KILLING YOUR SEXUAL ABUSER: THE BOY SCOUT EDITION

NOTE: The Boy Scouts do not approve of this site, probably because the ones doing the disapproving are all the leaders, not the scouts themselves.  Hmmm, go figure.


Now, for those of you who have scout leaders who are a bit too “friendly,” here is a foolproof way to get revenge and a badge of some sort at the same time. When your scout leader has you “in flagrante delicto” so to speak, continue until your scout leader is approaching climax: two reasons, the first is that the moments before climax will prevent him from any kind of awareness of what you are doing, and second, a big penis cuts better. With your hatchet (this is great thing about being a scout, you can carry around an ax and no one cares one whit), cut the offending member from the sinner (this is biblically sanctioned, so according to Matthew 18:9, you are potentially saving him from hell). What might surprise you is that you will probably not cut the engorged flesh entirely off—not to worry: whether or not the penis has been separated from the torso or not will not matter, the scout leader will be disabled enough that you will be able to escape. He will follow you (NOTE: do not drop your hatchet, it will be needed later), and you need to be careful not to run to fast. He will stumble and scream, but eventually, the loss of blood will cause him to fall to his knees. At this point, using the blunt end of the hatchet, smash him in the forehead (if you hit him on the top of the head, the evidence might suggest something other than self-defense). SECOND NOTE: there is a common misconception that the pointy end of the ax or hatchet is the killing end; all too often, this creates a glancing blow--the flat end of the hatchet is actually the best: it almost never glances off the skull, and if it does not crush the skull on the first blow, it should knock your molester out.

Remember after you knock said scout leader out to whack ‘em about four or five more times on the head. Some might call this overkill, but it sure feels good, and it will make it all the more harder to determine the first blow to the head. After he’s good and dead, kick him a few times, and then look for the drugs or alcohol that he gave you. Take a little, not too much, you don’t want to overdose. The extra intoxicants will provide you a solid defense, it will prove that you were drugged and give you an even better defense.

On the off chance that a district attorney tries to prosecute this—no one who wants to be reelected wants to look like they’re going easy on child molesters, there is no way that 12 jurors will be convinced of the story, especially if you wear your uniform with all your badges and medals on. What do you think the phrase “boy scout” means anyway?

P. S.: I know that there are a whole lot a little league players and altar boys who want to know how to apply this to their scenarios. For the baseballers, an aluminum bat works really well. For the Catholics, a big candle stick can’t be beat (NOTE: the communion wine bottle is not a good idea—it is too hard to get a solid grip and to make a knockout blow—there’s a reason that CLUE had a candlestick as a murder weapon but not a wine bottle).

P.S.S. I have no insight into Girl Scouts, so any input would be greatly appreciated.

TOLERANCE BE DAMNED: PLEASE KILL HILLBILLIES

I must admit, these long spells between posts provide me such pleasure, because those poor saps who think god has finally listened to them are so soon to be despondent again, and those who actually like me write and say such nice things. It's like those folks who fake their own deaths so they can go to their funerals.  Alas, the stories of my demise are premature.

No, even murderers must face the necessities of the daily grind—all is not just the blood and gore that movies and television promise. No, we murderers are accountants, teachers, ministers (you’d be surprised), SAHDs, and checkout clerks, and we have to fuss with landlords, go to PTA meetings, and shop for groceries.

So, for the past weeks, I’ve been fighting with the school district about busing and whether duct tape is appropriate for the mouths of elementary riders. Imagine my horror to find that the populace believes bus drivers are fully justified in doing such things! Does no one value the safety of our children anymore?

I can hear the confusion in your minds at such shock, but honestly, who values life more than we murderers? I mean really, what fun would killing be if we did not value the life that we were taking? What would the point be? I know there are some who kill simply to get rid of a person whom they don’t like (and that’s another thing, WHY THE FUCK CAN’T ANYONE USE “WHOM” CORRECTLY! “WHO” IS THE SUBJECT PRONOUN AND “WHOM” IS THE OBJECT PRONOUN! IT’S THAT SIMPLE!), but those of us who appreciate the finer elements of the kill respect the wonder of life, and thus, when it leaves a body, we can find a deeper meaning in the act. However, in terms of hillbillies (they seem to be the ones most find of duct tape as invaluable tool in bus driving), I am willing to make exceptions. Maybe the world would be better with a whole lot less of them, and maybe that would take care of this whole Tea Party fiasco as well.

NOTE: some hillbillies have been known to masquerade as conservatives who in turn seem to masquerade as zombies, so don’t be fooled. Err on the side of death.

SECOND NOTE: All zombies are not bad, just the ones who vote Republican.

LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION

Most murderers plan the details of their kills. The perfect weapon, the alibi, how to dispose of the evidence, and other such factors, but they often overlook the getaway.

My strategy, which has yet to let me down, is to first find a location with at least two, if not three, secluded escape routes. Having only one is tempting fate—traffic, construction, random pedestrians, unexpected weather can all jeopardize a perfectly good kill if you can’t escape successfully.

Now I know that this might sound like I am planning my murders backward, and I guess you are right to a degree, but I truly believe the benefits outweigh the costs.

By finding your site first, you are limited in your targets, but if done carefully, you can enjoy a wonderful hunt.

FIRST: Once you find your site, and you map out two or three good escape routes, ask yourself, what kind of target might I acquire here?

If hoboes and derelicts are the only ones who might frequent your location, ask yourself the next question: does killing a derelict who’s only moments from going into kidney failure really that satisfying?

If a jogging path is your location, think about this: do you want to startle your target first and make for a little sport, or do you simple want a clean kill?

If an urban setting is your cup of tea, do you wait for a rich person to pass by, preferably a lawyer or politician, or do you take any poor sap who might pass your way?

SECOND: Once you’ve acquired your target, taken your shot (or stabbed or whatever), do you flee immediately, rush to the person’s aid and pretend to be a Good Samaritan (stupid idea: the cops are onto this one), or simply stash your weapon, and walk calmly in a different direction (try not to go in the OPPOSITE direction, that can be a bit obvious, but a nice oblique angle is my choice).

FINALLY: Do not look back. If the Bible has taught us anything, besides God likes to kill folks, it’s that looking back is a sure sign of guilt—just ask Lot’s wife.

Then, once you return home, make a nice pot of tea or pour yourself a glass of vintage Merlot, close your eyes, and replay your kill. I’d also suggest a nice piece of music, like Mozart’s Requiem. (Personally, I prefer the Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient music rendition.)

The perfect end to a successful day—and you'll be amazed at how much a good kill improves your outlook on life! If only there were more killings, there would be less depressed people (and less annoyingly happy people too). WIN WIN WIN!

I AM STILL NOT DEAD

There’s nothing like silence to make Christians believe that God is alive and active in the world. Counterintuitive, to say the least. You’d be amazed how many emails I’ve received congratulating me on my entrance into Hell. Like Hell would have Internet access.

No, I am still alive, although I have been in hiding since I believe that I am being stalked by god (I have no idea which one it is—they all look the same to me) and a gaggle of mimes (it turns out that they’ve learned how to get out of the box, but they appear to only be armed with imaginary weapons, so unless they drive me to suicide, I should be okay).

