Monday, November 12, 2018


by John Grauerholz

When you are injured in an automobile accident, I laugh.  When you scream in pain, I smile in amusement.  Your personal agony will always make my grin a little wider.  Your own particular anguish always makes me feel a bit more satisfied.  The more society begins to collapse, the greater my sense of contentment.  As Western civilization begins to decline, the more I will delight in the show.  The greater the carnage in the street, the more popcorn that I’m going to consume.

I cannot hide my disgust for mankind.   I can either go around despondent & dejected at the human spectacle – or I can regard human existence as a sort of slapstick comedy.   All the bloodshed ought to give one a belly-laugh, rather than an upset stomach.   If watching a victim slip on a banana peel is funny in a situation comedy, then that same mishap would be so much more fun to witness at the local supermarket.   If it is humorous when Punch hits Judy in the fairground booth, then it is so much more hilarious in real life.

I might not harm you, but I sure as hell am not going to help you either.  No one has ever shown me the least bit of compassion in life, so I’ll be damned if I waste any concern on the likes of you.  I am not going to kill you, but I’m certainly not going to be kind to you either.

I might not trip your child in the parking lot, but I will still be chuckling when the little bastard skins his knee.   I might not kick you into the gutter – but I will be guffawing so hard that I will not be lifting you up, either.  I am not going to give you a kidney stone, but I am going to do a little jig while you writhe in torment.  I will not rape you, but I will be masturbating to those nude photos you thought that you had hidden-away in the sock drawer.

I might not starve you to death, but, if I am the first to find your emaciated corpse, I’ll be the one to remove your gold rings from your shriveled fingers.  I might not give you the Ebola virus, but I will be buying up your prized possessions at the estate sale.  I might not toss you under the bus, but I will be snapping a selfie in front of your mangled corpse.  I may not shoot you dead, but I will be picking up the spent shell casings to reload.

It is prophesied that there shall be weeping & wailing in the End Times – and, God damn, I sure will be enjoying the spectacle.  If you are cast into a pit of fire & brimstone, you can be certain that I’m going to be roasting marshmallows over the flames.