QUICK QUIPS:
“People. Can’t live with ’em…can’t kill all of ’em.”
“I don’t make claims. I make widows and orphans.”
“The world is a very scary place for all of the sheep. But for the wolves…it’s paradise.”
“Have mercy? Sorry, fresh out.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do…I’m going to let you keep your head.”
“Well then, Martin, would you be needing a hand with that exit wound?”
“Wealth and power tend to inspire a passion for more of the same.”
“Stories never end, at least not the ones I tell.”
“I suggest you relax. You’re no match for me on a good day.”
“Frankly, I don’t get it. Besides fucking, what on earth do you want with her?”
“Now that you’ve put the plumbing in, what other good can come from this sordid little tryst?”
“There, there, dear boy. There’s no shame in crying. Once.”
“Be a man! Be like Christ.”
“I wouldn’t hang on to that for too long if I were you. This book is cursed, you know.”
“When I was your age, I wanted to be strong. Unafraid. What young man doesn’t? It’s just the way we’re built.”
“The secret to being a tough guy…is to be really tough.”
“Can’t go around killing everyone you hate? I do. Well, not everyone…I’ll need a nuclear arsenal for that. Everyone I really want to.”
“You’ve forgotten the most important lesson of all. Don’t ever turn your back on me, boy!”
“Rule number one: never say anything about anyone that you wouldn’t have the sack to say straight to their face.”
“I prefer a more direct approach. As you’ve probably noticed, bluntness comes naturally to me.”
“Let’s just say there’s a level of risk proportionate to the rewards.”
“Saddle up, doggy, we’re going for a walk!”
“I have to say, that potion of yours sure packs a whollop! I’m beginning to like it better than Bushmills!”
“There are different ways to die, son. You can find another way. With me.”
“What the hell is that? An impaler! For your big date! It’s a real beauty, isn’t it?”
“Get a good night’s sleep and meet me in the chapel tomorrow. You’ve earned a little taste of the Gospel according to Paul.”
“If there’s a God to be born…he’ll surely be holding the Book.”
“I don’t know why Martin bothered with those Band-aids. It’s not like you’re going to leave this place alive.”
“Oh sure, I’ve been known to tell a fib or two.”
“See how revenge becomes a dreadful cycle you can never escape from?’
“You’ve always meant a great deal to me, son. Just not as much as Martin.”
“No need to get technical. A simple ‘She’s dead’ will do.”
“Yeshua was convinced that he was the chosen one! Well, he was, but not the first. There’s such a thing as seniority.”
“What you don’t realize, what nearly no one realizes, is that we are all eternal. Physics 101. Energy cannot be destroyed.”
“A girl like her is no different from slow-acting poison. You might as well gargle with Drano and spare yourself the wait!
“Martin…will you ever learn?”
“I wouldn’t hang on to it for too long if I were you. This book is cursed, you know.”
“She’s not innocent. None of us are.” “Now where was I? Oh yes, cruel, horrible deaths.”
“There are different ways to die, son. You can find another way. With me.”
“What is this thing we call ‘food’? We eat life And we eat it every single day!”
“We always hurt the ones we love.”
“Some things are worth more than treasure.”
“Not much of a reader, that Martin.”
“There’s something about non-compliance that cuts right through the small talk.”
“San Francisco—such a romantic city, such narrow dark alleys.”
“That’s my seat, darlin’. You can move now or I’ll wait here all day and then follow you home.”
“You’re a good ole bitch, grandma. Say a little prayer for me, and say a great big one for Martin.”
“What? You’re not laughing? Well, there’s no accounting for one’s taste in humor.”
“Where are we going? Church. I’m going to show you how not to run a religion.”
“No, I’m not getting any younger. I’m going to have to do something about that.”
“How does it feel to die? It feels wonderful. It gets better every time.”
“Never alive…and never dead.”
A FEW MORE WORDS ON THE TOPIC:
“Get a good night’s sleep and meet me in the chapel tomorrow. You’ve earned a little taste of the Gospel according to Paul.”
“I can see how you’d need cheering up, with all your…hobbies. How about a little entertainment? Let’s have a look at your cabinet, Dr. Caligari. Pull out your suitcase.”
