Yes elder, they were truly a peaceful people...
It's important to note that the founders based our government and its checks and balances on the Iroquois Confederacy, but who said anything about "peace?" Surely not
I...:lol:
I have a Mohawk friend I haven't seen in years, Russell by name. Back in New York, a few of us were in a bar/restaurant, having drinks and appetizers, and Russell ordered steamed clams on the half shell-when they arrived they were liberally garnished with diced tomatoes and onions. Russell went red in the face, and was seriously ready to
murder[ the waitress over the tomatoes and onions. I told him to calm down, and he was
ready to murder me: Don't tell me to calm down! he shouted. Then, as quickly as I could say,
Russell, you don't have to eat the tomatoes, you can just brush them off-he said,
Oh, yeah-and the red went out of his face, and he was completely calm.
"Mohawk," means "people of the flint," to Mohawks-to lots of other people in what became New York, it meant
people who eat people.
Dad always joked that my New York relatives were the reason natives got such a bad shake everywhere else: people would show up someplace new, and the natives would come over the hill to meet them, and they'd get all
INDIANS!!!! OMG!! :lol:
You know,
this post reminded me of something; once, a whole school bus's worth of kids wound up on my lawn to see me fight. The fight was broken up by my dad arriving from work, and standing there in his clerical collar, with his briefcase in one hand, and a raincoat draped over his arm, my dad talked about fighting, and said,
I fight to kill.
I took a lot of ribbing for that
for years-think I was about 13 when it happened, maybe 12, but I think dad was saying it for
me.
Once, I killed-I've posted about it before. People always seem to think I should be bothered by it, when, the fact is.....
....
I liked it.
Oh, not enough to seek the experience again, or join the police department-I did try to join the service-I got into Annapolis, but they wouldn't have me because of my medical history, and maybe that was a blessing. There has never been a pleasure that was quite equal to killing that boy, though: some things, like the birth of my children, have been better, and some things don't quite measure up: if I were able to choose between sex and killing a person, I'd take sex. Pizza, though? If it meant never having pizza-or sushi, or pancakes, or ice cream again-
ever, in order to kill someone-to have their blood splash my face and to watch all that they were go right out of their eyes, I'd gladly choose to eviscerate someone with a teaspoon, and never have the pleasure of pizza again..
My grandfather was some sort of proto-Rambo in WWI, though-and promptly entered seminary when he returned. My dad was a priest, my grandfather was a priest, and my
great grandfather was a minister, as well as a sailor. ANother ancestor was some sort of cavalry badaass in the Civil War, and wound up being a minister afterward.
I could have been a priest-there's a very special provision in my family's trust for men who chose to join the clergy, and I have my own ideas as to
why, and I think it has everything to do with avoiding taking life-or having anyone anger is enough to do so-but I chose another way-funny enough, I wound up being a sort of minister, but hey......
In any case, sure, my relatives and ancestors killed and tortured, and occasionally ate the organs of slain enemies,
like Magua in
The Last of the Mohicans.
What that means, to me anyway, is that occasionally someone like
you will make me angry, and I might just want to take their eyes out, and gobble them down with a beer chaser. Or take them out to the beach, and bury them up to the chin below the high tide mark at low tide. Or just bash their brains in.
And, because I'm a peaceful person, I don't do any of those things-not because I fear the force of the law, or consequences, but because I simply choose not to follow the impulse-which is there.
Torture? Sure, love to-not for information or something as trivial as that, but just for the pleasure of watching you suffer.Coat you with honey and stake you out on an anthill. Burn you alive. Shoot arrows at you so you bleed out slowly. Peel off your skin. Feed you to my dogs a little bit at a time. Draw and quarter you.
All just for the pleasure of watching you suffer.
Homicide? Sure,
love to-not for financial gain, or property, or even self-defense. Just for the sheer pleasure of the cries of your pain, the smell of your blood and entrails-to reduce you to nothing but blood, sweat, screams and one last exhalation.
Carefully cut out your liver, and let you watch as I saute it with onions, and then eat it? Well, liver's an occasional pleasure, so I'd have to be in the mood for liver, but that's about it.....sure-I'm willing to bet that your liver would taste alot better than that pate I made a coupla weeks ago....
Put your head on a pike on my fence, or feed it to my dogs? Absolutely.
It's in my blood, after all......
What I've learned is anger management-but I wouldn't have to manage my anger if
some people would manage their stupidity.