The Angry River

The Angry River


I believe there is nothing wrong with blasting a young girl off a balcony because she is taking a photo of her fucking plastic coffee cup on the handrails set against the backdrop of a cloudy November morning. If anything should ever fall under the vague and vapid category of ‘common sense’, this would be it. There is simply nothing lost there. They will tell you about every single child desperately shoving a crayon up its nose, how it will become a world-famous brain surgeon and how this is evident by both the method and choice of colour he picked to lobotomise himself at an early age. The truth – and not the sad truth, since it really isn’t sad, mind you, except if you are into pedagogy, and if you are: fuck you – is that most people are wankers. If you think this is my entire character summed up in a nice court-proof statement to convince even the most extreme gun-wanking fascist of the guilt of a white man, then guess again.

I say, “blasting off a balcony”; but how can you be truly sure? Most people have violent and murderous thoughts ever second of their lives. The guy in the train, say, because your coffee smelled better than his. If you go by car it should be evident that everyone wants everyone else dead as fast as possible. Preferably before they started driving to work and clogging the highway. Gun rather than car key on the dresser and then a quick paint job for the bedroom. I am not calling for a genocide of twats, but rather a more open discussion of our desires. If we could just flat out say “I want to rip your ribcage out of your fucking body and beat Erica from accounting to death with it right now.” We could all get along better. It is the stored-up hatred that eventually gets to you. Stop with the empty “how are you? – fine” – shite, it is getting us nowhere. Let me show you right now. As I have been sitting there – few days ago at best – and thinking about our current issues, a young man came up playing music on his phone, but not directed through some white strangle-inviting headphones into his empty brain chambers, but into the room, as if to impress us with his fine palate for music. And like someone haggling for a lower price, you always start a bit lower than what you actually want, right. Therefore, I bashed the guy’s skull so hard against a concrete pillar it cracked, and then did it again, I actually wanted one to suffice but he wasn’t having any of it, and afterwards it was just embarrassing as he was leaking out of every orifice imaginable, so I just threw him down the central staircase, a rather steep staircase I might add. And you can’t say the guy didn’t put in some work as he managed to make it down five floors before his body was too twisted to fall effectively anymore and he just lay there looking oddly out of place.

Stop right there! You think I went too far. I can fully understand that, but put yourself in my shoes for once. Skull bashing is too much for you? Then maybe only talk about skull bashing with him and see what you can both make out of it. If it doesn’t work, literal – rather than metaphorical skull bashing – is still an option. Win win, if you ask me.

Another thing: Did you know that people get surprisingly unsettled from walking too close behind them? Well they do and that is why I made it my new hobby. Whenever someone is just too much of a shit, I line up behind him and follow him around, just right inside his comfort zone, like a surprise hate-march. This ends in one of two ways and – you guessed it – both involve skull bashing. Either the guy stares awkwardly at you like you just broke wind or he menacingly turns around and shoves you around. I usually then ask what they want to do with me, but since their anger is innocent and virgin-like, it is just something along the lines of “just piss off, man”. And you know how that song ends.

Let me tell you about another thing, we still got the time after all. I was sitting around and then this group of gobshites shows up. One guy and two chicks, not even hot ones, those artsy hipster cunts, you know the ones: Messy hair, but they did it on purpose, huge glasses even though they can probably see just fine. You get the idea. So anyway, they sit down a few feet from me and this guy talks so bloody loud, like he is trying to hold an impromptu speech or something. And this may sound ridiculous to you now, but small metal parts all around the room must have started vibrating from this and then this metal sounds tunnels its way into your brain like a fucking powerdrill fuelled by bad rhetoric. First moving the flesh out of the way, then putting the drill right on the skull, but a skull is slippery – you know: from all the blood of the previous skin – so the drill slips a few times and you feel every single slip. Finally, when it got a decent way into the bone there is not a big threat of slippery, only the annoying feeling of drilling remains. It gets harder and harder towards the end since these modern things are predestined to break down so you have to buy 10000 new ones with more lurid colours and fancier adjectives. The last bit is always pushed through and never properly drilled. A violent thrusting breaks the virgin skull and come to think of it the experience is very similar to a pubescent teen trying to jam his cock into parts he should not be going into. The brain does not feel pain and the drilling is now little more than a thought and that may be worse than everything before. You know there is a metal cock swirling gayly around in your brain turning it into scrambled eggs and you don’t even feel it. All you can do is blankly stare ahead and acknowledge it happening. You see the mouth of the guy moving, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down like it too is making attempts to get out of this embarrassing situation. So, with the drill still sticking in your head (make sure not to trip over the cable) you simply walk up to him – that’s what I did, not saying it is the only way to deal with something like this – jam your glass bottle (plastic is shit for the environment anyway) into his throat. First you must break all the teeth to make room, and leave it there for a second. Then cut open the throat – and I will spoil things a bit – and find out the Adam’s apple is actually not a thing. It’s a bit of bone, it is not a ball or something like that at all, you can’t just take it out and free it. So, break the bottle and get a nice sharp edge until you can behead the guy and while it is not necessary it is a lot easier. Then you have all the time to cut – it is much more sawing, actually – the Adam’s apple out and set it free. One good deed a day. You get what I am saying?


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