Killing my own father was probably one of the best things I've ever done. The rat bastard was always arrogant, mean, rude, all to cover up his own massive insecurities. He was a bully. I'll never forget the look on his face when he saw the cold stone of mine, and I plugged him twice in the gut with a .45. I would have smiled, but I was too pissed to smile. I would have snarled, but I was too tired to snarl. All I did was watch as this pathetic manchild writhed on the ground and asked me why. Why? He asks me why? He threatens my life regularly, talks down to me endlessly, beats me, and he asks why? I don't answer, because I would just be repeating myself. Instead I raise up and shoot him twice more in the fucking head. I leave the body, irritated I had to put up with this bullshit in the first place. I never really had a father anyway, so I'm not missing anything as I drive away. Way I look at it is he committed suicide. Just used me to do it. I'm eager to get back to what I was doing before I had to handle this, now that it's over and done with I'm in a much better mood. I wonder if Pam is in the mood for sushi tonight, we haven't gone out for sushi in a while and it would cheer me up after all this aggravation. If only pops had known who HE was messing with, that's what he liked to say, that I didn't know who I was messing with. I'm pretty sure I knew who I was messing with. A 190lb target.