Picking the lock of rationality.

I've noticed that the simple minded among us tackle all obstacles with sheer brute force, and that's okay, I suppose, it being a form of governing in some parts of the world, but certainly there are other, much less violent ways.

'But how, how am I supposed to harm my enemies without brute force!' I hear you exclaim, warm saliva slithering down your fat chin, impacting and exploding on your chest-flab, splashing all over your shirt and joining the ranks of the stains of various other foods. The other stains that will remain there until the morticians remove the flab-encrusted shirt from your corpse, which was discovered weeks after your long and miserable demise, which stretched out during your entire lifetime. But that's beside the point.

'But what is the point?' I hear you squeal, as my rapier wit takes delicate stabs at you like vultures after your plentiful, pink meat, as you attempt to run, only effective colliding with a wall broadcasting your stupidity. Anyway, I sometimes get distracted when revealing the truth, back on topic now.

Someone teetering on your last nerve, thus almost provoking a violent reaction out of you? Stop. Take a deep breath. Pull your thumb out of your anus. Attacking the offender will only give him what he wants; an exploding rush of pain in his groin. Yes, he wants it. It gives him a celestial thrill, allows him to peer into the otherworldly delights that await him in the afterlife. Do you want him to win? No. You don't. You want a wife that looks good, cooks and cleans. But there's no such thing, and if there were, you still wouldn't get her. You know why? Because you're repellent. And mind-numbingly dull. Wipe that drool off your face. You're getting an arranged marriage. But that's beside the point, and as attractive and charismatic as I am, I can't help you with that.

Anyway, next time an insect is getting on your nerve, you do not blindly go rushing on him with murderous intentions. You give him The Look (tentative title). Any simple-minded fool can do The Look, even you. All you do is look at your enemy, and just keep looking at them. Don't talk, don't convey any emotion and for God's sake close your mouth, you salivating wretch. Just look at them with a neutral, expressionless face. It may seem absurd, pointless and rather creepy, but just keep at it. The damage it can have on the enemy is colossal.

'But that sounds stupid!' you screech, effectively using all of your energy with one exhale, draining yourself out and causing your heart to work overtime, pumping dust and grease. Stupid, you say, my young friend? Preposterous. If you want stupid you look at the mirror, or the events that occurred twelve-years-and-nine-months-ago when your mother gave in to her urges, and conceived you. Or this quote here, which occurred during a rather pointless, and brain-cell-massacring conversation:

KCh says:
i kicked a football and overturned a plate of food

Today's youth indulges in the most absurd rituals. Anyway, I was aware that my findings would not be accepted so easily, and experimented on a specimen, with a series of logs to prove myself. Observe:

Stage 1:
Subject A calls me a 'knobhead.' I am devastated. Subject A then proceed to laugh it up with his friends. Quite alright, I think, I am better than him; I will rise above his deliciously tempting bait.

Stage 1.2:
Subject A positions himself in my sights, and does the gesture that universally that means that he is putting telling me to go have sexual intercourses with myself. No matter. It just makes it more amusing for when he walks into his mother's room only to find that she's assisting me in this very action.

Stage 1.3:
Subject A is still heartily laughing with his friends at my demise, but is still rather unsatisfied with his destruction. So he stands up on the table, and announces, to the whole class, 'Farhad is a miniature gnome creature that bathes in his jeans.' Laughter shatters in my ears like glass, provoking a headache. No one insults the bathing in jeans tradition.

Stage 1.4:
I remain calm and proceed according to plan, and position myself in a seat most suited for my needs, and take a seat. I look at my enemy and my enemy looks back at me. We proceed to engage in a short battle of visions, in which my enemy falters. He looks away, and continues to laugh with his friends. Laugh it up, dear, laugh it up.

Stage 1.5:
Subject A laughter has dimmed, from hearty bellow to almost a nervous giggle, and is now uneasily aware of me staring at him. Just a blank stare; no curiosity, no anger, no flattery. Just… a stare.

Stage 1.6:
Subject A pores are now rapidly discharging sweat, and his left eye twitches ever so, and he mouths words that remain inside his oesophagus. His entire frame twitches, and he proceeds to salivate. His friends dismiss him and avoid him. Subject A does not know what hit him.

By the end of the ordeal, Subject A is a trembling, drooling wretch, crying like a baptized baby in the corner of the room, the crowd gathered around him, energetically pointing and laughing it up.

Yes, this is a true story, and occurred only this morning. It is a cruel method, but a modern one. Do not decline progress; embrace it. Next time someone annoys you with stupid queries, or spreads his germs by coughing in a public place, do not primitively attack them, give them The Look.