Human Sacrifice!

After careful reflection, I realized that I inadvertently performed a "Fight Club" style
human sacrifice this past weekend.

The results were unimagined.

A lone blog post pointed at a persons misery struck so hard, the impact sent this victim screaming for help from their master tribal leaders.

The comment was designed to promote positive action and dialog via anger. A similar comment was sent once before and received in amusement.

The latest comment turned into an expression that reveals this persons reality.

After my disbelief subsided from the targets reaction, I encountered a few immature verbal attacks from said tribal leaders. Their comments were unconcerned for the welfare of the injured. Instead, they were engulfed in lobbing personal insults and the ever wonderful high school sentiment, "I'm gonna kick your ass.... chicken."

These comments revealed the nature of the victim's "support group". Banality and loyalty is preferred over growth and maturity. Philosophically, they are more comfortable in grass huts and around camp fires than the sky scrappers and knowledge that is available to all men.

I turned to the injured and, like a mugger with a philosophical weapon, I offered a choice.

"Your strength for your life!"

This was my condition as opposed to the standard "gimme all your money!" The victim had heard that threat before by a member of a similar tribe.

I told the victim to call me and and hit me in the ear as hard as they could.

Deep inside, I wanted to be the symbol of the victims suffering and I wanted to be rejected.

I wanted the victim to reject being a victim. Calling me would take courage. Telling me to "FUCK OFF" would take strength. Embracing these concepts would have given the victim power over pain and suffering. That would have been a beautiful vision. That would have been true victory.

Avoiding the symbol would be acknowledgment that pain and suffering was in control. It would be acceptance of tribal weakness, misery, co-dependency, death.

I heard nothing but silence.

"BAM."

Ironically, the trigger, that delivered the piercing slugs was squeezed by the victims own finger.

I witnessed the corpse of strength and courage slump over and hit the ground with a grotesque thud.

Strength and courage died behind a blog convenience store, next to a dumpster where frequent dives were made to bring offerings of fat to tribal leaders.

It should noted that, in accordance with company policy, I used the indefinite articles "they" and "their" versus he and she.

Finally, all of the comments in this blog blend reality, philosophy, and fiction together so precisely, like a finely crafted soap, that it even causes me to pause.

Que the cigarette burn and subliminal male genitalia.