Thursday, August 16, 2007

I'm the bad guy

Yeaaaaah, that’s riiiiiight! Stare me down, bitch. I’d relish the role. Being a villain for once would be refreshing like a tall glass of lemonade. It’s not like I’ve been saving the world but I’m one of the nice ones; it’d be a trip for others to see me being evil—not that muaah shit—switch to the dark side. For once in my life I could take out my anger and go nuts, go ape shit!

I’d be like Bruce in Jackal, dye my hair and shit. Maybe I’d sport a permanent grunt
like Game in Waist Deep—and I’d bitch slap Larenz Tate for being in The Postman. Yeah, bitch, yeah! Hitler’s stash was always dope to me; it may add the cynical part to my plan. Forget ruling the world though because I so don’t want James Bond to ruin my schemes. Debonair cats always win.

To be able to let loose on a power trip for illogical reasons could be entertaining. I swear I’ve got a mean streak—everyone does—that I’ve held and kept to myself. Watch out, asshole. I’d be ruthless yet I wouldn’t kill everyone. But I do want to
stab someone in the neck with a pen. Tact and conviction are cover-up reasons and they would be overtaken by my impromptu coke binges.

My wrath would be with guns and it would be over something illegal. Drugs. Whores. Revenge sounds cool, adds some spice, a back story. But who? Oh, oh, I just thought of someone. Then… Torture. Henchmen. Yes men. Bodyguards. Ninjas to carry out early recon missions that would serve as sacrifice, and stall for time and good blow em up sequences, against the hero’s karate skills. No, karate’s for bitches. But then the hero is a bitch!?! I’d definitely have to have my
Commando on and get ready. Face paint. Walk talkies. M-16’s, AK’s, AR’s, Uzi’s—fuck pistols. Unless I had two and I could fly through the air while shooting, roll without hurting myself and not get shot in return. Fuck the button dude, fight like a man. Fuck the diplomacy; make your words into punches and grenades. Fuck that Hannah Montana shit; I'm not an illiterate mobster, I’m a snobby intellectual gone awry. And we cannot wait for 2008!!!

Money, world domination and women would not be sought. Rather I’d use a blatant disregard—I just want to blow shit up! You can try and stop me. Try. Try me you fake ass Chuck Norris, Van Damme tank top having, Mr. Miyagi trained,
identity stricken, Kimono/pony tail fuck, fumbly ass retired cop! I just threw salt in your eyes.


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