My feet are bloody and blistered. There is a hole in my ankle where skin used to be. I don’t have anything left to sweat, my back is aching, and I smell like a summertime crotch.

I’m staying in a hostel that is conveniently located in the center of a park. To get to the hostel, I have to walk along a long and narrow path that’s even creepy in the daytime. The ground is covered in bird excrement. In the morning, the air is 50% gnats. They’re small. There are probably a few thousand rotting in my lungs right now.

But, oh, would that the gnats could be the whole of my worries.

I was returning to the hostel the other night when I spotted a shadowy figure a couple hundred feet from me on the path. He walked in that thugly way that thugs do. He thug-limped off to the side of the path and stopped. I don’t think he knew that I saw him.

I continued on, thinking that he might have thug-walked his way back to his secret thug lair, but he hadn’t. He was part of an ecosystem that was centered around the long, dark walk to the hostel. Knowing full well that the path was going to be traversed by exhausted backpackers at a time when most decent Londoners are too busy singing football anthems and drunkenly beating the shit out of each other in the streets, this guy hangs out and waits for people to walk by without realizing he’s there. After that, he thug mugs them. He’s like a praying mantis, blending in with the environment and waiting for juicy little grubs to come his way.

I’m guessing that, anyway. He didn’t get a chance to mug me. I’d like to say that it’s because I whipped out some serious martial arts kung-fu hadooken Ryu fireball attack force on him, but I didn’t. I got within about ten feet of where he was, saw that he was dressed entirely in black and facing the wall that runs alongside the path. He was completely still, and I wouldn’t have seen him if I hadn’t first noticed him from down the path.

People who engage in late night activities like that are up to no good. Crime is the only practical reason I can think of which would lead to dressing in black and hiding in shadows along park paths.

I had to do something. Considering my options, I arrived at these two:

1) I could approach him from behind with stealth, grab his head, twist it around, and snap his neck all before he had a chance to scream. Next, I’d use my Shaolin Razor-Finger move to sever his head from his neck. I would then rip his spine from his back, straighten it out, stick it in the ground, and place his head atop it as a warning to any other would-be muggers. Justice would be served.

- Or -

2) I could take the long way around and approach the hostel from a different angle.

It was a difficult decision. I was just about to go with option number one, but remembered how much I stank. I could have been quiet, but my odor would have given me away. Also, I was wearing white shoes, and the last thing I needed was some guy’s blood all over them. It’s not that I personally mind the mess, but people treat you differently in society when you have bloody shoes. It’s hard to even get a cup of coffee because everybody’s like all, “Oh my god, that guy has blood all over his shoes. Oh no.” Blah blah blah. They automatically assume you’ve been out butchering people for fun. They never consider the tamer possibility that you’re just a really bad doctor or something. Societal prejudice, you know. What a bunch of crap.

Yup. Thanks to my stench and white shoes, that mugger got really lucky.

After Blog Mint [?] :

C'mon, you cheap bastards. Buy some crap. The Rory Blyth Anti-Mugger Task Force needs your help.