Blog: Killable me

(When It comes down to it, this is writing. And I'm at a bit of a roadblock otherwise.)


At one point in my life, I realized that maybe buying a ferrari was enough.
But no, not anymore.
Man, I can buy whatever I want!
You hear me?
Oh, you do? Really?
That's... okay... I think I'll just lie down here and tell you a happy story.

So, once upon a time I was very cautious about being sniped.
"But wait, Uncle Greaseskin," You say, "who would want to kill you? You're so lovable and fuzzy inside! And also, pretty damn unimportant."
Heh. Your ignorance makes me laugh. And good job noticing the fuzzy part. I was wondering when someone would notice how fuzzy my intestines are.
Anyways, the reason I was so cautious was because I am always at risk.
Sleeping? AT RISK.
Cooking? AT RISK.
Locked in a solitary confinement room with the only human contact being a robotic hand that provides me with rigorous sword-fights and machine-processed food? YOU BETTER BELIEVE I'M FREAKING AT RISK.
You don't think like a sniper. I don't either. I'm too kind and inside-fuzzy for that. But luckily I have a mercenary-for-hire/assassin/international super spy/cold-blooded murderer friend who I managed to interview. For her safety, Ill just be calling her by her middle name, X.

Me: Hey, wazzup [CLASSIFIED INFORMATION]? You enjoying being [CLASSIFIED INFORMATION] today?
X: Yeah. I'm pretty awesome at doing that.
Me: So, I wanted to ask you how being a mercenary-for-hire/assassin/international super spy/cold-blooded murderer works out for you. How does your mind think?
X: What? Uh, what are you asking?
Me: You know, your job?
X: No, that's not... my job. Um, actually I'm unemployed. I go to school with you, you know?
Me: Oo! You work nights, eh? Interesting.
X: No, I sleep at night.
Me: Then you... sleep-mercenary-for-hire/assassin/international super spy/cold-blooded murderer? Whoah, that sounds tough.
X:No, I'm not a murder assassin spy thingie at all!
Me: C'mon! I just know you are! Remember when I asked for a puppy for Christmas and you instead gave me a newborn puppy that you had murdered, revived through arcane methods, killed again and gutted and then replaced it's guts with batteries and sowed it back together? Yeah, I remember that.
X: It was a toy! I didn't kill it! It CAME with batteries!
Me: That's what they all say.

You look at me funny for a second. You don't think I can see, but these sunglasses have mirrors in them man. I see all. It's akin to having a entire face on the back of your face! Hey, why didn't we evolve like that? That'd be cool.
Oh, I'm getting off subject, aren't I? Well, the interview amazingly successful, I went home for the night. I then rewarded myself with ice cream for a job well done.
"But wait, Herr wolfface, that interview didn't prove nothin'," You say in that ugly southern accent of yours. Seriously, stop doing that!
Oh yes it did. It taught us that X is a creepy murderer who can't be tricked into revealing her tricks through simple dirt-logic.
Oh, do you mean the assassination thing? Well, it all started once upon a time when me and my pals were sitting with a nasty gang called the Not-pals in a run-down convenience store bathroom.
We were eating our food when one of the nasty Not-pals remarked, "Gee whiz, sitting by the window is so cool!"
Now, I get what he trying to do. He though it was literally cool there, as the scent of the mint toilet cleaning's lovechild with the toilet water gave off a cold feeling in the air, but he also meant that sitting there was fashionably attractive or impressive. Boy, was he wrong.
I told him that sitting there would probably get him killed. For the mirror in the window would crack and send a shard of glass into a nearby squirrel. That squirrel would then cry out in pain, which would be recorded on a videography major's project. This project would earn him a high grade, which would result in a gift of extra money from his parents. He would then buy drugs. By chance, the Not-pal who loved the coolness would buy these drugs, and get addicted. He would quit after a year, but later die thirty years later to natural causes.
Then I explained to him that it was even not cool over there for a few reasons:
1) They were the Not-Pals, so everything was not for them. Not-vegans, Not-dead, Not-allergic to peanuts, Not-mouse lovers, Not-cool.
2)The window was probably covered with dead moths. So not cool.
3) I could never sit over by the window.
They little Not-geniuses couldn't figure out why I couldn't sit over there. With a iron-lined (But fuzz filled) tone of voice, I explained I would get assassinated. My pals understood, as did I. They did not.
"Wowzar!" They said, "But why would they try to kill you? You're not the president of the world!"
Oh, I tell them. Not now maybe, but perhaps in the charted time ahead of us. Perhaps... IN THE FUTURE.
There's a very good chance that I will get killed if I sit by that window. A time-traveling killer might come to finish me off. I bet I'm like a dictator of a couple of countries by now. Hell, I'm probably dead and they just want to kill me earlier! Like Hitler, or something.
The wretched Not-pals, Not-humans look at me like the apes they are. They just can't comprehend me.
And that's why I stopped mixing my pals with my Not-pals. Things just get messy.