Tuesday, January 18, 2005

the FBI now has my fingerprints on file

I had to get my fingerprints taken this morning for work. They already took my prints when I was first hired, but for some reason they had to be redone. Can you take a hint people?... Maybe I don't want my fingerprints on record... maybe my fingers weren't cooperating for a reason.

When I signed up for this job, I wasn't aware that it was going to directly compete with my aspirations for murder. Yes, yes... I can always wear gloves, but this is America... what happened to my god-given right to kill people with my bare hands? I've been trying to get a corporate discount at the gym across the street, and I'm running into snags... apparently, the only perk that I get from this job is having a more detailed file with the FBI. What's the point of even joining a gym if I have to resort to using weapons when I kill people.... I was really looking forward to doing the bare-handed strangulation thing. I wanted to be able to get a firm grip, and every man wants the last thing his wife sees, before she takes that last breath, to be his enormous pecks.

Murder's always been sort of a hobby of mine... you know, murder and music... I intend to do one or the other someday. My mom has a saying when you're in a bad mood, "Oh, someone's a crabby apple." Yeah... she's definitely a cool one. When I was growing up, she had a special saying for me: "Oh, someone's thinking about murder." It was like she could read my mind.

Shit's getting out of hand these days. With all this DNA crap, unless you're an athlete, all the rules for killing have changed. It used to be that investigations would be based on pure common sense... you had to literally be Sherlock Holmes to solve the crime. Then they figured out how to dust for fingerprints... pure genius... and lucky for all of those in law enforcement, only one in twenty people had the common sense to wear gloves. Now, they just have to be able to narrow it down to a few people, get a DNA sample, and solve the case. My job doesn't have my DNA on file (that I know of)... ironically, in the very room that I was getting fingerprinted, I had gloves in my pocket. I could have strangled that bitch right then, and they wouldn't have known who to narrow it down to, because the single hair that they found at the scene could have been anyone's. The only way they could catch me is through good old fashioned detective work... by calling everyone on the appointment list in for DNA sampling.

So now, not only do I have to wear gloves, but I have to limit my activity to random acts of murder. Half the fun of this whole thing is killing the people that you know. I don't want to kill some chick that looks like my wife... I want to kill my wife! "Very clever, Mr. Gray.... you wore gloves when you strangled your wife. Ten years ago, we wouldn't have been able to prove your guilt, but now, although we're too stupid to have country-wide DNA samplings on file, we were able to narrow it down to you... the husband. You see, Mr. Gray... here's what you didn't plan on... we always take DNA samples of those who are closest to the victim." Now it's going to be your wife that I have to kill instead, and you don't even know me - hey, I have to take out my marital aggressions on someone, and thanks to DNA matching, I can't kill the person who really deserves it. That's not fair to you, and it's certainly not fair to me. I swear, everything's going to shit around here.

"Mr. Gray, please come with me."
A large man in a security uniform drags me by the arm to a private room.
"We just scanned your work terminal, and found a document about murdering people."
"Oh... is that what this is about..." I was nervous for a moment, but now I'm relieved. "I'm just talking about planning for murder... I haven't actually killed anyone yet. I'm not even married, silly!"
The security officer chuckles, "Boy, you really had me worried there for a second... there's nothing wrong with a little healthy planning for murder."
He let me get back to 'work', but stopped me on the way out the door.
"Mr. Gray, a little piece of advice... wear gloves... that still foils about 90% of the detective-work out there."

That's one thing that I've never understood... why is it that planning out murders is cute, when executing them is considered to be obscene? In elementary school, we had to do writing assignments in which we'd have to plan out the murder of someone we knew well... they said that these exercises were good for creative planning and problem solving, and the desire to kill comes naturally to most children. It seemed like such a contradiction when I got sent to the principal's office for stabbing Suzy McLellan in class. I wasn't even trying to kill her... I just wanted to stab her a little. I almost got suspended over that... what a crock of shit.

For the record, I found out from the fingerprinters, that the prints from fingertips won't give them the information they need to see who it is. What they look for are the points that the grain circles around... like a knot in wood grain. This is good news... if I happen to forget my gloves, I still get to go ahead with my random killings... I just have to make sure to hold everything with my fingertips. Yes, if I drink a glass of water, it's going to take two hands, but I can handle that. Also, I have a pretty sweet move where I jab your trachea with my fingertips. That move doesn't provide the intimacy of the eye contact in strangulation... you know, where the wife just looks at you helplessly, as if to say, "Why?" The good thing about this move is that it's a bit ninja-like... which is also pretty cool.

So what does it all boil down to? I pretty much have to wear gloves now (which really fucking sucks), I can't kill the people I know well, and I might have to get that gym membership at a 'blue-collar' rate. This job is really starting to suck ass.