the elves attic

I woke up this morning thinking, "Damn, I'm in the mood to fucking kill those assholes protesting abortions."

We stretched a bit, soon enough sat up, drowsily creeping toward our first cups of coffee. I told M, " The fucking government should give us psycho killer's a license, okay? To fucking kill those assholes protesting abortions."

By this time -- that being mere seconds since the little death with dreams dropped away, as I passed into another pointless day, M., the weekend pot head, was handing me a bowl and simply ignoring what I had said, like she tends to do when the conversation gets too weird for her. Once, when my mom was talking about all the people she tortured, M. broke into an anecdote and tried to get everyone to start talking about my paintings. My family just quieted for a moment as they all kind of looked at M. with what used to be called the evil eye... I had to cock my shotgun at that point, let that 'cha-ching' tell my family that I was keeping thier asses covered when they are near me and mine. I also hide a few claymores under thier chairs, all wired to an apparatus I have hidden under my shirt sleeve, on my forearm. These are the same babies I use in the front yard, where some say that they have led to the mysterious disappearences of hundreds of door to door salespeople? Now, me, I don't know if this is true, or not... in fact, the whole not incriminating myself thing is something I really need to keep in mind while I am typoing away in here.

I was wearing full body armor during this family gathering, and still wishing like hell, every time by bum leg hurts -- which is every time I take a step, that I had been all armored out during the New Years Mayhem, as the papers called Dad's party. I guess we just drove around in a limo shooting people who were wearing furs... I mean, we may kill, my family, but we have fucking high standards of what is civilized, okay? I mean, we do not kill the working man, or steal from him to support our killing ways, if possible, but there is always going to be some collaterol damage, like civilians getting deep, deadly if not cleaned, ankle scratches from vicious, highly trained hamster troops --- who probably go just plain out blood crazy and don't care whose ankle they assault in battle.

Over all, you could say we are on the side of the underdog, alright? My mom was in the union, where our genetic predisposition toward just cutting down our enemies came in handy, as you can imagine. We actually used to occasionally have to keep a dead body in our freezer, just for a day or so, until a Fixer came in with acid and turned her into what he said was an enviornmentally safe liquid that he pouered into a sewer hole... making me think, I will drink this man into my body sometime....




There are too many people on the planet. Over population could be the death of us all. Something will have to be done. In the case of deer, which are not nearly as ecologically upheaving as humans, there is a license, a season, and lots of laws against breaking these taboos. Why not give psycho killer's a licenses? We could kill all rapists and murderers hands down no exceptions and no apologies accepted -- because if these bastards want to be cold, let's let society be cold right back. Don't let them live. You rape a woman and you are a major freak who needs to die. You molest a kid and you die slow. They could just let loose all the damn prisoners in for these offenses, out into some damn woods, and get this over crowding issue finally dealt with.

Human meat would come into vogue; the skins could be fashionable boots and other fashion excessories. I mean, human testicles could be ground up and sold to chinese peasents as cures for just whatever the hell we decide. Ignorant peasents are easy to dupe. The skin will be make shirts, ottomans's and.... oh, I don't know some kind skimpy skirts... I don't have this quite all worked out yet, but I do have about a dozen notepads filled with tiny letters that constitute my notes on the subject of what will be done with the skin. I for one think burning or burying corpses is a waste of meat, not to mention the skin, which could be used to make inexpensive clothing items and fashion accessories.

T be continued after I hunt down some bums and blast them right off the welfare line and sate my need.