Are
you a good person? I know that you probably tell people you are and that you
might actually think you are but if you were to look deep down inside yourself
would you really find someone that you would be proud of? Are you the type of
person that you wish your son or daughter would bring home to marry? Or deep
down are you a piece of shit in the cloak of a saint? We will get to that later on…
How far apart is the one who thinks about
murder compared to the one who actually commits it? It is a simple question but
one that I doubt you have ever thought of before. Is their soul already in hell the moment that the
thought lasts more than a split second running around in their confused heads? Who do you think is worse, the guy who spends
all of his free time thinking about showing up to work one day armed with an
assault rifle and turning the place into a fucking meat factory but gets side tracked somewhere along the way or
the poor schlep who just finished up a sixty hour work week, at some job that
he never really wanted in the first place but took so he can provide for his loving
family, to come home and find the love of his life wife bouncing up and down on
the gardener’s cock, loses his cool for a split second and kicks the gardener in
just the right spot on the temple only to find himself facing twenty five years
to life in a cute little cell somewhere upstate? He thought he was doing
something nice coming home early to surprise the mother of his children with a
nice bouquet to start the weekend and the next thing he sees is tiger lilies
and baby breaths covered in blood and spittle. You may say it is an act of
jealous rage but can we really refer to it as murder?
Now
what really becomes of our little friend while he festers in the minuscule
concrete cubicle with barely enough room to sweat? We will get back to him later because while
he is in there staring at the bars the hostile employee will continue to dream
about his day of reckoning. He starts out small beginning to think about what
exits he might have to end up using in case his melee does not go as it was
planned. He laughs at these ideas at first
just telling himself that it is nothing more than silly fantasy. But his mind
continues with this game and he takes it a little further with each of their offenses.
It does not really matter why he wants to do this heinous act. Overlooked for
that big promotion?. Too many ribbings at the water cooler? He starts to size
up his fellow employees at the office, thinking about which one of them might
actually be a threat to him. Who out of
this group of fucking weakling derelicts actually would have the nerve to stand
up to a gun wielding psychopath with nothing but a bloody rampage on his mind? There is Steve to consider, the onetime jock
who spends every morning in the gym staying in shape and doing all that martial
arts and kickboxing shit, nothing a bullet could not distinguish, he is the
only true obstacle in his way. In a
perfect scenario he must be disposed of first before anyone really knows what
is going on. Not only is he a pretty big
guy but there is a chance he has the balls to back it up and the last thing
that he wants is for his spree to be stifled before he even gets a chance to
put an exclamation point on his opus.
Blake, Bill and the big guy “Timbo” are a bunch of two beer queers who
will most likely curl up into ball underneath their desks. They are all talk in
front of the women of the office, spewing shit about being tough when they go
out bar hopping and not taking crap from anyone. Hell, if everything was to go as planned
“Timbo” might actually blow chunks or empty out his bladder right there in the
office on the coffee stained floor.
Which even I think is quite fitting, any asshole who adds the suffix
“bo” to the end of his name deserves to throw up and embarrass himself in front
of his co-workers just once so they have something to fuck with him for the
rest of his life if he miraculously survives the rampage. Maybe he will spare
him just to leave him with a life of ridicule…
Our
other friend who just happened to have the unfortunate fate of marrying a
putana with a taste for El Salvadorian landscapers experiences some culture
shock at first but begins settling nicely in his new surroundings and the day
to day routines that go along with being incarcerated. For a while he retraced
all the wrongs that he did in his life, wondering what he could have possibly
done wrong to warrant this payback. But those thoughts like most just seem to
fade away. He learns the hard way and real fast that the currency in a place
like this is much different than it is outside in the real world. When you are serving hard time the normal
five or ten dollars have now been conveniently replaced by hand jobs,
cigarettes, anal and oral sex and everyone’s all time favorite, junk food
purchased at the commissary. This honest
man with only one blemish on the behavior record of his soul is an alien in
this environment; the worst crime that he has ever willingly committed was
letting his inspection sticker on his sedan run out. He would get up for an
elderly woman on the train and always lent a hand to a friend in need but he is
quick to learn that these attributes mean shit inside the big house. The longer
he sits there surrounded by these animals he begins to ponder maybe just how
mundane and boring his old life used to be.
