Wolf vs. Vulture

Desperate Times Presents: An Evening Rant

Remember when Facebook used to feel like a safe place; a place where you could rant, bitch, kvetch etc. with abandon, without fear of repercussion or consequence? No, you don't? Then you were born in the 90's. Back in it's infancy, Facebook sublimated my anger and rage - I could rant about the futility of existence without fear of someone emailing me, or "messaging me" about every little unnerving Status Update.

It used to be a fun tool; Facebook. You could (and still can) use this tool to manipulate your fantasy of what you think others will think about your random thoughts; wantings - ravings - ecstasies - wins - losses - Who Cares? I don't know. I guess I care. I have a bunch of "friends" - over 500. I don't see more than a dozen of them in a given week.

Facebook has given losers everywhere at least one friend

The problem with this manipulation (whether conscious or not) is in the execution.

I just had a very invasive Facebook experience involving an inter-loping vulture. I'm no dead meat - but this experience left me feeling chewed and swallowed. Without going in to specifics (for fear of reprisal) This particular Vulture felt the need to insert itself, uninvited in to my Wolfpack (life). The vulture felt the need to critique the Facebook Manipulation of my life that I had created, to the point that this Wolf could bear it no longer. This Wolf never expressed anything (to his knowledge) to the Vulture that the Vulture could ever misconstrue as a close, personal comment, remark or invitation in to the Wolf's existence.

This is no ordinary Vulture. This Vulture is strange, because it doesn't feed off rotting carcasses. This Vulture feeds off the living. In fact, this Vulture is more like a Vampire, or a Valkyrie. Vampire. Vulture.

When is it ever ok for a Vulture to talk to a Wolf anyway? We don't even speak the same animal language. Point being - This Wolf never wanted any contact with the Vulture.

This Wolf had seen this Vulture feed off of other members of his Wolfpack before. Luckily they had extricated themselves from the Vulture's fangs before it was too late.

This Vulture was/is a Facebook Junkie.

I dunno - I blocked the bird.

I felt stalked by this bird... and I'm a Wolf.

The madness has to end somewhere. I think the road out of madness leads out off facebook as well. That being said, the inverse is equally true.

In the end - I let the Vulture have it - I tore the bird to shreds with my vicious Wolf jaws. Blood in the snow - dripping as I walked away. The Vulture lived to fight another day.

The Wolf unfriended and blocked the Vulture and he hopes that his Wolf Pack will not suffer any repercussions.

I am Jack's momentary sense of relief.

Stupid social network.

I'm going back to the woods.

The Philosopher Pistol

Desperate Times Presents:

The Philosopher Pistol (Part 2)

I wrapped my fingers round the cold hard butt of my revolver. Squeeze, don't pull. Squeeze don't pull. They had drilled this mantra into our heads during training. If you pull the trigger, as opposed to squeezing the trigger, you'll miss high and over their heads. Halfway to Najadima - a little village in the middle of the desert - What it lacked in size, it made up for in villainy. They say only two kinds of men go to Najadima. Men who are fixing to kill, and men who are fixing to die - I headed where the work was. And the work was in Najadima. Evil lurked around these parts. I had been walking through the desert for days - water running low, no natives to speak of, no hope to be found. No, my only prospect was a bounty hunter named Floyd who'd gone off the reservation, started taking out high-ranking military officers. Now Floyd had a bounty on his head so high, he couldn't take a piss without somebody informing on it.

The general let me go. It was either I left, or his brains all over his desk - his choice. I made him sign the form and hightailed it out of Cairo as fast as I could. Three years, and dozens of bounties later, I was on my way to Najadima, with Floyd on my mind.

Next (Part 3)