Zing!

and damn those fuckers to hell Capn.

When I was younger after my dad made me do the Hail Mary punishment, I concocted an elaborate fantasy where I got hit by a speeding car in my church parking lot and my dad would be inconsolable at the thought of me lying there, dying in a hospital bed. My imaginary speech to him (upon waking up from my coma) was so real to me that I really started crying.

On preview: I think this is the reason why I always say that prayer very, very quickly.

I am such a good pilot they offer me a captainship, but before I can claim my new post and be married to my fiancée, a conspiracy of four jealous men arranges for me to be seized and secretly imprisoned in solitary confinement in an inescapable dungeon.

For many years, I survive in my tiny cell; I almost lose my mind and my will to live, until one day I hear a fellow prisoner burrowing nearby. I begin digging, and soon I meet an old priest who knows the whereabouts of an immense fortune.

We continue digging for several years, and from the priest, I learn history, literature, science, and languages; but on the eve of our escape the priest dies. I hide his body, then sew myself in the priest's burial sack. The guards arrive, carry the sack outside, and heave the body far out to sea.

I manage to escape and get picked up by a shipful of smugglers, whom I join until I locate the treasure. When I finally discover it, I am staggered by the immensity of my newfound wealth. And when I emerge into society again, I am a very rich and very handsome count.

I have two goals -- to reward those who were kind to me and my aging father, and to punish those responsible for my imprisonment. For the latter, I plan a slow and painful punishment. To have spent fourteen years barely subsisting in a dungeon demands cruel and prolonged punishment.

As the count, I ingeniously manage to be introduced to the cream of society, among whom I go unrecognized. I, however, recognize all of my enemies -- all now wealthy and influential men.

One of them married my fiancée and is now, like me, a count. I release information to the press that proves that he is a traitor, and he is ruined socially. Then I destroy his relationship with his family, whom he adores. When they leave him, he is so distraught that he shoots himself.

To revenge myself on the second conspirator, who loves money beyond all else, I ruin him financially.

To revenge myself on the third conspirator, I easily trap him, for he is insatiably greedy, then watch as one of his cohorts murders him.

To revenge himself on the last conspirator, I slowly reveal to him that I know about a love affair that he had long ago with the present wife of the second conspirator. I also reveal to him, by hints, that I know about an illegitimate child whom he fathered, a child whom he believes he had buried alive. The child lived, however, and is now engaged to the second conspirator's daughter, who is the illegitimate young man's half-sister.

Ironically, the fourth conspirator's wife proves to be even more villainous than her husband, for she poisons the parents of his first wife; now she believes that she has successfully poisoned her husband's daughter by his first marriage. With those people dead, her own son is in line for an enormous inheritance. The fourth conspirator, however, discovers his wife's plottings and threatens her, and so she poisons herself and their son. At this point, I become fearful that my revenge has been too thorough, but I am able to unite two young people who are very much in love, bringing them together on my secret island. I sail away, happy and satisfied, never to be seen again.

As many of you know, I am hot on the trail of the evildoers who have ruined the life of a respected and brilliant academic. In the course of events, he had to go to federal court to force the university to disgorge the secret charges under which he was suspended. To evade the federal charges, the malefactors cooked up a kangaroo court in secrecy. I (and all the public) was excluded from the star chamber hearing. I waited until the administrative action was complete and the panel's decision was finalized.

Then I filed a public records request for all the documents, transcripts, tapes, etc. from the kangaroo court. The villains replied by agreeing to release the documents on March 28, but only if none of the other miscreants did not seek an injunction to block the disclosure by claiming a bogus invasion of privacy for their participation in a public process by a public agency done with public funds. (This is a legal maneuver to prevent me from getting cost recovery and damages because I would have to intervene in the injunction action.)

So I set the wheels in motion to intervene. Then I filed a second disclosure request for all documents, records, email, etc. to and from the public records officer discussing my first request.

Zing!

They decided to illegally redact, conceal, deny, forge and obscure the second set of records I requested and sent me a stack of altered documents, withheld some without a legal exemption and otherwise cut their own throats with a rusty razor.

I am now preparing to take heads.

Heh.

* cackles evilly *

While living next to an asshat neighbour who liked to sit in his car in the driveway and blast his door-rattling stereo, I had many a fantasy involving thermite.

I was brutally dumped ten years ago - the guy just suddenly cut me off completely, without a word. Stood me up on New Year's, never answered my phone calls, never returned the keys to my apartment.

He had a bald spot and was VERY sensitive about it, couldn't bear any reference to it whatsoever. Once I was teasing a roommate about something and said to her, "You lie. You lie like a rug on a bald man's head," and he said, "Hey. No bald jokes."

I came up with the idea of calling up the hotline for some hair replacement company and saying, "Hi, I'm Susie So and So. My husband is too embarrassed to call and ask for the information package. Could you send him one?"

It would arrive in his mailbox and have his name on it. He would know someone had done it, but not who.

I never did it, but to this day I wish I had.

To the guy who intentionally waited until the last second to merge lanes on the Golden Gate Bridge, and who then jammed himself in front of me with entire fractions of an inch to spare, with nary a signal, a glance, or a wave:

You have a very nice truck. You've clearly spent a lot of money on hotrodding the motor & exhaust. As a fellow gearhead, I can appreciate that. I can also appreciate that many hotrodding techniques are not smog-legal, and need to be temporarily reversed, obscured, or bribed-around when you get the vehicle smogged.

So let me ask you: When the state smog computer singles you out for extra scrutiny at your next smog inspection, will you realize that somebody dropped the dime on your ass with the smoking vehicle hotline because of your behaviour behind the wheel?

My revenge fantasies are simple, I want to sneak into my old company's office and take a big steaming crap right on my boss's desk.