And so it is Halloween!

Because today is in fact the most frightening day of the year, the day Satan possessed a cheap plastic mask and smock and taught children how to steal candy from hard working adults via gentle extortion, I find it incumbent upon me to try to to scare you the reader somehow.   But I am not going to do that.  Talking about the implications of the platitudes and promises made by any major political candidate, what it would take to implement them, and what effect their policies would have on liberty is enough to frighten the will to live from most anyone.  It is technically a form of torture, and is outlawed in 23 countries worldwide.

Rather I am going to tell you all about how I am going to, through fright, psychologically destroy my great-great-great-grandnephews and nieces roughly 70 years after my death.  You see, kids, ultimately there is only one reason to have wealth or power: to destroy the lives of everyone around you, both during your life and in the centuries following your death, for a few cheap laughs.   The Pharaohs of Egypt knew it.  The Qin Dynasty knew it.  Henry Kissinger would know it if he had not actually died in 1969.  His obviously robotic animated corpse is merely a continuation of the elaborate post mortem joke he has played on the USA and the world through diplomacy.  Ol’ Hank always knew that the best jokes are ones that shatter civilization for decades but that the grim blanket of death keeps from effecting your own life.

As always, my great plan is predicated on having an amount of bucks at least the size of Bill Gates’ immense fortune.  I know this ain’t going to happen but play along okay?

So the first thing I would do is simple: I would figure out when I was going to die.  As anyone who has been to Transylvania knows if you slip a gypsy in a head scarf a fifty they are obliged to tell you.  So no biggie.

The next thing is to then buy a giant, old cemetery, preferably one built on swampland with many leaning and decaying headstones and a large boggy empty area containing ancient dead oak trees.  I would then build in the large boggy area a four story tall granite monument to myself.  The carvings would not be of me or of an angel of peace taking me the glorious leader to heaven.  Instead I would have the monument have on it again and again a stomach turning realistic skeleton cutting through the innocent with a scythe.  The intended effect to make all who see it recognize that Death seeks them in every moment.  As well my headstone will have a lead lined chamber inside filled with plutonium and equipped with explosives. All of these elements will be really important to carry off this joke.

Before I died I would convert all of my wealth into booty.  Primarily gold booty, but silver, gems, diamonds, platinum, and imperishable masterpieces.  Considering the hundreds of billions I would be converting into swag this would be what the kids on the strteet call a not insubstantial amount of personal wealth.  I would bury my booty and then create a map that would torn apart and be hidden in various locations around the world.  I would then call together my family and give each family member a special clue that could lead to piece of the map that leads to treasure.  I would also warn them that to use that clue before seventy years after my death had passed would lead to dire consequences.  Dire consequences.

I believe the life I intend to lead up to that point would insure that they will heed my wishes.  Oh yes.  They will heed.

At last when I die, I would be buried in rags, placed in a pine box, with a giant 10,000 gallon tank of methane placed beside me (which means that, lest everyone in attendance die in an explosion, certain friends of mine will not be welcome, I’m looking at you Super Dave and James) and a secret device attached to my right arm, my great death monument above me, my treasure below me.  Again no one could speak of what they saw because of the dire, you know, consequences.

So in case you hadn’t guessed it here’s the punchline: about seventy years after I die, my greedy (not because they are especially bad but because everyone is)  great-great-nephews and nieces will finally pass the seventy year prohibition to seek out the treasure.  And while the heckish nightmare of searching out the map may or may not pay off, the terror at having to enter an abandoned bog of a cemetery, where an unholy amount of foxfire pours unnaturally from their deceased uncles grave and monument to impending Death beneath some withered oaks, should be great.  When they begin to dig for the swag hidden in my grave, as they inevitably will, the desecration they are committing will begin to grad hold of them.  The horrific smell, the unnatural phosphorescence, the macabre statues, the ground that feels like decay itself, will take their toll.

And they will dig.  And dig.  Through the foul rotten earth they will dig.  Out of the lust for gold they will dig.  Thirty feet down.  Until they hit my coffin.

Trembling they will bend down to move it when suddenly, BAM! my decayed skeleton hand surges through the rotten wood and starts to grab and claw at my heirs as Megadeth’s “Go to Hell” begins to play!!! 

