Saturday, August 21, 2004

Kill 'Em All--Reposted

My buddy Graham is leaving town for a month or so to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. Last night we met up at a bar in Berkeley so he could give me some shit he was storing for a mutual friend and so we could assail our bodies with unwise amounts of alcohol. We met around 7:30, sat outside on the big patio, had some beers, and got to talking.

The conversation went from his great-aunt choking on a chicken bone and then dying because the surgeon sliced her jugular when he tried to excise the bone, to malpractice suits and nationalized health care, to the litigious nature of American society, to the history of Venice as a city-state, to the optimal size of republics, to killing everyone except small enclaves of 1000 people spread significantly apart over the globe. This is where the conversation got interesting:

G: 1000 people is just about right. Small enough where you sort of know everyone but big enough to get a cross-section of skills and abilities.
N: And enough genetic variation to avoid becoming another England.
G: Hey dude, I'm English.
N: Yeah, what's your point?
G: Seriously though, over the past few months I have become more and more enamored with the idea of just killing everyone except for like a 1000 people.
N: I see at least 50 on this patio who could go.
G: Oh no dude, they ALL go. How many of these graduate student dickheads do you think could grow enough food to feed themselves let alone 1000 people?
N: Probably none.
G: PROBABLY!?! Dude, they study post-modernism. All of them. I don't care if they're in med school or the School of Architecture. Somewhere they've used the term "post-modern" incorrectly or they own some bullshit book about it. Dead. All of them.
G: I know dude, things would be so much simpler.

At this point I noticed that we were getting some looks. Nothing too bad, just some shithead European exchange students who probably heard us say "post-modern" and got erections. Graham, fortunately for us all, continued...

G: You know where we'd have to start don't you?
N: Stanford?
G: No. Well yes, but no. The retards.
G: No seriously. Think about how much time and energy and resources are wasted on members of society who don't give anything back. Retards are parasites. Plain and simple. I don't know why human life has so much value to people. THEY'RE RETARDED! THEY DROOL!

This last part was met with a couple "ughs!" from the peanut gallery. I snuck a peek and saw that a few people were listening intently with their mouths agape. Graham had an audience but I don't think he noticed. I, however, did.

N: Would you stop at retards? I don't think I would.
G: Of course not. Man, if my wife gave birth to a retard I would smash the baby against the sidewalk and then off my wife.
N: What? Why?
G: It's not gonna be MY genetics that turn my offspring into a mongoloid. She pops out a tardpup and she's history
N: Oh man, that is awesome. You should start a movement.
G: Nah, people are so touchy when it comes to killing retards. Even parents whose lives have been ruined by some drooling, uncommunicative blob resist the idea. I just don't get it
N: So who's next? I'd say ugly people. I'm convinced that eugenics wasn't born out of racial hatred or resistance to miscegenation. It probably started because someone was tired of seeing so many goddamn ugly people.
G: I think you go for the parents of the retards next. When a rabid dog bites someone you destroy the dog don't you?
N: Then you sell it to a Laotian vegetarian restaurant.
G: Dude, that's fucked up.
G: Yeah, but I have a legitimate reason--the survival of the Republic and the human race as we know it.
N: If that's the reason, then I would kill 12-18 year olds that have no potential. Kids who have detracted from society to the point where they will most likely never give enough back to balance the scales or who would run the risk of perpetuating their wasteful existence by having kids of their own. Those kids? DIRTNAP!

I noticed that people were leaving or moving far away from us. It's not like we had AIDS or something, we were just speaking the truth.

N: Next on my list would be the blind.
G: Really? I think the blind could serve some purpose that would put them lower on the Kill List.
N: Dude, what purpose do they serve other than to slow down fucking traffic when they cross the street or be great piano playing R&B/Soul musicians. Songs in the Key of Life? Nope. Songs in the Key of DIRTNAP!

This got Graham laughing hysterically. It was almost disruptive. God bless alcohol and a broken moral compass.

N: I'd probably do the deaf next but they're tricky. Since they can see you'd have to sneak up behind them. That's too much work. So I guess I'd go with the Stanford basketball team next and then France.
G: See Nils, now your just trying to be funny. I'm serious about this. We have driven this crazy train so far off the evolutionary track that the only way to get going in the right direction is a quick and decisive corrective movement. You know how raising interest rates by multiple percentage points or the bottom falling out of an industry can create a market correction that changes the way people invest and manage their money?
N: Ummm, sure
G: That's what this would be. A mass extinction but without the meteor or the nuclear winter. I think it would work.
N: You're really drunk aren't you?
G: Yep.

It was at this point that we decided to make our exit and go to a bar that served cocktails and shots and various other concoctions of high-octane forget-juice. Graham and I had several. Of everything. That's all I remember.

My roommate woke me up this morning as she left for work around 6:30. I was on the living room couch. Fallen over. Fully clothed. From the waist up. With a half-eaten Bacon Ultimate Cheeseburger in my hand. There were fries and at least a dozen monster taco wrappers scattered all over the coffee table. I had ketchup all over my face and a huge brown stain down the front of my Mexican-waiter shirt from when I spilled most of my last Irish Carbomb.

R: Nils, get up and get in your bed.
N: What time is it?
R: Early
N: What stinks in here?
N: Oh.
R: Jesus Christ Nils, put some pants on. You look like a retard.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Let me be the first to ask - why the re-post?

/The Swede

P.S. Love the payoff at the end! D.S.

August 21, 2004 at 12:33 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

and I'll second that.


August 21, 2004 at 4:15 PM  
Blogger NP said...

I reposted because the story because the link and comments section were broken so people couldn't link to it

August 21, 2004 at 4:52 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ah, thank you kindly.

/The Swede

August 21, 2004 at 8:11 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thanks for fixing the links. BTW my buddy loved the story and is now reading the rest of them.

August 22, 2004 at 10:27 PM  
Blogger Patrick said...

"The conversation went from his great-aunt choking on a chicken bone and then dying because the surgeon sliced her jugular when he tried to excise the bone, to malpractice suits..."

One area of law that is actually ripe with humor. My uncle runs a malpractice firm out of Maryland and has provided some of the only reasons why I might want to get into law.

- A doctor who made a Y-shaped incision on the lower back of a patient (and [ex]friend) and sewed it up so the scar that it left would look like an 9-inch long cock.

- A doctor who instructed a nurse to complete a colonoscopy so he could make a 4 o’clock happy hour.

- A doctor that mooed at a patient suffering from postpartum depression every time he saw her. She referenced him in her suicide note.

- A pediatrician that sanitized his instruments with a bottle of 151 that he always kept handy.

And I'm not sure if you're in the market for more of the plebe-based adulation; but keep up the excellent work.

- CaptCapital

August 23, 2004 at 8:28 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

See, this is what I've been saying for years. Humanity needs to go. I could spend several paragraphs detailing my arguments for why this is so, but since most of the nay-sayers will die in the first wave anyways, I won't take the time.

August 23, 2004 at 2:01 PM  

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