It is pathetic how a grown man can be made to beg from his knees.
Though the look in his eyes brings to mind a beagle pup in want of scraps of steak at the dinner table, his face is that of a feral cat. His coarse beard seems to be greased with gasoline, but his cheeks are still reminiscent of rawhide. His lips are cracked to the point of being split, sticky with cotton saliva and blood. Thick, green snot dries hard in a pool at the crest above his upper lip. The lids of his eyes are tire rubber black. His eyebrow is like a mane of pubic hair, and the top of his head appears to be singed bald. Utterly helpless, he slobbers all over himself.
Beg, you scurvy sonofabitch, beg.
But... how could this happen? How, you might ask, could I say such a thing? Well, all is fair in Love and War. You have something I Love, I declare War on you. It's that simple. No bullshit. No frills. No holds barred. It's The American Way. What? Should I turn a blind eye? No, no, no, my friend: Justice is not blind. Justice, in fact, sees better than 20/20. Justice can spy a no good bastard dickhead from three miles out and shoot him square between the eyes, if she wants to. Of course, Justice would never want to do a thing like that. Instead, Justice would strap him naked to a table and take from him by force everything that he holds dear.
Or, something to that effect.
In reality, Justice takes many forms. There are, naturally, the obvious tangible every day representations of Justice: the local courthouse, the badge, the Supreme Court, The Law. There are even things like scholarships for disadvantaged youth, long tortured sports fans finally seeing their team win The Big One, and the occasional fall from grace of some pig-bellied scumbag politician at last exposed to be the terrible human being he really is. Sometimes, though, a sense of Justice is not so easy to grasp. Sometimes we are vindicated by its presence, yet wholly aloof. Say, for example, some horrible bitch of a slut made fun of you in high school for the slight stammer that you've had ever since you started talking. You wanted so badly to knock her fucking pretty teeth out but you never got up the nerve because you were always told it was taboo to hit a girl, especially if that girl was the most popular whore in school. Where's the Justice in that? Worry not; it will find her. It's just a matter of time. Before she knows it, she'll be popping out her third little screaming brat, married to Mr. Right Now, living in the meth lab trailer at the back edge of the park--the one nearest the community septic pump.
Now, you might say, "That's all well and good but where's the satisfaction? I can't feel that Justice." And, you're right. You know... where's the beef? That's why the best kind of Justice can only occur when we do the right thing. Real Justice is when we take Justice into our own hands. A process that can, I must add, get very, very messy.
Which brings us back to where we started.
How far is too far? It's a fair question to ask, when it concerns administering Justice. Punishment some cultures deem barbaric others see as getting off easy. Actions that might make us naseous one day--ashamed to be an American citizen--are not only written off as necessary the next, but expected and demanded for our protection. Where once a bold line was clearly drawn, a fine, gray line resides. Where other lines were fine and gray, a bold line has taken their place. Right and Wrong are topsy-turvy, at best, and we, as a Nation, see nothing the least bit troubling about that. It is in our best interests to be ambivalent to our liberty, and we certainly don't give a shit about the liberty of anyone else. We don't know you, but we don't like you, and you can get fucked if you think we are going to trust you. It's Us versus the World, and we are going to make damn sure that we win. To the victor go the spoils and none of the consequences.
With nobody to keep us in check, it is a must we run amok. Why stop at strapping him to a board and dunking him in water? After he thinks he's drowned, we should tie his arms behind his back to the wall, so that he eventually fatigues and slumps over to the point of crucifying himself. Not your bag? What about standing in place? I used to have to stand against the wall when I misbehaved during recess, so that damn, dirty terrorist can stand for at least ten hours! Don't let the fucker sleep either. Blast that goddammed Britney Spears Music at him for as long as it takes! Millions of people starve in Africa and the Far East every day. That despicable pile of organic waste can go to bed hungry once in a while. Hell, make him eat my Mother's cooking! He'll want to go to bed hungry! Blindfold that motherfucker and stuff cotton in his ears. We don't want him overhearing our darkest secrets should he someday somehow happen to escape. Most importantly, show that indignant yellow tulip fuck absolutely no mercy whatsoever! Lord knows he would show none to you.
A man reduced to begging for his life cannot be trusted in any respect. Do not expect him to be free of disease. Yes, he is probably contagious. Give him attention, and he'll ask for money. Give him a dollar, and he'll ask for five. If you refuse, he will attack you. Though you could probably fend him off well enough, the smell would stick to you for weeks. In all likelihood he is bleeding right now, from at least one of his bodily orifices. Gangrene is a fact of his life. He is not as friendly as he seems; he is mostly desperate. That is not a freestyle: he wrote that whole thing years ago. Obviously, he is drunk. Despite whatever he says to you, do not have compassion for him; he has had none for himself. You are to him but a means to an end. Do not be a pawn in his game.
Bury him. In all your filth, your trash, your hate. Kind words are of no use to him and should be reserved for children. It's our life, or his. No more disintegration through hegemony. It is in these parts of the world where Evil breeds. Here, where they know no Justice. Here, where all just is. Here, where Humanity dissolves into brute animalism!
It makes no difference either way. Justice is a cruel mistress. Wherever we may traverse, she will invariably find us. When she does, she won't be happy. Maybe it will happen when we're looking in the mirror in a dive bar men's room. Maybe we'll get hit by a bus. Maybe we'll be drafted and die on the front lines. Maybe we will lose our jobs and be relegated to living off the streets. Maybe, just maybe, we'll be elected to office, and somebody will blow the cover on our steady drug habits. Perhaps then we will understand what it means when Justice is actually realized. Perhaps then we won't be so quick to administer Justice when we think the situation calls for it, failing to consider other options. Perhaps we will then for the first time understand: it is I who is begging. Will Justice show mercy to me?
With any luck, she will.
I, for one, am not hedging my bets. How could I hope for that which I have not given? Maybe I have given some, though... I cannot be sure. In that case, Justice might give some to me. That is likely to be the best that I can do. Is that good enough? Who knows? Nothing ever really is, is it? I will take what I can get and never cease complaining.
3/20/09