People are just too easily offended.  Can't we all just get along. (Rodney King does not approve of this site, but the LAPD seems quite supportive.)

NIETZSCHE: WHERE’S THE CORPSE?

Before I get to today’s post, I’d like to comment on the vast amounts of correspondence that I’ve received on killing mimes. It turns out everyone likes it—you have no idea how good it feels to finally have a positive response instead of all those complaints from folks who don’t want to be killed. Sure, everyone is fine with killing until I pick their group as a viable target, then wa wa wa. Technically, there was one mime who gestured revenge, and a lot of silence in my voice mail box, but I’ll take that compared with my normal vitriolic feedback.

I’d like to think that god is dead, but I have yet to see a body. And until then, I don’t believe the concept of deicide should be retired. (Of course, until the god-fearers can produce a god, I don’t think we should waste our Sundays or Saturdays or whatevers either.)

Deicide: to kill one’s god, or I guess you could kill someone else’s god too—I think this strategy has been the Fundamentalists’ (of all persuasions) modi operandi and even raisons d’être since they first coalesced into factions.

SO HOW CAN YOU KILL A GOD?

Most people assume that gods are immortal, but anyone who watched (or read, but so few people seem to know how to read these days that I’ve about given up on that medium—and yes, I understand the irony, but until I get a film deal or a TV show or can even figure out YouTube, I am confined to this space) the Lord of the Rings should have realized that the Elves are immortal but a broad axe or arrow are perfectly effective of ending their journeys through Middle Earth.

Face it, gods can die. Ask Jesus the next time he happens to walk down the road to Emmaus. Or Osiris, if you can find all his parts (my guess you can probably find him in an afterlife court suing Jesus for plagiarism). And the Greeks and Aztecs and Hindus and pretty much everyone else seems to have dead gods somewhere in their genealogies.

So if gods can die, why do we not hear more about deicide? Excellent question. Once the first couple gods died, the rest got nervous. Face it, you create a bunch of people, screw with their lives, and then expect them to idolize you? Gods figured out rather quickly that their best defense was hiding, first up on mountains and in the oceans, then in the sky, and finally so far out in space that Voyagers I and II won’t find them until long after we’ve gone extinct. Every time one comes on the planet, they get killed. Name one that has come on the planet and stayed … See?

So if all these gods are in hiding, how can we get one down here to kill? That, dear Watson, is the real enigma. We’ve tried obeying, we’ve tried sacrifice, we’ve tried devotion and war and self-righteousness, and what, NO GODS!!!

THE ANSWER: the answer may seem counter-intuitive, but that is the genius of it. We have to, all of us, ignore the gods. After a few generations (although my suspicion is that it would take less than a year or so—the gods are so fuckin’ vain) they’ll have to come down to prove themselves, explain where the hell they’ve been for these past millennia, do a few miracles or create new planets or something. And then, we have them. Personally, I’d prefer a simple beheading, but I know there are centuries and more of bad governance to atone for. I can understand the desire to torture, but somehow the gods always use suffering to their advantage.  So I’d say, kill ‘em quick, send them all through a tree shredder, and feed the carnage to pigs and goats. I can’t imagine that anything coming out of goat or pig shit could stake any claims to divinity.

KILLING MIMES: SALACIOUSLY SILENT

For those of you who were concerned that my radio silence indicated that one of the millions of readers whom I have offended may have killed me, such worries are ill-founded.

For those of you praying that I had died, “Cry aloud: for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing [which is the KJV’s polite term for “bowel movement”], or he is in a journey, or peradventure, he sleepeth and must be awaked” (I Kings 18: 26), I am still here.  I guess moving mountains is easier than getting rid of heretical bloggers.

No, I was so depressed by the failure of my riddle in the last post, that I figured I needed to take out my aggressions. So, when all else fails, kill someone.

Now since my lack of wit was the source of my anxiety, I figured I should kill a comedian, but that seemed cliché and predictable. Alas, that led to more depression, so I gave in a killed closer to home than I would recommend, but still far enough away that no one will find me out.

As chance would have it, I was out driving looking for something enticing, when what should I happen upon but a mime school. That was my epiphany, my Road to Damascus moment. I went to the nearest Target (which does not endorse or even acknowledge this site) and bought a pair of black pants, a black and white, horizontally striped shirt, a red bandana, and a black beret, et voilá! I zipped back to the studio, slipped my favorite stiletto in my sock, and enrolled for Beginning Mime: Fermez la bouche!

After about five minutes struggling to get out of my box, I realized I had a key in my pocket and proceeded to walk out of my box, to the gesticulated horror of the rest of the class, who had no idea the boxes even had doors. I strode to each box, opened it, and slit the neck of each mime, who, alas, was forced to scream in utter silence, as if lost in the vacuum of space. Have you ever seen a mime on a cell phone, talk about worth the five minutes in the box. As the first mime died, the rest, stuck in their boxes, dialed on their cells, but could say nothing. And then, one by one, the entire class was reduced to a carpet of black, white, and red. And oh, such beautiful silence.

Feeling much better, but not wanting to pass up such an perfect opportunity, I continued down the hall to the more advanced classes, Advanced Mime: Annoying in Public, and Graduate Mime: Welcome to Poverty and Scorn. But could any of these figure out the Mime-Cellphone conundrum, no, not even the professors, who too fell quietly into that silent night.

So, if you call your local mime studio, looking to take a class, and find that it has been closed, or that no one answers the phone (as if a mime studio should have a phone anyway), you know at least what has happened.

The moral of this story, when you get down, kill a mime, when you get really down, take out the whole damn mime studio.

The other moral, if you keep praying for god to kill me or get me to stop writing, clearly your god sucks and you should find a new one. Or maybe your god is a mime and is stuck in a box or simply can’t talk. Who knows? Maybe I’ll discuss deicide on a later post.

KNOCK ‘EM DEAD

Why is it when someone tells you to "knock 'em dead," they get so upset when you do it?


Anyway, back to the post for today.  Since so many of you think this site gets a bit heavy at times, I'll try for a bit of levity:


What do you call a person who commits the perfect murder?

Who.



(Also acceptable: I don’t know.)

THE DEATH METAL CHARADE

I feel so let down. When I was first introduced to Heavy Metal’s most promising sect, Death Metal, I could feel that long dormant child in me reawaken. It was as if I were four again, getting my first knife, holding the hilt, fingering the blade. Or I was six, and I got my first Glock for my birthday, and they went out back to empty out a few clips.

Just hearing the names of the bands, Visceral Bleeding, Molotov Solution, Massacre, Torture Killer, Decapitated, and so on, I believed they would be the ones to slay the Polka Kings in my head. So much promised, but where are the body bags?

I’ve written to these and other bands, asking for explanations for their egregious failure in terms of “mega death”—I’d be content even with a “little death.” Would you believe I got letters back from their attorneys? ATTORNEYS?? Yes, it turns out all these promises of death and mayhem are “entertainment” and “not intended as a contractual agreement” and “does not intend implicitly or explicitly to encourage its fans to participate in or support the injury or death of another.” Can you believe this?

I think I might have to start liking rap. At least all this East Coast/West Coast stuff ends up with bodies, but they so lack the names and album covers of Death Metal.

