An Open Letter To People Who Are Future Serial Killers and Definitely are Psychopaths


You don’t know me but I have a lot of feelings about this as a vulnerable person. Your whining is really triggering and a lot of what you say frightens me.

Some recent things I’ve heard from psychopaths:
“I just don’t care for people. I feel nothing towards them.”
“Women look like deformed men.”
“I have fantasies of murdering people, like, all of the time.”
“I went to a cheap strip club to know what the scum of society is like.”
“Nicholas Cage wasn’t in Bee Movie.”


A lot of the people I meet think they’re going to be the next Toy Box Killer. You can read a full transcript of a tape he played for women online here. He would rape women for a month or two before releasing them completely drugged up in another location. His name is David Parker Ray, in case you wanted to YouTube this  stuff later.

This is part of the transcript from the tape:

“Consequently, you are gonna be kept in an environment that is even more secure than a prison cell. If it has not already been done, very shortly a steel collar is going to be padlocked around your neck. It has a long, heavy chain that is padlocked to a ring in the floor.”

He got caught and spent about two years in prison before dying of a heart attack.


In a lot of places you get to have computers and PlayStations in prison. I knew a guy that went to prison. He said it was pretty chill, you just sort of watched TV and maybe worked out and ate Doritos. You’re even allowed to send emails to your victims’ families.

Don’t worry, I don’t know any murderers.


Anyway, you’re a psychopath. You think horrible things about strangling people. Society doesn’t understand you because you’re really smart, and we all know that all psychopaths are really, really smart. I mean, you know the stats that say CEOs are the most likely to be psychopaths.
But we’re talking about serial killers here and about how you are probably going to murder someone. You’re going to be successful in business and are going to notice minuscule details like how someone drops their pen on the floor or how a cat licks one particular paw before the other. You have the most twisted fantasies. Like, we’re talking Patrick Batman rat-in-a-bucket type fantasies.


Actually, given statistics, you’re probably a serial killer.

  1.  The average IQ of a serial killer is 94.7. So they’re just as smart as you. There goes your CEO dream!
  2.  Only 40% of serial killers kill for lust, power, or thrill. WOW! Since we all know you’re lazy as fuck and probably have no deeper ambitions than complaining about all the missing features in No Man’s Sky, these killers are just like you!
  3.  Around 36% of individual serial killers are white. Bet that blew you away! And better yet, the general trend is that serial killers almost never kill outside their own race, so even if you are a white male you’re not a racist!hippo-89223_1280
  4. Most serial killers aren’t abused. 70% come from normal, loving families. The cycle of abuse DOESN’T continue with serial killers! A traumatic experience with a clown as a kid doesn’t make YOU a clown killer, unless you’re the kid being murdered by a clown. In which case, you STILL don’t become a serial killer so it’s a win-win for everyone.
  5. If you’re a woman, you won’t start murdering  until you’re 31, long after your partying days. So rest easy, you still get to have your fun and free twenties. And since the law discriminates more against men than woman (they’re more likely to think you’re crazy than violent) you’ll evade detection for twice as long as your male counterparts. Take that, patriarchy!

“But…the Milgram experiment! The Stanford Prison Experiment! I took psychology 101, I know all of us have the capacity for murder inside of us. Especially me, because I’m taking a psychology degree!”
I guess you could argue that a degree in psychology would make you become a great serial killer. Same with criminal justice, because you know the system.

Too bad that the other thousands of crazy people graduating with you also know the system. I’m sure they’ll make great coworkers.


Don’t feel bad about yourself. You deserve a participation award for being in the psychopath club! You’ve probably never killed someone and probably never will. I mean, all of us tortured some bugs as a kid, but you can go back to fantasizing about Hogsmeade because we all know that’s what you really care about. Slytherin forever.


On Ducks

We walked by a pond. Made in the English style, primroses and ash trees standing awkwardly by the mossy rocks natural to the island. The Geese were aggressive towards the friars of Mallards, Blue-winged Shovelers, and Hardheads. The Hardheads were the most fun to watch, twisting their necks up and around in impossible positions with their loppy eyes to watch the Geese. The Geese are pests to everyone; ugly and discaled.

