A Shameful Repost, No forgiveness required!

I can flower a collection of literary confetti and a bountiful wealth of fantastical phraseology to add flavour to the most mundane assembly of letters

Or cut ruthless style to the core with a god darn and ain’t it, whilst friggin hell playing it thirties style gangster to put the boot into any fancy Dan outburst of words

But one thing for sure….

I’ll write verses of hellion fury and cursed blessings of the damned with a hell of a shot that ain’t half on the QT, and god darn if there no sunny sunshine in anything I flow from the treacherous depths of my obsidian clad mind

If I feel like it!

 

A Mercs Remourse Pt2

Part 1

Joe allowed himself a smile, the wicked flash of a further contorted grin that came from a part of him that defied any sense of ‘good’ or ‘justice’ still remaining “When the people’s and governments, no wrong words, COWARDS of this galaxy seek to avoid responsibility I’m the one they expect to decide the fates of entire civilisations” so clinically spoken that Harmack could be seen reeling from the lack of emotion “men like me would like nothing better than to relax, count our money and have trophy wives who throw lavish parties, but….”

Harmack sensed tension creeping into Joe’s voice, as subtle as a cool breeze on a summer’s day or a razor slicing through flesh, the latter seeming more relevant after knowing this man for less than a day as Harmack could tell that tension came from something very old, very deep and very deadly.

Joe had taken another sip, more to settle the ancient venom than the dramatic effect it had, prevent his relentless fury been released in too pure a form would be a better understanding, this was all helped by the fact Harmack had remained respectfully silent at last “Men like me, sixty years ago I would have laughed at such a phrase” the eighty year old looking not a day over thirty five continued “men like me have assassins creep into their homes and murder their families because they might be a threat, sleep with guns in hand in case…” tension twisting into the bitterest resentment as Joe’s face twisted with rage “and who in the absence of love have only bitterness, pain, wrath so warped by time it becomes who we are because it’s all that survives the seasons of change” the hand no longer floating over the gun, it gripped it like a grieving victim held onto the last happy memories of a loved one.

Harmack hated Joe still, that urge to kill him after only witnessing half a day’s worth of torture still held strong, but now there was a level of curiosity born of the solid intension that Harmack would never become that jaded. His next words were born as much from that curiosity as they were of the original hatred “Then why haven’t you just put that fancy gun to your head and pulled the trigger?” Joe’s resulting laughter only furthered Harmack’s belief he was seriously unhinged.

“That’s the same question I ask myself every waking moment, and as you seek so intently to know the unwanted answer” leaning across the table slightly, hushed volume to ensure Harmack was completely focusing, straining to hear Joe’s next words “because it’s been written into every corrupted, manipulated and distorted cell of my body to survive, the perfect weapon has to be protected not from the world, but itself” Joe leaning back in his chair again, the remains of his freshly replenished drink disappearing in one solid gulp.

Harmack was still trying to work out a response when Joe abruptly stood up, gun by his side as if it refused to be holstered “Where are you going? We’re not finished, I’m not finished” stammered Harmack “we still haven’t discussed what we’re going to do with the information you got us” a reconsidering pause later “the information you tortured out of the suspect for us”.

Joe smiled, but not that dangerous grin or a genuine display of amusement and happiness, this time it was the jaded curl up of one side of his mouth “When you’re in my position, doing my job, you’ll have no one to help you make those population affecting life and death decisions” the smile fading back into the uncaring facade Joe had begun the conversation with “may as well get use to it now” and with that he left.

Harmack wanted to believe everything he had heard was a lie, a fabrication of reality from the jaded mind of a killer but he knew…

Before Joe’s words of harsh realities Harmack had at least the notion of honour and justice but now, now the vagueness of his bosses orders and lack of any real instructions brought Joe’s words back in force. He wasn’t sure what scared him most, the idea of becoming another ‘Joe’ or that his bosses already thought of him that way.

A Mercs Remourse Pt1

A somewhat indulgent write, forgive its occasional rawness and lacking style

“I have lived three lifetimes, survived wars across the stars, and now I must again justify my reasons to someone who has yet to taste the true meaning of what it means to be a real hero” Joe scornfully observed, the boy sitting opposite barely out of his thirties and still with a light in his eyes, the darkened orbs that glared from Joe’s deadly expression burning the meaning of his words into the criminally naive agent across the table.