Or maybe I’ll go back to opera. One of the greatest secrets in the musical world is the number of murders of and by opera composers and singers. Composers killed for bad scores by the raving fans, composers killed for great scores by jealous colleagues, singers killed by understudies wanting that big break, music writers killed for bad reviews. I’ve heard rumors that a Finnish composer is trying to make a meta-opera about operatic murder, and there might even be a real murder written into the libretto. I don’t know whether the singer or musician to be killed will know s/he will die, or if the murdered role will change each night, or whether that role will in fact be highlighted. I mean what better way to go out that on stage—talk about instant celebrity!!

DEATH METAL SUCKS!  GIVE ME DEATH OPERA ANY DAY!!

ELMER FUDD FOR PRESIDENT OF THE N.R.A.

Since Charlton Heston died, the National Rifle Association has not been able to find a leader with the same charisma, dedication, and star power. After a respectful period of mourning, I began investigating individuals who could return the NRA to its declared mission of a gun in the hands of each grade schooler, so that no one would ever get shot at school again.

With that in mind, it struck me, what ever happened to Elmer Fudd?  I don't think he's been working lately, so he'd probably love to have the job.  He, more than anyone, taught generations of children that Guns Don’t Kill—I mean face it, how many times did he shoot Daffy Duck in the Face? All that ever happened was that Daffy’s bill would spin around, and he’d straighten it out, and the fun could begin again. Or how many times did Bugs Bunny tie Elmer’s gun in a bow, bend it around to should him, or stuff a carrot in it? And sure, the gun exploded, but all that happened was that Fudd’s face would get black, and then in the next scene, he’d be fine again.

Kids don’t see enough violent cartoons anymore. I think that is why our society is in such trouble these days. Why does Barney not bite the heads off of those insipid children he sings and dances with? If he did, kids would know not to trust theropod dinsosaurs, or old men who dress up and want to play with kids. Or Dora, didn’t we learn from Red Riding Hood not to go alone through the woods and talk to wild animals? Now kids think it’s okay to wander off all the way to Antarctica. And they think Latino parents are neglectful of their kids.

Bring back Tom and Jerry, let kids see that cats and mice hate each other, that if you blow off someone’s head, they can merely place it back on. And Wiley Coyote. He could inspire a new generation of engineers and inventors.

Cartoons that teach kids to read or respect others are a waste of time—let our schools worry about that. Besides, the kids aren’t going to get jobs in this economy anyway, so why should they even bother.

P.S. And if Elmer Fudd can’t get enough votes, maybe the original A-Team would run. They had the coolest guns and not a single one every killed anyone. I don’t think they ever even wounded anyone.
GUNS DON’T KILL, BLOOD LOSS DOES.

THE WASHINGTON BULLETS, SIGH

Do any of you still have any Washington Bullets memorabilia? Now there was a basketball team a city could get behind. Do you know how many young men looked up to that team, said “Hey, I can believe in an ideology like this. I can do this”? Ten of thousands, perhaps. The whole city chipped in until Washington D. C. could proudly claim the murder capital of the United States. And when you consider that its population pales compared with those of Los Angeles (what’d you expect from a town with such pathetic killing names as Angels, Dodgers, or Lakers) or New York (Yankees, Mets, Jets, Giants, Knicks?). No, Washington had something to be proud of, the Bullets and the folks who stood behind the guns.

Face it, they renamed the “Bullets” the “Wizards”; the youth no longer believe that their town supports their murdering sensibilities. But do they then become acolytes of Hogwarts Academy? A bevy of Harry Potters, so to speak? No, without the support of their town, they seem to have given up any desire to succeed and have joined the ranks of the Republicans, the real evil in that town. Magic Wands don’t kill people, Bullets do.

I know many of old timers will want to bring up the Houston Colt .45s, that short-lived appellation of the now Houston Astros. Three years was simply not long enough for the town to get shootin’, and Texans love to shoot. Alas, Houston figured space was more admirable than killing, but that is so short sighted. Eventually, we will realize our movements into space will only serve to let the Aliens know where we are (so they can come at kill us with their laser beam weapons).

Here’s to the Washington Bullets, alas, yet another innocent victim of the war on crime.

AM I GAY??

Some of you might think this is funny, but research shows that at least 18.3% of men experience an erection when they put a handgun down the back of their pants. The anxiety experienced by these men manifests itself in a pronounced homophobia and/or doubt, but what does it really mean? Does it mean you are gay?

The simple answer is no.  (You may be gay, but it has nothing to do with a gun in your pants.)

Some of you are concerned that it is a result of Viagra use (which adamantly disavows all connections with this site and placing guns down your pants), but there is no connection one way or the other. And if your gun-related erection lasts more than 4 hours, definitely seek the advice of a physician (but don’t mention the gun).

Others of you associate it with too much alcohol during extended periods of rubbing down the barrel of your gun while "cleaning" it (right, wink wink).

In response to your queries, if a long warm barrel down your ass doesn’t mean you’re gay, then what is going on? The worst it might mean is that you are a closet NRA freak, but other than that, never fear (as if you should worry about being gay—if only more serial killers and psychopaths would come out of the closet, our murdering society might not look at male homosexuals as a bunch of weak and effeminate fairies).

My advice: enjoy that rod down your backside, why do you think so many people stick it there? I mean really, that’s hardly the most convenient (or safest) place to stick a gun. Just make sure you have the safety on.

WARNING: the phallus-gun connection is just a metaphor—as much as you might think going all the way with your gun would provide even greater pleasure, having your ass blown off is simply not worth a few minutes of ecstasy and bliss. Experimenting with other men can be healthy and enjoyable, experimenting with your gun can mean a colostomy bag for the rest of your life.

SHUT THE FUCK UP, DUMBASS: TEXAS EDITION

In Texas, when juries are instructed, they are not given the choice of “Not Guilty.” It’s why the Pardons Review Board doesn’t care if your attorney was sleeping, drunk, disbarred, or incompetent—it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. In Texas, it’s either “Guilty,” “Guilty as Sin,” or “Guilty and We’re Gonna Kill You.” Regardless, the punishment is always the same, a nice trip up to Huntsville where you’ll be executed before your first appeal can be filed.

So when in Texas, avoid any contact with the cops. I can tell you the four times I encountered cops in Texas, and none of them was pleasant:

I was pulled over on an El Paso freeway for going two miles over the speed limit and given a written warning--if you're gonna drive through Texas, don't drive a car with plates from California or the North.

I had my car randomly searched for drugs, which seemed illegal but by then I’d learned that the U.S. Constitution was not valid in Texas--they claim something in the admission of Texas into the Union allowed it to disregard the Constitution.

I tried to explain to one officer at the DPS (what Texas calls the DMV) when I was trying to get a driver's license that “options” meant more than one, and learned that grammar was also not valid in Texas and that the stereotype of the redneck cop contains more than a grain of truth.  A friend had to drag me out of that place before I could even get my license.

And when my car was rear-ended (and I was blamed), that guilt and innocence are not absolutes—just guilt is.  Oh yeah, and get rid of the California driver's license too, although I never could figure out how to get a Texas license without getting clocked with a MagLight (which does, unofficially, approve of this site).

