I Was...a Journalist...though My Typical Beat Was

I Want You To Have Big Dreams, Big Goals. I Want You To Strive To Achieve Them. But I Don't Want To See You Beating Yourself Up Every Time You Make A Mistake.

The Look She Gave Me Reminded Me Of When Is Was Seven And I'd Proudly Informed Out Housekeeper That I'd Donated Half My Clothing To A Charity Drive At School. It Had Seemed Perfectly Sensible To Me-i Didn't Need So Much Stuff-but She'd Stared At Me Like Margaret Was Now, With A Mix Of Horror And Disbelief.

When I Leaned A Little Too Close To The Doorway, My Inner Voice Piped Up, Telling Me Not To Be Stupid. The Guy With The Bionic Senses Was Better Equipped For This.

The Show's Writers Had Peppered The Piece With Words Like "savage," "wild," And "animalistic." What Bullshit. Show Me The Animal That Kills For The Thrill Of Watching Something Die. Why Does The Stereotype Of The Animalistic Killer Persist? Because Humans Like It. It Neatly Explains Things For Them, Moving Humans To The Top Of The Evolutionary Ladder And Putting Killers Down Among Mythological Man-beast Monsters Like Werewolves. The Truth Is, If A Werewolf Behaved Like This Psychopath It Wouldn't Be Because He Was Part Animal, But Because He Was Still Too Human. Only Humans Kill For Sport.

I Was...a Journalist...though My Typical Beat Was Freelancing Articles On Canadian Politics, Which Never Included Any Mention Of Demonic Phenomena, Though It Might Explain The Rise Of The Neoconservatives.