Wednesday, February 3, 2010

If I Had A Time Machine

I was thinking today while watching the solar eclipse in a cereal box about the Mayan and Aztecs who would hold huge parties that lasted for days leading up to a solar eclipse while fucking, and getting drunk on spit beer and of course sacrificing tens of thousands of people. No shit, TENS of THOUSANDS a number that’s almost incomprehensible to categorize in the context of mass murder unless of course you’re playing the “who’s a better dictator” game. But then I really started to work the mechanics and decided I would have loved to have been there.
No, not as a peasant watching the bodies tumble down headless or heartless 800 stone stairs into a fire pit. Not the guy ripping the still beating heart out of some cuties chest and thrusting it into the sky “unga bunga!!!!!” to the cheers and the adoration of the crow. Definitely not one of the dudes who got their rib cage split open and head cut off. Not the guy responsible for cleaning up that whole mess after the ceremony, No, Id want to be the physical trainer to the executioner high priest. I mean, come on.. killing 30 thousand people in a couple of days has got to be a real feat of athleticism!
Im sure this guy was just as important as the priest themselves, they would need coaching and training, motivation and encouragement. Like any other “pro” athlete they would need to perform at their best. Peek levels to not only put on a good show but appease the gods or else, what’s the point? I mean for real, if he blows it like a game winning field goal, their entire civilization may collapse. Talk about pressure.
So I would train him, first by chopping wood for hours a day to make sure his head-cutting-off-maneuver was in top form and strong. Some times at high altitude for better oxygen efficacy, other times, while in a swimming pool for dynamic resistance. Then, I would have him cut though thousands of reed hammocks with a dull flint blade to perfect his breastbone cutting open-stab and draw was in impeccable condition. I wouldn’t eliminate any style from his technique, after all, showmanship is all about style. I would try to refine it so that he can make the best technical slash while at the same time look good doing it. Such as focusing on the artery. Arterial spray although messy in sacrifice, is a great crowd pleaser.
Then on the days of the ceremony, I would stand back to his left in my bone and peacock feather head dress, grass skirt, and flip flops and murmur encouragement for flawless execution. Provide tips regarding technique for real-time feedback and every hundred sacrifices or so when their washing off the blood when it gets a little too slickery as it does in the Amazon sun, Id give him a quick deep tissue massage on his chopping shoulder, sharpen up his flint blade or bone ax and be otherwise be supportive of his game. Hell, I may even have a young virgin standing by for some close practice to evaluate a particular flaw I may have spotted or be just generally available for rape and murder.
Yeah that’s who I would like to have been.

No comments:

Post a Comment