Once upon a time, in the whimsical realm of ancient wisdom and folklore, there existed a captivating adage that resonated with the timeless pursuit of justice: “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Its enchanting allure transcended cultural boundaries and found its parallel in the realm of the Far East, where the melodious whispers of Chinese gave birth to the poetic expression, “junzi baochou, shi nian bu wan.” Translated, it evoked a profound notion – a virtuous soul seeking retribution need not be bound by the constraints of time, for even a decade shall not render it too late.
Yes, the thirst for revenge must be quenched but it doesn’t have to happen now.
Those sagely words in Chinese carried profound significance, urging restraint in the face of indignation. It was a whispered melody of prudence, reminding the vengeful heart to abstain from hasty actions. Patience, it declared, was a precious virtue to be treasured. The passage of time, like a gentle breeze, was to be allowed to sweep away the embers of hostility, cloaking them in an ethereal shroud of forgetfulness. Thus, the unsuspecting foe would be lulled into complacency, casting aside any remnants of caution or suspicion.
But beware, for beneath the whimsical façade lay a wellspring of determination and conviction. The very notion of retribution, once embraced, was to be pursued with unwavering dedication. There existed no room for half-hearted endeavors or tepid measures. If one dared to deliver a blow upon one’s nemesis, it was an unspoken pact that the retaliation would have to be painful and resolute. An eye for an eye, it whispered, as the gentle caress of justice found its mark as the knife with jagged edge not only stabs, but twists and then stabs again and twists again until all blood is drained from one’s archenemy.
Oh, but it didn’t end there, for the bloodless can still live, if barely. The tale took a dark twist, revealing the depths to which vengeance could descend. With a sinister gleam in the eye and a chilling smile upon the lips, the protagonist would orchestrate a symphony of torment. The tormentor, now fully unveiled, would unleash upon the unsuspecting foe a series of trials that would make them yearn for the solace of nonexistence. Every fiber of their being would cry out in anguish, their very existence teetering on the precipice of regret.
But one must ponder, when does the thirst for retribution find its satiation?
I know the answer to that vexing question, and it involves six pallbearers carrying a body to a funeral home. And it’s not my body.
In this realm where whimsy intertwines with the gravity of human desires, the concept of revenge takes on a life of its own. It dances upon the winds of time, weaving a tale of patience, dedication, and the dark allure of sweet retribution. As the sun sets upon the enchanted horizon, its final rays illuminate the contours of a choice – will I succumb to the allure of revenge, or will I let it dissipate like smoke in the wind, choosing the path of forgiveness and redemption instead?
I have chosen the former.
The Bible quotes God as saying “Vengeance is mine, I will replay.”
If that is true, why are there still lawyers?
Lawyers who go to church.
The Presbyterian ones are the cockiest and smuggest ones.
Calvinism be dammed!
Some of these misguided Bible-thumping zealots seem to think that we are all going to hell, except them.
(Shhh, they don’t know that spiritual arrogance is a sin too.)
Vengeance is mine, not the Lord’s.
I will execute.
I don’t forgive.
And if you should die before I get to you, remember I can go after your descendants haha.
I admire Chinese emperors of ancient times who in their vengeance would eliminate not only particular generations of a clan or family but the entire clan or family. That’s the way revenge should be. Yes, wiped off the surface of the earth.
I am reminded of what a Cuban friend’s dad once said: “If you really want to hurt your enemy, hurt someone or something he loves and return the damaged person or thing to him.”
That’s for loved ones of my enemy. But as for my own dear enemy himself, you cock-sucker, before you know it, by my hands, your body will match room temperature.
I will take you to algor mortis haha.
Be at one with ambient temperature, bottom-feeding asshole!
The pleasure is wholly mine.
Sabrage the Dom Pérignon!
Open the Louis XIII!
Light the Cohiba Behike!
Fly in Beluga from Iran and A5 wagyu from the Land of the Rising Sun!
Spit on your fucking grave!