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I was once held captive in a horrible dungeon by a large British man
with ghastly teeth. He surgically switched my hands, just to see if I was truly ambidextrous, and had a persuasion
for cooking rats on his hotplate. He was a terrible man and I hated him so. I was often remarked to say: 'You're
a terrible man, and I hate you."
"Brush your teeth!" he would yell back.
I would point out the glaringly obvious fact that my teeth were in top-notch condition, and his teeth, well….I
had seen better teeth on a worn-out gearbox. This would make him very angry, and I would get no rat for several
days, though it wasn't all so bad, I had a big bag of marshmallows jammed under my abs and would snack of them
frequently. But to be perfectly honest, with you the reader, it has to be said, that in my heart of hearts, I had
given up, a young man, slowly worn down by dreadful events, sinners, yet somehow maintained the passion of an idealist,
yet wanted to die.
To fully understand why I wasn't overly fazed by the prospect of death, we must travel back in time, in my time
machine: I call it 'the time machine that's in my head':
The year is 1987, Slovenia, I live in a very smart studio apartment, with my better half Sarah, incidentally, Sarah
is dead now, in fact her whole family tree is dead. As though someone had taken to it with industrial pesticide,
they are all no more. The entire family had been dining in a restaurant, a transvestite came in strapped to the
gullet with dynamite, recited some scripture, and then obliterated everyone in one flash of terror, smudged lipstick,
and caked-on makeup.
But before the dungeon, the transvestite, and the death, was the list. In a moment of brilliance, Sarah and I,
sat down one evening, listening to smooth jazz and drinking thrice hopped beer, we devised a list of things we
wanted to achieve - no holds bar. We went silly, I remember the night with such fond memories, endorphins fizz
and my heart swells just to think of it.
This, my friends, was not your standard, hum-drum, '5 year-plan that I would maybe do, someday.' We would begin
immediately, remaining dedicated to the cause until it had been completely, and faltering along the way was punishable
by a 2x4 to the neck, which, funnily enough one of the things on my list, so there was absolutely no getting out
of that one. To give one the true peppery sting of our list; I feel obliged to share some of it with you now:
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