Codependent Conspirators

Codependent Conspirators

Or 

“Any Excuse To Bomb, Starve, Maim, Torture, or Rape Will Do”

by C. A. Matthews

Once upon a time there was a violent and spoiled brat named Benji. Benji lusted after his neighbor’s things. He wanted to play in his neighbor’s yard any time he wanted to without asking permission. He longed to beat up and terrorize his neighbors any time he felt like it, particularly one neighbor. Benji held a long held grudge against this neighbor because he coveted this neighbor’s yard and things the most. But he couldn’t go it alone—he needed help in doing so with minimum injury to himself.

So Benji went to his mother, Usa, to ask for her help.

Benji: I need more bombs to blow up the neighbors. Give them to me!

Usa: Okay, just give me a moment to gather them up. Now, don’t do anything foolish with those bombs that could reflect badly on either me or you.

Benji: I will do whatever I want. I’m special. Anything I want, I get.

Usa: Yes, I know, but you have to give a little in return. You have to let me have access to your room from time to time for my purposes and—

Benji: Yeah, yeah, whatever! Where are the bombs? I need them now.

Usa: Hold on, hold on… [The phone rings. She answers it.] Hello. What’s that, Mrs. Icici? Benji has a what out on his head? A warrant for genocide? He’s been allowing his gang to do what to the neighbor’s kids? Rape? Torture? Maiming? Stealing their pocket money and bombing their lunch boxes?

Benji: Hurry up! These people don’t just kill themselves! You’re cramping my style.

Usa: (Still on the phone.) All right, Mrs. Icici. I’ll let him know. But I’ll have you know that I don’t appreciate your tone. Benji and I have a perfectly respectful relationship. I can’t believe all the lies you’re saying about him. You’re just trying to blame him for everything that goes wrong in the world. It’s all the other kids’ fault anyway. They’re all terrorists and monsters. Good-bye!

Benji: Finally! Give me the bombs and then get back to doing what you do best.

Usa: (Handing the armaments to him.) What’s that, dear?

 

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