And none of these times even involved a felony—I could easily see that they were waiting for a twitch, a tic, some reason to hogtie me. It was in Texas that I first learned and used the phrase, Yes Sir. I guess my point is, when in Texas, you might as well kill someone because no matter what you do, they’re going get you. You might as well earn your trip to the lethal injection. But if you shut up, at least your trip to Huntsville will not involve your head being bashed into the hood of a cruiser.

BUDDY, COULD YOU SPARE A BULLET?

A number of my readers remarked with a bit of sarcasm, “Boo hoo, you rich folks with too many jobs—why don’t you share a few of them with us?” I too forgot our unfortunate unemployed and homeless Americans. I am truly sorry.

I can remember, a long time ago, a man coming up to me on the street, asking not for money, but for a bullet, a .45 to be exact. I had not heard a beggar ask for such a round in decades (usually it’s a .22 or a shotgun shell), and he could tell by that glint in my eye I wanted to see it. Would you believe a Colt .45 revolver that looked as if it dated from the Old West? I offered him $800 cash on the spot, but he simply scowled and lifted his coat, revealing a Bowie knife that looked even older. “My great grand-dad got this is a gunfight, an’ I ain’t sellin’ it to no fancy PRO’fessor—either they’re gonna bury me with it or it’s going take me out of this shithole.”

I nodded, understanding, and gave him six rounds, all that I had in my pockets. “Mind if I hold that?” I asked, repentantly. He looked me over, taking the bullets, and placed it in my hands. The wooden hilt was smooth, notched five times. An Ace, I thought, hoping they meant what I figured they did. I handed the gun back, hilt first, and asked, “Can I buy you lunch?”

“Liquid?”

“Sure, where?” That was the best bottle of whiskey I’d ever shared. He could tell me every man (they had all been men) that his Colt .45 had killed since his great grand-dad picked it off that gunslinger that challenged him to a draw. Turns out the five notches were there when this gun passed into his family. It had earned eight more in the century since. Thirteen. I gave the man the $800 cash just for his story. And friend, if you’re still alive and have a place so search the Internet, I’d love to share another bottle with you.

WOW!! That was bizarre. I hadn’t thought about him in close to ten years, and wham, it was like yesterday. Anyway, back to the poor and murder. I apologize for failing to consider the plight of those with no income who also would like to kill beyond their freeway overpass or shelter.

First, do not pull guns out of cardboard boxes, especially if they are marked FREE (that’s how I tell rich killers to dispose of their weapons—if you leave them be, eventually the cops will find them and send them pampered asses to jail). The conventional wisdom is that any gun you can find, even if it is at the bottom of the East River, has been used in a murder and is covered with prints. If you add yours, you’ll be instantly guilty of multiple murders. Stealing a gun from middle class and rich folks is your best bet. They often leave them under the seats in their SUVS or lying in the nurseries of their mansions. Grab one of those, and if you can return it before it’s reported missing better yet, another rich SOB accused of murder—but alas, no matter what the evidence, the rich have lawyers that can get them acquitted of anything (See: What Would OJ Do?).

Next, go to one of those Christian shelters and start talking about how Satan led you to drink and laziness. Christians love that stuff. Act like you find Jesus talking to you through the whiskey and they’ll give you a bunk, a Bible, and BLT. That’s the 3 B’s, Christian style. Once you’re in, and you pray in group meetings, they’ll say you’ve never left.

Finally, stay put for a few weeks, enjoying three squares and Bible study, clean clothes from rich folks, and a bed with less vermin than most shelters. And in no time, you’re free to sin again. Wow, what salvation can do for a sinner! Makes me wish I could stand the sight and smell of my fellow man.

Kill the rich and hide amongst the Christians. It’s foolproof.

KILLING WHILE WORKING FULL TIME

I know that many of you have full time jobs, work multiple jobs, and/or have families that prevent you the luxury of free time in order to kill. I have assigned this dilemma to some of my top assistants, and they have provided the following suggestions. I think they should allow all of you the opportunity to join our noble brother- and sisterhood.

1. Kill on the way to work. Not only will this be good for the earth, but it will also start your day on a high note. Trying to make a good kill on the drive home inevitably leads to sloppy work and increases your likelihood of being caught. Also, if you are not an early riser normally, wake up early for a week preceding your kill, and drink a moderate amount before your kill (too much might make you jittery). And make sure you bring a change of clothes, just in case things get messy.

2. Kill during your lunch break. If you are lucky and get an entire hour, you should have no problem fitting a good kill and a good healthy lunch in that amount of time. If you only have thirty minutes, you might be forced to wolf down that sandwich as you drive to your target. DO NOT TRY GOING TO A DRIVE THROUGH (AND NO MATTER HOW MANY PEOPLE SPELL IT AS SUCH, THROUGH IS NOT SPELLED THRU)—NOT ONLY IS THE FOOD BAD FOR YOU, BUT IT ALWAYS TAKES LONGER THAN YOU THINK IT WILL. You don’t want to rush a kill—if you are going to kill during your lunch break, bring a sack lunch.

3. Kill one of your co-workers. While it might save time, it does raise the risk of getting caught. The good news, however, is that there are usually enough people at any given company that hate a certain person that you are not likely to be singled out. NOTE: this means that if you are known as the person who hates your target most, you will be brought in. If someone else hates your target more, you should be okay. SECOND NOTE: don’t kill a colleague if there are less than ten people who work at your company—cops can handle nine potential suspects, but once the number hits double digits, the math gets too complicated.

4. This final idea is a true example of thinking outside the box. I was so impressed with this idea, that I made the assistant my new vice president (somehow the last one just ended up dead one day—no one seems to know how or why). Get corporate sponsors for your kills—like those NASCAR uniforms and cars that are covered in logos. Get an outfit and tell companies that they can have space on your jumpsuit while you kill for a given amount of money. Gun makers, poison producers, euthanasia foundations are all possible sponsors. And think creatively—you might find that rest homes or mafia groups might also like to rent space on you. And then, you won’t have to work such horrendous hours. On a side note, you might also get some companies to pay NOT to appear on your car or jumpsuit, like Hallmark or Gerber.



Anyway, I hope this helps those busy Americans fulfill their dreams of success, wealth, and murder. And let me know if you have any other ideas on how to fit your kills in with a busy schedule.

TPM

DR STRANGELOVE II: THE TEA PARTY VERSION

As an addendum to the previous post, I had a rather compelling idea: why not remake Dr Strangelove, but not as a dark comedy, not as a satire of Cold War brinksmanship, but as a serious investigation into a world where the Tea Party could finally rule. Think about it: Sarah Palin, Glenn Beck, and Rush Limbaugh in the roles made famous by Peter Sellars, George C. Scott, and Slim Pickens. Given Palin’s theatrical prowess, she could easily play all of Sellars’ parts—she could redefine the character of Dr. Strangelove in such a way as to be definite Oscar material—and what a speech she would give. And think of all the candidates this film could fund.

And instead of some liberal like Kubrick directing, what about Kirk Cameron or John Travolta (I don’t know about their TP affiliation, but they both have some pretty crazy theo-politics, so I’m sure they could provide a sympathetic perspective). And Travolta could even fly his own plane, cutting down on overhead.

