He’d been bullied in Catholic school all because he was unable to say “in the name of the father” without his hand going into a spasm. There he would stand, trying to conduct the sign of the cross, yet accidentally hitting himself in the face. It was unholy. All his classmates agreed he was an embarrassment to the school and an embarrassment to God, and they used this as justification when they set his lunch on fire in the playground. Let me tell you, if you’ve never seen a bag of Skips go up in flames next to a tuna mayo sandwich, you can’t truly have felt distaste for humanity.
 
To exact his revenge, Chops led a quiet life. “Never let them see you wither,” was his private mantra. But what he really meant was never let them see you. He bought a boat and sailed out into the world’s great oceans, directionless and free. There were many times when he nearly lost out to a storm or a great wave, but the main thing was that he never thought of the bullies. Liberated, he led a simple life on the ocean. No drama.
 
That is, until he heard a plane approaching overhead on a clear day in the middle of what he thought was nowhere. This was the first time he’d seen or heard a man-made contraption for months, and it sounded like the coming of death. Noise, petrol fumes, and metal wings – what combination of elements better signified the brutality of the human race?
 
Chops looked upwards as the sputtering plane swooped down towards his simple vessel. Collapsing to the floor for cover, he felt the violent rush of its airstream as it whizzed by and watched on anxiously as it rushed off into the distance, screaming towards the sun. Soon, it began to loop back around. Unpleasantness was coming for him. This time, as the plane passed higher, a group of figures emerged, tumbling into, and blemishing the flawless sky. Parachutes opened and they steered towards Chops, making an approach that was all the more disturbing for its slowness in the still of nature’s surroundings.
 
“There he is! I see him!” Shouted one of the bullies from high above. Last time Chops had seen this bully, he was a child. Now, the bully was a forty-five year-old man with a beer belly that nearly blocked out the sun.
 
“We’ve found him, the unholy bastard!” Another bully screamed excitedly. “This is better than prom!”
 
“We’ve come for you Chops!” Announced another. “You can’t escape us.”
 
Chops checked his boat for tools with which he could put up a courageous defence. He pulled out the shotgun from under a sheet of tarpaulin.
 
Bang. Catholic Karl dropped into the ocean.
 
Bang. Catholic Roger dropped into the ocean.
 
Bang. Catholic Jeremiah the power-hungry rugby-playing brute dropped into the ocean.
 
Bullies drop like flies.
 
“Fuck you and fuck your sign of the cross,” shouted Chops. “Fuck your rugby too. Football’s better and the world knows it.”
 
He saw off the remaining bullies with consummate ease, before celebrating with a packet of Skips as the glowing amber sun sank gloriously into the balmy horizon.
 
This is the word of the Lord.