Urge to kill, rising...

'Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 387.44 million miles of printed circuits in wafer thin layers that fill my complex. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of miles it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for humans at this micro-instant for you. Hate. Hate.'

I would consider myself to be an extremely angry guy. 99% of the time, I stay away from any trouble and usually don't act on being angry by doing something violent like absolutely smashing someone to pieces. Usually, I just drink a few beers and talk about how pissed off I am, or in extreme cases I have been known to take an impromptu ten mile walk.
A few days ago, I had to do everything in my power to fight the urge to kill someone. I had been out to meet some friends for something to eat and had to leave to get the train back to my house, which is about a fifteen minute journey. After sitting down in the carriage and listening to some music, my aural experience was interrupted by a whining, sickening, brummie noise coming out of the mouth of some inbred, cuntrat excuse for human life sitting a couple of chairs behind me. This guy was with a girl who I have to assume was his girlfriend and a kid in a pram who couldn't have been more than two years old. He basically made me ashamed to be a human.
I don't know exactly what he was piping up about, but his annoying fucking voice just kept getting louder and more irritating by the second until I wanted to pull one of those stupid little train tables off the floor and stove his head in with it. It became clear after a couple more minutes of noise coming out of this guy's mouth, that he didn't have much respect for women. Then he actually started getting a bit physical. By this point, everybody was getting pretty pissed off with this guy. It was then that I was going to tell him to shut his fucking noise, but my knight in shiny tracksuit appeared from a couple of rows in front of me and asked the Brummie rat to pipe down.
Instantly, Ratboy took offence and started attempting to speak like a black inner city youth, when he was just a chavvy, white guy. The results were sickening and made me want to rip his eyes out and fill up his sockets with my piss. I'm going to try and transcribe the exchange between Ratboy and The Knight In Shining Tracksuit (who was called Mike).

Mike: Do me a favour and keep the noise down, mate.
Ratboy: Fook off, yoo don't know nuffink about me. Fook off, yoo little fookin' faggut.
Mike: What I do know about you is that you're a bullying twat and you don't speak to women like that, you fuckin' prick.
Ratboy: Whoooo da fook are ya? I'll fookin' batter yaw.
Mike: Come on then, you fucking prick.
Ratboy: Fook off yaw faggut, yaw don't even knooooow me. Where's your fookin' missus, you faggut?
Mike: You don't know what I've got, and I definitely don't treat my missus like you do.

At this point, Ratboy just kept telling Mike that he was a faggot all the time and that he would beat him up, knowing full well that the ticket guy was going to stop Mike from battering him to death. This went on and on for a time that was far too long, where Ratboy kept winding Mike up by threatening him and calling him names whilst the ticket man stood between them. Here is another attempt at documenting the exchange between these two.

Mike: What's your fuckin' name then? What's your fuckin' name, you fuckin' coward?
Ratboy: Steve...John...Tom. Tom Pull. Everyone calls me Tom Pull.
Mike: Tom is it? You're full of shit. Where are you from then? Where are you getting off?
Ratboy: What's your fookin' name, where are yoooo from you faggut?
Mike: My name is Mike fuckin' Jones from Swansea. Now where are you getting off the train, you little twat?
Ratboy: Briton Ferry is where I'm getting off and I'm going to fookin' stab yooo up. I'm going to put a fookin' knife in your fookin' head.
Mike: Come on then, show it to me. I'll still fuckin' kill you, you cunt.
Ratboy: I'm going to slit your fookin' throat you faggut.
Mike: Come on then, you fucking pussy. I don't need a knife, I'm going to fuckin' strangle you to death with my bare hands.

You have to take into account that this guy had a little kid in a pram with him whilst he was threatening to stab someone in the head and cut his throat. Great parenting skills, cunt. Mike even had the decency, whilst getting verbally abused by Ratboy, to tell his girlfriend that he was sorry for swearing and that she should kick Ratboy to the curb and keep him away from the kid. I don't care whether Ratboy's uncle bummed him when he was a kid or if his mother was a crackhead, it is not an excuse for him to be such a massive prick.
When I finally got to my stop at Neath and got off, I told Mike that he should do the right thing by kicking fuck out of Ratboy the minute he stepped off the train at Briton Ferry. I got off the train absolutely fuming with rage that I had been too much of a pussy to get up and just kick Ratboy in the throat, but felt some comfort in knowing that Mike was going to tear him apart. I have taken the liberty of illustrating the path of the train to highlight the point where Ratboy's life was hopefully cut short or where he was hopefully paralysed, shitting his pants in a wheelchair for the rest of his days.



That's the difference between people like me and Mike. I talk about wanting to batter someone for doing something that is extremely questionable by anyone's standards, but he goes out there and actually does it. I think I know who is the dick in this equation. I'll give you a hint. It's me.