“Now that you’ve decided not to place a wager on the fast-bullet-versus-big-man-falling-over contest, I don’t care for you pointing that gun at me any more.”
“Thinkin’ I might have some experience, he asked what was the slowest, cruelest, most horrible method of execution I could contemplate. Something really…evil.”
“When Darius the Great conquered Babylon, he impaled three thousand citizens. Quite a sight, I can tell you. Kept the crime rate looowww.”
“He’s blocked it out, like a great deal of our fun adventures. I believe it’s called post-traumatic stress disorder these days. I still prefer shell shock.”
“I haven’t given up on you yet. You have talent. Still, you haven’t tasted blood…and there’s no salvation without baptism.”
“If you attempt to reveal these secrets, it would be better if you had never ever been born. Though you probably think that’s already true, aye?”
“That was a mistake. Let’s have a little lesson about following instructions. I hope you like pain as much as you think you do, my sweet, little porcupine.”
“I’ve had a keen interest in you for some time now, very keen indeed. I’m a collector too. As you can see, I have quite a collection of my own.”
“I know you’ve never killed anyone. The only thing I can’t figure out is why? Maybe you can sort out that mystery. It’s a real brainteaser, that one!”
“Just so’s ya know girl…Martin knows more about pain than you ever will, even with all those nasty pins stickin’ every which way out of your painted hide!”
“If you won’t do it for me…and you won’t do it for yourself…then do it for something that really matters…DO IT FOR THE GLORY OF CLAN KELLY!”
“Let me tell you something about gold. It’s dirty and it’s heavy. If you like things that sparkle, consider diamonds instead. Much easier to travel with. And much, much easier to trade on the international market.”
“Sorry, lad, you play a significant role in the grand design and though I seriously doubt you’ll ever be taking a stroll down the red carpet, it’s an important part nonetheless. You’re Plan B, son…assuming you survive this arduous challenge.”
“Oh, I do get carried away sometimes, little darlin’. I surely do. Still, you shouldn’t be so frightened. Look at all the pain you’ve already endured, and at your very own hands! This shouldn’t be much different, d’you think?”
“I’ve taken a different tack with you. Call it an accelerated learning curve. By the way, you need to pick up the pace, lad. You’re falling far below my expectations.”
“I’m going to tell you a secret more arcane and profound than the legend of Solomon’s ring and his captured genies, a true story by the way, though trashed up in more of that Arabian Nights crap than I care to endure: Science is magic. They are one and the same.”
“I knew where the book was hidden before we even knocked on his door. I did ‘all that other shit,’ as you so eloquently put it…simply for the fun of it!”
“You’re a real pisser, Billy Boy! So I’m a madman, eh? Delusional psychosis, is that your diagnosis? Well maybe so…that would explain the trouble I have falling asleep at night. But what about you, then? Same problem? Is that why you can see and hear things that aren’t humanly possible? Are you crazy too, lad?”
“You’re crazy as a bedbug for doing this. Especially when you could be doing it to someone else and having twice the fun. Even so, it tickles me pink to watch!”
“Is the gun loaded? Is the Pope a theocratic despot who only cares about filling the coffers of the Holy Roman Empire while undermining all the fundamental teachings of the Good King Jesus the Christ?”
“Everything you’ve ever known, everything you’ve ever believed about yourself…about the description of reality you’ve clung to so stubbornly all your life…all of it…every bit of it…is an illusion.”
“We pretend death is everywhere, except here! But death is here. Now. In this very room, watching us. And death has many secrets to share.”
“Our sense of self, our identity, immediately ceases to exist without our memories. Memory is the key to everything. Not just identity. Everything. It’s all there, in the DNA. The whole story, every word of it.”
“We all have to eat, Billy. Just try stopping. And that means we all have to kill. Even those self-righteous vegetarians. The only difference between killing an animal and a plant is that you can’t hear an eggplant scream. And the only difference between killing an animal and a human is the conversation you can have while you’re doing it.”
“I can’t believe I’m still encouraging you with the promise of rewards. We should be far past that stage by now. You should be killing her for the sheer pleasure of it. Trust me, I know you better than you know yourself. You’ll take to murder like a duck to water.”
