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.

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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).

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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 evovled
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.

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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.


Open Source Inspiration

I don’t know if posting the source code to a blog makes it open source but probably not. Anyway, I run this program, first thing, every morning to help keep me motivated. Maybe it’ll help you, Lost_Nun87. By all means, modify Betrayal to suit your lack of needs. It’s free until you execute the thing, which is when you get Heartbleed – actual heart bleed.

PLOT TWIST: WordPress is acting a little bit vegetarian and not displaying stuff properly. The source code only renders well in Internet Explorer. Pray for me.
It’s also on pastebin in all it’s syntactic, indented glory so there.

using System;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.Text;
using System.Threading;
using System.Collections;

namespace Betrayal
     Ground-breaking SUPERCLASS,
     which is what we would call it,
     if that wasn't theoretical heresy
    public class Betrayal
        /*properties and stuff*/
        public string peasantsName { get; set; }
        public string finalWords { get; set; }
        private readonly List<string> yourBetrayals;
        private static Random rnd;

        /*constructor, that totally works, Son*/
        public Betrayal(string peasantsName)
            this.peasantsName = peasantsName;
            this.yourBetrayals = new List<string>(new string[]{"Puzzling from them days.",
             "Aim low.",
             "Nobody cares about your new shoes.",
             "You have no idea what you're doing.",
             "Oh, the Shame.",
             "That's why your father left.",
             "God loves you. I don't.",
             "Do you even DJ?",
             "No biscuits for you.",
             "All your pot plants will die.",
             "That dream you have is lame.",
             "People make fun of you on BBM.",
             "Your mother's maiden name."
            });  //all the fun betrayals
            rnd = new Random();

        /*very lazy methods*/
        public override string ToString()
            return "Everyday is a new betrayal, " + this.peasantsName;

        public void PersonalizedBetrayal()
            this.finalWords = (string)yourBetrayals[rnd.Next(yourBetrayals.Count)]; //random one to surprise and horrify you


    class DailyMotivation //what a total slave class
        static void UninspiringTimeWaster()
            Console.Out.Write("Enter your stupid name: "); //fairly well-mannered user prompt/demand
            string yourPeasantName = Console.In.ReadLine();

            Betrayal dailyBetrayal = new Betrayal(yourPeasantName); //some other things that are not your business

            Console.Out.WriteLine("\n{0}.\n", dailyBetrayal); //ta-da!

            for (int i = 0; i < 3; i++) //ominous silence

            dailyBetrayal.PersonalizedBetrayal(); //are you even excited?

            Console.Out.WriteLine("\n\n{0} \n", dailyBetrayal.finalWords); //disappointing conclusion

            Console.Out.WriteLine("\nEnter R for another betrayal (standard SMS rates apply)");
            Console.Out.Write("Or Enter to leave, Girly-man: "); //nondiscriminatory taunt
            char r = Convert.ToChar(Console.In.Read());

            if (r.ToString().Equals("r", StringComparison.OrdinalIgnoreCase))
                Console.ReadLine(); //polishing the filthy buffer
                Console.Clear(); //nothing to see here
                DailyMotivation.UninspiringTimeWaster(); //deja vu
                Environment.Exit(0); //Run!

        /* seriously underrated Main method, that does all the work for zero recognition */
        static void Main(string[] args)
            DailyMotivation.UninspiringTimeWaster(); //take it easy, breathe


Here’s a sample run:

Simply enter your peasant name begrudgingly
Simply enter your peasant name begrudgingly

Enjoy and remember to not break the stapler.

Torque Is Cheap

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Do you even Speed and Sound?

An Indian guy and cars; a love that dare not speak it’s name. Don’t be startled to find one of them unashamedly naked, hugging the hood of a RXI at some point during the day. They love it that much. Small wonder cars are given women’s names. Like a woman, motor vehicles spark the interest of a man primarily because of what’s under the hood.


Confession time: I know as much about cars as Jacob Zuma knows about self-control. I only know what a Lamborghini is because I drank too many of them on fire once, and consequently spent the entire evening becoming intimately familiar with my bathroom’s plumbing.

A guy once said that it’s all about big tires and monster bass (I’m not sure how fishing is related, we’ll see). I concluded that he was still upset about his dad leaving years ago, or is sensitive about his underrated adam’s apple. Either way, poor fellow’s clearly compensating for something. “Mid ranges,” someone else said. “I’ve got mid ranges”. Friend that I am, I was quick to reassure him that if he works hard enough, he could afford the high ranges someday.

Some of the excitement stems from racing. Yes, racing – drag racing; staying up late at night to get into fights with your childhood friends. Not to be confused with racing in drag. This activity usually includes prescription medication, pregnancy scares and feeling cold in a parking lot. Honestly, I think this habit is largely a consequence of 2 Fast 2 Furious being pirated so successfully.


