To be clear, this has nothing to do withempathy. Even the most narcissistic of sociopaths can still technically be empathetic. I know I can.
Sometimes…It’s happened once or twice.
But being wicked means shrugging off such things, effortlessly. Remaining unaffected by the pain, duress, and most importantly, the expectations of others.
I’m not talking about how itfeelsto be bad—we all know it feels fucking great.This is about the work that goes into being an honest to God evil motherfucker.Like, for a living.
Mis amigos, it’s alifestyle, being this vile. A full-time job you never clock out of.
Twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five, living and breathing depravity, in sovereignty.
The all-consumingpoweris more intoxicating than the strongest vices, and it takes a special kind of monster to ingest all of this without getting sloppy. I suppose that’s why so many great villains are inevitably defeated… It’s certainly a commitment, and the pressure can crush you if you let it.
If you’re weak, that is.
Yes, it’s hard, but that’s not to say it’s a thankless job. The perks of wielding control over thousands of people and billions of dollars and miles andmilesof territory are endless, naturally.
But then it’s not all luxury and lechery either—though, there is a lot of that.At the end of the day, this nefarious empire I’m running is still abusiness, and business revolves around two things:
Numbers… and people.
The numbers are simple. Two-dimensional.
People are always where complications arise. Because people are…a lot.
Wrangling them is no easy task. I’m not a serial killer or anything—nottechnically—but after dealing with so many people on a regular basis for so many years, I’ll admit… I see the appeal.
The hardest part of being evil isnotkilling everyone.
Jot that quote down for my memoir.
All jesting aside, it is most certainly a skill to own corruption and weaponize information the way I do. To convince people that what I want is also what they want, even if that thing is most definitelynotwhat they want.
It’s an art form. A performance, like a Vegas magic show. And the illusion depends on the ability to read and control the audience. To anticipate, then manipulate.
I’m the goddamn David Copperfield of organized crime.
And yet, like any good stage performer, I have to be able to adapt on the fly. Because as much as Iwishlike hell this was a one-man show, it’s not.
Lately, it’s been one thing after another, more specifically, in the business of Alabaster Penitentiary… My once dark mistress, now my beautiful burden.
But it’s not her fault. I don’t blame her one bit.Would you like to guess who’s at fault?
I’ll give you a hint…It’s not thenumbersthat are ruining everything.
The last year has been ridiculous as it is, but after the nonstop strife of this past month, I’ll be shocked if I come away from this without ulcers, or a clot in my brain.
All stress inflicted by the fuckingpeoplearound me.
Dios, te prometo que, I will make it mylife’smissionto replace everyone in this organization with animals.Fuck AI and robots, or whatever… I would be just fine working amongst cats, and lizards and shit.
Birds running the drugs. Guarddogs… Hello.
It would beperfect. I’d never have to speak to another human again.
Bueno para mi estomago…
That’s it. I’m doing it. Call me evil Ace Ventura.