This is just an idea, but one that I’m freely willing to share with the Strangeloves of the Tea Party.

STRANGELOVE, OR HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE TEA PARTY

If you have read this blog closely, you might have intuited that I am not the Tea Party’s biggest fan. You might have even reached the conclusion that they are led by Morons and comprised of Imbeciles. You would be correct. That is why a newfound love for the ideals of the Tea Party is truly a “strange love.”

What, you may ask, has instigated this conversion? A good question indeed.

Too quickly, I believe, we look at the Tea Party as a bunch of brain-dead lemmings without thinking about how their moronic approach to government could help us. Help us, you say? Exactly.

The Tea Party claims as its founding principle a notion of less government is best. So, why not encourage their lunacy further:

NO GOVERNMENT!

NO REVISIONIST HISTORIANS CLAIMING BILL OF RIGHTS PART OF CONSTITUTION (EXCEPT THE SECOND AMENDMENDMENT)

NO ACTIVIST JUDGES INFRINGING ON A CITIZEN’S GOD-GIVEN RIGHT TO KILL!

NO POLICE STATE PULLING OVER OR LOCKING UP MURDERERS!

NO SCHOOLS ENFORCING LIBERAL THEORIES OF EVOLUTION AND READING!


This is what the Tea Party could do for us. And they’d get rid of taxes so we can spend more money on bullets!

I LOVE THE TEA PARTY! I JUST HATE ALL ITS LEADERS AND MEMBERS.

ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD: OR, DON’T KILL THE MESSENGER

Shakespeare thinks murder is classic, but finds this site sophomoric. And he thinks Stoppard is a hack. And he swears he was the true author of Hamlet. (My God, Shakespeare just can’t stop writing, even when he’s dead.)

Tom Stoppard disavows all knowledge of this site. He says Shakespeare is just Elizabethan television.


Back to my point: don’t kill the messenger. So everyone wants to kill their kids, but the moment I write it down, POOF, everyone goes ballistic (or should it be “BOOM” if one is going ballistic?) and claims they don’t really want to kill their kids—sounds like a plea in the process. It’s like people who hate mirrors—it’s not the mirror’s fault, it only reflects what you reveal to it.

If you don’t want to kill your kids, or the neighbor kids, or some random kid a few towns over, don’t. It’s that simple. If you do want to, and these protestations are simply a way to deflect suspicion, I can appreciate that, but please realize that I have feelings too. When everyone says I’m evil, I start to feel unappreciated, even depressed. I can remember once being told when I was growing up that negative comments can be ten times as powerful as positive comments, so you should say ten nice things for every critical thing you say. So please, try to balance your bile with beauty. 

And kill, baby, kill. (Sarah Palin also disassociates herself from this site, but not because it has to do with murder.  She simply does not believe in reading.)

Thank you,

The Perfect Murder

HONEY I KILLED THE KIDS

(Disney disavows all connection with this site)

Between the hate mail I receive from nuns for proposing killing Mother Teresa and the tales of creative kills, I have been receiving a bounty of interest in infanticide. Yes, children.

And, it turns out, most of the interest is from women, mothers. The problem is a few dim bulbs have ruined infanticide for the rest of you. If only the early murdering mothers had been a bit smarter and had not been so obvious, then police would not know to suspect the parents first. But be not disheartened, The Perfect Murder has discovered some provocative possibilities.

First, ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends make great suspects, and instead of blaming a fictional black man, create a far more viable suspect in an ex whom you hate anyway or a current partner that you don't mind disposing of. Kill two birds, so to speak (especially in a state with the death penalty). And don’t go on TV unless you can really fake tears. People will actually believe you more if you lock yourself in your trailer in grief.

For those of you who don’t want to blame your ex or current partner, you need a different patsy. For this, you need a bit of subterfuge. First, create a nemesis for your child(ren). Then, find a way to provoke the nemesis’s parent into a public confrontation with your child(ren)—parks and playdates are excellent for this. Then, when your child disappears, people will remember that a neighbor parent was aggressive toward your child. Let justice run its course.

While women seem to want to kill their own kids, men tend to want to kill other people’s kids. The upside of things is that the same theory that prevents you from killing your own kids allows you to kill someone else’s. We can imagine why a parent would want to kill his/her own kids, I mean really. If you have kids, you know that they can press ALL your buttons at the same time, scream incessantly, make messes, hit their siblings, break your computer, and you can’t even smack ‘em anymore. Honestly, maybe letting parents smack their kids a few times would temper the anger so that the poor parent doesn’t have to drive them into a lake. Just a thought.

But back to killing kids. While we understand the desire to kill our own kids, we usually don’t feel the same about other people’s kids. Well, actually, even as I’m writing this I can think of a few neighbor kids I’d like to kill. Teenage boys—for that matter, even men up to 27 seem to act the same. I mean really, who doesn’t find them annoying (except maybe their beer-drinking dads who encourage their behavior). I bet if you took out one of those kids, the mothers and the rest of the neighbors would be grateful enough that they’d all state that the boy is living with his aunt and uncle in Switzerland. Or they’d throw a block party with you as the guest of honor.

I’m sure I’ll be getting hate mail from all those saccharine bloggers who feel it’s their duty to have their smiling families be the subject of a blog that no one wants to read, that no one should have to see. Why aren’t those sites blocked—that’s more offensive than porn. I hate happy people, especially happy people who make me see their happiness. Keep your happiness in the closet, damn it.

WHO WOULD YOU KILL: THE HISTORICAL BOARD GAME

Okay, so there is no board, but it is historical and just as fun.

I know, everyone says they’d go back and kill Adolph Hitler or John Wilkes Booth or Judas Iscariot, ideally changing the world for the better (but any reader of sci-fi knows these schemes always self-destruct ironically). Any moron or imbecile could come up with those—where’s the game with something like that? No, the new and exciting game that will be taking over college dorm rooms and internet chat will be this one, Who Would You Kill, Revered Edition.

What makes this game so addictive is you get to kill people everyone tends to like, and then explain how eliminating said individual would improve the planet (or your life). Your score is based on the number of people you can persuade to your point of view, namely how many co-conspirators can you rally, Cassius.

My favorite, and the one who generally enables me to win, is Mother Teresa. WHAT? You scream, she never hurt anyone. She helped the poor lepers of Calcutta (which isn’t Calcutta anymore, but I can’t remember what it is). Precisely, if she’d helped rich kids with ADHD, who’d care? But no, she has to go and help people whose lives are so bad that everyone else looks selfish. I mean, cure cancer, solve time travel, write the Great American Novel—“oh that’s nice, but you’re no Mother Teresa.”

Go back and kill Adam, Jesus or John Lennon (before they were famous), Newton, Darwin, Einstein, Shakespeare. Now of course, if you’re an atheist, Jew or Muslim, killing Jesus does not score you many points; similarly, if you are the Earl of Oxford, Francis Bacon or Christopher Marlowe, killing Shakespeare is not without cause; or Gottfried Leibniz or a sophomore struggling with calculus killing Newton; or Fundamentalists or Alfred Russel Wallace killing Darwin.

