Hate Inspired Creativity

Liz joins the dark side:

Is it abnormal to plot how you would kill your nemesis? I'd never really go through with it for the obvious reasons: prison strips run horizontally, I don't know how to make a shank, blood stains are a bitch to get out of clothing.

I feel guilty about wishing doom on another living being but sometimes it's hard not to. Ever start laughing at a funeral? I have and I'd like to testify that the laughter is totally beyond all of your control. My plotting must be akin to all of those other involuntary reflexes. A plot to kill and a sneeze- there is really not that much difference.

I usually don't think about someone actually dying, I usually stick to things I wish would happen to him or her to cause great pain and/or embarrassment. I don't really do well with guilt so I'm hardly ever the person doing the awful thing to the perpetrator. Sometimes I make exceptions for especially nasty people.

Shall I share?

I am currently not hating any women so this list is for that very special man in my life; the one who makes my gag reflex start when he enters a room, the one I can't make eye contact with because it's like looking into the face of Medusa.

I would like to electrify the toilet he sits on. I envision his pale white ass sitting down with a magazine in hand and upon impact a strong bolt of the volt, enough for great agony as well as paralysis, followed by the fatal flush. I think it would be great for his last moment of life to be spent shitting on himself. How apropos.

I would like to watch him choke on a giant nacho chip. Those things can be sharp and painful. I'd have to look like I tried to save his life in case he survived, so I would pound him on the back. I hear this actually drives the lodged food deeper into the throat. Perfect.

I would like to be on a plane with him that he thought was going down but wasn't. I would like to be the one that handed him the parachute. The parachute that was mysteriously filled with Kleenex instead of a chute.

I would like for him to find himself trapped inside a hot metal box that is being cargo shipped to South Africa. No air holes, only a box of ants to keep him company.

You know that funnel that vets will put around a dog's neck to keep him from biting himself or scratching behind the ears? I want him to have to wear one. One that clamps on and will not come off. I then want him tied to a pole outside, face toward the heavens, during a torrential rainstorm.

I want his cell phone to leak acid into his ear and burn his brain.

I want to watch him be tickled to the point where he spasms and breaks his neck. Then the tickling stops, but my laughter rings on and on and on...

I'd like to tie him to a chair and force him to watch a "Deal or No Deal" marathon until he starves to death.

I would enjoy knowing that he had been force fed Viagra until there was no blood circulating anywhere in his body except to his painfully engorged member.

Death by catapult, shards of glass, bowling balls, pencils in the orifices, and leeches open up a lot of untapped possibilities.

I would like for him to be followed by a masked assassin. Someone who would slice off an appendage every time he said the words, "Well I think you should..." By the time he figured out what was going on, he'd be nothing but a bloody puddle.

This one may or may not take some time, but I can be patient. How about a teaspoon of feces, imported from a 3rd-world nation, in his coffee everyday until the intestinal worms finish him off?

This post may have taken me over an hour to write, but I feel so much better.

Don't worry. I am exceptionally nice to people I like... and strangers... and old people... and dedicated blog readers (who leave comments).

All others are invited to take their chances.