Mercy Kill.

Today, I came upon the realization that my automatic reaction to puberty is nothing short of this:

Needless to add, it wasn’t pretty.

Because, you know, it wasn’t a mere subtle transformation as it is with all the hormonal zombies that recently acquired the functioning ovaries, ‘woman’ noun and dubbed suitable by the most recent form of the dying ritual of sending a teenager all on his own into the jungle and asking him to bring home a butchered gorilla to assert his manhood. It was a full blown mutation, in full throttle, with the appendages and the sticky goo coming out of the mouth letting out little, though amply voiced, graaaawrs.

It involved slaughter.

And three innocent casualties whose only fault was being at the wrong place, at the wrong time and inconveniently sitting with their ears angled towards the, formerly latent, explosion.

It’s a little funny how people call it a mercy kill; it’s become so common as to acquire the social acceptance of a posh downtoning Merriam-Webster-certified term.

It’s humanity going: ‘Oh well, I guess that can’t be stopped, might as well make it a thing so when aliens land in 5012, they think we had a grip on things and all. Coin that shit in the books.’

It’s evolution going: ‘Kill all the pussies, and make the surviving minority carnivorously man-eating, in any meaning of the word that qualifies. Make them bitches think it was my idea.’

You know, this whole chick thing, yeh, I don’t buy it. It wasn’t a great sight to see myself being a chick, you know, concentrating on actual semantics and shit.

Shortly afterwards, the whole I’m-a-dude-at-heart thing started getting more attention than it should. False advertising works best I reckon. They started begging for that shit to come back. The same ones who debated the tranny theory with a passion I never knew possible away from an ‘eat all sushi you can and you’ll get it for free’ buffet.

The kind of passion you see on a morbidly obese American male on seeing a ‘Fried chicken wings, 387 flavors' ad.

I now know why this whole ‘wiping out humanity and start it again on a clean slate’ scene stopped at around 14 BC. God knew better, because by then, they were more than qualified to finish themselves off and like him in the process. You see progress right there, changing the attitude from ‘flood them bitches’ and ‘torch them hoes’ to ‘get me some popcorn, she got a tight grip on his spinal cord and he’ll be oozing pudding anytime now.’

Chicks survived the same way Chihuahuas do, they have admirable tantrum phasing, you’ll fear it no matter how small and harmless it may look as soon as you realize just where it can bite you.

Dudes survived the same way that rat in an anaconda's death vice, he’s oblivious enough not to know that they feed every two weeks to warm up and start cuddling themselves into the hug that will irrevocably throw their spine out of alignment.

Evolution didn’t leave males defenseless tho, it gave them a couple of pointers, shoved them so deep into their subconscious that they wouldn’t know it’s protecting them, because if they did then chicks would know too. Subtle: ‘Girls who like soccer are hot.’ and ‘Man, she actually watches Top Gear. I’m proposing next week.’

Yes, you got it right, they’re protecting themselves by looking for dudes. Or the next best thing.

Shitty day, just like the former and prolly like the next. I now turn in with the hope that tomorrow has more hours, less events and enough coffee. Good night, loathsome humans.

Also, kids got totally scammed. I don’t like growing up.