A while back, sometime in maybe 2011, I wrote an article asking the question, "What if Osama bin Laden didn't do 9/11?" And then I went into the reasons why he might have been a patsy and even wrote a little about his so-called confession. But honestly? I think it was my guilt. I didn't want someone taking the fall for the real perpetrator.
Because I did 9/11.
I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I certainly didn't want planes to crash into the WTC and the Pentagon. I never wanted 2,000-ish people to die that day.
I think I might have powers. There is some circumstantial evidence for this, just like there is for possibly dying in January 2020 and not noticing. Or accidentally winding up in a parallel universe. You know, stuff I'd never, never, never claim happened to me. Ever. Especially not in a column called Goodnight, Fuckers.
But I can kill people with my mind. Let me give you an example. When I was in high school one of my brothers liked to play with the kid who lived a couple of doors down. I forget what happened between the two of them, but the kid's dad marched over to my place (while I wasn't there), and screamed at my grandmother. He cursed at her. Shouted how my brother was not allowed over there anymore. He even called my grandma a cocksucker. Not conversationally, either. At the top of his lungs. Later, when she told me about it, she couldn't bring herself to say the "cock" part of cocksucker, but I got the idea. It burned me up. If I *had* been there, I would have pushed that fucker backwards off my porch, and if he looked like he was going to get up, I'd jump down the three steps and land with both feet on his balls. You're all not used to me being irrationally angry. I'm a very mellow middle-aged man now. But I was furious back then.
I wished, with all my might, that the piece of shit would die.
Two weeks later, he did.
This has happened a total of three times in my life, when I have wished someone was dead and they died no later than two weeks after. It can't be anyone, though. It has to be someone I know and who knows me. (Believe me, I've tried with a certain former president.) I have never wished someone I know dead and they didn't die swiftly thereafter. So it's a power I've sworn off of. Someone has to fuck me over really, really bad to get me to wish them dead.
What does this have to do with me doing 9/11?
I remember thinking about the state of the world in the year 2001, and I remember that even though we were in very, very good shape as a nation, every goddam motherfucker on the TV and radio bitched and moaned about nonissues. It was all bullshit, and I got sick and tired of hearing it. So I wished with all my might that they'd finally have something real to complain about.
The date of that wish was September 1, 2001.
I'd been thinking more along the lines of a financial crisis. Like, maybe another depression. Never in a thousand years would I have wanted something so bad that it changed the course of the world irrevocably, costing so many human lives not just on the day of, but in the seemingly endless war that resulted from the madness.
Fuck.
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