Fuck, this jump suit is soft and comfortable and besides, it used to
take him two or three times to get his tie right in the morning anyway. Oh you would be surprised that there are some
benefits to serving this type of time; it
is nice to know that you no longer have to worry about your credit report, when
is the next time that the tires on that piece of shit car of yours need to be
rotated or being sure that you tip the neighbor’s irate ugly kid the correct amount before your daily paper starts
ending up three inches from the curb covered in dog piss instead of the welcome
mat in front of your door. The things
that you thought would force the world to tilt on one side should they become
uneven. These petty little things that one time not too long ago ruled your
whole world, these miniscule little laughing matters that you assumed the galaxy
was based on have now been replaced by trying to avoid getting anally raped,
keeping an eye out for that violent someone who just might be trying to shank
you and figuring out just how many Twinkies you are going to need for another
week’s worth of protection without putting your muscle man into a fucking
diabetic coma.
While
our honest husband hardens a little bit more with each day, our distraught
employee takes some more baby steps toward his life’s greatest
achievement. He goes on line and visits
gun shop as he researches all different types of side arms, which ones reload
the quickest, how many bullets can certain guns hold if you go ahead and
purchase the extra clip which also happens to add comfort, sweet bonus!!! And
which ones are known to have the least amount of problems with jamming because
the last thing that he needs is starting his rampage only to have the kibosh
put on it because of a faulty gun. He
spends his nights online investigating the quickest way he can acquire a permit
and his weekends visiting all of the local trade shows seeking the perfect
solutions for his problems. He does not
purchase the death machine just yet but goes ahead and picks up all the little
attachments and doo-hickies first. He
buys that really cool extra big freaky looking survival knife, the same one
that you see Rambo use to kill a small country of brown skinned people
with. He makes sure to even buy some
sturdy rope to tie up those who treated him alright so they can still watch the
slaughter of the scum bags but be out of harm’s way. He even wanders over to the local flea market
and picks up a pair of handcuffs for the portly guy who might break the rope; what
the fuck is his name… who cares? It took him a little while to find a pair that
did not have pink ruffles and glitter on them.
The
skin of our once happy go lucky husband has now thickened to that of sun baked
clay. All those scenes and images that
had once repulsed him to the point of actually vomiting, he has now learned to
stomach without so much of looking away or a blink. Then after some more time passes by he begins
to actually enjoy witnessing some of these scenes and finally when enough time
has passed he becomes the aggressor, he becomes the one who is inflicting the
pain. He becomes the feared, the man that others seek for protection because he
no longer cares anymore and nothing is more dangerous than a man with nothing
to lose. When he first arrived at this concrete cube his days moved as slow as
molasses pouring from a Bell jar in January but that will all change too. Time is no longer an object for him, it doesn’t
exist in here. Quickly with a blink of an eye his weeks will blend into months
and he begins to forget more and more of the outside world that he was so much
a part of before entering this new realm of insanity. There were countless things that he once
found quite enjoyable; like the sound of a train applying its brakes slowing
down to come into the station, a sun shower with the rain cooling you off in
the summer when absolutely nothing else will and of course one of his favorites
being the sight and screams of countless children running after an ice cream
truck… the memories which now elude him. All that he knows now is pain and
hate, how much is needed to get what he wanted and just how much he can inflict
without getting in trouble and that is what he begins to thrive off of.
After
the years have passed and all is said and done, and this now jaded ugly man
serves his allotted time to society he is let loose only to be released into the
world which no longer recognizes him and one in which he doesn’t recognize any
longer because it differs so much from what he has become accustomed to. It is also a society that has no space for
him and no acceptance of him due to the fact that he is a convicted felon, a society
which no longer welcomes him to be a member. They consider him a threat and a
loser; he is dangerous to the social well being of their society regardless of
what actually went down in that master bedroom with the huge maroon flowers on
the shams so many years ago. He will
find countless doors being shut in his face and work near impossible to find
because he will wear the tattoo of shame that comes with being an incarcerated
man. Nobody cares that he served his time and paid his so-called debt to
society, no one even cares about the truth or his side of the story. In their
opinion of him, once a criminal always a criminal. All they see is some thug who they do not
want as an employee, neighbor or in-law.
