I am not an animal, I am a hum-...no you're right, I'm an animal.

So anyway, I probably shouldn't admit this, but I think there's a certain appeal to being a contract killer. Sure there's no benefits package and the hours would be lousy, but at least you'd get to travel the world. I don't know, I just think that if I had to do things over again, there'd be a future for me in offing scumbags. Of course I have some standards, the most important of which being no children, and no women (unless they're particularly evil - perhaps say, of the Martha Stewart is the Antichrist variety). Wasn't that Leon's code in The Professional...yeah I think so!

Admittedly, it's morbid (to say the least), but I've often found that after a particularly bad day, there's nothing quite as invigorating as coming home, turning on the X-box with one of your classic run and gun type games, and start racking up a body count. My personal favorite is the Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell series...death by stealth adds a whole new level of thrill and excitement. The choices are amazing. You can either sneak up and knock a guy out, or sneak up and put a knife in his gut.........or, if you catch him from above, snap his neck.............or, snipe the guy out from 100 yards out...................or, just walk right up with your sidearm and put two in the fucker's head (my favorite). Still, if I could do this for real...I wouldn't need porn. I will also admit that given the current state of my physique, I am in no way capable of performing a job like this. But, since this is all hypothetical anyway, I could just assume that had I realized my interest earlier in life, I would have prepared better.

In all honesty, all things being equal, I think I could do this. One of my favorite movies is Grosse Point Blank. John Cusack has a line in it where he says that after taking the Army entrance exam, his psychological profile met with a certain "moral flexibility". That's me baby! I had said in a previous posting that I was a sadist, and I stand by that assertion. I don't think there's anything as pleasurable as the suffering of others. But again, I do have standards. They've got to have it coming. Even I don't want to see innocent, everyday, ordinary people hurt, or suffer, or die needlessly. Except Stella, that would be keen really. "Whom, may I ask, is Stella?", you're probably thinking. Stella, or rather Estella, was my old boss at the bank. I like to affectionately refer to her as the Evil Mexican Leprechaun from Hell. Now I don't normally have any prejudices against either Mexicans or Irish mythological figures (or beings from Hell for that matter), but put them all together and you've got one mean fucking little bitch. Imagine, if you will, hate...embodied in a short, crusty, conniving, backstabbing, generally unpleasant, middle-aged Latina cunt-whore, and you're starting to get some idea of what I'm talking about. She's what my dad would call, "One of those people that if they were on fire, I wouldn't piss on'em to put'em out!". Actually, I wouldn't personally do anything to her at all. I made an agreement with myself that if I were to ever win the lottery, I'd hire two large "family men" to take turns bending her over their knees and paddle her ass until it was blue. Damn, just thinking about that kinda gets me all warm and fuzzy inside...and not in the perverted, s & m sort of way. Liken it to the same sensation you get after an incredibly satisfying meal, or perhaps a compliment for an exceptional accomplishment. Anyway...

So does any of this make me a sociopath? Who's to say? Find me a shrink, put me on the couch for a couple of hours, at the very least I'll leave the office with a script for a large dose of Zoloft. The real funny part is...I only want to kill people! You couldn't pay me to hurt an animal. I'll eat cheeseburgers til' I'm blue in the face, but for Christ's sake don't tell me her name was Betsy. Hell, I freak out if I think I may have hit a bunny on the street. I cried for three days after my dog died (fuck you, that does not make me a pussy!). I've recently come to the conclusion that I need an outlet for this hostility...so I'm taking up archery. The idea of a gun club membership is all too tempting (bang bang mutha fucka). I think I could really take to archery, it's lethal, but at least they don't make people-shaped targets for practice. There's no way Robin Hood could've ever been an Irishman though...he would've been the first person in history to get so drunk that he killed himself with his own bow. Luckily, I'm a terrible Irishman...sure I don't fight either, but why fight when you can just blow the fucker away with a pair of nickel plated Desert Eagle .50's (I said goddammit those babies kick ass).

Is there any point to any of this...no...not really, I'm just venting. That's not to say any of it's not 100% completely true, but ventin' don't kill people......

......but I would if you paid me!