Why do Sick Fucks Do Sick Fucking Things?

Alternate Title: Our Base Desires Can Make People Do Really Awful Shit


I'm not even going to attempt to touch on the horrible tragedy that occurred at a certain screening of a certain movie in an unnamed state in the U.S. I haven't the words or the scope of imagination to even consider tackling that particular mess. However, it leads to the broader topic of mentally disturbed wierdos and the mentally fucked-up things that they are prone to doing. Most of us can only look at individuals like these and say, "What the fuck, man ... seriously. What the fuck?"

I couldn't possibly list all the depraved shitbags out there who have perpetrated awful deeds throughout the years: their numbers and crimes are literally immeasurable. But the atrocities that they commit are flavored by three general forces: Lust, Greed, and Hate. From war to sexual homicide, this Holy Trinity of unpleasantness are always the building blocks of the mania behind the violence, the cornerstones of a vast mansion of madness. Think about it -  it's true, man. Lust, Greed and Hate - they infiltrate a human's perceptions of events, people and places around them. Then, they take root and start to fester away down there in your subconscious, the place that takes all the information in that your brain receives and busily knits it all into a quilt of perception of the world you live in. The quilt your subconscious was knitting begins to rot and unravel: it becomes a jagged tapestry of violent patterns and disconnected imagery. Now, lust, greed and hate are not necessarily bad concepts, not at all -  they're not even exclusively human frailties. But they can be poison when allowed to sit and fester. They'll fuck you up.

It's not at all uncommon for a person to become so unhealthily obsessed with an idea or feeling that it eventually drives them mad. That shit happens all the time, and unfortunately, this can sometimes result in people getting dead. It's very scary to think that, at any time around you, some poor soul might have popped a few bolts loose in the ol' brain-pan ... and now they're thinking some very bad shit. Yep, makes you want to invest in a suit of armor, sometimes ....



Why Won't You Stay Dead?







There it is, plastered across the broad, stubbly face of that middle-aged construction worker walking ahead of me. It's that look you always give me, that knowing side-smirk with one eyebrow arched - you fucking ghoul, why won't you stay dead? How many times do I have to kill you before you'll finally stay dead?




I follow you in your new guise for blocks and blocks; past pizza parlors and massage joints, pawn shops and liquor stores with bars on the windows. You appear to the disinterested world around you to be a blue-collar man on his way home after a hard, blistering day in the sun. I know that's a dangerous deception. You're a demon, a soul-eating monster from beyond imagination and reason. How many times have I driven you from this world? I've lost count.




Finally, you turn a corner onto a single-lane street, hot and empty. I run the last steps between us with my hammer raised and a roar on my lips. In this final, fleeting moment you feign confusion and terror; I ignore this familiar ruse and rain the righteous blows down upon your skull. As I walk away from your twitching husk, I put the hammer back in the plastic bag, and I rapidly stroll around the corner and make my way to - wait! I caught it from the corner of my eye, I almost missed it. The young girl with the stroller on the opposite corner ... her sideways smirk, an arched eyebrow ... steeling myself, I pull out the hammer again.

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