When
the frustration is too much for him to take anymore and he does act up and
break parole, everyone is so surprised as if this is coming from nowhere. They blame the penal system for failing, they
get mad that the prison system does not rehabilitate but instead creates a
stronger and smarter criminal. And this once loving family man is now quickly
becoming a statistic that will continue to bounce to and from institutions
until he is a harmless old man, no longer a threat to anyone. He will be a life
wasted, potential thrown away. You will
pity him when you see him eating the daily chef’s special all by himself at the
counter in some grungy diner and you’ll quietly question aloud ‘how did this
man end up in this predicament’? Then
you will get a little frightened when you start to wonder if maybe someday you
can be that guy sitting at the diner counter all by yourself silently hoping
that someone strikes up a conversation with you because it has been so long
that you have spoke to anyone besides the voice in your head you fear that you
might have lost use of you vocal chords. Men like this will not live to a ripe
old age, collecting his pension and rocking back and forth in their favorite
chair, the parole system does not have much of a health care program and could
give two fucks if this guy sees another day as long as he does not commit
anymore crimes. He will pass away alone someday
in a filthy apartment located in the shittiest part of town. No one will be out
there pounding the pavement looking for him and after weeks have passed by the
only reason that he is even found is because the guy in the apartment upstairs
could not withstand the smell of rotting flesh any longer. Of course, there was
no article in the paper remembering his life.
Our disgruntled employee
has a much different fate than are incarcerated friend. He does go ahead and purchase that gun. When
his wife takes the kids food shopping he pounces around his house with his new
toy and plays quick draw with the man in the mirror as if he was Gary Cooper. He
was upset about being forced to wait the mandatory background check period but
after that he was excited about getting down to work. He loads up his shiny Bill Blass suitcase, the
one his wife was so happy to put his son’s name on the tag when she gave it to
him for his first day at the new position, with all the ammunition that it can carry
without being too heavy. He wants to make sure that he has enough fire power to
take out as many people as he needs to but at the same time he cannot be slowed
down by anything that is bulky. He is so proud of himself for thinking of this
and at one point even thanks God for putting the thought into his head. He wraps the knife around his leg like the
muscle bound freaks in movies do as if he is about to go into the Congo and
then continues to walk out the front day just as he has every weekday for the
last seven years and five months. The
drive in to the office is just as normal as any other day except his mind is
running through his plan over and over like a quarterback trying to memorize a
new play book.
Except his destiny now takes an unexpected
turn, one that he never counted on, one that will affect the lives of many… his
piece of shit car gets a blow out. With all of his planning and time spent on
this the last thing that he thought of was his ride to work, fuck, in all the
years that he has worked there he does not remember ever being late due to car
trouble. He is fumbling and nervous and
this doubles when he notices the donut he kept in the trunk was taken out last
year to fit beach chairs for his aunt’s annual barbecue and he never bothered
to put it back. He tells himself
everything will still go to plan as he waits for the tow truck but deep down he
knows the dream has died; he has completely lost his nerve and is damn well
convinced that it will never come back. He
begins to laugh a little bit and then he finds himself disgusted by the thought
of what he was prepared to do to his co-workers only minutes before and is
downright frightened with himself for how far he let this crazy fantasy go. Tears
roll down his face uncontrollably as he contemplates what he was moments away
from doing. He decides to call in sick that day and after the repair of the
tire he freaks out a little more about his plan and tosses his arsenal into the
lake he has passed on his way to work every day for the last seven years. He stops
at a strip mall and picks up some take out on the way home and spends the rest
of the day watching Twilight Zone episodes that he has already seen a thousand
times but never grow old.
Now
let me ask you a question my friend; who do you think God was really with on
that fateful day? Did he decide to shine his grace on our angry employee who
was stopped before sending his soul towards eternal damnation? Or his co-workers from the blood bath that
awaited them at their cubicles? Then
there is the bigger question; was this disturbed man’s soul sent to hell
immediately following the moment that he decided to go on through with this
heinous act?
Here
we are shown two separate men. Both of
them received different fates. Does one deserve to spend eternity in hell
anymore than the other? Hasn’t one of them already been through hell wasting
away in that jail cell? This is my
journal, it will be the first entry of many that are part of a rehabilitation
designed to help me get back and these are the thoughts that go through my
head. Is it hot in here or am I crazy?
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