The Servant's Tale, Part 1

Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a man named Sufjan McBride, who interfered with things he didn't understand and meddled in matters that were none of his concern. He saw a big, scary-looking creature and assumed that it, and everyone associated with it, must be evil. He didn't stop to think that sometimes innocent people need to die to serve a greater good. He just saw a regrettably necessary murder and, in his simple, selfish little mind, decided that it was an act of sin.

However, Sufjan wasn't just any kind of idiot. He was a special kind called a hypocrite. So he fell under the illusion that he had a divine mandate to murder the murderer who, we must remind ourselves, he assumed was evil just because he murdered someone, with no outside circumstances taken into account. Thus brings us to the point in the story when Sufjan pushed me off a balcony.

Unwilling to accept the consequences of his actions, Sufjan fled to the great nowhere of America, where any smart man can disappear quickly, which, of course, raises the question of how a moron like Sufjan thought he could get away with it. The answer being, of course, that he is a moron. Little did Sufjan know that way back in Ireland, I had survived my fall, thanks to the intervention of the drug dealers he had prudently ran away from, though my indifference pain thanks to a brain injury I received when I was very young helped by allowing me to remain lucid and guide my rescuers in their aid.

After spending a couple of weeks recovering, it didn't take me long to find this blog and start keeping track of what Sufjan was up to. I figured out his location with the same method that Caden did; he left too many goddamn clues. Once again, the word "idiot" springs to mind. So, I decided that Sufjan needed to be taught a lesson. Mainly, that he is an idiot, that he is, more specifically, a weak idiot and, more specifically still, that he is a weak and pathetic idiot. So I showed him just how far he was from escaping what he did to me, how vulnerable he really was and then, when I felt the time was right, I got him. When Sufjan showed up at the Oriental Theatre, I simply crept up behind him, hit him over the head with a brick and dragged him to my rented car. Nothing overly dramatic, like he was expecting. Which was, naturally, exactly the point.

Sufjan woke some hours later, tied to a cross (there was one in the shack where I took him and it was an opportunity too hilarious to resist), with me sitting across from him in a chair. To make sure he was awake, I blew his left hand into kebab meat with his own pistol. After watching him squirm for a few seconds, I kindly shoved a syringe full of anaesthetic in his arm and amputated the offending limb. I told him how stupid he was as I worked to keep his mind off what I was doing. It was done in just a few minutes, with no pain whatsoever.

See? I'm not such a bad guy.