Bowed heads, glazed eyes and suppressed yawns. Oscillating between near-comatose apathy and boredom induced rage. I imagine the fan falling on his head, the rotating blades severing the top half, blood spurting out and brains splattered on the blackboard. I love brains. Almost as much as guts. Imagine holding a slimy, thick, translucent cord in your hands, with the partially digested contents of your last meal still visible, surrounded by greenish brown fecal matter. Imagine it covered in blood, spilling out of that large gash in your stomach.

Imagine your blood flowing out, covering the floor. Imagine being strangled with your own gut, the slime, the blood, the shit, that last slice of Pizza, all around your neck, or down your front. Tell me that’s not an awesome way to die. Old shit. I need more gore. Need to get my hands on some anatomy textbooks. The Catholic Church has a lot of experience in the fields of torture and sadistic homicide. Not to forget, the Nazis and the Japs.

Maybe i should ask him about that. He’s the History prof after all. Guess the fan will have to wait. I yawn. I wish i yawned like a hippopotamus. dislocated jaw at a 90 degree angle. Violence attracts me. Raw, primal, basic. Bodies ripped apart, severed appendages, disemboweled intestines. Yes, i’m a sadist. Violence surrounds me. Riots, explosions, call for murder and war. Bloodthirst. Stones, clubs, knives, spears, swords, country made guns, Colt .45, Magnum .50 BFR, AK-47, HK MP5, Dragunov, Bradley APCs, T-70s, T-28s, Bofors, Howitzers, FLaKs, RPGs, Panzerschrecks, Sukhoi-30s, F-16s, B-52s, Fat Man, Little Boy, Tactical nukes, A-bombs, H-bombs. Death is God. We are living in hell. Famines and floods, genocides and suicides. Porno goddesses, junkie heroes and attention-whore idols. Mediocrity reigning supreme, talent is elitist. Mass annihilation never looked more attractive. The ultimate cure for humanity. Nuclear holocaust, mustard gas, germs eating your skin while you’re still alive. Peaceful death should become a paradox. I need a smoke. A joint, some coke to snort, some heroin to mainline, some acid to drop. Slow suicide or massive overdose? So many options, but only really one. Death is inevitable. Sooner rather than later. Cliches strung together to make barely coherent statements. Still an hour to go. Shit. Can boredom kill? I hope so. “And in today’s news, A student of St. Xavier’s died of boredom. The teacher is under police custody. No really!” Ask the doctor, the coroner, the mortician. The underworld, the underground, the movement. Grunge IS dead. Coherence is optional. My brain is slowing down. Reform : Reformation, Protest : Hopeless optimistic retards. FUCK YOU! Anal, vaginal or oral. I’m not choosy. This is a bunch of crap and you should go die now. Uh-oh, here comes Freud. Bye.

P.S : How about digging open chest cavities?