Evil Personified

Although I do glance through the daily horoscopes, I usually don't pay it much thought. Never actually thought that there could actually be a kernel of truth in all that ridiculous ballyhoo.


The Scorpion finds a mate
Let's face it, Scorpios are reputed to be the wicked bad boys of the horoscope - no matter how shiny a paragon the boy might be, there's always a moment in his past when a Scorpio delves into the deepest darkest places in a human soul searching for his true self, hopefully coming out from the life-altering experience on the better side.

Since I haven't indulged in wild sadistic whipping orgies, hallucinating drug raves nor have I committed gruesome inhuman acts that would have had me condemned to a scorching eternity down under in purgatory, I figured that I've escaped that particular Scorpio stigma. Sure I've imagined thousands of malicious excruciatingly painful ends for some of my merciless tormentors but I've certainly never acted upon any of them ( gotta get grace points for saying no to temptation surely ). Hell, the only sin I've probably committed - at least in the eyes of the ultra-conservative Bible-thumping zealots - is the wicked ways of Sodom.

Till today when I found out that I have a deep, pulsating, near-sentient streak of evil just waiting to ooze forth. All it took was a little prompting from Strapping Shane who needed a springboard for his scripts and I was sprinting down that road to perdition fast enough that sleepy Charming Calvin's head spun. Well it certainly would have spun if he had been awake long enough to hear since the lord of perpetual yawn was already fast asleep on his feet.

But together with Shane, we came up with such devilish horrific storylines that showcased the dark, depraved facets of the human psyche... such a heinous well of foul betrayal, sinful acts and ingenious murders ( covering all the seven infamous sins, I'm sure ) that even I was a little appalled - and a tad dismayed - myself at the end. Best friend slaughtering friend. Severed fingers in chicken pies. Nefarious scalpel-wielding surgeons.

Bloody hell. Was I meant to be a sinister B-grade horror movie Hitchcock wannabe? What kinda twisted imagination do I have!