Not Everyone Who Smiles is Nice

Matthew McVitey swivelled around in his chair away from the view of the city that was framed by the large floor to ceiling glass panel. He faced a long teak desk, immaculately polished and bare except for a flip-card calendar, telephone and a leather bound appointment book. He lightly caressed the buttons of the telephone before him and smiled; he then picked up the handset, his secretary answered, 'Yes Mr. McVitey?'
'Take the rest of the day off Miss Brahms, I won't be needing your services for the rest of the day.'
'Thank you Mr. McVitey!'
He then got up and casually strolled out of his office, never to be seen again.

That was one part of Mr. McVitey's life. A selfmade multi-millionaire by the age of twenty-five, owner of the nationwide McVitey chain of supermarkets and notorious benefactor of various charities.

Matt Peehole came into existence at the age of twenty-six human earth years. His personal history was vague, most of his friends came to know him when he was twenty-six. 'Ha ha, Peehole, that is an unusual name!' they would joke, 'you should perhaps change it to something less stupid!'
'I already have!' he'd reply and giggle as snot shot furiously out of his nostrils.

Matt Peehole, like his name would suggest, was a very unusual fellow. He would wake up in the morning and put on his stringed vest and cum stained father christmas boxer shorts (he called those garments his uniform, for he wore it everyday), and fill a pint glass with his own urine, and guzzle it down thirstily. Then he'd go and sit on a dirty rug in the middle of his kitchen and play guitar for a few hours before going back to bed, only waking up for food, which usually was a feast delivered from an expensive Chinese restaurant on the otherside of town.

Once, Matt had a few friends over at his moderately sized house. They partied then stayed the night. In the morning, one of his friends, a girl, caught Matt peeing into a glass and drinking it; she later fell in love with him and they started dating, her name was Emily Munchkin. 'Why do you drink your own urine, my love?' she once asked him.
Matt giggled hard until his nose expelled some mucous in the form of a spray, he wiped it with the back of his hand and replied, 'Ahhh, there are so many things that I do that don't really make much sense,' he paused and farted, 'but these are the things that make me who I am.' he burped then laughed loudly.

Emily Munchkin was the most beautiful girl in the world; men and even straight women would look at and want her; the longing would be so painful that tears would stream down their eyes and they would feel they had a glimpse of heaven. It was for this very reason, that men envied Matt; they wanted him dead.

This is the part where Joe Smith comes into the story. Joe was a computer programmer who had spent his whole life being a nerd, up until the point where computing became profitable and his company made him a millionaire.

Joe had never had it easy in life. He wasn't particularly sociable at school and therefore kept his head buried in books. He was pathetically uncoordinated at physical activities and thus resorted to computers for his gaming needs. He surrounded himself with people who were intelligent albeit considered 'geeky' or 'dorky' by the more popular and influential kids. Having said all that, he was a nice guy, back then.

When Joe became a millionaire, life changed dramatically for him. He bought himself a couple of condominiums and a large house in the suburbs; a collection of sports cars which he had always wished for as a child; and a brand new wardrobe and a fashion advisor. He was cool, no longer a nerd, with a large circle of friends who loved him. He had everything that he ever wanted, but Emily Munchkin, his childhood crush.

His obsession with Emily, had led him to hire a private detective to track her down, find out about her daily routines, who she knew and listen to her conversations. He discovered that she lived her life to a fairly regular schedule, so he decided that he would 'accidently' bump into her at her local supermarket. They did bump into each other and became friends, although Joe wanted much more but Emily wasn't interested, no matter how hard he tried to impress her by lavishing her with expensive gifts.

Emily was a very talented girl, her intelligence allowed her to learn and acquire new skills quickly. She was also very creative, an artist, singer, and poet. Joe always told Emily that they would make a good couple, with their good looks and intelligence, he said that they would make amazing babies who would go on to rule the world. Unable to see beyond her beauty and intelligence, he could never fully appreciate the creative output of Emily.
'There is more to me than my beauty and intelligence, Joe.' she would often remind him, and he would nod compliantly and smile while looking deeply into her eyes.
'Of course there is, that's why I long for you so much and it hurts!' he'd say.

When the private detective told Joe that Emily had started seeing Matt, he grabbed a vase and smashed it against the wall. His hatred could be seen boiling in his eyes, the redness in his face, his teeth and fists clenched tightly; he would have been ready to explode in fury if he was not so given in to a collected calmness that allowed him to be cunning and deceitful. He grinned, 'Matt Peehole must die!'

Joe invited Emily to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town; she declined at first but accepted as she usually did when he became persistent and mildly annoying. 'Why do you choose to be with Matt Peehole?' he asked her when the moment seemed right (while she was busy devouring her entree), 'He is poor and lives in filthy conditions, a man who cares for you will buy you everything that you ever wanted.' She stopped chewing, looked at him as her eyebrows furrowed furiously, then spat the remnants of her mouth into his face.
'Matt is a better man than you, and always will be.' She stormed out of the restaurant and took a cab home.

'I have something to tell you Emily,' said Matt, after Emily had told him of the incident at the restaurant a week earlier, 'I used to be a real jerk.'
'What do you mean?' replied Emily, 'I could never imagine you being a jerk.'
He smiled sadly at Emily, 'I used to be a very popular guy, but I was a real jerk.'
'I still don't understand what you mean?' pleaded Emily.
'I treated people badly,' admitted Matt, 'I was a bully.'
'But, you're no longer like that anymore.' she answered.
'I was a liar and a cheat.' he began to cry.
She pulled him towards her bossom and he wept torrentially onto her sweatshirt.

That night while the couple slept, there was a noise downstairs; it woke Emily up and she went to investigate. There was nothing there, so she crept back upstairs to the bedroom. She crawled under the covers to find that they were wet and sticky, to her horror, she noticed that while she was downstairs, someone had crept into the room and slit Matt's throat, severing his life, while he was asleep.

The police never discovered who the assailant was, but they believed that it was a madman who happened to have escaped a nearby insane asylum on the same night.