I fear I must commit a murder.
Possibly several.
I know some of you may think there is no circumstance in which the intentional extinguishment of a life is warranted. I admire your optimism for the nature of man, that there's no level of besullyment that doesn't demand the fatal sanction. A belief that on some level that there is universal redemption. A perpetual whiff of forgiveness that can't be wafted away. The comforting ignorant bliss of never to feel the need to stab, gouge, poison, shoot, or strangle. Never to wait in the dark, sequestered in a bush, behind a door, behind the shower curtain, waiting, for the unwary. No need to plan and plot, to conspire an alibi, or hatch an excuse. No practised pleas of insanity, no rehearsed requests for clemency.
This is the moral complacency of someone who has never found chewing gum firmly entrenched in their beard. More so, if you've don't chew the bloody stuff yourself, and probably acquired it second-hand, pre-masticated at the swimming pool. What is the purpose of chewing gum other than a displacement activity for people in advanced states of mental decay? An aid to prevent the inevitable drooling from their perpetually slack mouths. For the rest of us, a soundtrack of chumbling, a symphony of sloppy salivation, a misophonic misery.
So yes, a murder. Possible several. But I will hunt them down and I will kill them. Anyone else caught chewing will be delightful collateral. It's harsh but it's fair. I do God's work.
In the end, I weighed up the benefits of moisturizer versus industrial stain remover. The moisturizer was slowly working but I upgraded to the stain remover on account it contained an impressive range of organic chemicals that I am sure where never intended to be used on skin. This was effective but now I smell like I've been dry-cleaned.
