All right. I’ve showered and gotten the smell out of my hair, and I think I can properly put my thoughts into words without reverting to a bonobo throwing excrement at a Speak ‘n’ Say.
I don’t know who did it. I know that there are only half a dozen homes you could have come from, and I damn well know it wasn’t me. Whoever you are, just put on this mask to hide your identity and walk with me while I point out some things to you.
Do you see those trees? Yes, the nice, leafy ones. Pretty dry recently, so those leaves are nice and crunchy. And on the other side, see those cypress trees? Like big fuzzy dildoes, reaching proudly towards the moon. I’m glad you do. They’re all waving around in the slight breeze. They’re nice, aren’t they?
See these houses? All of them contain people, who live, eat, work, play, and come home to sleep. Right now, most of them are probably doing the latter, or are whiling away the last hours of the weekend watching TV, reading, having sex, and various other activities that don’t involve looking out the window.
After all, why bother looking out the window, especially in this direction? This is just the alley. Nothing here. Some cars parked. Some more trees alongside the garages. The Dumpster at the end of the alley. And the smoke pouring out of it.
“Smoke?” you ask, furrowing your brow in a vain attempt to follow my words. Yes, smoke. You see, things tend to burn when they are very hot. When you do things like pour hot burning charcoal on them, there are a wide variety of objects that do this. Let’s take a look inside and see exactly what you poured hot burning charcoal on.
Newspapers. Leaves. Cardboard. Yard clippings. And of course, the aforementioned hot burning charcoal and the bag it came in. All these and more, my friend, smoldering steadily all night. Casting ashes and embers into the air, to be caught by the slight breeze and pushed into - what? The dry, leafy trees? The fuzzy dildoes? The occupied houses?
Do you even realize what a complete vacuum must exist between your ears for you to forget the most important rule of extinguishing a small fire? “Pour and stir.” That’s all. I learned it as a Cub Scout and you should damn well know it if you’re going to attempt to have a barbequeue. But you didn’t. No, for reasons I can’t begin to comprehend, you decided to throw it in the Dumpster. The Perfect Crime[sup]TM[/sup], as far as you were concerned.
What would you have done if I had parked at the other end of the street? If I hadn’t seen the smoke, and gathered my father and my brother to put out the smoke with a great many buckets of water and a rake? If we hadn’t been what you clearly aren’t: capable and responsible people? Would you have laughed? Mourned? Tried to pass yourself off as in intellectual, and quote Vonnegut: “so it goes”?
I rather believe you would have scratched your head and wondered how this kind of thing happened. The concept of consequences for actions is far beyond your grasp. The next time you even consider setting a match to something, I hope something extremely unpleasant happens to you. I hope you don’t burn in Hell, because even then you’d be more trouble than you’re worth. The only thing I can hope for is that some passing Mi-Go decides that your body would be a more fitting vessel than a jar, and actually gives you a brain, at least temporarily.