Despite
my careers as a dogkiller, CIA operative, superhero, wanker,
demagogue, pedagogue (policeman, construction worker, sailor,
Native American chief, biker) I have always harboured one desire.
I dream, nay would like to be, a freedom fighter. Preferably a
Mexican one so I can turn up with a smelly friend who, for the
sake of humour, I insist on calling Bachiss. National boundaries
are, however, unimportant in my desire. Anywhere freedom is being
fought (for?), I'll be there. Anywhere the weak and feeble are
being oppressed, I'll be there. Anywhere there is [funny thing],
I'll be there. Anywhere I get to hold a gun and go without
washing or changing my clothes, I'll be there. I want to kill a
genuine bad guy. All my myriad of kills, both false and imagined,
have been bad guys, but whatever it is I'm standing for at that
time (the police, the navy, the construction industry, etc.),
when viewed in the cynical light of savage dissection, can be
debated into evil. Every single one of you that reads this -
especially the vegematarian, pacifist, hippies - harbours the
need to kill another human. We all need to do something to
benefit the human race, society, Mexico, at some point in our
feeble, mundane, Mexican lives. How better to improve society
than killing its evil majority? Yes, I am advocating a killing
spree. Yes, I am telling you to kill as you see fit. Fly, my
precious beauties, fly. Fly monkeys, fly!
While
you're doing that, I'm heading to wherever there in injustice in
this world, purchasing a weapon, heading to the hills (every
night I pray to God that Norfolk or Holland aren't being
oppressed) and making daring raids, attacking the machinations of
the totalitarian regime and accidentally killing a few people in
the process, before my visa expires and sadly I must return home.
I always get dreamy like this whenever I read about Nelson and
Umkonto we Sizwe, homages to catatonia, Xanana and others being
shot by British planes, and Fidel and Che (you Americans were
with me up to then, weren't you? Even the Alabama goatfucking
bigotted rednecks...) They may have been grittily written about,
but time and again, the French peasant girls float to the
surface. They usually turn out to be fat, hairy, sweaty French
peasant girls; the fantasy is shattered and the reality of being
a freedom fighter still manages to sound appealing. Ennui seems
to win the fight against my hippy pacifist lesbianism, but an
overriding sense of malaise frips me and frips me again until I
can be fripped no more. My dream retires into the recesses of my
quaking chest and I am left gazing into the flame of the
aromatherapy candle (lemon for lung cancer and genius. If you
want one, you must put up with the other).
I
am fully aware that it has been done before, but I am fully aware
that I am considering creating a minor culture of oppression in
my fully aware, minor sphere of influence. There are no election
years for me; I can conquer 'oppression' whenever I feel like it.
I may not be able to go the whole hog and kill as
indiscriminately as I would care to, but maybe, just maybe, I can
reach out to one of you who can. Un-tss un-tss un-tss un-tss Kill
anyone (un-tss) who doesn't think. (Un-tss un-tss) Kill anyone
(un-tss) who is evil (wakkabowwwwww un-tss) and oppresses others.
(Un-tss un-tss) Kill anyone (un-tss) who tells you what to do.
(Un-tss wakkabowww un-tss un-tss) Just kill. (Un-tss). Just kill
me. (Wakkabowww). If in doubt, resort to killing. It worked for
[insert funny name here].