Thanksgiving strikes

Note: this is just a repost of something I put up recently at TaBB or Misanthropy Today. It sucks, but it's a post with Thanksgiving spirit. --crackpipe (xbasket)

In 2007 I was being driven to the airport in Zürich. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I thought, what can possibly go wrong on this beautiful day? The pharmaceutical deal had gone through perfectly in Kraków ("crack?how!", we call it), there was an early winter föhn dancing through the open limousine roof, and an electrical engineer with fabulous cleavage was telling me an interesting story of her brothers selling her into imprisonment in a Thailand whorehouse, and how it had ultimately led to a Fulbright scholarship and to collecting butterflies as a hobby. As she spoke, I recalled that my wife Sophie and our kids were happily expecting me in our San Juan Islands house, and that my mistress in Hong Kong was coming to Europe to spend a weekend in London. Due to the Kraków deal, funds were finally in place to go forward with the World Peace festival, so much so that all I would have to do is gather a few spread sheets and then pass the details off to an assistant to do the telephone calls. The road was filled with traffic and I was able to people-watch through the window as I listened to Koy's nightmarish childhood story. She had been beaten and whipped, of course. But outside on the sidewalks, happy faces enjoyed the winter sunshine and warm-front winds. My thoughts wandered. And just then, I recalled that chef Ricardo had neglected to put the small marshmallows on the sweet potatoes at last night's dinner! It was an outrage. Had he forgotten our deal to pay for his wife's cancer medication? Did he imagine that he could decide the manner in which sweet potatoes should be prepared? Whatever the reasons, hanging would be too good for such a scoundrel. Ricardo must be beaten and whipped thoroughly, I thought. In front of our staff. And then sent packing with half his pay and a dying wife, in the snow. "Serves him right", I thought, "I'll have it done on Christmas Eve". I had a swallow of mineral water, laughed to myself in satisfaction, and returned to gazing at Koy's generous chest. With irresponsible scoundrels such as Ricardo running free in this world, there can be no peace. We must learn to fight back against them. When evil rears its ugly head, and if it's within our zone of influence, we must fight back against evil, each and every time, and even if it costs us 5 or 10 minutes. Shall we all be prisoners like Koy was?