The Day I Lost My Faith in Humanity: Volume XIX

Yes, I know what you're thinking. "Two 'Lost My Faith in Humanity' posts in ONE AFTERNOON? To what to I owe this splendid embarrassment of riches?" Well, I'll tell you. You owe it to the fact that the human race is piled collectively into a motherfucking rocket-powered handbasket aimed straight at the hoary, reeking gates of Hades itself.

My evidence?

Ladies and gentlemen...I welcome you to gaze upon the face of Evil. It belongs to my new "Least Favorite Person Ever" winner, narrowly edging out Hitler for the top spot: Mikka Shardai Cline.

You're going to loathe the ever-Christing
SHIT out of this twat within five minutes,
or your money back.

Seems Mikka here is something of an opportunist. That's why recently, while she was out bopping around with her sister, she thought she'd grab herself a soccer ball she saw roll away from a 13-year-old kid, and into a nearby bush. Problem is, it wasn't her ball. She knew it. And she knew she'd be yoinking it from a kid. She didn't care. But that's not why you should hate her.

After the kid lost the ball, the kid's uncle went to go get it...Where he saw Mikka and her sister also going for it. Why didn't the kid who lost it get off his ass and go get it himself? Well, I'm sure he would have loved to. Problem being, he couldn't. He couldn't due to the fact that he was confined to a wheelchair. But that's not why you should hate her, either.

If you're wondering what happened to the kid to land him in a wheelchair, you're already more human than Mikka will ever be. Evidently, the kid is in a wheelchair because he's awaiting surgery. The bushes into which the ball had initially rolled happen to be on the grounds of a renowned Texas Children's Hospital. But y'know what? That's STILL not why you should hate her.

In the ensuing scuffle, the kid's uncle wound up with the ball. Once he recovered it, he went back over to where his nephew was sitting, and put it back in the kid's lap. Now, until THIS point, anyone with a shred of a soul might think this is where Mikka bailed on her ball-collecting mission, realizing her horrible mistake: that the ball she was trying so hard to gaffle actually belonged to a handicapped youth. You might be tempted to hope that she would then go home, sit quietly in a darkened room, and spend a little time with some solemn introspection in an attempt to discern what had gone so horribly wrong in her life to result in her winding up such a repulsive person.

But that's because you're not Mikka Shardai Cline.

Mikka didn't take HER scavenged bounty having been returned to its rightful owner lightly...OH, no. She was gonna GET that goddamned ball. So, she and her sister sauntered on over to where the kid was sitting, and tried to gank it right out of his fucking lap.

Okay, you can start hating her just a LITTLE now, in order to get ready for what's coming.

For this part of the exercise, imagine you're the kid's uncle. You've just BOUGHT the kid the ball as a gift on the way over to visit him in the hospital. Where he was awaiting surgery. In his wheelchair. And you have just emerged victorious in a scuffle for the ball against some bitch and her sister who were trying to snag it. So, imagine your horrified surprise when you see these absolute wastes of perfectly good organs boldly march on up to your nephew, and try to forcibly knock it out of his lap after you give it back to him. Naturally, you intervene once again.

And what you're faced with next is these two unbelievable cunts WORKING AS A TEAM to try to take the kid's ball.

That's right. When Uncle gets all "Oh, HELL no," and goes over to defend the kid, Sister makes a move for the ball. She is rebuffed by Uncle. While Uncle is tussling with Sister, Mikka sees her shot, and makes a grab for it. Problem is, the kid is doing his best to feebly hang onto his gift, the little ray of spherical black-and-white sunshine that his beloved uncle had brought him that day to try and cheer him up. And despite his debilitated nature, he's doing a reasonably fine job of it. Too fine a job for Mikka's liking, apparently.

So what does Mikka do to try to get him to let go?

She swings at him with a closed fist.

TWICE.

And the second swing connects.

Do you hate her yet? I hope you don't. At least not TOO much. Because I've deliberately kept one very extra-special little nugget of info in reserve for the right moment, and you're going to want to save up some of that hatred.

When Mikka landed the punch, she didn't connect with the boy's face. Nor did she connect anywhere on his body. She, in fact, landed her fist solidly upon the kid's immobilizing surgical halo.

In case you're not familiar with what I'm talking about, let me fill you in a bit. A surgical halo is something you may have seen on TV or in the movies. I hope to GOD you've never had to see it on a loved one, or heaven forbid yourself. Because a surgical halo is a rigid, metal ring. One they have to screw into your skull in order to stabilize you after you've had a potentially life-threatening cranial or spinal injury. It's then attached to a support harness in order to provide your head and spinal cord the support your fucked-up neck currently can't.

Yeah. One of those.

That. THAT is what the full-force, closed-fist blow of Mikka's rage connected with. An iron ring, drilled into the kid's fucking SKULL, and mounted onto his shoulders with reinforced steel supports.

Set aside for the moment, if you will, the potential for FURTHER exacerbating a child's lifelong, debilitating injury because you've seen fit to use blunt force to defeat the stop-gap medical support system that is probably the only thing keeping him from paralysis. And when you manage to do that (I still haven't), then simply consider the pain. Or, more likely, the soul-wrenching, all-consuming, motherfucking writhing in torment, I-want-to-die agony.

Clearly, something catastrophic happened in this poor kid's life to land him in this state. And being as he's not old enough to be operating any of the heavy machinery that usually results in the sort of injuries that necessitate a surgical halo, chances are, whatever it was wasn't even really his fault. But he's still broken beyond repair anyway, awaiting surgery to repair his ruined neck, which means he's probably in considerable discomfort to begin with.

And then Mikka here has to come along and strike him. In his surgical halo. The one that's bolted to the bones in his head, and attached to expandable metal supports putting constant pressure on his shoulders. The vibration from the blow would then naturally resonate from Mikka's fist, into the ring, and then directly into his skull, and eventually, the site of the original injury, before continuing down to place acute pressure onto his already indescribably sore upper back. All this because she wanted to take advantage of him, and steal the soccer ball she KNEW was his; the ball his uncle brought him as a gift while he was recovering from horrific injuries. Injuries that weren't even his fault in the first place.

Okay. You can hate her now. Go ahead. Please. Because if this blog suddenly and inexplicably racks up a million views out of nowhere tomorrow, all of the readers hating her simultaneously would STILL not amount to the merest FRACTION she so richly deserves.

And just in case you think I HAVE to be making at least SOME of this up? That no single human being could be so thoroughly reprehensible? Here's a link to the story.

Mikka Shardai Cline? Congratulations, you inconceivable goddamned demon. You motherfucking blinding rage-inspiring ghoul. You are far and away the most horrible person alive on the planet right now. Out of six-and-a-half BILLION people all being varying degrees of disgusting to each other, you're the fucking queen.

Now come here. I've got your crown. And when I put it on you, I'm going to bolt it into your skull, and then hit it with a shitting pipe wrench a few dozen times. I hope you die. In a FIRE.

TWICE.