What is really important is caring about people. I know people who care. The Mayor cares, of course. But, we all have friends here at Mitchieville. Living or Dead, anybody named Conrad is a solid guy. One whose word is as good as his bond. A British Gentlemen with whom I do volunteer work.
My good friend, Conrad helps too. He is a very rich businessman, but he still cares. The lefties make fun of him, but if they only knew how he cared too, well, they would feel bad.
Anyway, we had a call the other night a few weeks back. Poor guy, he had lost everything. First his job, then his wife, his car, everything he valued in life. Well, not exactly that. He had been turned down for this promotion at work and was looking forward to losing his house, car, wife and Beatles disc collection. Well, actually, he needed the raise to cover his credit cards. This was a few weeks down the line, in the future. It had not yet happened, but this was enough, the worry, the self-doubt, the emotional pain, to make him want to be kill himself.
I met up with him at a bar, after we had talked a bit of the phone. A few drinks always helps. Conrad was able to call in on his cell. He has been out of the country for a bit, but he can still help out at the call in suicide center thanks to call forwarding thanks to the scientists, engineers, and employees of AT&T. So there I was, with beer and cell phone with this suicidal guy. I got some white rum into him. I even paid for it out of expenses.
Why kill yourself? I leaned forward and kinda whispered in that loud way you do in bars. How would you feel if I told you that there was a simple solution that would give you everything you wanted, deserved … I put emphasis on that word ‘deserved’, then reflected it with a similar word, ‘entitled’, you can get everything you are entitled too. You do not have to kill yourself.
The suicide looked at me like I was some jackass telemarketer selling him a bucket of steaming dog turd. I made eye contact and said, Like, suicide is a crime. If you botch the job, and you probably will, being as you are inexperienced at suicide, you will go to prison. Sorry, mate. I shrugged my shoulders, desperately seeking some way to stop this man from hurting himself. Conrad added his two cents: ‘If you are going to go to prison, you might as well get paid, get paid well for that time you serve.’
Of course, that is always an opening for Conrad to talk about his insurance experience. Sure, you can put a policy out on anyone. Just make the beneficiary someone who is not the killer. Like your dog, or house cat. Happens all the time. And because it is your dog, your housecat, you are the trustee of the money. Conrad went on and on, and the depressed guy became less and less suicidal, even if he still was unhinged. I whispered a prayer to Set, the Snake God. This man had been brought back from the brink of suicide.
Prison is not so bad, said Conrad. The food is actually quite good, and you get to hang around all day, goofing off, reading, getting a free university education. And when you get out, which will be soon, you will have more money than your job could have given you. Those sub humans who thwarted your just desire for a better paying job, well, they do not deserve to breathe air around you. They are unworthy. Spill their guts.
Octuple Indemnity. Apparently, the more grisly the murder, the more money the life insurance pays out. Conrad knows his insurance. Why use a gun? Use an axe, or a hammer. Only a crazed person would do such a thing. And being crazy will get you out of prison. Besides, first degree murder is the hardest to get a conviction on. Just write ‘I am here for revenge’ on the bathroom mirror at work. The prosecutor will throw his hands up in defeat. They best thing that will stick might be littering. Having a conviction like that is a career killer for any prosecutor. Just look at all the other cold blooded murderers that get out, all the time, get away with it, all the time. Now, it is your turn.
The suicide was a greenie, so I played up the Global Warming science of it all. Guns have a big carbon foot print. A ball peen hammer, is much smaller. Like the difference between a Marine’s combat boot, and an Apache moccasin. And you won’t be playing into the hands of the gun lobby when you take a camp hatchet into work and split some skulls. Look at Conan, he became King, or governor, or whatever. I showed him some youtube videos of medieval warfare. Just pointers. It was reassuring, even if he was drunk, and I could see the suicide drain out of him, even as I poured more white rum into him. Suicide is bad.
We ended the evening with distraction. We watched segments from different versions of the movie Treasure Island, which went well with the rum he was drinking. Anything to stop him from feeling bad about himself and wanting to hurt himself.
Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum.
I, Fenris Badwulf, I care.
from * February 16 of 2010