Dangerous

Freaknoid is dangerous. Scary dangerous. (You may just want to save yourself and quit reading now. Save your life. Save your soul. Run while you can.)

Freaknoid once wanted to ride a Harley Davidson, but that was when riding a Harley meant that you were mean, crazy mean, insane mean. Ready to throw a jukebox through the window of the beer joint mean. Ready to brawl in the pool hall and not care if you break bottles of beer with beer still in them, mean. Unfortunately now the people who ride Harley's are quasi-normal people who have enough money to buy a Harley which now cost 30 million dollars and only lawyers and CPA's can afford to buy and ride them.

Freaknoid now uses bad language. (Maybe you should quit reading, this could get really scary. It is not too late to save yourself. No one can guarantee your safe return from the brink if you keep reading.) Freaknoid used to use bad language when he hit is finger with the hammer. You know how it goes. You hit your finger with the hammer and say "damn". If you are good, you probably feel bad that you said "damn" and you say to yourself, "That was not good. I want to be good, so I am not going to say 'damn' ever again, even if I hit my finger with the hammer". But when you are bad, you say to yourself, "I feel better having said 'damn'". This is the beginning of the end. Freaknoid knows. Freaknoid is bad. Freaknoid is dangerous.

It escalates. Being a bad person, the next time Freaknoid hit his finger with the hammer he said something worse. Something horribly worse. Something you could not say in public or in the presence of your mom. Freaknoid is very bad, very, very bad because it did not end there.

It is to the point now where he shocks people by saying these sort of words when there are no hammers involved no accidents, no pain, no suffering, no excuses. It is pure rebellion. It is like riding the Harley with the wind streaking through Freaknoid's imaginary hair. It is like the pool sticks broken over the end of the pool table leaving the jagged, sharp end exposed waving it under the nose of the huge biker guy in his leathers who was really scary and tough until he saw that crazy, far off look in Freaknoid's eyes that said, Freaknoid does not care if he dies tonight. Freaknoid is crazy out of his mind and would just as soon be laying in the parking lot looking at his brains on the pavement just a few inches from his eyes than stand here and put up with your pitiful existence. That's is how it feels… at least at first. But then you have to move up the chain. You have to get more drugs in the fix.

Eventually words are not enough.

To keep the rush Freaknoid had to start doing more than just using words. Freaknoid started taking crazy actions. (Stop reading now, Freaknoid implores you. We the editors beg you stop reading now. This is just cathartic writing. You should not keep reading. We can't be responsible from here on out.)

The crosswalk would have the red hand up. Freaknoid knew what it meant. Freaknoid didn't care. Freaknoid wanted to walk on the wild side, he wanted to go out in the full moon, lift his head and howl at the moon, like the vampire that he is in his soul. So Freaknoid walked, he saw the red hand, and in pure rebellion he walked. But it wasn't enough, because he had looked both ways and saw there was no traffic and then he walked. That is like breaking to pool cue over the end of the pool table and threatening the owner's pet poodle with it. There is too little danger there. It was rebellion and the thrill was there, but Freaknoid needed more.

Freaknoid was bloodthirsty now. Freaknoid was the shark at the beach with the blood in the water. He didn't need any more. Freaknoid just wanted to bite whatever was in the water because Freaknoid was mean. Dirty, rotten mean.

"Do not remove this label from this mattress of penalty of law", was like shooting fish in a barrel. He ripped those labels off all of the mattresses and dared the authorities to take him in. Freaknoid wanted them to take him in. Freaknoid wanted to be in the prison riot. No, Freaknoid wanted to lead the prison riot.

It can't get any worse you say. It has gotten worse. Now nothing is sacred.

The speed limit on the way to work is 45 miles per hour, through a residential neighborhood. It is easy enough to drive 45. Freaknoid drives nearly 50. He wants to not care. His employer gives him 30 minutes for lunch. Sometimes he takes nearly 39 minutes. Freaknoid is "sticking it to the man". Freaknoid is rebelling against authority.

The telephone on his boss's desk is for company use only. Freaknoid will call his house in an act of pure rebellion and leave a message on his answering machine. If Freaknoid had any real friends he would not hesitate to call them and spend some time on the company phone talking to them. Freaknoid has even considered not hanging up the phone when he sees his boss coming. Freaknoid is sticking it in their eye.

Freaknoid checked a book out of the library and purposely didn't read it and then took it back late. Power to the people! Down with "The Establishment"!

Some forms of music signify rebellion. In the Middle Ages it was Elvis Presley. If you listened to Elvis Presley you were way bad. You were scum. You didn't deserve to live. Freaknoid now tunes his stereo into heavy metal stations. Freaknoid listens to music he wished he liked. Freaknoid plays the music real loud so that the old lady down stairs would go insane if she weren't hard of hearing. Freaknoid doesn't want to care. Up yours! Screw you old lady who needs a hearing aid!

Freaknoid has eaten from the fruit of good and evil. He has seen the apple that the serpent has tempted us with and he has eaten. Freaknoid bite into the apple and then he gobbled it down. It is too late to save Freaknoid now. His fate is sealed. Freaknoid is bad. Dangerous.

The 7-11 around the corner has a handicapped parking space near the door. Freaknoid parks there. The clerk said something to Freaknoid the other night. Freaknoid sneered at him. The clerk asked if he had gas, so Freaknoid has to work on the sneer thing, but in his heart it was a scary, mean "up yours assh*%e" sneer. Freaknoid wanted to sneer. Freaknoid wanted to like to sneer.

What may happen now, nobody can predict. Chaos. Riot. The end of life as we know it. The earth tilting off its axis. Famine. Flood. Death. Destruction. Freaknoid not making his bed in the morning.