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2001-08-22

Oscar Fingal O'Flaherty Wilde
B. 10.16.1854 Dublin / D. 11.30.1900 Paris
Cerebral Meningitis

The following is brought to you by the National Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and is made possible in part by a grant from the Ford Foundation�and by Pfizer Corporation��Putting Non-Existence to Work for You.�

�I didn�t need a gun. Okay? For me to kill somebody, I don�t need a gun. Can�t you look and see? I�m two hundred and eight-six pounds. Okay? I would rip you like a rag doll. Okay?. . .I could have killed her, the baby, okay, that wasn�t my beef. I didn�t kill my wife with the meat cleaver�I threatened her. Okay? I didn�t hit Bridget with the crowbar�I threatened her. I was a dog, barking. I didn�t do nothing. I ran. After my wife did that to me I left New York, packed up, took my tools and said, �I�m a good looking man I�ll be able to get another woman,� left, went to Atlanta, was in the strip club with hundreds of girls�hundreds!�when I had a problem with a girl I was dealing with in Atlanta, packed up, went to Charlotte, met Bridget, when I had a problem with Bridget I packed up, went back to Atlanta. I ran. This is what I tried to encourage the young man to do. I told him not to do it, for six months I avoided him, I didn�t go ahead and do it�I couldn�t do it. He forced me to do it. He threatened me and the ones I loved. And it�s still not over.

�So feel it. Feel the truth. Okay? I come from the city where you can feel it, you can tell when someone�s selling you shit and when somebody�s telling the truth. Feel it! Or your city is doomed. It�ll be like New York and Atlanta, within ten years. Remember what I said.

�He is. . .a person who killed�had his baby�s momma and baby contracted out to kill�and all the time I�m looking at my girl and baby. How did you think I felt? I�m still human. Even though I have a LONG criminal history�I did it all!�but I�m still human.

�God forbid.�

Prison is full of great men gone wrong, their thick haunches going to fat, their greatness turned adipose. Weary days, walking it off on the treadmill�greatness seeps from every orifice and pore�leaves salty pools of might-have-been to stain the mattress ticking�men in the pen, stinking. Some killed the things they loved; the rest happened on surrogates. Poor Bridget gets it with the crowbar either way.

Consolation Site: Retains the power to shock

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