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There's a semi-obscure Russian religious text called The Way of The Pilgrim that suggests one can achieve a state of grace by incessantly reciting the Jesus Prayer mentally until it becomes so intrinsic that it automatically repeats itself with every heartbeat. I thought this was a beautiful, simple and brilliant idea: It's like brainwashing your own soul into goodness. I decided to give the concept a shot myself, but the thing is - I don't really want to be filled with grace. Considering my moral character, grace just seems inappropriate. So instead of the Jesus Prayer, I am incessantly repeating a line fromConan the Barbarian in the hopes that it will ultimately infuse my soul with his warrior spirit. With every heartbeat, I am going to mentally repeat the barbarian's answer to the greatest question in existence: "What is best in life?" To which Conan answers, "To crush your enemies, see them driven before you and to hear the lamentation of their women." ***

Even the greatest tales start small... I woke up like I usually do: sticky, frustrated and unconsciously suckling at a bottle of Beefeaters like it was the sour teat of some great alcoholic mother-goddess. I rolled out of bed and, again as usual, cried for 15 minutes out of regret for the previous night's mistakes. But eventually I sobered up (that's just a turn of phrase, mind you) and remembered my new goal in life. I straightened myself with a Sisyphean effort and gazed into the mirror. "CONAN!" I bellowed, "WHAT IS BEST IN LIFE?" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" came an unexpected answer from the living room. I did not recall anybody else in the house offhand; a typical night often ends with any friends I may have made either fleeing in terror and disgust or, if all goes well, simply under arrest. This warranted investigation. "To crush your enemies, see them driven before you," I continued more softly, padding across the blood-stained carpet of the hallway (that's no big deal, by the way, I just like to do my bleeding in the hallway), "and to hear the lamentation of their women." When I stepped into the living room, I couldn't help but notice that Bill Pullman was suspended from my ceiling.