Russain Spy Murder: A True Story

Letvenyenko died on November 11, 2006, That is almost certainly not true, but bear with me here.
         The details I am about to recount, I have no idea if they’re true.  I only have hope.
         Letvenyenko awoke not feeling at all doomed.  It’s wierd, we never feel doomed when we are.  The guy sentenced to death can watch the switch being thrown, or feel the needle go in.  But they’re not lucky, that needles gotta sting like ten bitches on a bitchboat.  It’s just a shot, but it kills you.  And that “10 bitches on a bitchboat” saying is a registered trademark of my own future fortune 500 corporation..  Don’t make me sue your ass.
         A rare radioactive subatance called poloniun 210 was the poison if you’re curious.  Anyway as the poison started goin to town on his insides.  The ravaged form of Litvenyenko lurched out to the cold, unfriendly London streets.  It was fairly obvious, or at least would have been to anyone who is not referred to as an ex-KGB spy, that the city did not want him to be living that day.
         Many people don’t know this, or agree that it’s true, but cities either love you or hate you.  You never know this for sure until you attempt to take whatever public transportation is available in this place to get to a restaurant.  For instance, when I was in Boston, I took a subway to a small barbecue joint called Redbones.  This told me that Boston likes me.  I like barbecue, and the pulled pork was positively orgasmic.  But I love ribs too, and those left something to be desired.  And though I loved the food and the atmosphere of this place which felt like it was more made of the people who cooked the food, ate the food, and served the food, it was not adjascent to any numerous places in Boston the greatest of men once occupied.  I call them the greatest of men having never actually met them.  I met Adams once, but he wouldn’t give me an autograph.  Asshole.
         Anyway, back to the story, as soon as Litvenyenko stepped out on to the street.  The cold, bitter wind of London met him in the face and told him in clear, vorceful tones to go back to bed.  It said “go back, the city doesn’t want you in it today.”  His experience told him never to listen when cities told you this, so he pressed on.  Today was to be a full day, he was writing a book about his experiences with the KGB, and he was spending his recent days rehashing many of his memories of London.
         Jikke there was the one time he and a few colleagues played their favorite game, “scare tourists shitless.”  They always won, but it was a good time nonetheless.
         He sat and wrote on a bench in the park where he had thought he had fallen in love with an english teacher from Germany.  This temporary romance had cooled in three months time and revealed itself to be a short, intense infatuation felt by him only.  This was not expecially tragic though, as this was not the first or the last time this bench would bear witness to this occurence.  The trees and flowers often willed people to fall madly in love on this park bench, but few people yet had been right enough for eachother to form any feelings which had enough depth or substance to stay afloat for long.
         So this was not a good day for this bench.  It had already witnessed it’s first broken heart of the day, and was soon to be sat upon by a dead man.  For when Letvenyenko sat on it, there was nothing he could do to stop the passage of time, and the bench lacked the ability to warn him.  Polonium 210 would soon be introduced to Litvenyenko’s innards, which would be caught unaware and unprepaired for their onslaught.
         He would not have been suprised to learn of his imminent death, he had long been of the opinion Putin would attempt to kill him.  Putin was no friend of his.  Were the russain government the cool kids table, with Putin at it’s head.  Litvenyenko did not sit there.
         Whether we want to or not, we all carry the old lunchroom with us wherever we go.  If we were a cool kid.  omeone who sat with all the other cool kids and excluded everyone else.  Then you’re probably an asshole.
         Litvenyenko still sat at the cool table.  He no longer enjoyed the cool table.  But his cool table did not allow people to leave.
         Putin had neither the resources nor the expertise to develop and implemeent a plan this fiendish.
         In the United States contains a population irreversibly drawn to a ripping yarn involving murder.  Each of these tales has to include at least 2 of the following elements.  It must take place in a somewhat strange and possibly intimidating land, and must contain intimidating foreign villains,  The people who were behind creating the villains in the story of the death of Alexander Litvenyenko, dreamt up, then created, an intruiring villain.
         They call him “Igor the poisoner,” a russain judo master who speaks perfect Portugese.  This is too perfect to be accidental, in the art of assasinations, it doesn’t usually pay to be interesting.  This situation was anything but usual though, and when the people from NBC or Lifetime went to look for an assasin to commit an unusually compelling and interesting assasination.  Were just lucky there was a russain portugese speaking judo master looking for work.
         So all they had to do was move hm to england, arrange for he and Litvenyrnko to eat at a sushi restaurant.  There writers already had a finished version of the script for the tv movie “Igor the Poisoner.”  They had the script finished a whole twelve hours before Litvenyenko swallowed his first poisoned shrimp.
