By now, everyone’s read about the mad Canadian who stabbed his fellow coach passenger sixty times, gutted him like a fish and hacked off his head. God knows links have been sent to me a hundred times in the last day.
The funny thing is… the first thing that came to mind was… well, he must’ve done something to deserve that. Was the guy snoring? Did he fart on his killer in his sleep? Did he accidentally trigger a homicidal rage by wearing patchouli oil, or smelling of eggs? He must’ve done something, right? It seems more reasonable than one guy deciding that today was the day he was going to take a long coach ride with a big fucking knife and saw the head off the first bloke who looked like he needed it. Or would like it. Maybe it was a long-held ambition, and he said to himself, today is my birthday and as a special treat to myself I am finally going to decapitate someone. On a coach journey. Because my parents wouldn’t let me and today I am a Man. The sort of logic that only sparks in a head full of bad wiring.
I am reminded, for some reason, of a terrible “joke” I heard the other day:
Q: How long does it take to cook a baby in a microwave oven?
A: I don’t know, I was too busy jerking off.