Get home from my regular 9-5 job, read the paper and watch the news to hear about the daily scum who abuse children, hurt other people, commited violent acts and got away with them.
Then I do the research to find out where these people are, go out at night, and silently kill them.
And go back to work the next day like nothing happened.
(Police in the mean time report they are actively seeking me out cause they can’t just let a crazed vigilante be on the loose but in reality make little if any effort to find me.)
I’d like to organize the local clowns into a group dedicated to killing child molesters through hours of ingenious torture. I’d say more but I don’t want to scare you.
I’d also like to convince some of the local ex Soviet women that I am the reincarnated Rasputin and after a long speech on some of his doctrines, engage in a sacred orgy. It would be better still if the women were young nuns.
I’ll be accosted by a handsome Englishman in an impeccable suit, who’ll lead me to his big blue box, and we’ll travel around the universe (and space-time continuum) having loads of sex. And adventures. But mostly sex.
Also, there’s thoughts about leather, but that’s boring.
I have a fantasy that my ex bf would be really sorry for how he hurt me and left me, and be all broke up about it, and be sick with grief over losing me, and cry for weeks, the way I saw him be with the gf previous to me, and apparently, the one after me.
It’s sick because I’m very much in love with someone else, and have been for over a year. In fact, I’m happy the ex left me because otherwise I wouldn’t have met my love. It shouldn’t matter that the ex never shed a tear over me. I feel guilty because it does matter.
I forgot something earlier: congratulations on your years of sobriety, I’m very glad to hear it. Go ahead and enjoy your fantasy even if it isn’t sick, it sure isn’t actually hurting anyone to imagine the scenario.
I have had daydreams about having a certain ex-boss of mine turn up in an ER I’m working in and realizing I’m about to insert a catheter in him. He’ll be certain that I am as much as a vindictive bastard as he is and will think that I am about to insert it with no lube and creating as much pain as possible. I wouldn’t do that, but it would be enough to see the fear in his eyes when he thinks I might.
It would be nice to have a small and accurate laser in my car. People who cut me off, or feel they have to leave 10 car lengths in rush hour, or weave like a drunk due to cellphonism, get a small hole in their muffler, and maybe their tires. Nothing too destructive, just annoying and expensive.
Red light runners, on the other hand, get disintegrated.
The gap in the hedge? Where those kids ride their bikes through, destroying the lawn? Where they cut across my driveway, even though it’s dangerous and actually takes longer than the path around?
A single strand of wire, strung at about, ooh - say, neck height.
Sometimes I fantasize that my life is an action movie. Like I get caught up in a bank robbing heist and kidnapped or pursued all the way across the country where I and a handsome stranger have to survive on the cash left in our wallets. I get to beat people up and shoot guns and have lots of sex, and the further away I get from home the more irrelevant my past becomes… eventually I settle down, maybe in Mexico, who knows? The fun part is in the journey and chaos and the strange landscapes and discovering parts of me I didn’t know existed.
I always thought it would be kind of fun to ambush some leading gun-control advocate, and murder them…with a flint adze. (Or, possibly, the same thing, only with a .50 sniper rifle. Still hacking/bludgeoning, just with a loaded $5000 sniper rifle.)
And then there’s that idea I had for slipping LSD into Mecca’s water supply, during the Hajj. (Either that, or that urban legend gas that turns people gay. Or 2-4-5 Trioxin. Oh, the delightful possibilities in the realm of pure imagination!)
Or, in the words of Alan Moore, what comes to mind during every election year…
Before I post my own sick fantasy, I just though these two sequential posts were interesting.
BTW, I’d choose you LurkMeister, you sound as if you probably know your way around a girl’s body.
My “sick fantasies” are more of a group series of revenge fantasies I’d like to wreak on a handful of folks who “dun me wrong”. No death or anything, just a range (depending upon which person) between something like itching powder (only more creative) on up to one where I’d to take pictures of him with hookers or something and send it to his wife or employer (whichever would do the most damage), only again, more creative and evil than that.
