This is your knee. I’ve decided I hate you. From this point onward, my goal in life is to aggravate you and to fray your temper until you physically assault the poor bank clerk who asked how your day was. Oh yes, you’ll hate her. You’ll hate everyone who walks without pain.
Yes, I had the perseverance of a monk, of a hunting cat, of a near-diabetic who only stays lucid for donut Wednesday. To you it may seem like a one-time deal, a crime of passion and opportunity. You fool. The best villains are the passionless, the ones who slowly build up a bone spur about a centimeter long on your inner knee cap, laugh diabolically, and plan out increasingly sadistic ransom notes, of which this is merely an example.
Those villains don’t ask for explanations; they don’t provide mercy or wait for Superman to solve his relationship problems before blowing up the Empire State building. They don’t give the Avengers a convoluted plotline that ends in the Siberia. They don’t ever dabble in love or compassion but steep themselves in tax evasion, orc multiplying, the family business, and impractical costumes.
See it was me, all ME, wearing away your cartilage and adding a little bit of extra calcium to your bone for twenty years. It’s nothing you’ve done specifically but everything you’ve done generally. For the past years, I’ve been waiting for this moment, waiting while you did that gasping, flailing hobby you call running, waiting while you ate your ham sandwiches, waiting while you did those tile jobs without knee pads because you thought, No, my knees won’t care. They’ll always cheerfully work for me. Not this time bucko. This time I have the advantage.
Could you have done anything to prevent this? Hard to say. Can someone stop Michael Bay from making another Transformers movie? Can someone stop a baby penguin from being adorable? Can the US figure out a healthcare system that provides everyone with sensible, cheap, and quality healthcare?
In theory, yes. In theory, the cat wouldn’t throw up on your pillow and the government wouldn’t function like a manic-depressive suicide bomber and everyone would fart daisies and rainbows. Ha. I laugh. Welcome to reality, where the taxes are high and the obesity levels are even higher.