“Everything we see and know and believe to be so solid and dependable is at its core more unfathomably complex and ineffably mysterious than all the Gods or daimons that have ever been invoked since the dawn of time. But in the end, we will know…or at least, I will.”
“Our sense of self, our identity, immediately ceases to exist without our memories. Memory is the key to everything. Not just identity. Everything. It’s all there, in the DNA. The whole story, every word of it.”
“So use your hands…a kitchen knife. Personally, I don’t care if you use a candlestick in the ballroom with Professor Plum—all I know is that you better think fast. I can’t imagine you’ll stand much of a chance with Martin awake.”
“Men never talk much about being men. I think that’s a shame. And I don’t mean that crap where some businessmen go off on a weekend retreat, beating drums by the fire in their undies.”
“Old Bushmills. Sixteen-year-old, single malt Irish whiskey. If there’s a more satisfying beverage to be found anywhere on this good green earth, I’m certainly not aware of it.”
“Rule number one: never say anything about anyone that you wouldn’t have the sack to say straight to their face.”
“You know I’m not one to back down from a challenge, boy. Do you really think this is the best time to get into a firefight—with the cops standing right on your doorstep? Or did you think those buzzers were from the Girl Scout cookie drive?”
OH, BUT I DO GO ON…
“Here’s a little-known fact…little known, that is, to anyone who wasn’t around during the Reign of Terror. There’s enough oxygen left in the brain after a particularly swift decapitation, let’s say from a guillotine during that aforementioned terrible time, or my own modest invention here, that the head remains not only conscious for a considerable period, but also acutely aware of its surroundings. You can look into their eyes…and they look back. Better yet, you can even ask them questions, as you’ve just witnessed yourself. And here’s another little secret that I daresay you couldn’t learn from any other person on the planet…they almost always answer you.”
“And what about you, dearie? I’ll wager Martin isn’t the first ruffian that’s plundered your grease-hole, but even if you’ve gang-banged the Hell’s Angels clubhouse, you might be a teeny bit over your head with this one. I’m sure you noticed the practiced and quite heartless ease with which he dispatched that riff-raff below. Are a few more thrill-fucks with a cold-blooded killer really worth five to ten in a cramped metal cage with a 250-pound bull dyke sporting a shag carpet between her legs? As you may have read in the papers, murderers have a tendency to get caught and punished, and seeing how careless your hero has been tonight, it would be a far more sensible choice for you to find a good-sized rock to hide under, instead of hunkering down with your gun-slinging beau in this blood-splattered kitchen like Bonnie and Clyde, waiting for the sheriff and his posse to ram down the door.”
“I’m guessing it’s been awhile since you had your pipes cleaned, and I can’t fault you for feeling some loyalty to this feisty wench for helping you out of that scrape downstairs. But now that you’ve put the plumbing in, what other good can come from this sordid little tryst? Do you really think you’re doing her a favor bringing her into this cramped little lockbox you call a life? If she ever finds out who you really are and what you’ve done, d’ya reckon she’ll keep hangin’ around? Trust me, even if you’re riding her tall in the saddle, you’re certainly no one’s idea of Prince Charming. She’ll leave you high and dry just like she thought of doing a few minutes back. You saw her looking at the door. You can’t trust her! A girl like her is no different from slow-acting poison. You might as well gargle with Drano and spare yourself the wait! So now it’s time for you to put all those warm, fuzzy feelings back inside your zipper and wave this bitch a sad farewell!”
“Clan Kelly is a warring clan. Always has been…always will be. Women humanize us. That’s what we need to rise above. Mercy. Compassion. Love. As soon as a baby breathes air, his mother sucks the life she gave back out of him while he’s sucking on her tit. Training the poor lad to need<em> </em>her, to love her. That’s the source of all pain in life. And that’s what must be squashed like a bug on your boot heel—that fatal dependence. I squashed it. And by God almighty, you will too! It’s the one thing us Kelly boys will never have need of…that sick, sapping motherly love!”
“Martin is in a class all by himself…or maybe I should say he’s in a very select class. The master class. As you can see, he doesn’t bother with all that fancy jewelry. I’m sure those titty rings feel nice when you’re soaping up in the shower, but Martin here is a purist. Like all warriors, he knows that pain has its own virtues…and rewards. He’s learned to control unimaginable levels of suffering, and even though he’s been known to indulge himself in a girlish scream from time to time, it still can’t tarnish his ample achievements.”
