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Murder on the Orient Express (source: EW)

I’m not the murdering type, but I do like a good murder mystery. When I was a kid, I used to read Agatha Christie novels instead of Hardy Boys books like the other boys in school. I was quite sophisticated for my age. I also wore a monocle and carried cyanide tablets sewn into the lining of my waistcoat, just in case.

Anyway, I was thinking about American politics the other day, and that got me into a murderous frame of mind. Soon, my thoughts turned to how I could use astrology to lure my victims to their deaths. As I’ve mentioned several times on this blog, I’m unemployed and bored. This is what happens when I have too much free time on my hands.

I don’t think it would be difficult to bait an Aries native. First, I would appeal to their penchant for self-congratulatory behavior, their competitive nature and their desire to be a part of the in-crowd. I’d plan an event honoring them: a birthday party, for example. I’ve never met an Aries individual who didn’t like to be reminded of how special they are. I’d invite plenty of young people, too, because my intended victim wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of being a part of something that recalled the glory days of their youth.

I’d plan a game of some sort, and I would rig it so that there was no doubt in my mind that my Aries target would win. I would then award them with a trophy celebrating their victory. Of course, that trophy would be contaminated with some kind of slow-acting radioactive isotope that would eventually poison them. I could be sure that they would put that trophy in a place of honor in their home, picking it up on a regular basis while reminding themselves that they beat a bunch of kids half their age to win it.

I could also be sure that it would make its way to the table beside their hospital bed, and maybe even into their coffin. That would be the ideal scenario because then I wouldn’t have to worry about the authorities realizing that the murder weapon was right in front of them the entire time. The cops probably wouldn’t be investigating the death as suspicious, anyway, because my victim would have confounded his or her doctors by describing a thousand symptoms unrelated to the poisoning that they had read about on WebMD. They would go to their grave convinced that they had every disease known to man, and they would be proud of it. Yes, they are that competitive.

And just to be sure that no intrepid detective caught wind of my nefarious scheme, I would order the trophy from a trophy shop using the name of my victim. I’d have their names on all the receipts from the party, too. No one would be surprised to learn that my mark had actually arranged the entire ego-gratifying event for themselves. The cops would probably grow weary of looking for people who didn’t want to see my Aries victim dead, the trail would grow cold, and I’d be off scot-free.

It’s brilliant — I know! Perhaps I should be looking for work as a super-villain.

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