“LEAVE ME BE, OR BURN!”  My dead voice will cry from the motion sensor triggered device that shot my arm up to grab at the innocent.  As they flee, the monument, also rigged to the motion sensor will explode and tumble forward crushing the grave and exposing the radioactive plutonium and making the treasure inaccessible.  Their terror would take hold of their lives as they seek to explain to the authorities what happened and why they just created a nuclear wasteland for a dead man’s gold. 

Pretty good joke, huh?

-Bob

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I’ve been watching the hit television show “Lost” and I have to say this show is possibly the dumbest thing ever filmed for television. And that is even after taking the show “Cavemen” into consideration.
Everyone on that show deserves every terrible thing that is coming to them. True, I haven’t seen all of the series and I have only started the third season but these morons deserve every single shock, beating, and capture they endure. Everything they do practically begs for them to be killed or captured. These people are like the freakin’ teenagers in a slasher flick. And just like the screaming 16 year old with a pickax stuck in their skull, these fools have done everything possible to make their situation as terrible as could possibly be imagined.
Let me ask you: you crashed land on an island with numerous hardened criminals and bunch of guns on a giant jungle island filled with fruit and game. So how long before you build a permanent signal fire and legitimate shelter? Two, maybe three days. Well these idiots have been on the island for two whole freakin months and they still haven’t done more than put some tarps up and no freakin signal fire!
Say then you get attacked by a polar bear, a smoke monster, and a group of mysterious strangers. So how long before you, in justified terror, put up some sort of fence or stockade or something around your primitive shelters? A few hours maybe! Most of us would be probably be chopping down trees and stacking them like Lincoln Logs the minute we realized that we did not know what was behind us!
And (spoiler) if you knew for certain that there were people who wanted to hurt you in your island and then a former friend who was probably captured by those enemies told you he was going to take only a few people including the lovable fat guy against those bad guys but was going to explicitly leaving out the Iraqi Republican Guard veteran/torturer, the big Nigerian who kills your enemies with his bare hands and a stick, the Korean mafia enforcer, the trigger happy ex-cop, and the knife welding survivalist nut, would you not suspect something was up?! For the love of St. Mike! I know that my eight year old cousin would and she knows more about ponies than assault teams!
And if these people took you hostage would you ever trust anything they ever said, fed, or gave you?!! NO!!! You would not because you would know how easily those things could be poisoned! Would you talk to them or believe anything they said?! NO!!! Because you would know that that is how Stockholm Syndrome begins and that soon you would be used for their evil designs just like your former friend was! (spoiler over)
Seriously! Gilligan and his crew would do a better job of dealing with the circumstances presented to these people!
Every time I see these people making any decisions I feel like I am seeing the equivalent of a cheerleader saying she’ll be right back and heading down the stairs to the basement or like I have just seen the couple that indulges in too much making out sneak off for a quiet moment. Everyone knows that they are just warmed over corpses at that point. And I have exactly the same amount of pity for the Lost people as I do for the those teenage murdering bags, none.
That is right I have no pity for any of these poor unfortunates. No, not even the heroes. And I have no pity for them for one very simple reason. None of them fight.
None of them ever fight!
They run. They talk. They cower. They hope. They scream. They cry. They arm themselves occasionally, but always ineffectually. But they never realize that everyone, EVERYONE, even them and their family back home, is already dead and that the only joy left to them is to try to inflict as much pain on their enemies as possible. They never take their anger and rage and fear and turn it animal like against their tormentors and throw themselves onto their enemies throats, tearing and biting with every last once of energy that their pain wracked bodies and fear addled minds have.
They hardly ever even stop and realize that if they begin to act like their enemies then they might frighten their enemies as much they are being frightened by them. Hunt “the Others” and maybe the Others will decide that it is best to stop hunting for a while and get on the defensive.
Get and ax and cut off Jason’s arms and let’s see how well he can use a chainsaw. Chop off his legs and you can light him on fire.
Burn down the jungle and leave the Others no place to hide and they’ll have to run, they might even decide that you are so crazy that they had better try to just stay away.
Allow “them” to shoot a hostage, preferably someone you love, just so you can shoot one of them and they realize you are willing to die to man just to kill a few of them. It’s all in Keyser Soze people! C’mon!
But do they ever do that? No. Maybe someone bluffs with a piece of glass to someone’s neck, but inevitably they will back down and let their enemy win.
They just let their enemy go and hope for someone else to save them.
I hope they get stuck in the eye.

-Bob

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