         The story had been written by a thirty-two year old contract writer who had no idea his story would be transformed into reality.  Had he known this.  He would have given his story more intrigue.  Though it could not be said that the story lacked intrigue in it’s current form.  He would have just found a way to include some soviet era, Le Carre inspired spy mischief.
         As soon as he finished his story and submitted it to the studio for approval.  The studio immediately began creating the circumstances necessary for the events contained herein to come to pass.  They trained one of their special “writers,” which is a cute way of saying murderer.  When they killed you, they finished your murder story, both on paper and in reality.  They would have one of there “writers” break into your house.  When you would come home all your lights would be turned off, when you found the living rooms light bulb and turned it on.  You would hear the “writer” say, from behind you in a clear voice, “the end.”
         They had one of their operatives trained in all he would need to become Igor the Poisoner.  Including Russain, Judo, even Portugese.  They then had to get to work and, as they said, “end Litvenyenko’s story.”
         This is a fact about fiction that most people do not know.  Whenever anyone writes a peice of fiction, they have taken the first step to making it reality.  Of course, this does not mean that every peice of fiction eventually becomes fact, but anything stands a much better chance of becoming fact if the ideas and characters behind this occurence have already been conceived.
         It was then that the writers for one particular studio were given the task of deciding how and when Alexander Litvenyenko would meet his demise.  Of course they had no idea that as soon as they wrote the story of Litvenyenko’s murder the studio would immediately point all their resources towards making it a reality.
         But that’s not really any kind of excuse.  Every piece of fiction, every uncertain principle, is made real by the belief people have in it.  If you believe in God, fully and truly with every part of your mind, then God is real.  If you see God around wherever you go, then God is real.  Personally, I hear God in the Beatles song Blackbird, I cannot conceive of or believe in a godless world where that song exists, but that’s only one example of the effect art has on reality.  For another example, we see that as soon as a writer finished the story of Litvenyenko’s murder, the studio got to work making it a reality.
         As soon as the writer finished his script for “Last Days.”  His studio began the work nevessary to turn this stoty, that was currently fiction, into reality.  It took them nearly two months, there was much to do.  They had to find the proper characters, the proper location, and the perfect timing.  The KGB would be involved in this story, so they had to wait till enough time had passed since the cold war.  Till people had by and large had forgotten about Russia.
         They didn’t have to wait too long, Americans didn’t think too deeply about Russia, or anything else really, and when the conditions were right.  So they started the ball rolling.
         As his daughter’s wedding made Letvenyenko temporarily unavailable, his eventual murderer had time to make arrangements for his death.  He found the perfect little sushi place to do his work, the murderer liked sushi.  Really he liked anything eastern asain, especially the ultraviolent films.  Not because he was a murderer, just because he was kinda screwed up.
         The various media a person chooses to surround themselves with can tell you alot about the person.  But you have to look at all of their interests to find what they like about their favorite movies or books or music.
         If someone tells you their favorite band is the Beatles, you’re first reaction will probably be “well duh, everyone likes the Beatles.”  While this reaction would be correct, everyone does like the beatles.  If a person truly dislikes the Beatles, I would advise you to drop contact with this person 
         But if someone goes out of their way to tell you that they don’t like the Beatles then you know something completely different about them.  They go out of their way to be on the unpopular side of issues, everyone likes the Beatles.  You’re most likely talking to a violent revolutionary  who hates the Star Wars movies and you should stay away.
         Litvenyenko’s murderer liked the kind of movies someone you should stay away from likes.  That Litvenyenko’s death involved no sadism or kung-fu is one more reason we must thank the lord for small miracles.
         When Litvenyenko eventually met his murderer for lunch, he began to feel what can never have it’s existence proven or it’s feeling described, Letvenyenko felt his own impending doom.  People don’t believe it’s real, but it is.  When you’re turning your key to your apartment’s door and you feel as if something awful will happen if you open that door, something awful will often happen when you open the door.  But that’s all the more reason to open that door.
         Unfortunately for Litvenyenko, the feeling he had at the pit of his stomach foretold of his murder.  Even this feeling in his stomach, though loud and insistant it was, did not deter litvenyenko from eating the poisoned sushi.  As Litvenyenko ate his poisoned sushi, he incorrectly judged the nautious feeling in his stomach as the result of recently devouring raw shrimp.  In reality this nautious feeling was attempting to tell him that he had just been poisoned, and very soon this poison would do it’s job.
         The poison did not do this by choice of course, very few poisons do.  Most the things in this world that would much rather not do job, they are the most effective.  Guns do not enjoy ending lives, that is simply what they are made to do.  Hamburgers would enjoy nothing better than taking a big bite out of you, but that is not what they are made to do.  I am supposed to be telling you of the death of Litvenyenko, but I would much rather explain how the world works.