down and imagine holding a cup under one of those volcanoes–ain’t gonna happen. Just treat me for everything that kills humans–I have insurance with a high deductible.” I remember thinking.
The next four days were not fun. Typically when I am sick, I turn on Jerry Springer and am cured instantly but not this time–this was bad–I had to man-up and assume the killer volcano curly fry position for four straight days. Did I mention that I was shaking like a paint mixer the whole time?
I knew I was getting better when revenge entered my consciousness and I discovered Buford.
These movies were all the training I needed or wanted, but I didn’t know if I had it in me to kill. I do–can’t wait actually. And I don’t care if this blog entry incriminates me, prison is a Cabos San Lucas timeshare compared to what I survived (turned out to be a killer version of Salmonella but luckily I owe so many people money that my will to live is off the charts–isn’t that awesome?)
When you decide to become a killer like me, you have to plan carefully–unlike woodworking. You have to carefully decide who the victim will be and PLAN for their demise. You can’t just blast 400-500 people off the planet in hopes of being successful. PLAN. And I do have a plan. And I definitely have a victim (“assignment” to those of us in the know…).
Thanks to Bufford Pusser, I will not rest–maybe not blog again–until I find the guy that invented single ply toilet paper–you have my word he will be fatally harmed in the messiest possible way.
–John
