The Difference Between Residential and Industrial Cleavers
I dreamed I had to torture somebody for information. And it was comical, really, because I was the least threatening member of the party and not a bit intimidating. The weird thing is I was insanely, ravenously hungry and my cohorts had deliberately let me get that way so I would be at most psychotic when the time came for me to go all bad cop.
I think the guy I was supposed to torture was Baptiste from the last Human Target, but all I could think of was how much tougher he was than me. He was a professional killer and psychological warfare expert. And me? I just wanted to eat. Needed to eat so I could stop freaking out. What was I supposed to do??
So, I went for the ‘first day in prison’ method and did the craziest thing I could think of, which was to go to the kitchen and get a cleaver. He was restrained so I was able to get his arm across the table and I said something like “Normally, we’d start with the fingers, but I can’t wait that long. This is not the tool for the job. It’s a residential cleaver, not nearly sharp enough to do this right and the wrist is all full of bones and gristle, and this is gonna be messy, but the good news is that it will take long enough that you’ll have a chance to change your mind and talk before I get all the way through.”
And I start hacking away at him, talking about that Balinese girl I saw that could shoot arrows with her feet and how many body parts it might be possible to pull a trigger with so maybe he can still be a hitman when this is all over. And he’s yelling at me and finally, he says whatever he was supposed to, and my handlers brought me a bag of cheeseburgers and then the dream changed tracks. I was a different person in the group for the rest of it but I don't remember that part as well.
At least David Duchovny wasn’t narrating this one.
I think the guy I was supposed to torture was Baptiste from the last Human Target, but all I could think of was how much tougher he was than me. He was a professional killer and psychological warfare expert. And me? I just wanted to eat. Needed to eat so I could stop freaking out. What was I supposed to do??
So, I went for the ‘first day in prison’ method and did the craziest thing I could think of, which was to go to the kitchen and get a cleaver. He was restrained so I was able to get his arm across the table and I said something like “Normally, we’d start with the fingers, but I can’t wait that long. This is not the tool for the job. It’s a residential cleaver, not nearly sharp enough to do this right and the wrist is all full of bones and gristle, and this is gonna be messy, but the good news is that it will take long enough that you’ll have a chance to change your mind and talk before I get all the way through.”
And I start hacking away at him, talking about that Balinese girl I saw that could shoot arrows with her feet and how many body parts it might be possible to pull a trigger with so maybe he can still be a hitman when this is all over. And he’s yelling at me and finally, he says whatever he was supposed to, and my handlers brought me a bag of cheeseburgers and then the dream changed tracks. I was a different person in the group for the rest of it but I don't remember that part as well.
At least David Duchovny wasn’t narrating this one.