Well, watched Sin City for a third time. Jesus, what a film! I started thinking, what would happen if some undesirables broke into my house, what would I do? What would you do? Well, I’ll tell you.
First I’d round house Duke, [Duke the big one with the love, hat tattoos on his fingers (he lost his pinkie in a brawl with a hooker in 93)] then with a move that a ballerina would be proud of, I’d pivot on my heels and backhand Chico breaking his nose and jaw, he instantly crumples to the floor sobbing “ma, my ma” before passing out. The third felon, Dewey, stands and starts to cry “man, it was a joke, I didn’t…” His sentence is cut off abruptly as I jam an ashtray into his throat, he drops like a sack of wet potatoes onto the floor. His bowels release. The stench is invigorating. I turn to my family and nod, “It’s okay now, Daddy has fixed it”
This is how grown men think. They believe they are superhuman. They believe they can protect the things they love. In reality Duke would of thrown boiling water over me, Chico would have started to load up the tranny with the bairns game cube and the TV, and fuck knows what Dewey would of done to my family the sick fuck.
I have had an epiphany: the next time somebody knocks on your door, be prepared, get a gallon of petrol, dowse the fuckers, whoever they are, light a match, then, as politely as you can ask-
“Can I help you?”
El Humero, the Paranoid Human.