A thing I wrote. Because nothing says Christmas like slaves and whores.
For want of a good motivator, the R2 was lost.
For want of an R2, the aunt and uncle were lost.
For want of an aunt and uncle, the Luke was lost.
For want of a Luke, the Vader was lost.
For want of a Vader, the Emperor was lost.
For want of an Emperor, the Empire was lost
And all for the want of a good motivator.
A story about an old woman and a taxi driver has been floating around Facebook. I thought it was important for people to hear the other side of that story.
A sweet lesson on precaution.
A NYC Taxi driver wrote:
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. The small woman stared at me, then back into her apartment, as if challenging me to judge its strange appearance.
So disconcerted was I by the look in the old woman’s eye, not to mention her sparse, broken abode, that I immediately drove off, leaving her standing alone on the crumbling sidewalk outside her home.
A week later, I found out that old woman had died that very night, shortly after murdering eleven taxi drivers and three subway workers in a spree the media famously called “The Transit Atrocities.”
Ruth Mabert, or “Granny Murder,” as she came to be known, was finally gunned down in a midnight showdown with five New York Police Officers, but not before she broke the necks of two police horses with a bowling ball hidden in a hatbox. The full extent of her crimes is still unknown, although we are now certain that she burned down a school for deaf orphans in 1988.
The day I heard this news, I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. What if that old woman had gotten a more naive driver, one who didn’t understand the malevolent evil steeping beneath her kindly exterior? What if I had ignored my premonitions?
My head would likely be in a carpetbag, another victim of the elderly Butcher of Brooklyn.
We’re conditioned to think that the elderly are innocent, torchbearers of an older, simpler time. But many of them are actually terrible, monstrous killers, waiting to catch us unaware in a moment of altruism. It’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.