This game can be played at a beginner level, where you simply state who you’d kill and why. However, as you become more entrenched in the game, you can also add “how, when and where you would kill your target.” It can also involve role playing games, and I’m even working on an internet based RPG which should be going beta within a few months (stay tuned). This will be the next Tetris.

And since I am the oh-so-supportive murder mentor, please let me know the winning kills from your games. I’m always intrigued by new ideas in murder and who you’d kill.  (And please, no "Colonel Mustard in the Lavatory with the Lead Pipe"--someone REAL!)

Kill creatively—leave the prosaic kills for cops and drug dealers.

WHY MURDER?

I get this question at cocktail parties a lot, why murder? Why not arson or burglary or forgery or parking in a disabled spot?

For me, it is a matter of accomplishment. When I am on my deathbed, begging to be put out of my misery (see the Terry Schiavo Paradox), I want to know that I made a difference, that I accomplished something worthwhile.

I like fire—don’t get me wrong—but arson is about the moment, feeling the heat, watching the flames. It’s great, but then the fire department comes and douses the flames, and the building is eventually rebuilt, generally better than it was before.  Where's the sense of accomplishment in that?

And burglary, that is just a waste of time unless you’re a crackhead. You face a great risk with little reward—all the real money is in banks, and they’re covered in cameras. The only places with money tend to be convenience stores, and the clerks there all are armed.  Too much work and risk for $68 and change.

Forgery is fun, but if you are successful, no one ever knows a crime was committed—now what kind of story is that to tell the grandkids. “Sure grandpa, you passed a million dollars in fake $20s. So why do you live in such a crappy rest home?”

Murder, what we often just call the Big M, is the crime to do. You’ll end up with followers, fan clubs, marriage proposals (and just casual sex proposals). When was the last time a jaywalker got laid?

Aim high, make your grandkids proud. So don’t screw it up—the one thing worse than your grandkids not admiring you is if they think you’re a fuckup—MAKE SURE YOUR GUN IS LOADED AND POINTED AWAY FROM YOURSELF.

GOD READS MY BLOG?

A minister from Springfield, Missouri wrote to tell me that I had better stop blaspheming the Godhead because God was reading my blog and would judge me severely. Wow! Either a total crackpot reads my blog or God reads my blog—either way, pretty cool. It also explains some rather strange anonymous messages that magically appeared in my inbox.

“Dear TP—I know what your real name is and where you live. And guess what, I can hit you with a lightning bolt even when you’re cowering in your basement rec room.”

“Dear TP, since you hate me and my fundamentalists so much, I think I'll make you go to heaven when you die. Just think of that, an eternity with Fundamentalist Christians! HA HA HA HA HA. Oh damn, then we’d be stuck with you, and that would make our heaven a hell. Maybe I’ll invent automata fundamentalists and then send them to hell to torment you. Ah shit, how’d I ever tell my fundamentalists from the robots? Damn it. Don’t worry, I’ll figure out something evil for you before I kill you.”

"Dear TP, still haven’t figured out your hell, but so long as you don’t tell people to kill my Fundamentalist Christians (I’m gonna be stuck with them for eternity, I don’t really want them any earlier than I have to), I say kill kill kill.

"You know what happened. I was down on earth to get some Thai food, and commented on some young lady’s thongs—guess what, thongs doesn’t mean the same thing that it used to. You know what she did—she sued me for sexual harassment! Me, God, for sexual harassment. And it only got worse—in court, her lawyer asked if I was God, and I said yes, and that was used against me! “As God, can you see through things?” “Of course, I’m God.” “So you were looking through my client’s clothes?” “No, of course not.” “So you’re not God?” “Yes, I’m God.” “So you just happened to know that my client was wearing a thong? Doesn’t that seem a bit convenient?” “You’re putting words in my mouth you Whore of Babylon.” That Whore of Babylon comment pretty much sealed my fate and cost me an extra pearly gate. When folks get to heaven now, they’re gonna see some pot holes in the roads of gold—those potholes are what I had to pay to get me out of that fix--once juries hear you're God, they think you're just made of gold. I sure hate people.

"Why am I telling you this? Well, I sure can’t complain like this to Christians--they might stop doing everything I tell them if they think I don't love them anymore. Anyway, back to my point—I hate you and you’re going to hell, along with that lady in the thong and her lawyer (who was also wearing a thong, btw)."

"Dear T, I sure wish my Israelites would have done what I wanted way back when, killed off all the non-Israelites and such. Things would have been so much simpler. No science to have to worry about, no overpopulation, no need to send Jesus down. I think I should just pack this planet in and go start on some of these new planets that are being discovered. Maybe bacteria need a new God.

"It was nice tormenting you, watch out for a massive asteroid in three weeks. Oh, and don’t tell the Fundamentalists that I’m cancelling heaven—I don’t want to ruin it for the bacteria."

SHUT THE FUCK UP DUMBASS: PART 2

Based on the number of emails I’ve received detailing people’s kills, I clearly did not make my point clear in the first SHUT THE FUCK UP DUMBASS post. Telling anyone, including me, about your exploits is not a good idea. Are you really sure that I am not FBI? Well, I’m not, but it’s still not a good idea to tell me things. What if the CIA waterboards me or connects battery cables to my genitals? The purpose in contacting me is to ask questions prior to a kill so that you do not get caught or so that you can more fully appreciate murder’s noble tradition.

Now, PART 2: On the off chance that you follow all the wisdom herein, and still manage to find yourself being questioned, SHUT THE FUCK UP, dumbass. (DISCLAIMER: The Perfect Murder: For Dummies and its parent company, DumbInc, cannot be held responsible for the success or failure of any person attempting a kill. Likewise, by reading this blog, the individual assumes all responsibility, legal, civil, or virtual, for his/her actions. Do not call us seeking legal representation: our lawyers are all occupied writing nuisance writs to clog up the judicial system and thus prevent any real legal action taken against us. Furthermore, our server in located safely on an uninhabited island, which makes legal actions and extraditions particularly complex and time consuming—which in legalese, means “expensive.”)

Back to the point. Shut the fuck up, dumbass. No matter how often I write that, I still get a laugh. Shut the fuck up, dumbass. Ha. Okay, my point is this, SHUT UP. Don’t say anything except I would like competent counsel. DO NOT ACCEPT A PUBLIC DEFENDER. Go into debt, trick your friends to go into debt, steal the money. “Public defender” means the death penalty, even if all you did was turn left without signaling.

KILLING FUNDAMENTALIST CHRISTIANS IS WIN-WIN

I’ve been thinking a lot about this Preacher, Terry Jones, in Gainesville, Florida who wants to burn copies of the Koran. Good for him—I think he should toss in some New Testaments too since he seems to have discarded the Jesus is love crap. I think the whole world would be better if we all believed in vengeful gods again—all this peace shit has only led to bigger, deadlier wars. If the gods only killed more humans, there would not be problems of famine, global warming, overpopulation, illegal immigration, or hope.

On a side note, there is something else one might learn from this: Jones gets a thought in his head and he convinces his feeble-minded sheep that book burning, which will lead to killing, is a good idea—if we could simply convince the feeble-minded sheep not to burn books (which The Perfect Murder does not support) and skip straight to the killing half of the equation (which The Perfect Murder wholeheartedly supports), then everyone would be happy (except maybe Terry Jones).

