Did I just wish someone dead?

Did I a few hours ago just fantasize someone was dead?

 

God, I ask your forgiveness for I did but I think you understand. When I heard the road it was supposed to be on I thought of one person who’s deep in the game and the people I would be calling if it was and the headline would read: Dog man dies in traffic crash.

 

I’m afraid this was my fantasy, my sick little dream but who’s sicker, the man on Trueblood Road for what he does or me for fantasizing this was his downfall wreck and the headline would read: Vick dog supplier munches it in car crash.

 

My twisted little world when I heard and yes, I thought it, dared hoped it and maybe kept my fingers and toes crossed but it wasn’t and I wonder if I should be on my knees right now, forcing myself to mass although I’m not catholic.

 

Is it murder to get a little rush when you think it could be somebody, that obnoxious baggage of wind called before the feds and all we got from him was his sawmill story and his fetish for comfortable shoes?  

 

I felt that rush, that lilt and dreamed of calling the doggy patrol and saying, guess what, fellas, you know who munched it while coming back from delivering his babies to some rapper, some Vick wannabe role model for troubled youth. 

 

Yep, I thought it, a little smirk across myself, and the money from selling a few red boys got scattered on the highway, too.

 

What is wrong with me?

 

Am I that desensitized that I would will this man dead, hope him dead, get a little smile on my face? Wow! I am sick because those were the thoughts raging through my sick little mind that the dog man of Alcatraz blew it coming home today.

 

Wait! Is all this just newsman fantasy? Did it happen to Woodward, to Bernstein, to Murrow? 

 

Who knows, maybe somewhere they willed it or thought it or dreamed it and when I heard the word Trueblood Road, yes, my heart skipped a beat and now I think I need a priest.