I Promised I Would Blog About Murder

Right, so – murder. Murder murder murder. Bad thing that, murder. The Senate assassinated Caesar back in the day because they just couldn’t handle how smooth he was at conquering and stuff. Kind of like how you’re jealous of my well-formed sentences in that secret love letter I wrote to Jojo. Do you want to kill me then? Of course not. We aren’t savages.

The question does arise however; how do you handle the instinct to kill? That killer impulse, the primitive blood lust. Everyday it’s gnawing on the inside of you, desperately searching to be free, to be unleashed on the people who deserve it, who deserve your brutal wrath. Or not. You could be clean, good and wholesome. Good luck with that.

In old times, not last week or something, I’m talking centuries ago, people could just die on any day. Life expectancy was like 42 or something in the Middle Ages. That could be historically inaccurate but how do I know you’re a history teacher? So you could just wake up on your birthday or Tuesday and die. And because you were expecting to die in a barn or at the river at anytime, murder was more commonly practiced. You had a problem with grandma, you took her out, with a sword even. Some guy insulted your upbringing in the swamp, you handled that situation honorably with an axe at sundown.

Wars were fought every second month, and this lot of people intentionally murdered another lot of people, often over some crops, a beautiful princess, or for Birmingham. Men were conditioned to kill. They desired to grow up and be shot in head with an arrow for the King or Duke or Pope or Turkey. These were the guys that got all the chicks. Interestingly enough, they all died fighting in vain before reproducing. This resulted in less than optimal breeding partners; like accountants, engineers and sociology majors, being your great grandparents. Their weak genes being passed on explains your unglamorous demeanor today (sorry).

Peasants were slightly oversensitive and prone to violence

All people, men especially, are born with an insatiable thirst for glory on the battlefield. Our entire civilization is built on the murder of people who were stubbornly standing in the way of the ideals and mechanisms that shaped our current mediocre society. We showed the hippies. Something in our jeans genes compels us to be warriors. In the modern context, there exists no formal way to appease that appetite. Naturally, and we are especially great at this, we have discovered some discount substitutes.

Ever since you were born by accident, you’ve been in competition with everyone around you. Everyone in school wants to beat you up. We’re all so perversely competitive all the time. There’s no war, no fight for survival, so – what do we have instead? People try to outdo each other in Pokemon trivia, playing ping pong at church and repairing telephones. Everyday stuff.

School fights have evolved

There exists an infernal disco in our minds at most times. Other times it’s a silent, brooding anger. Sometimes it bubbles over into an outburst at your mother over a lost sock. Sometimes you supplement with Austrian torture porn or violent video games. Or that one Manson song in your playlist surrounded by all the other usual boy band offerings. It’s the reason why head shots in Battlefield are so satisfying.

Atleast you can shoot Unicorns with a bazooka on Playstation

In fact, all modern technology is the bastard child of military efforts to discover new ways to kill each other. How many ways can you kill a man with a microwave? Think about it. It’s a death machine.

After a while, all the milk-tossing isn’t enough, the persistent internal screaming gets too loud, and Miriam loses it. Miriam surrenders to the barbarism, having been conditioned all her life by The Vampire Diaries to have absolutely zero respect for the sanctity of life, she runs you over with her 2011 Toyota Corolla. Murder, Son. It happens. Because killers are what we are by nature, and everyday it’s becoming less mainstream to do it, to kill. Civilization has left so few people to massacre and even fewer excuses to dismember them recreationally. But don’t do it.

No matter how bored/great-with-nunchuks you are. If TV teaches us anything, it’s that, if you do a murder, Horatio or The Mentalist will catch you in next week’s episode.

Look, a thing

Remember the horse meat saga? It blew over quite quick. I would eat a horse. Why not? If tiny men can ride a horse with other tiny men riding horses, surrounded by over-dressed adulteresses, in a stadium that smells like dead pigeons, then why can’t we eat a horse? There’s worse ways horses go. If one lost the aforementioned race, even though it was odds on (whatever that means), then everybody knows the jockey throws a fit, mocks the horse’s ancestry and then shoots it so it’s hooves can be used to make glue for the homeless to become addicted to. Fast fact: I was asked to go for jockey training once but then I got fat.

