We started a rumor around town that our mother/brother/uncle was dying of cancer/AIDS/fire (we don’t really remember, it was three whole days ago), and all of a sudden, we got a bunch of sympathy from . . . everyone. We have to admit, it caught us off-guard; we couldn’t figure out why they were trying so hard to be nice. It’s almost as if people felt bad for us. As if they had feelings. We doubt it though. Nobody does anything nice just for the sake of being nice, and if you don’t believe that, you’re probably a toddler that needs to cut back a bit on the crack. If someone does something nice for you, it’s either because a.) they want to be able to brag about it later, or b.) they feel guilty about something and think doing something nice will make them feel better. They don’t care about the person they’re actually doing something nice for, it’s all (indirectly) about them, no matter how nice they seem. And this goes for everyone, too. Oh sure, some people, religious types mostly, may claim they do nice things for you because they “like you,” or because they “wanted to help out,” but it’s obvious those are lies because no one likes you and anyone who wants to help you out has got way too much time on their hands. Or maybe they’re just trying to compensate for some stupid crap they did as a kid by doing something “nice” (which is futile because they usually end up feeling guiltier then before they began and we still don’t feel any better about “our mother dying”). Either way, they can go screw themselves because none of them really care about us or our mother, God bless her soul. We guarantee that if we hadn’t lied and said our mother/sister/aunt was dying, they wouldn’t even glance our way. Never to be nice, always to benefit themselves. Some people still think people’s acts of kindness are products of “the goodness of their hearts?” BAH! There is no goodness . . . only hate, evil, and terror. Human sympathy died with Hitler in WW ll, and it isn’t coming back (good riddance, we say). Satan rules this world now. And we for one (two?) welcome our new Prince-of-darkness overlord. Humans are scum. And the time for rectifying will soon arise . . . .
Anyway, one particularly guilt-ridden woman — we’ll call her Ms. Gooch to protect her identity — came by our house one night with some tupperware filled with dinner. It seems Ms. Gooch was so filled with guilt that she actually felt she needed to make us dinner. Sucker! If our mother really was dying of cancer, why would dinner make us feel better? It would actually make things worse, likely reminding us of better dinners (Ms. Gooch was a terrible cook) our mother had made before she started “passing on” (we use “passing on” because apparently it’s more socially acceptable than saying “about to kick the crapper”). Not so considerate now, are you Ms. Gooch?
We thought to ourselves, “hey, a free dinner. Not bad, even if it does taste like crap.” Our little game of lying to gain sympathy sounded like a great success and we planned on doing it again sometime soon. But as we looked closer at the tupperware, we noticed something shocking; there was roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and two bowels of chicken noodle soup, but there wasn’t any dessert.
Our faces instantly fell (no, they didn’t get chopped off by Ms. Gooch, it’s just an expression, idiot). Ms. Gooch asked us why, and hearing her cranky-witch voice only made us angrier, so we blurted out, “what the hell is this? Is this some kinda twisted joke? Don’t you realize our mother is freaking dying?!” Ms. Gooch was confused, so we idiotified it: “didn’t you you make us dessert? How are we supposed to eat this without dessert?” Ms. Gooch started stuttering that she “didn’t know” and “must’ve forgotten,” but people who stutter piss us off, and we were already pissed off enough to kill someone, so we grabbed the dinner she made for us and threw it into her face (although we kept the chicken noodle; that stuff is damn good). She started sobbing and began to run out of the house, but we tripped her as she reached the stairs. She started to fall, but we don’t know what happened next because we had already slammed the door shut.
All in all, it was a pretty fruitful week. We got some chicken noodle soup, and we haven’t heard from Ms. Gooch since the “incident.” A neighbor mentioned something about needing surgery for a broken neck, but we haven’t gotten around to looking into it yet. Super Mario comes first.