As a disclaimer I'll have it known that my inspiration at the time came almost solely from Jameson Irish whiskey and a rotating cast of back ally pain pills prescribed for my suffered aching being.
"You're probably thinking at this moment that you're a murderer, a monster in a world full of pimps and cheap whores, a world that is on its way to self destructing in a giant nuclear explosion with the button pusher some green suited speed freak with a cold sweat swatting at flies that were never there. You're thinking you've extinguished an immortal flame but really you prevented a forest fire, like that king sized talking bear walking upright wearing a rangers hat peddling cheap tricks while preaching about the prevention and death of adolescent mischief. The truth is you're a hero and as such deserve the highest honor in our commander and chiefs armed forces, as it is the president is no longer accepting any correspondence from me because of a mix up of words that i sent his way by carrier pigeon hastily written while under the influence of several mood altering substances mixed with copious amounts of home baked spirits that i concocted in a lab in the desert that i found while on a journey to find and kill my spirit animal, I'd like to point out that any misgivings that you may have about my procurement of these mood altering substances are all for naught, if a prescription is required for any fact checking purposes I'd be more than happy to point you in the direction of my pharmacist, he is very easy to find in his back ally shanty made from sturdy brown paper and ski poles, I'm sure he'd be more than accommodating in explaining his trafficking of these life saving medicines and more than willing to supply you as well (I recommend staying away from the little green and white fuckers he tries to push on you as the high is great until it turns on you and demands the life of your first born child on the day his first tooth falls out.) I'm getting off topic. Today you killed a man, I can't imagine the thought that raced through your head as you smashed into some bat crazy lunatic wearing a blindfold and his best thrift store suit, holding in one hand a high ball full of wild turkey and half melted ice cubes, and in the other a signed manuscript of Richard Milhous Nixon's memoirs titled "If I had the chance to do it all over again..... I'd have gone by the name Dick". This book never reached print and was purchased by an acquaintance of mine in an antique store in Bangladesh from a one eyed chinaman half insane from the opium smoke steadily coursing through his lungs, mouth, and nose. The manuscript eventually came into my possession after a duel to the death involving a stun gun, 16 feet of rubber medical tubing (sterilized for the safety of myself and the others involved) and the poison of a torafugu blow fish native to the waters of Japan. Upon arrival the police will also find a satchel on my person. Said satchel will be chock full of family portraits that were purchased from various second hand stores with my face savagely scribbled in between the fake smiles and eyes looking slightly to the left. The reason i mention these is because this is where this vicious splatter of blood, bone and meat all started, family, or lack there of. i was born in the Netherlands on a farm over looking the north sea that shares maritime borders with Belgium, Germany, and the United Kingdom to a Dutch agriculturalist with a drinking problem and a wandering eye, my mother a french prostitute that serviced my father while on a stint in the dutch conscription army. The farmers wife saw me as an abomination and I was soon sold for scientific purposes to a young american inventor that holds patents to adhesive for cereal flour and also drunkenly holds claim to inventing the first manure bomb used by Guatemalan freedom fighters in the Mexican revolution. Terrence Reginald Thurston was his name, you'd be hard pressed to find a more nervous tick ridden introvert this side of a padded cell. The adventures of the doctor you will have to save for another time for it is not for the faint of heart or empty of stomach. You'll find that story buried 50 paces magnetic north from the dying oak tree in the back yard of......."
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