Yet they’re the largest,  and the ducks will nearly always move for them. And no, this isn’t a post about the barbarous entitlement of Geese and how every duck needs its share. The Hardheads would hop out of the water and eat seeds left on the cement path. Then they would carefully move away for the Geese. Walking Dead style; they gave up their share of what they sowed.


Image of Hardhead duck taken from, user Akasha that was taken on July 19, 2012

Except all of them are leeches that have never held a regular job in their life. None of them go scavenging for seeds or sedges or insects; they’re all provided. I don’t really want to liken it like the drug Soma Huxley gave to readers, because that’s pretentious as fuck and I really hate that sort of analogous stuff, but they truly live in a nanny state. These ducks and geese live their lives happily in a pond among some melting pot of birds without ever needing to fight for food the way their wild counterparts would. It doesn’t make them any less dangerous, though, even if the resources are plentiful. Tensions rise up; an occasional quack turns into a torrent of wing spreading and torpedoing upright along the water. And someday, when the pond has reached its carrying capacity, we could be looking at a speciest war based on various duck ideologies and the invading migrant Geese. The ducks give the other ducks what is rightfully theirs. But the geese will take over. They snap at the people that try to feed them, they snap at the other ducks. Only the Hardheads stay by the rocky edge, allowing the Geese to jump over them. Only the Hardheads vote stay.

It’s not called a Goose Pond.

In the English style.


This is my hedgehog. She’s not tame. I mean, she bites other people’s feet and clothes but she also flattens out like a prickly pancake on my lap. Is that affection?

Maybe she just feels misunderstood.

Or on a downward spiral.

Into the abyss.

She’s obese and lazy.

This beast is the pinnacle of evolution. Six million years her kin has stayed as this perfect shrew-like creature. Six million years is when anthropologists say that our early ancestors split off from a shared ancestor with apes. That’s how long this mythical beast has been around.

She can consume 40 times her weight in poison from a scorpion or a snake.

My hedgehog eats 40 times her weight in cat food.

They can be extremely aggressive. I witnessed my hedgehog attacking my hairbrush the other day, and she pulled out half the hair. She savagely disembowelled my hairbrush.

Because they are so aggressive, they don’t have many predators-apparently, most African hedgehogs just become roadkill. The second most common causes of death are African Wild Dogs (and yes, every dog will be fascinated by a hedgehog until it gets spiked) and gypsies. Hochiwichi with cameline sauce has been around since medieval times, but a good gypsy eats some BBQ’d hog as well.


Hedgehogs rolling on the ground to collect grapes for their young, as illustrated in The Rochester England, c. 1230): London, British Library, Royal MS 12 F XIII, f.45r.

A recipe for a hochiwichi with cameline sauce is as follows:
For the hochiwichi 
1 hedgehog, gutted, seasoned with salt and pepper, and dried with grass or clay. If you live in an apartment just use some paper towel. Save the quills to make small skewers.

For the cameline sauce:
Some bread soaked in vinegar with maybe a splash of red wine
Ground cinnamon (lots, maybe the size of your thumb), and about a half measure of ground cloves, ginger, nutmeg, and a pinch of salt.

To prepare:

1. Take prepared hedgehog and roast on an open fire or on the barbecue.
2. Take sauce ingredients, strain through mesh into a pot. Heat it until thick.
3. Take hedgehog and serve it with the cameline sauce or some Frank’s Red Hot. It has a spicy flavour that prickles the tongue.


I read.

I write.

These are both a lie.

You know it’s more challenging to read a book now and really flourish the images that were used in yesteryear. You could imagine things perfectly as a child, I think. But I open a book now and I read a few pages and then it’s left forever. I can’t finish books. Instead of some snow-whispered Narnia I a skeletal snowman that dissolves on Etsy mittens.

I have not read a book for two years, I think. And I could say that reading matters, that books matter, but now I can get all of the synopsis online, watch the movie, etc.

That’s a stale and redundant argument.

The truth is, I’m too lazy to read. Or write. Like most people that post about how much they read and write.