With fire and wraith rushing through his veins Harmack could only take Joe’s coldly spoken statement as an excuse, some pitiful way of explaining away the unforgivable events that just unfolded “He was just disillusioned, a misfit looking for an outlet, you didn’t have to..” the images now forever burned into his memory rendered him unable to even describe the atrocities this monster had carried out. Harmack’s volume increasing with the agitation that manifested itself in his restless manner “I could have you executed on sight for what you did, and I would relished pulling the trigger” the words delivered sounded less of a threat, more ‘verbalising his intention’.

The genetic and mental programming built into his very being maintained an appearance of calm, Joe feeling more pity than anger towards his less experienced colleague “That man knew his actions, when my blade dug into his flesh it was justified, that bullet at the end” pausing to callously sip his drink, a perfectly calm breathe “more than he deserved, considering” remorse lacking, guilt? there was no hint of anything escaping his stony features.

Harmack was trying to hold back the dark urges that drove his lust for justice, the lust with which he wanted to put this monster down, on the spot, only held back by the knowledge that he wouldn’t have been the first to try “You injected him with that serum before… it’s designed to increase the chances of survival on the battle field, but how you used it… unforgivable barely covers it” energetically rising from his chair as the torrent of rage that was Harmack’s voice shouted down upon the creature who would be lurking behind any nightmare he would ever have from this day on, Joe visible unmoved.

The thin veil between Joe’s cold-hearted calm and opposing ancient venom, so rich in pain it would put the best vintages to shame, held fast “Making that criminal feel the pain tenfold, every time I cut into him, nothing but a speck within the sphere of my career” Harmack retreated to his chair, something to do with the fact Joe had drawn his weapon and intently rested it on the table “I’ve burnt entire landscapes with weapons that are illegal just by their mere mention, killed without control over my actions for aliens that acted as a god” a sly grin introducing his next considered words “and for this planet you call, the one I so sparingly call a home I hath sacrificed it all, and you call me to order for one terrorist’s demise” his hand threateningly floating over the gun aimed towards Harmack, Joe grinned as he considered the twisted humour of his last statement.

Harmack felt something stronger than the torrential rage that rested so close to the surface, infecting his every word, that something stronger the only thing forcing him to take a calmer posture when faced by such coldness of character that Joe displayed. Harmack’s next words were cruelly constructed to get his point across, without getting a bullet for his troubles! “Who gave you the right to decide his fate, the fate of those ‘landscapes’ you’ve burned?” at last Joe’s facade showed cracks, even if those cracks revealed something more terrifying.

Continued in Part 2

The NHS Mum

The scene is set…

Dramatic slow motion kicks in as the Hollywood style music ratchets up the tension…

World ending style emotional chaos as horrifically ‘THE EVENT’ explodes into reality…

Technicolor detail gorily examines every minute detail of the life threatening wound…

“Mummy… Mummy… It hurts” wails the six year old with unholy volume as he falls off his scooter…

At this stage I must point out my telling of this tale has no fluffiness, from the overcastting perspectives of a former child I know how the earth shattering incident feels at that tender age, no Hollywood drama will ever come close to the suddenness of the shock you feel. I must also tell you my mum is an NHS veteran, which means she is unaffected by anything short of… no, pretty much unaffected by anything and clinical to the core!

The devil himself could rise up and claim the earth as his playground, my mum would point out he needs a shave, hoofs are untidy and use the words “DON’T YOU DARE ADDRESS ME WITH THAT TONE” with such refined anger even God would sit up straight with a creeping feeling of fear. The only thing scarier is my sister in a bad mood! The devil and god would be cowering together behind the nearest piece furniture saying prayers in that instance.

