Regular readers of the blog, including Vladimir Putin, will know I spend more time than I really should in the Co-op. Today I had occasion to wish death upon a fat woman.
She was an enormous package, grotesque, with a whale's gut that could comfortably accommodate 900kg of plankton. Ironically if only she ate plankton instead of cakes she might lose some weight.
She had her son with her. He was of course also a rotund package who looked remarkably like one of those space hoppers turned upside down.
I felt sorry for him. Don't get me wrong, I hate kids as much as the next man - noisy little fuckers - but this was a clear example of the injustice inherent in the world that gives me so much trouble with the sleeping at night.
No child no matter how noisy or undisciplined or incapable of having a sensible conversation without rubbing something unpleasant on his face deserves to be saddled with such a maternally retarded monstrosity.
Through no fault of his own, he has been burdened, by fate, with a mother who clearly is not capable of taking care of herself let alone complex, vulnerable, excitable and hungry progeny.
He was a happy go lucky chap of about 6, we had some banter. I liked him. He seemed to imply via subtle piss taking that I ought not to be buying Jelly Babies as they were for children. I couldn't fault his logic.
Had this been the 19th century I could have beaten him for his impertinence with a nearby bag of coal, but as it was I was left without recourse. I respect subtle piss taking even when it's aimed at me. Touché sir.
Anyway, I digress. call me over-punitive, but ruining a child's body like this probably for ever simply because providing the poor bastard with a healthier diet would mean the mother having to eat healthier herself is essentially a worse form of abuse than beating him with a bag of coals for making me feel like a sweet buying cunt. At least the welts would heal in time.
He will probably be subjected to bullying at school, have no friends, not lose his virginity until he's old enough to visit Amsterdam.
And even after all this he will still have inevitable complicated health issues to look forward to - diabetes, fucked up liver, small penis etc.
And of course there's little chance he has a father at home to teach him how to cope with this series of kicks to the bollocks. His father will have either have never met his son or be equally as useless as his mother and so his '
father' in name only.
I would have had no compunction this afternoon in tying this woman to the back of my car and driving off at a speed of somewhere between 4 and 5 miles an hour until she dropped panting and vomiting. I would then have continued to drive until the only thing left of her simply blew away in the breeze. I would of course need to stop to fill up before all of her was gone, but a trip well worth the price of a tank of unleaded.
Harsh, yes, but according to my equations, the humane thing to do. For both of them.
