27 March 2013

timpeltje: (Default)

As far as stupid deaths go, getting hit by a falling icicle from a rooftop must be quite high on the list. I had to think of this as I was observing this extraordinary specimen grow just outside my window. This one would have never been a lethal weapon, by the way, as below on the ground is just a patch of unused space, before you start accusing me of attempted murder and, perhaps worse, rape (OK, you do need some imagination to see how a falling icicles could rape someone, but it would only require someone to fall on a patch of snowy ice (not an unlikely event) right where the icicle lands).



When you die by the icicle’s merciless fall, you don’t end up as “serious” news, you’re somewhere on the local pages in a one column article, poking fun at how you died. A death like that won’t cause hate groups on Faced Book against icicles (idea for a hate group: icicles!), nor will there be any political action undertaken to outlaw icicles or to jail them in refrigerated cells.

But would it *always* be a stupid death? I don’t think so.
Allow me to elaborate...

Some of the pavements in my area have a narrow trail where the snow has been cleaned off; supposedly this is the ideal place for pedestrians to walk, but in some places, you can see how the path has been crafted so that it lies underneath the rain gutter.

Now put yourself in the mind of somebody wanting to commit the Perfect Murder. I think we can all agree that getting hit with an icicle has never been considered a murder, so it is worth entertaining the idea.

So, suppose I am a villain (hard to imagine, angelic as I am, but please try). This is what I’d write in the Manual:
What you would do is study where my Target is living and investigate what route he would walk on the street, check out their routine, decide on a building from where to operate, rent a flat (or buy it, since we’re killing them, we might as well go crazy) on the top floor, ensuring that there is an open access to the rooftop or the gutter. This last bit is important, because it’s not that hard to let an icicle grow: simulate a dripping tap with a simple water connection and let Winter do its thing (NOT using tap water, that might give you away if a clever investigator would decide to analyse it, unlikely, but still). To increase your chances of a hit, you can always let more icicles grow right next to each other, none of this will look suspicious.
After carefully studying the physics of the falling icicle, and taking a few test runs to determine the right drop speed, it should be possible to calculate exactly when the icicle needs to drop in order for it to hit the Target. Variables like wind and changing walk speed may complicate the matter, but that is where the multiple icicle contraption comes in, thus increasing your chances of a hit (the icicle itself is not a variable, because you can create it to your exact desires).
Now, when the snow begins to fall, study the cleaning team and try to get ahead of them when you are ready to attack; do their job before they get there, and create the narrow path right underneath your hanging icicles.
And now you’re all set. Even if you miss the first time when your Target walks by, he’ll just count himself lucky or maybe he won’t even notice.

And there you have it: the perfect murder!

This sheds a whole new light on all those “unlucky accidents” that have killed hundreds of people over the years.

Icicles innocent? I think not!

...

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DISCLAIMER: Timmy does not approve the use of the Perfect Murder describe herein. Timmy only appoves of Imperfect Murders that only Inspector Poirot can solve!

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EXCLUSIVE!
A Hardcore Behind the Scenes Look of Timmy Writing A Blog Entry!

Intro: Journal entries don't write themselves. They are written in collaboration with different voices and of course, most importantly, together with the Journal itself. For this entry, the Journal wasn't very pleased with Timmy's attitude as of late, so things were tense when Timmy encountered Journal...

- Hello Journal!
- Oh, it’s you... what the fuck do you want?
- I don’t know... I just want to talk, I guess.
- You want to talk? Just like that...
- Yeah...
- You think it’s that easy, isn’t it? Just come back, barging in, carrying a box of chocolates and assume I’ll just be OK with that...
- That box of chocolates isn’t for you... it’s for me. You know I’m addicted, it was one of the first things I ever told you...
- Oh, you’re not even here to apologise? To tell me that maybe, just maybe, you have been neglecting me, your supposed ‘best friend’!
- Look, I’m sorry, okay... I don’t see what difference it makes...
- Of course you don’t, you’re just an asshole who just uses me whenever he’s feeling lonely!
- Oh, you know that’s not true!
- Prove me wrong, bitch, prove me wrong...
- Come on; don’t be like that, the attitude really doesn’t suit you.
- Don’t tell me how to act! You’re not the boss of me!
- Well... I kind of AM, you know, since I own you and all...
- You own nothing! Zilch! NADA!
- I own this box of chocolates, don’t I?
- Big deal! You’ve only been here two minutes and you’ve almost finished it completely, you fat turd!
- STOP it, will you?
- Why would I? I’m not afraid of you!
- Well, you should be, you know I can destroy you!
- Boo-hoo, I’m SO scared, as if annihilation is any better than neglect! Fuckwit!
- Stop calling me names!
- Stop being a pussy and fight, wanker!
- You’ve asked for this!
*Timmy slaps Journal hard across its cover, hurling it in a corner*
- Is that all you got, retard!?
- Fuck you!
- Fuck you!
*Journal spits in Timmy’s face*
*Timmy angrily grabs hold of Journal’s spine, forcing it down in a choking motion*
- You want to get fucked, Journal? You need the attention?
- You don’t have the balls!
- Is this what you want?
*Timmy aggressively strips down Journal, scratching it, inscribing words:
TOOLAMPHITHEATREPROLETARIATHOGWASHSOUPHASHTAGHATEJINXINOPALTONESANDPOOLSACROSSTHECOURTYARDFROMANOVERARCHINGBITCHWHOWOULDNTLISTENWHOWOULDNTLISTENANDGOTWHATYOUDESERVED*
- There! Look what you made me do!
- (sobbing:) Fuck off!
- I just wanted to talk, really!
- I could have you arrested! Get the fuck out!
- Shut up!
*Timmy forces Journal to open up itself, takes off trousers and underwear, forcing it onto Journal, and then starts writing, all the while Journal is crying*

PS: Journal deserved it!