But book burning aside, since Fundamentalists hate life on earth so much and are trying so desperately to destroy the planet and bring about the glorious return of Christ, why don’t we just put them out of their misery.

Think about it; they hate living and love Christ—why don’t we who love killing and hate Fundamentalists just kill them off. They are happy with Jesus and we are happy without them. Win-win.

And for those of you who might have hesitations about this, don’t worry, God wants you to kill fundamentalists—it’s in the Bible!!

I John 2: 15-16 Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.

John 17: 16 They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.

Romans 12:2 And be not conformed to this world

Face it, the world is Satan’s, otherwise why would he bother tempting Christ with “all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them” (Matthew 4: 9) unless they were his to offer—and note, Christ does not say they are not his, he simply says, “Get thee hence, Satan” (4: 10).  Any Fundamentalist who says that s/he does not want to be killed must love the world and thus be of Satan.  SEE IT'S IN THE BIBLE.


And it’s not just God who wants you to kill Fundamentalists, it’s the Fundamentalists themselves. Remember how easy it was for Jim Jones to get more than 900 to kill themselves? They were just a few verses removed from these folks in Florida, who themselves are just a few verses removed from most other Fundies. Killing them just makes it so they don’t have to commit suicide, which they still think is a sin. Like I said, Win-Win.

Other Fundamentalist Groups for whom this Theory may apply:

1. Fundamentalist Atheists

2. Fundamentalist Buddhists

3. Fundamentalist Catholics

4. Fundamentalist Darwinians

5. Fundamentalist Epicureans

6. Fundamentalist Freudians

7. Fundamentalist Greek Mythologists

8. Fundamentalist Hindus

9. Fundamentalist Islamists

10. Fundamentalist Jews

11. Fundamentalist Klansmen

12. Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints

13. Fundamentalist Moonies

14. Fundamentalist Naturalists

15. Fundamentalist Oprah Winfrerians

16. Fundamentalist Pantheists

17. Fundamentalist Quakers

18. Fundamentalist Russian Orthodoxologists

19. Fundamentalist Shakers

20. Fundamentalist Taoists

21. Fundamentalist Unitarian Universalists

22. Fundamentalist Victorians

23. Fundamentalist Well Wishers

24. Fundamentalist Xenophobes

25. Fundamentalist Yes Men

26. Fundamentalist Zoroastrians

And if your fundamentalist sect is not represented here, such as the Abecedarians, please let us know and we’ll add you to our kill list.

Thanks.

SO WHAT KIND OF KILLER DO YOU WANT TO BE? PART 1: THE ARTISTE

Before you set out on your first kill, you need to decide what kind of killer do you wish to be. Among the many possibilities are the Artiste, the Academic (which is my Facebook group), the Avenger, the Genius, the Sociopath, and the Psychopath, among others.

I’ll begin with the Artiste, since most novice killers, except the Avengers, like to think of themselves as Artists. Now, the distinction between Artist and Artiste can most easily be answered with one question: when you kill, are you wearing all black, including your beret? If yes, you are an Artiste.

When the Artiste first meets his or her target, s/he will be drowning in French affect, tossing out random French words and feigning disinterest. Once the kill has been made, the Artiste will stage the scene, creating tableaux vivants—ha ha, no, I guess they would be momento mori. A particular favorite is David’s Death of Marat—it’s pretty straightforward and only involves one kill at a time. A slightly more complicated staging that draws the Artistes is the Isenheim Altarpiece of Matthais Grünewald—something about the syphilitic body of Christ really draws a following. The more advanced Artistes have been known to try Rembrandt’s The Anatomy Lesson of Dr Nicolaes Tulp—which includes an autopsy within the work. Others have done the final scene from Mozart’s Don Giovanni. The most impressive of all Artiste works was one which tried to execute the entire Last Judgment of Michelangelo. Unfortunately, the Artiste could not keep his assistant quiet, and was eventually caught with only about a third of the work complete. Nonetheless, this individual set the bar high—we in the community admire grand designs, even if they do not always succeed. I’d trade a million Marats for one half finished Christ’s Entry into Brussels by James Ensor.

If you do create a momento mori, remember to take a picture of it. Police do not understand the beauty of art or even recognize it—Marat who?—and will generally move stuff around. Or, they simply fail to photograph the scene from the proper perspective, making it look like just another crime scene. Take your pictures and share them with fellow Artistes.

NOTE: No clowns, cutesy stuff, kittens or kitsch. Or Jeff Koons. Only REAL art.

CAN I MAJOR IN MURDEROLOGY?

Ever since the BACK TO SCHOOL FAQs post, I have been receiving a steady stream of inquiries from bright, driven college students about majoring in Murderology, especially since so many are bored with such things as Pre-Med, Astrophysics, and Art Appreciation.  Since their school counselors couldn’t (or wouldn’t) answer it, I will respond.

Unfortunately, at this time, there are no accredited colleges or universities that offer Murderology as a major or a minor. However, there are two (which would not permit us to mention their names—hint: there are state universities in the states you would least expect to offer such courses) that do offer Murderology as a Concentration. Oh yeah, and they never publicly identify the Concentration—the courses are hidden among the course listings for P. E. (I think they call it Kinesiology or Sports Medicine now or some bullshit semantic deception like that). We at The Perfect Murder are actively working to get Murderology integrated into the undergraduate and graduate curriculum, but as yet, we have not succeeded.

NOTE: There are a number of online “universities” that offer Murderology degrees, but these schools are not accredited and your degree would be worthless when you finally set out on your new career.

KWB (KILLING WHILE BLACK)

An African American inmate on Texas’ death row has sent in the following email:

“Dear Mr. Hardin,

“I know this site’s not about innocence, but I’ve exhausted all my options and my date with death is appoachin’ fast. Now, a lot of us brothers on death row are innocent. Really. But Texas law does not permit juries to find defendants innocent. It’s either ‘Guilty,’ ‘Guilty as Sin,’ ‘Guilty and Black,’ ‘Guilty and Mexican,’ or 'So Damn Guilty Can't We Just Execute Him Right Now?'

“It turns out I wasn’t even born yet when I supposedly killed some white lady—maybe if my public defender hadn’t been disbarred and drunk when he represented me, he’d have figgered that out.

“Is there anything you can do to help me and the other innocent black men on death row?

“C. R. (These are not my real initials, they’d kill me if they knew I was writing this)”

MH: Dear C.R.,

Unfortunately, in Texas, the appeals process is designed to make sure the rich, not the innocent, are not troubled with incarceration or infamy—remember the CEO of Enron, Kenneth Lay? Because he died during the appeal process, his record was wiped clean and so his family got to keep his ill-gotten gains. Had he been black . . . well, you can answer this better than I.

The best I can do, C.R., is post your question and use it as a model for other black men in America.  However, it does give me an idea how black men can take advantage of this gross injustice.

