Congratulations Butcher Bill!

Martin Scorsese directs all the best movies, and the best of those movies, the single finest film he's ever produced, is Gangs of New York.  Or so you assume - it's the only film of his you've ever seen.

So in your mind there are certainly worse ideas than dressing up like your favorite character, that guy that Daniel Day Lewis pretended to be, and run around doing the sort of things he did, specifically stabbing random dudes and murdering the Irish.

Sure, there's better stuff to do - you could try to cure cancer in your stupid fucking job as a "clinical oncologist," or patch things up with your wife, who left you because "you couldn't process human emotions" or you could just say fuck it and be all like, yo, what up, I'm Butcher Bill and I've got all these knives.

It's not a difficult decision.

Today, you're going to put it into action for the first time.

Step one: stabbing.  Stabbing, stabbing, stabbing.  Irish people are the best targets.  Jews, a close second.  Blacks are a distant third since, in Butcher Bill's mind, stabbing them recognizes a sort of fundamental humanity contained within them by merit of the action of eliminating human life from their shell.  But there's a problem:  you have really weak wrists, and when you try to stab a redheaded lady on a crowded street, she'll grab you by said weak wrist, disarm you, and shatter your nose with her elbow.

She'll wait there with you until the cops arrive, and then the ambulance arrives after that.  At some point you'll get to talking to one another and she'll ask why you tried to stab her and you'll explain.  She'll tell you, in no uncertain terms, that you really need to watch better Scorsese movies - she'll recommend Goodfellas as a starting place.

One night, four months into prison, you'll get the chance, and boy howdy, your mind will be blown.

Congratulations Butcher Bill!