Your Midweek Update for 12/08/21

I love killing people. The act of killing people, the concept of taking someone’s life – it’s all so intoxicating. And fulfilling. It really is so rewarding to find your passion in life; your purpose, as it were. Everyone in the world has something they excel at and everyone has a way in which they can contribute to society. Finding that one thing is absolutely amazing.

I know that there is no one in the world who can feed a man his own fingers in order to dissolve his fingerprints in stomach acid and then hang his body upside down and gut him like a fish so the blood pools in his eyeballs the way eye can.

No one would through a woman over a 15-storey parkade along with her cellphone to fake an accident the way I can. No one can leave a body lying in the snow for two weeks straight without anyone finding it until their entire body has frozen through and parts of it have shattered from the cold the way I can.

I know that what I have is a gift and I enjoy sharing it with you all – whether or not you want it because there are a severe lack of people wanting to be murdered.

There have been a few cases of people meeting on chat sites and agreeing to be dismembered and eaten and that’s very cool but I’m not so much into the consuming human flesh part.

Honestly, I don’t know that I even want someone who actively wants to be murdered. Part of the fun is the hunt – yes, I’m using Casey’s word, sometimes it’s relevant – the chase and the capture of a victim. That can be just as intoxicating as the actually act of murder. Although, let’s be real, the real thrill is watching the light leave your victim’s eyes. There is no replacing the feeling of observing someone’s final moments – seeing the resignation – and knowing you were the one responsible for that. There’s nothing like it.

And yet, for my genuine love of the art, I always feel like there’s something missing. Whatever I do, it’s not quite enough to satisfy. That’s part of why I keep going (that and because I don’t believe in denying oneself simple pleasures like murder). I’m still seeking that satisfaction even though I know it will never come.

No matter how many women I soften with a meat tenderizer and send floating down the river in an ice storm, no matter how many people I poison with a needle full of bleach on the bus, it will never be enough.

And isn’t it so thrilling to go chasing something forever? I will never grow bored or tired or restless with this work – it’s impossible. Which just makes it all the worse to contemplate my potential retirement.

What do I do when I can no longer satisfy my passions?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe