House of pain

There’s a rent house at the end of the street that’s home to a colorful rotating cast of ate-up methheads.

They’re always outside, always fucking around, doing something crazy like throwing oil paintings across the yard, selling meth to random driver-uppers, throwing axes, mean-mugging all passers by…

I saw this chick last week, skinny little chicken-legged bootyless bitch in booty shirts sitting in her truck with one leg hanging out, airing out her twat, I guess. All fucking day!

Under cover of darkness(but visible on camera),they steal from the outdoor flower store that’s there part of the year, across the street. They check car door handles and steal stuff out of unlocked cars, or attempt to break into them. They’re total fucking shit stains.

Kids live there, though. I see them coming and going from school, playing with their dog in the tall grass out front amidst random junk items strewn carelessly about. Walked by one day and saw a needle on the curb, under the weeping willow tree in their side yard where junkies occasionally camp out. Right on the other side of the fence from where the kids bounce on a trampoline in the backyard.

It’s fucking ridiculous, and they stand out like a sore thumb, because this isn’t that kind of neighborhood. They’re like the Munsters or the Adams Family, but they’re not fun, they’re just fucking gross methheads.

They’re still people, though. They’re living lives, having struggles, suffering, laughing, crying, etc. At some point, the pain of life became unbearable, and they found out that a potentially volatile mixture of caustic chemicals could make them feel joy. That’s how people get hooked on drugs. They don’t want to be like that. They aren’t living it up, they’re biding their time with little releases from reality until the big one comes.

I empathize. I understand the feelings that can drive one to turn to any escape he or she can find. I have empathy for those people.

But I don’t fucking care about them. Not one damn bit. Fuck them, I want them gone.

The message: it’s possible to empathize without sympathizing. Understanding where another person is coming from, even when their way of thinking seems foreign to you, is something they should teach in school, as far as I’m concerned. Instill that idea early. Recognize that human beings do bad things, and they fall into bad habits that become routine.

But they’re a danger to those around them, and we sequester such people away for the greater good.

I feel empathy when I stare into the hopeless eyes of a mugshot on the news. Their faces say “Life is over.”

Imagine suddenly being hit with the realization that your whole life was about to be taken away from you? It’s very sad, and dealing with these people should be treated as a solemn duty, not a public feeding frenzy.

We gleefully detail our torturous fantasies in the comments sections of news stories on social media. It lets us get our jollies out, exercise our inner sadists, stroke our torture boners.

I can’t wait for him to get raped!

They should cut his dick off!

That’s what they get for doing drugs!

Bring back public hangings!

Who cares if they suffer?

 

Thats all socially acceptable talk, because we’ve designated criminals as a class of people that it’s “ok” to think that way about. They’re not people. They’re not real. They’re evil caricatures who deserve our boos and hisses. It’s a cleaner version of the stocks in the town square, a sanitized, modern-day Roman colosseum. It’s guilt-free detached digital sadism.

We love to tear down celebrities and watch them fall from the pedestal we’ve elevated them to.

With criminals, they’re just subhuman pieces of shit we can openly fantasize about abusing in any way we wish, right from the start.

I hate those fucking people. But they are human beings. Even though I call them shitstains.

 

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