The Horribly Slow Murderers with Extremely Inefficient Weapons
Wait, you haven’t seen this gem of a video with the same name as the title? *gasp*
Not even heard of it?
*clutch chest*
What do you even do with your life?
Here’s a link- be warned, watch it with the lights on. And headphones in. And don’t show it to young kids. (Unless they are screaming and annoying, in which case I recommend telling the story of the Human Centipede. But I digress, back to today’s Horribly Slow Murderer!)
Watch the first two minutes and you’ll get the idea.
Yes. Barbaric and painful. I feel this should have been on Crime Patrol.
I saw this video a few years back on a friend’s insistence, you know, the type who says- “This is the funniest video ever! You HAVE to watch it! So funny right, HAHA- I hope someone can see that my morbid sense of humour is a desperate plea for help- LOL!”
But its only recently that I could see the director’s vision. It was like the epiphanic moment when you realise what the author is trying to say in the lines. And here’s what I’ve learnt: “The murderer is real and goes by the name- Life! And you and I and all the people we know are the murder victims.”
Don’t believe me - No problem, but how will refute the barrage of evidence I’m going to throw in your path below? Here are some of the daily life horribly slow murderers and their extremely inefficient weapons.
(Personal) Space Invaders
We all have been there. You’re standing in a slow queue, cursing — the person ahead of you, the bloke at the counter, ISIS and global warming — under your breath. And just when you thought it doesn’t get worse, You meet the Personal Space Invaders!
These are the people who will stand just short of touching you in the queue, all for the joy of getting a few nanometers closer to the counter. This is the person who hogs your armrest in the theatre and smiles while he does it. This is the colleague who peers into your laptop so closely, people mistake you two for Siamese Twins.
Weapon: Ability to reduce the distance between your bodies enough to cause automatic electron transfer. And also, influence you to want to transfer to the afterlife!
Small Talkers
Often times, PSAs level up and come with an additional villainous power- Small Talking.
Its a social setting. I already hate everyone here except for the one friend who dragged me here. (Actually, scratch that, I hate him too now!)
I’m clutching onto my third drink trying to fake a normal smile in the corner, and then it happens!
It takes all my mental strength to not break down and start wailing on being asked, “How is work?”
It sucks! I don’t like it. I want to go back to school. “Work’s really good, yeah.”
“Nice, are you seeing anyone at the moment?”
My last relationship ended in a cesspool of lies and drama and I had to rewatch Grey’s Anatomy twice to feel alright again. Why would I do that to myself again? “Just enjoying single-hood again. Me time, you know!”
“Wonderful, so any travel plans?”
Yes, I make two a day. But then my account statement is a reality kick every weekend, so plans yes, travel no. “I’m working on a critical project at the moment, maybe after that…I’ll just get a drink. See you!”
Weapon: Making you a raging alcoholic. One party at a time!
Parents who bring their children to the real world- and then get amnesia!
These serial killers roam about freely amongst us- in theatres, restaurants, aeroplanes, social gatherings. Everywhere.
The infant starts attempting to break the upper limit of the decibel level humans can produce. The mother looks at the child, shakes her head dotingly, and turns to her friends expressing how the child is developing a personality of his own and she wants to encourage his self-expression.
The father looks at the child, rolls his eyes dotingly and tunes out — by heading to the bar/plugging in earphones/calling someone over the phone/telling the mother to do something.
What they miss in all their doting bubble is the death glare the others are giving them. I have personally ended up crushing a glass stem, shaking the child violently and asking him — “Why are doing this?”, offering the father a bribe to make the crying stop, and finally pleading to the mother with folded hands — “Don’t make me get into child trafficking again!”
I think the last one did it- I was finally escorted out of the venue. Self high five!
Weapon: Raising blood pressures to the point of bursting a vein in the neck.
Friends getting married
You know who you are. And you need to stop! Because as soon as I tell my mother about your wedding, she falls into a pit of despair about how her only child will never find love in this world and die alone. More importantly, she reminds me how her life is incomplete without the love of a squealing grandchild. No amount of reasoning or cajoling or squealing will fix my mother now! Thanks a lot, Shweta!
Also, great job on getting that wedding photographer to make you look like the queen of a small island nation in your wedding dress. Makes my self esteem nosedive from where it was, the pavement!
*Open Tinder under a fort of blankets and self pity.* Maybe this coffee roaster, sapiosexual, travel addict from Rohtak is the man I will marry! *Right swipe*
Weapon: Self-pity and wallowing under the weight of your failed love life and 30 kilos of blankets. (How else will you feel warm in the cold cruel world!)
Tell me if I’m wrong. So that I can tell you you’re either a liar, or a privileged little brat. And I’m going to be the spoon murderer in your life from today if that’s all I do.
And, If I’m right, hit like/share/comment and let me know how you get murdered every hour of every day.
I say : Together we can climb trees!