“The secret to being a tough guy…is to be really tough. Being proficient in the deadly art of combat helps ensure your safety and builds your confidence—and it’s always a comfort to know that if you get in a little scrap, you’re the one who walks out of the bar with the greatest number of teeth in your head. But the real secret to being tough, being a man, lies more in your ability to receive pain than inflict it. Any punk can sneak up behind you and pull a trigger. But only a real man can take the shot, turn around without a whimper or a sniffle, rip the pistol from his hand and beat him over the head with it until his brains spill onto the sidewalk in a wrinkled pile of pink slush. You get my point?”
“Can you imagine how painful it would be to have someone pull out all your fingernails? Would you like to? Ha! I can’t imagine that you would, my boy. But let me tell you two little secrets: once you’ve experienced that level of pain, it changes you forever. You’ll never be afraid again…at least not in the same way you’ve always experienced fear. That’s the first secret. And the second? It hurts a little less when you do it yourself.”
“Here’s another way to look at it…let’s say you were drafted into the army and sent halfway around the world to shoot, stab and drop huge, fiery bombs on people you didn’t even know, much less have any grudge against. Worse yet, let’s say your virtuous government actually made up a great big pack of lies to justify why it was so necessary for you to risk your life and claim the souls of all those completely innocent victims. Even with all that bullshit, it would still be okay for you to march over there, point your rifle at someone’s unlucky head, pull the trigger and blow his brains out, right? And why? Because you’re a soldier! You’re under orders! It isn’t just okay for you to kill those people! It’s your duty! What gives your not-so-freely-elected government the right to tell you when it’s your duty to kill someone…and then, using the same false claim of authority, command you to die in the electric chair for having the gall to pick your own battles, to wage wars of your own choosing, against your own enemies, against the people who threaten your life directly, not in some abstract sense, veiled with obscene notions of honor and righteousness—real people—who mean real harm to yourself, your family, and the noble principles of your own calling! What if you had a new country, with its own rules and regulations, its own mandate of authority? What if you were a soldier in your own war and not a foot soldier either—a general? Would it be okay for you to take a life in the due course of achieving your own strategic objectives? Or would it be even more than okay? Perhaps it would it be your divine right…your duty!”
“Dear Gawd, bless da little bunnies in the forest and all da hungry children wit doze great big bellies over dere in Africa that doan have all dis yummy good food we have over here like da Ray’s pizza and da Slim Jims and da tater chips and da big tick juicy steaks you can cook up in yer nice warm oven by da fridge. And bless all da kiddies here too dat be suckin’ on da crack pipes all day long. And damn their dirty feckin’ parents all to hell dat send ’em out to live on the streets and fend for demselves while dey sit at home and suck on their own crack pipes and watch da telly an’ tink up more nasty ways dat dey can get more money to neglect deir little babies wit. And bless all the poor Mick cops dat have to put up with all dis stinkin’ filth and shit and hopelessness so dat it’s no wonder dat dey doan just go out and gun down every last stinkin’ one of dem. And most of all…bless poor dear Martin who’s gone and turned away from his lovin’ da for the sake of a dwarf harlot dat’s got him all mixed up in da head so dat now wit da hour of reckonin’ near, it seems I’ve but one last chance to convince him of da error of his ways, else I’ll be left with no other choice dan to take him out behind da shed and put him down like a dirty mongrel dog, amen.”
“I just spoke to the dear lad…worried sick about you he is, though Gawd only knows why. If he had your little trinket, I’m thinking he might have mentioned it, desperate as he is for anything to barter for your worthless hide. By the by, it surely was a mistake for you to have taken off that precious bauble, even for a moment, leaving only this sad shadow in its wake. I’m not sure what Johnny told you about it and frankly I don’t care, but you might want to know, now that’s it’s far too late, that that innocent little scrap of metal, in addition to its more practical function, is a very powerful amulet. A protective amulet, if you believe such nonsense. I’ve heard stories…aye, legends about that key. Even though it can’t be proved—certainly not now anyway, with you here all helpless in my evil grip—but some say it’s the most powerful amulet that has ever existed. So powerful, in fact, that even a big, strong bully like meself would be hard pressed to injure a teeny hair on your spiky head, were you wise enough to still be wearing it. But sadly, you’re not wearing it, dearie…are you?”