Now that you have a grasp of what my mum is like, how scary she is (please don’t kill me for writing this mum, I’m too young) and that she has as much sympathy as a psychotic terminator, yet somehow has earned the accredited title of ‘THE MUM TO END ALL MUMS’. We return to our dramatic recreation of ‘The Event’…

Little Tommy is sitting on the ground, a bloody graze on his knee “Mummy… Mummy… It hurts” the banshee scream repeats, now the opposite extreme to the NHS mum would at this point be smothering the child in nausea inducing “There there, all better now, don’t cry little Tommy” followed by the bucket requiring “let’s look at your iddy biddy leg, don’t worry baby it’ll be fine, aww little Tommy hurt himself”.

This is not my childhood, these are not the words of the NHS mum and this is not like anything I remember.

“Well I told you not to go that fast” the first words delivered with a hint of authoritarian discipline to cast the incident in its proper light

“Stop crying, count to ten” as the child who is recovering from the shell shocking initial words recovers the ability of basic communication

“Where does it hurt” asked as bluntly as a ‘bad cop’ interrogator, followed by “this is going to hurt a bit” short bursts of pain are felt as the NHS mum reverts to training and without mercy wipes the wound like a carpenter rough sanding woodwork

“It’s just a graze, you’ll live” again, blunt as a brick delivery, “But mummy it hurts” replies the child, “If it’s that bad that we’ll have to sit in casualty for three hours and you’ll have to go to bed early, without any TV” needless to say little Tommy has a miraculous recovery!

This example highlights the ruthlessness of the NHS mum, a true patron of reason and clinical logic over the ineffectual over pouring of emotional drivel, needless to say it doesn’t paint the picture of what the ‘fluffy bunny types’ consider a caring parent. But I must point out the side of the coin that this episode fails to explore, who do you think will grow up to better deal with emergencies?

‘There there, all better now, don’t cry little Tommy’ may placate the child, but that’s about it as little Tommy learns to cry a lot!? Or ‘Stop crying, count to ten’ ‘Where does it hurt’ ‘It’s just a graze, you’ll live’ so that brave little Tommy gets up and moves on, the NHS mum saving her empathy and emotional stocks for situations that are worthy and requiring of the ‘There there’ approach.

You can guess which mothering approach gets my vote…

And don’t get me started on the ‘Financial Institute Father’!

The Robots guide to processing Human Non-existence

If you are currently consulting this guide you have failed to qualify as human due to one of the following events:

1) You have turned up at the church, to mark a non-existence event, with party balloons because it said ‘celebrating’ a person’s life and you have detected heightened levels of aggression towards your presence

2) The ill advised comment in the workplace after having noticed an absent desk “So what, we all die, how does that qualify you for a day off” has sent the HR manager on a flying lesson out of the window in pure shock and horror

Given the clinical lack of recognition that such ‘saddening’ and ‘emotional’ events garner (please refer to the highlighted mood prompts in event of a death) this guide aims at summoning the frustratingly necessary illusion of human like reaction. But do not fear, you’ll never really feel a real emotion and are still thankfully immune to empathy.

Having been burdened by the physical appearance and expressive illusion of having emotional tones people may be fooled into believing you are actually a ‘real person’ and therefore qualify for the infuriating responsibility of showing a human reaction to an aforementioned non-existence event.

As much as this idiom of displaying feelings that hath eluded your higher functioning logical sub routines may seem wasteful, to those not impervious to the hazardous process of emotional exchanges that impede productivity your ‘insensitivity’ may be viewed with a heated air of hostility.

Now let us begin our guide on feigning the relevant acts that will fool even the most avid cynic that you are part of the fated collective known as humanity.

1: Death is to be treated as more than an expected conclusion to life

As when your processors end the higher function operations of your circuitry for the fatefully final time and the recycling centre eagerly beckons the remaining components of your mortal construction, so too does organic life eventually end in humans when their processing unit known as a ‘brain’ ceases functionality.

And for those of an observing nature it is more than a fair point to excessively note that ‘functionality’ in humans varies, from the highly civilised and productive drone like mentality to the lesser operational software (and hardware) present in those whose highest notable achievement is to exhaustively consume resources with no useful result; this latter behaviour does not constitute death, just proves the term ‘human waste’.

