Pain

I am from the city hate built. I was born in a storm and when I die, the hounds of hell will be unleashed. I will forget your name, but you'll cry mine in your troubled sleep. I know, I sound like a Johnny Cash song, or a double Jeopardy clue, but the fact of the matter is: I don't give a fuck. I did many a bad thing, and I'll do things even Takashi Miike can't dream of.

I don't think this makes me a bad guy, I don't think this makes me hateful. I am just like you, and that's what bothers you.

The Grinch and Keyser Söze ain't got nothing on me, nor does Alonzo, as I paraphrase him. I might seem like just a bunch of one-liners, but that's who I am: a one-liner for all of humanity to pay attention to.

Next to me, Danny Trejo is a choir boy, and Heydrich is a presidential candidate.

Some of you might think that if I really was such a bad-ass, I wouldn't have to talk like this. But you are wrong. You are always wrong and I am always right. You are more wrong than when you figured that fucking that skank without a condom wouldn't give you AIDS. You're more wrong than when you drank funny-smelling milk, thinking it'd be okay. You're way more wrong than when you thought the chef would know how to prepare your fugu. You're just wrong all the time, you were born crying for the wrong reasons, you complain for the wrong reasons and, let's face it: you were just plain born for the wrong reasons.

I am here because of you. I am here for you. I am here to destroy you. I'll ram you, I'll jam you, I'll just plain fuck you up. If I'm ranting here, in front of you, it's not because I need to be feared. It's not because I need respect. It's because you need to know who you're messing with.

So, come on: try your luck, do your best. But before you do, tell me: pine or oak? It's on me. I insist.

I am your nightmare come true, I am that giant spider coming to kill you, I am the evil clown under your bed, I am the zombie coming through your window, I am your father armed with a chainsaw, I am your high-school crush laughing at you. I am the pants you didn't put on before your big school presentation. I am the exam you forgot to study for.

And you are merely you.

Your mind is reeling, wondering what you did wrong. You think you should have held the door open for me, or you shouldn't have stolen my parking spot, or you should just have said 'thank you' or 'please' or 'sorry.' All of it is true, all of it is wrong. I have reasons you cannot even begin to pretend to understand.

Because, yes: not only are you wrong, but you are also stupid.

You stupid fuck, you.

So now...

Cry, or duck, or run away.

It does not matter, for pain is coming your way.