Heart of Darkness

Sometimes when my philosophical paterfamilias ponders over the occasional petty family squabble ( happens even in the best of extended families, I'm afraid ), he sometimes turns to my brother and I for constructive advice. As usual the diplomatic UN envoy, my brother advocates the neutral, hands-off policy of the Swiss. Me, I like to get my hands dirty - I'm all for the Chinese lets-take-no-prisoners policy - and I'd quickly outline a shockingly devious scheme to set things right.

So it usually ends with my father turning to stare at me utterly aghast at my evil Machiavellian genius and possibly wondering what bad seed I've sprung from. No doubt if he believed in organized religion, my dad ( the avowed agnostic! ) would have warded me off with signs of the cross.

Get thee away, accursed child of Satan!


Spank me, I've been very, very naughty...
But I'm not that evil. Don't consign me to the deepest bowels of purgatory just yet.

At least I don't think I'm that much of a sinner. I'm just more honest, and far more at ease with my heart of darkness than some. After all, we all have the occasional uncharitable thought - even the sainted Mother Teresa must have griped once or twice over the crazy traffic in Calcutta or some sort of inconsequential matter. We're all human with our faults and foibles. It is whether we actually give in to our baser impulses that separates the good from the evil.

Of course in a group of sanctimonious holier-than-thou do-gooders ( otherwise known as doctors ), I stand out readily, easily recognizable as the one branded the devil with horns and forked tail. Not that I mind. There are many folks I wouldn't mind seeing roasting over a steaming pit of everlasting hellfire.

Burn, baby, burn!!

My new friend JD - who looks like the guy above - would certainly agree. After all he wrote a book on his endless perfidy in Murders Most Fab. What follows is a hilarious tale of murderous deception and of closets overrun with skeletons: an unorthodox mother and a missing father, a past life as an upmarket rentboy and then a mercy killing that inevitably leads to another killing, and another and another. Although after reading his charming, witty memoirs ( written by the fabulous Julian Clary ), you'll find it hard not to sympathize with this accidental serial killer.

I don't have such grave mortal enemies of course. Seriously not a single name on my personal hit list. If there were any, wouldn't you imagine that I'd already be weeping copiously ( crocodile tears no less ) at their gravesite as we speak?

But when it comes to a bit of torture, there are a select few though - fucking snail drivers, self-righteous do-gooders, bitchy slayers to name a few - that come to mind. Not that I would immediately assasinate them in cold blood of course. Much too drastic an end! But hypothetically if they were tottering at the edge of a dangerous precipice, I wouldn't even bother reaching out a hand to help draw them back. Though I wouldn't incriminate myself by giving that final nudge of course.

Hell, I'm not that good. I might just bounce on the edge a little just to destabilize the cliff enough to hasten the inevitable fall. After all good boys go to heaven, bad boys go everywhere!

Saint Wicked perhaps?