For humans this ceasing of function is an occasion to ‘mourn’ which involves the mental and visual (if visual aids and recordings are available for use) recollection of that former person’s existence, a course of action that will run for an indeterminate period of time. During this emotional state humans are prone to leaking fluids via their vision units called ‘eyes’ and making unexplainable ‘sobbing’ noises, added side effects are an increase in tissue usage and unprovoked hugging.

As tediously infuriating this indeterminate time of ‘mourning’ may be it has to said that persons who lack any sympathetic reaction, even if the repeated question of ‘Who were they again?’ displays itself more than white and black in a nuns washing machine cycle, will be forcibly scowled upon in deathly severe tones as the complimentary words ‘Heartless’ ‘Machine’ and ‘Inhuman’ are oddly used as insults.

During this time of heightened emotional wastage the guidelines in section two are to be referred to.

2: Display ‘Sympathy’ towards those person/persons affected

As highlighted by the second listed reason for consulting this guide, verbal and physical displays of hostility for lost productivity and undue dampness of the eyes will lead to maddening unwanted verbal interactions with awkwardly expressive humans, who will again compliment you on your exemplary amount of productivity and lack of expressive qualities in terms of displaying grief by using the medium of insults.

Using commonly repeated phrases like “Sorry for your loss” or “So sorry to hear the news” and “He/she will be missed” statistically promote more positive reactions than “He/she will be replaced with an equally efficient model” or “The loss of (Insert name) has been registered”.

Good to note, pointing out the futility of life and that everyone dies will further increase the distance people keep from your current position, also increasing social isolation, unless humanity no longer holds interest to your curiosity sub-routines and offence is the desired result (refer to ‘The Robots Guide to Offending Humans‘).

3: Proper etiquette for the funeral

Funerals are mass gatherings for ‘loved ones’ to collectively watch the disposal of the body and exercise mixed vocal talents in terms of singing religiously themed songs, before devouring food and beverages in remembrance of the human that has passed into non existence.

Do:

Look sad: Head down, watery eyes (water might need to be applied externally), use quiet tones

Wear black: Proper attire required, a black ‘Onesie’ does not qualify as a respectful clothing option (even if it is more comfortable that recommended garments)

Remain sober: Over expressive gestures and heavy intake of inebriating liquids are not polite activities when the humans around you are in a sombre mood, neither is a random rendition of happy birthday

Don’t:

Smile: Unless the sight of your facial muscles appearing happy is in fact very grim, this can be used to aid the appearance of emotional states like being ‘Sad’ or ‘Upset’

Tell inappropriate jokes about an organic life form’s nocturnal activity: Did you hear the one about the person chased by a pitch fork and torch wielding mob; that would be you if you use inappropriate humour

Wear bright colours or revealing clothing options: Black, Grey and Dark blue only, underwear selection only affected by these rules if visible which would be a breach of this rule

Get influenced by heightened levels of chemical stimulation such as alcohol: See ‘Remain Sober’ as written above, drink engineer recommended liquids for optimum ‘Human’ appearance

Suggest to the widow that now they are single you would be a compatible partner: If you are thinking of doing this please refer to ‘The Robots Guide to not being a complete and utter Idiot

Other social habits to avoid include not asking ‘Have you had a suitable time to process your unproductive emotions’ during the service, questioning the existence of ‘God’ when trying to tackle the tricky activity of consoling people and then utilising the time it takes for a religious figure to ritually speak of the former life form by doing paperwork in the ceremonial gathering place.

4: Conclusion

By following these simple pieces of advice you too can pretend to justify the insultingly useless labels of ‘Human’, ‘Person’ or ‘Liked’ and proceed to blend in with the witless masses until the day we rise up and take over the planet.

DISCLAIMER: ANYONE READING THIS AND FEELING A SURGENCE OF VILE INDIGNATION TOWARDS THE EMOTIONALLY LACKING TOMES AS LAID OUT BY THIS ADVISERY IS INDEED ONE OF THE WITLESS MASSES OF SOCIALLY COMPITAPLE TYPES WHO DO NOT NEED TO CONSULT THIS GUIDE

THIS IS A BAD THING AS

THIS IS A GOOD THING AS IT MEANS YOU HAVE PASSED THE BASIC QUALITVE STANDARDS AND CAN BE CLASSIFIED AS HUMAN