The problems with conscience

A conscience is exactly the kind of handicap that can interfere with many professions and pastimes. Gang member for example. Like when a Peace Corps volunteer related the story of a friend riding a San Salvador city bus when a heavily-tatted, shaved-headed banger snuggled up and proceeded in English:

"See these tats?"

"Yep."

"Know what they mean?"

"Yep."

"Now you're gonna empty your pockets without making a scene."

"Yep."

Five dollars changed hands but, with a stretch of road remaining, and both parties in jolly moods for the opportunity to chitchat in English, conversation ensued.

"So, where're you from?"

"The US."

"What're you doin' here," snarled Mr. Salvatrucha.

"Umm...volunteering, trying to help the people..."

In the long pause the sneer evaporated. "Oh."

At the next stop, when the aisle flooded again with people vending snacks from fruits to cookies to ice cream cones for "una cora" Mr. MS-13 whipped out the $5 and procured snacks to share with his victim.

Isn't MS-13 kinda cute?

(If you're esily disgusted, now's a good time to move to the next post)

Likewise, a conscience makes you a pathetic sex tourist, concerned with the two things sexcessful booty bangers never consider: broken hearts and broken condoms.

Mom and dad, really, would it have been so hard to neglect us as young'uns, fostering an upbringing morally bankrupt?