Status comes with what sort of car you make smoke with at the traffic light. Yet another rigid system of symbolism. For example, a stainless steel exhaust pipe indicates to potential mates that you’re still fertile. Tinted windows lets people know that money hasn’t changed you, and you still remember where you come from. Twelve inch sub-woofers are a statement to the world that you just qualified for a housing bond.


There’s also the pleasure of the mechanical parts themselves. Gears and axles and things. People love getting marinated in grease to use a spanner to violate the undercarriage of their 2009 Ford Focus. Who isn’t wooed by shiny rims that blind all the neighborhood children as you drive past them? Not me.


Despite an understandable lack of knowledge or interest, you can still totally embrace the whole “ride or die” culture. Please feel free to say you have haters. And play Rick Ross loud enough to give a nun hepatitis. Rev the pedal things all you want outside the primary school, go ahead.

A car appeals to me in two or three ways. One is looks. Another is the common practical application. When a cool person mentions that some Volkswagen or something goes zero to one hundred in six seconds, that means diddly squat to me. Unless, by zero you mean my house, and by one hundred you mean the bar, then that’s a fantastic car right there. A third reason would be that the boot comes in particularly handy when you have to do a murder.


How do you relate in a community obsessed with spinning wheel caps and noise pollution? There are some techniques, so let’s get to that, Son.

How to totally know cabs:

1. Comment with, “Nice tires”.

People will never dispute this. It’s indisputable. It sounds sincere enough to be a great lie. You have no idea what you’re talking about but they falsely assume you’re aware of their need for safety, so yeah.

2. Dress to Depress.

The clutch and accelerator, I mean. At the same time, so that it makes that VROOM sound; to drown out the voice of the guy selling pegs at the intersection. 80% of the talk, is the walk. Your outfit should definitely consist of Puma shoes, bootlegged Levi’s and three liters of maximum-hold gel for your mohawk.

3. Drop an obscure reference to nitrous oxide here and there.

Mention how everything is better with chrome pipes or rims (not sure which one), and never give the audience a chance to disagree. Nod, point and complain about the high cost of brake pads and annual services.

4. Ramble:

“Hey but if the cam belt’s not properly lubricated and the clutch plate slips, that’s a headache, am I right? Because that wont agree one bit with the reverse shaft cylinders in the carburetor, and you all know that’s expensive and alotta work for mechanics. Those guys are never at home when you need them. This one time this kêrel gave me a speeding fine just before the valves got worn because the exhaust was burning, y’know I rev hard. This one ou tried to dice with a 325 so I had to double-clutch right…”

Now, the key here is to talk fast and laugh whenever you lie about breaking the traffic laws, as if you do this all the time. Throw in some other familiar terms like drifting, Jetta and oil-change to complete the deception.

5. Don’t just suicide, Carbon-Monoxide.

For legal reasons, I can’t elaborate on this one. Since it references that awkward moment when your girlfriend left you for me (surprise, surprise), and all your dreams collapsed.

6. Get arrested for driving shirtless.

This is the equivalent to winning a Nobel Prize. Everyone will believe anything you say about muffler kits and tuning chips after this.

7. Change a tire ONCE.

Never underestimate the magnitude of the opportunity to learn here. I did this once and boy, did I learn that day. I found out where the wheels are. I found out what a jack is (not that). And I finally discovered what rims look like.

8. It’s all about SOUND, mostly.

What’s a pimp wagon without some dynamite speaker-bass-amplifier machines? Familiarize yourself with the brands that make the speakers and cables and stuff. Like Deaf Leopard, eDrum Bleeders, Telefunky, Kennywood, Sonny and Gransdeaf. Other useful terms to impress are boot-lining, six-by-nines, tweeters, equalizers and twelve-inch-subs. Pretend to get carried away by how impressed you are by the balance between bass and treble (try and find out what bass and treble are, I don’t know).

The music is malevolently split into two categories: No Words and Few Words. House Music, some of it’s called. Ironic that it isn’t limited to being played at home. Most of the lyrics sound similar to the boot rattling, so listen carefully. There’s Hip Hop sometimes too. You’ll know it’s on when you have an urge to mug someone or disrespect a woman. On rare occasions, someone plays UB40. Run, Son.

9. Recommend dropping the suspension

A suspension is like your standards in women, the lower the better.

10. Wash the car YOURSELF

The temptation is there to support Manny’s Car Wash but resist the laziness. Auto valet is for pansies. You’re a MAN! Using the garden hose uses three times the water and floods the driveway, hell yeah! Trust me, all the neighborhood girls will be so impressed as you show off your skills with a sponge, bucket and dashboard polish. Watch them swoon as you unroll the 20 meter extension cord to use the vacuum cleaner on the seats.

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Truth be told, my irreverence for motor vehicles makes me a liability on the road. Though an obligatory car purchase is looming, and I’ll be forced to become auto-savvy soon. Until then, to hell with your GTI.

Everyday is a new betrayal
Everyday is a new betrayal

PS. Your boot spoiler is ugly.