“Now where was I? Oh yes, cruel, horrible deaths. Crucifixion is a good candidate. Slow…agonizing…plenty of time to think about your approaching doom while your body cries out in anguish. And for any loved ones unlucky enough to be watching nearby, the pain and suffering is absolutely excruciating. Not only do you experience the gut-wrenching loss when the sad end finally comes, but the anticipation of death is even more unbearable, especially if your hands are tied, and there’s nothing in the world you can do to prevent it. Do you boys understand the essence of what I’m saying?”
“Impaling! That’s an excellent alternative. Efficient and dependable, with centuries of tradition behind it. When the Persian emperor Darius the Great conquered Babylon, he impaled three thousand citizens. The Romans enjoyed impaling almost as much as crucifixion. They’d often showcase their stylish merits side by side, one victim hung on a cross, another one writhing six feet off the ground with a wooden stake up his arse. Quite a sight, I can tell you. Kept the crime rate looowww. I’m sure you wouldn’t think it such a slow death like crucifixion, but you’d be surprised. A properly orchestrated impalement can keep the condemned alive even longer! Executioners are a very inventive breed and take great pride in their work. They would gain enormous satisfaction in staging the most lengthy and agonizing methods of impalement, almost like it was a contest. For example, to reaaaaalllllly drag things out, they would use a blunted stake, so when it was rammed up your arse—or your cunt with whores like yourself Rosy—the stake would push many of the vital organs out of the way as it was thrust inside. And then, once you were fully impaled, the stake would act like a plug, you see, to keep your blood from draining out too quickly. Voila! There you are, stuck on a pole for days! But as much as William and I would savor that spectacle more than front row seats at the Coliseum, we’ll have to make due with watching you squirm in agony for a few hours instead of a few days. But that’s still a good chunk of time for us to enjoy the spectacle, before you bleed out.”
“Listen, son, you’ve done exceptionally well here, even though I gave your brain a nudge from time to time to keep your train on the rails. You’ve uncovered some very important information about our heritage, but you’re never gonna get to the bottom of this no matter how many of those old books you poke your nose into. For starters, those writings were deliberately intended to disguise the truth in countless metaphors and scrambled codes to keep the idiots at bay. They’ve been translated, and re-translated back into the original demotic, Coptic or Greek countless times, every scribe adding his own pontifical touch in his glorious interpretation. Of the more accurate writings, there’s more missing from the tracts than what remains, as you’ve seen in the Drivel of Mary. You’ve about as much luck hitting pay dirt in those dustbins as those literalist born-agains have of seeing the Rapture.”
“The Bible says God made Adam out of dust and breathed His life inside him. He made him born to die. All things turn to dust in time, they say. All except a few. My children died so I could live, and earn the wisdom of their sacrifice. Now I’ll pass it on to you. All of us are killers. Each and every one. We live by eating life. Time has robbed us of this knowing. Time and our shame of the truth. We let others do our killing. We pretend goodness is better than hunger. We fear death and the pain that accompanies it. We pretend death is everywhere, except here! But death is here. Now. In this very room, watching us. And death has many secrets to share.”
“What you don’t realize, what nearly no one realizes, is that we are all eternal. That’s the message Yeshua tried to bring, before Peter and Paul made him the one and only Son O’God. That’s the message of Hermes, Pythagoras, Mary, Apollonius, the druids…of all our kind. We are immortal. Physics 101. Energy cannot be destroyed. You could go so far as to say that all of us are billions of years old. But the gift of us luminous beings, the one thing that makes us feel mortal or immortal, is our sense of self, our identity, which immediately ceases to exist without our memories. Memory as I said, is everything.”
“The future is a probability curve that can’t be analyzed with any certainty. Combine that with what you’ve already learned about the unfathomable nature of the post-Singularity Intelligence and your guess is as good—well, not nearly as good as mine. But don’t waste a minute fretting over the infinite destructive possibilities. Think of all the fun we’re going to have along the way! It will all be one glorious adventure, start to finish!”