So it plagued Europe primarily that people where unknowingly eating the car-before-the-car-was-invented. But there’s worse things that have swept over Europe – like BBM, STDs and Catholicism. Just because you can ride a horse doesn’t mean you can’t eat it. You could ride a sheep if you wanted to. It’s on my bucket list.

It’s just more horse to love

I think people generally have an incessant desire to make a fuss. Maybe you’re entitled to. If there was nothing to complain about we’d be very bored. You would hear some guy say, “Sunshine?! Oh no! We had that yesterday! Where’s the variety?” Then a tsunami hits Southeast Asia and his new issue becomes the inconsistency of Premier League refereeing. That maybe is the essence of it. It serves as a distraction from more relevant issues.

Take the Vatican for example. Generally nobody cares who the Pope is. Catholics account for about 1.2 billion people on Earth and we all know most of them favor binge drinking instead of fawning over the Pope. Yet there was much drama and anxiety over his successor. As if there is significant change as result of his appointment. Note: If the new guy does go mad with power, we’ll have to take the punk down. I have read all Dan Brown’s books and spent a whole mid-morning making a foolproof contingency plan (Operation: A New Pope).

The (really) old guy decided to retire being an icon of religious benefit, and pass the 9 billion carat gold ring on to some other guy who, from what I’ve seen, and for lack of a better word, seems very “protestant” (and you thought they all died out in that classified meteor strike incident two winters ago). Really, all this doesn’t affect you there on the atomic level. Nonetheless you fret as if you ran out of washing powder mid-month.

This job offered better benefits, and the staff were more loyal

So while our eyes sparkle at all the hollywood-esque glamor happening at the induction gala for the new Pope, we get to forget about all the death threats and marriage proposals we haven’t had time to deal with. The athlete’s foot outbreak, corrugated-iron fetishes and vivid, vulgar sexual innuendos in music all take a back seat. The next day at work you’ll spend the entire morning relating the ceremony details to your colleague instead of working. All the conspiracy theories, detailed review of Rihanna and Bon Jovi’s tribute to the man, what was Taylor Swift seen doing in the Pope’s car, who designed his robe to color-block so well, and everything else you know. And you’ll take the entire afternoon off to forward the pictures of the event to everyone in your email address book.

I wonder if the beggar at the traffic light knows our President let his friends, the Guptas, land their private jets at a military base. Does he care? I will ask him the next time. I didn’t have time this morning because the lights changed quick. He only had time to ask, “Two rand for bread?”, and I just gave him 4 rand and told him to get me a loaf too. I don’t know where he finds such bargains.

If I was President and my homies had a jet then sure, they can land wherever they want

Justin Bieber came to South Africa to perform whatever the hell he performs – live calligraphy or something. I hear punks stole ticket money from the Cape Town stadium office. About 3.5 million was reportedly taken. How will JB manage without his weekly allowance? He’ll know better than to be handsome in South Africa again. However, he did approve of the high quality of our street marijuana. Good on the lad.

Can you blame them? He’s got swag

Ah, but the theory looms that his presence in the country was only to distract the masses from the passing of the National Secrecy Bill, which entitles Government to respond with a swift “Your mother” whenever anyone inquires about national affairs. My strategically placed underpaid sources confirm that Zuma is a big fan of Justin and his ability to induce epilepsy in teenage girls. Fortunately, I couldn’t afford tickets to see JB so I noticed the Bill and can inform you now when it’s too late. Not like you or me knowing can have any impact on anything.

There’s an argument in here somewhere. A lot of what concerns us is not our concern. A large bulk of it is distraction. Distraction from your issues; Where is your daughter? Why is she pouting on a motorcycle in her profile picture? Why does my son smell like butter milk? Is it a symptom of a medical condition that his jeans hang around his knees? Why is my husband getting fatter? Why do I have a husband -I’m straight?

You should never be bored. You have plenty to complain to your pastor about already. If you leave it to go and see what’s going on everywhere else, it’s only going to accumulate and someday when you come home from spending the entire day researching whether or not Nicki Minaj is a man on the internet, it’s going to manifest in some Gob Monster that greets you at the front door and says, “Hello! I’m Problems and you’re my dad!”

Hi Pa

Okay bye.