PEOPLE KEEP FORCING ME TO KILL THEM

PEOPLE KEEP FORCING ME TO KILL THEM.



I am getting sick of all the people who force me to kill them. You know what I mean. Last night I was on the el train coming home from scoring a little weed, sitting there buzzing and drawing. Around me was a very normal crowd of all colors. Then The But came on the train, loud talking into a headset phone. She is cursing like mad, everything is, "Fuck that Bitch." She sits down right by me of course.
I tell her, "Hey, there are little kids sitting here, so you gotta watch your language." She doesn't hear me, so I tap her shoulder with my drawing pad.

"You can't talk like the in front of little kids."
She scream-talks, as she has since coming on the train, "Oh, we got a white black thing going on. Crysop, I just . . ."
I don't know what else she was going to say. I pulled the Bowie knife out of my waist, stood up, and then used both hands to bury that sharp metal down deep in her skull. Her eyes shot wide open, as did her mouth. A fat, fat women, she slowly slid down off her seat... catching her blouse on her purse and pulling it up and revealing stretch marked bulges of brown fat.

A couple people clapped, so I took a bow; then I moved to the other end of the train, of course, because people shit when they die and that big woman let loose like two pounds of hamburger, eight chickens, pies.... god only knows? She looked like she could handle an Old Country Buffet all by herself.

A couple people kicked her on their way out. I caught the eye of one girl who kicked the loud thing and we shared a smile. I was glad she was black, that the sane recognize the sane no matter how they appear.


Later, I am out walking Ruby Dog, Mary Ann is with me, the cold winter has let up temporarily and we are loving being out in the neighborhood walking hand in hand. I remembered that we are getting low on milk, so I asked Mary Ann to hold onto the dog while I go into this carry out.

I go in and grab a half gallon. The guy who runs/owns/probably lives in the back with his three wives and four indentured slaves/ talks on his cell phone throughout our transaction. I get my change and turn to leave and the bag breaks.... the milk is fine, so I go back to the guy and he tries to give me ONE BAG again. I go, "Hey, it just broke with one, so it has to be double bagged."
"Now you are costing me three bags," he says.
I had my change and my double bagged milk and there was no reason anymore for me to pretend to be nice. AS I walk out I tell him, "You're a total asshole. You fuck your mother in the ass. You suck off your father, don't you?" Arab guys get really pissed off by this (learned that while driving cab, where actually I got along with the arabs perfectly well).


He followed me out the door screaming something about me being a bad customer. I just gave the fucker my back. He tried to sting me, so I had to sting him.


Since I was with M., I couldn't really do shit to the guy. She gets so pissed when she has to testify against me. I calmed down the best I could, and M. was proud of me for 'being an adult and walking away from violence.' She almost made me feel guilty, because all the while I knew that I would be going back to that guys store and basically try to destroy his life. Assholes. They have to be gotten out of the gene pool.

Around Midnight, when M. was deep in her sleep, I took an empty gallon of milk and went down to the gas station on the corner, filled it up for a buck fifty. I took the gasoline down into the basement, to our storage room, and hid it away for later -- when the gasoline attendent will have half forgotten that I came down and got gas.


Two weeks passed. I added this guy to my stalking list, which is pretty crowded at this point, so I had to let my survaillance go on certain people who are of interest to me for reasons I can't even begin to understand. His name turned out to be Halik Brlin, so I just called him Rab. A pompous fuck, he was cheating on his wife and his girlfriend, doing three women, and all of them fat, unattractive, and kind of loud mouthed; basically, white trash. He drank all day long, beat his kids, his wife. Over bearing isn't strong enough for the naZI EMPIRE that he created in his house.... He was also insured for quite a bit of money. I was happy to see all of this, as you can imagine...
because, of course, hatred for your enemies makes your balls grow bigger.

I decided to cook him in his car. He had a two door escort, so all I needed to do was put a chain around the doors, pour on the gas and listen to that rude motherfucker's death cries. I caught him that night as he was coming out of his store. Put my gun right into the side of his head and told him, "I want your money, and then I am I am going to tie you up to get a running start. I don't mind shooting your ass -- and I will if you give me the slightest fucking problem. I know you got a fucking gun, too, so hand it over." During the stalk, I had seen him trying to impress women with some fucking tiny little pearl derringer he carried -- the poodle of guns.
He handed over the gun, then a big wad of bills.
"Give me your car keys." I tell him. He hands them over, too.

Once he is inside, I take the chain and throw it over the roof of the car, then get down on my stomach and push one end under the car and lock the chains together tight.


When he sees me coming at the him with a jug of gasoline, he starts trying to break the windows. I slosh the stuff all over the escort, going front to back, getting some on the sides, even the tires.

He is using his bloody hands to try and smash out the drivers side window. He could probably do it if he layed down and used his feet, but of course there was no way in hell I was going to tell him that. I tossed a paper match and the Gasoline soaked, maroon escort went up in magniificent shards of red and orange and yellow.

Don't ask me why, but at the last second, I started thinking about all of this guy's kids. Wondering if they were better off without him? I had a baseball bat, in case he did break out, and could easily still save him... then I remembered all the insurance money they would get, and that no matter how many tears they cried, his kids were better off being rich and free of assholes. Not to mention, my mission is of course to cleanse the gene pool of assholes.