With deepest regrets,

Michael Hardin


DRIVING WHILE BLACK

Every black male (except maybe Clarence Thomas) knows what DWB is. You’re minding your own business, driving through any part of a town that has at least one white person in it, and a cop pulls you over. The cop asks for your identification, tries to convince you that you are not the person shown on your driver’s license, asks you if you’re on crack, asks if he can search your car for drugs and weapons (this is phrased in the form of a question, but intonated in the form of a demand), cuffs you when he can’t find anything, returns to his cruiser to see if there are any reported crimes in the state that might have been committed by a black man, and then, if there are, he’ll take you in, and if there aren’t, he’ll tell you, “I know you did it—I’m watchin’ you.”

Since most white people are told at a very early age to blame African Americans for any crimes they commit (just ask Susan Smith from South Carolina how hard it was convincing the police and the country that it was a black man who kidnapped and killed her two sons), it is safe to assume that the cops are going to drag you in for something sooner or later, and if not, they’ll stick you in a lineup, in which case your chances of being arrested are 1/4 to 1/6. Given their inability to distinguish one African American from another, your innocence or guilt is irrelevant at this point. If you’re picked, you’re guilty; if you’re not, they’ll keep putting you in lineups for other crimes until someone picks you.

So, what can you do? Short answer: Nothing.

However, since they’re going to pull you over anyway, why not at least kill some white dude before you’re sent to jail? The brilliance of this plan is that white folks don’t think African Americans are smart enough to pull this off. They blame everything on Affirmative Action, so work the system.

1. Since you know they’re going to pull you over for nothing, give them something to pull you over for, something trivial though, like a broken headlight (that saves the cop having to break it for you). A broken tail light might also make it so the cop simply writes you a ticket and lets you go—a ticket allows the city to take the black man’s money and it allows the cop to prove to his department that he harassed a black man without having to bother with dragging him in.

2. Make sure though, that you do not have any weapons or drugs in your car. Blood is okay, ‘cause you can say you were in a fight with your BLACK girlfriend (if you say white, they’ll investigate it as rape or battery or both and your story will fall apart).

3. Drive through a white neighborhood, but not near where you made your kill.

4. When the cop pulls you over (it shouldn’t take more than about two minutes for cops in white neighborhoods to find you), answer everything with “Yes Sir” or “No Sir.”

5. a. The cop will either assume that you’re innocent, but know that the white folks in the neighborhood will think he’s not doing his duty if he does not take you in

b. Or, the cop will assume you’re guilty of something, but he won’t know what, so he’ll take you in.

6. Once at the station, they’ll ask you why you were there and other directionless questions, hoping that during the three to five hours that they interrogate you you’ll confess to something.

7. If you can avoid saying something incriminating or infuriating, they’ll figure you just might be innocent, and so they’ll use you as African American male #4 in the lineups for that evening.

8. a. If no one picks you, you’re good to go.

b. If they pick you, you’ll end up getting arrested for robbing a 7-11 or selling drugs or refusing to sing minstrel songs for rich white folks--any of which will provide you excellent alibi for the murder and you’ll get out of the joint a whole lot sooner.

Just imagine the possibilities.

NOTE: This can also be modified as KILLING WHILE BROWN. However, I have not been able to modify this to work as KILLING WHILE ASIAN.

SECRET SATAN: THE HIT LIST

Wow, you would not believe the angry email I received over debunking Strangers on a Train. That said, the last thing I want is a bunch of pissed off, would-be murderers.  Seems like everything I write manages to infuriate someone or other--where is the appreciative mail for providing a much needed service?  Complain complain complain.

Unless you grew up fundamentalist, you've probably never heard the conspiracy theory that Santa and Satan were the same person because you only had to change the position of the letter N. I can’t believe that it was adults who were propagating that theory. I’m sure glad I’m no longer six and stupid.  (I wonder if Satanists tell their kids that Satan is holy--what Santa actually translates as--because his name and Santa's differ only by the position of the letter N?--or does Satan bring presents, and Satan wouldn't even need the red suit.)

Anyway, the Santa-Satan legerdemain (slight of hand sounds so sexy in French) provides the intellectual germination for this reinvention of a Christmas classic.

As we have seen, Strangers on a Train is a murder stratagem with a high potential for failure. But killing random individuals does not provide much satisfaction, and it does not eliminate the people we would really like dead. To that end, after much research and experimentation with computer models and lab tests on rats, I have come up with a foolproof (or at least dummie-proof) scheme: Santa’s Secret Hit List: Or, Damn Were You Naughty.

The model is based on the much loved office ritual, Secret Santa, where individuals randomly draw names of other office workers, for whom they then buy such memorable presents as the velvet red earmuffs that blast accordian renditions of We Three Kings, the Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer thong, or the Bonus-Pack Pregnancy Tester. Fortunately, those offices parties are usually provided with enough alcohol that no one cares if they are the ones who receive said gifts. We, however, pride ourselves on a job well done. Quality.

We have calculated that with a mere 1,324 individuals, Santa’s Secret Hit List will work. If each of the 1,324 individuals submits a person s/he wants killed, and an assurance that s/he is willing to kill someone else, then our computers will be able to match individuals with targets in their geographical areas (generally no more than 70 miles away) whom they’ve never met and who do not live in their towns. Since no one will know whose target they’ve received nor whose they have, for all practical purposes, these are random murders, and neither party can squeal on the other. Only a computer in Switzerland (where vile deeds end only in very short house arrests) will know who killed whom, and the Swiss government has assured us that murder is not an extraditable offense, even for computers.

If you think 1,324 individuals is prohibitive, I can assure you that the interest in this plan has well exceeded that number already. Santa’s gonna have a busy Christmas.

Please send your name and address and the name and address of the person you would like dead for Xmas (ANOTHER NOTE TO FUNDAMENTALISTS: no, I am not trying to “X” out Christ, I am using the early Christian shorthand, which replaced the word “Christ” with the Greek letter “chi,” or “x,” as in ΙΧΘΥΣ—the Greek letters in the bumper sticker fish. See also Xianity: For Dummies.)

Send to:

Pixie “The Trigger” Elfman
c/o Santa Claus’s Workshop
13 Drowning Polar Bear Lane
North Pole

*Entries must be received by November 1 to be eligible for this years slaying (ho ho).  Only one entry per supplicant.  Successful supplicants will receive their targets by Thanksgiving.
**Do not send your letter during the summer or early autumn, since global warming has made the place a bit wet lately.

BEWARE THE FALSE RAPTURE!!!

I just realized after posting the previous piece that I should warn you about an upcoming event that might lead to you killing without concern for perfection or prosecution.

A few of my evangelical contacts have let me know that a false Rapture has been planned for 2012.

A False Rapture, you say? Yes. A few fundamentalist Christian denominations have conspired to scare America back to God. I know this sounds fantastic (not the good fantastic, the unbelievable fantastic), but often the craziest plans are the ones that tend to work—remember Orson Welles and The War of the Worlds? Is that a coincidence, our collective fear of the end of the world makes us believe outrageous stories?

Anyway, the fundamentalists are choosing 2012 to coincide with the supposed Mayan end of the world (which in actuality is not apocalyptic, it is simply that their calendar does not go any further—it would be as if an alien species thought we believed the world would end on December 31). But since we Americans like to think the rest of the world is as apocalyptic as we are, we read 2012 as yet another Y2K or Chicxulub. Fundamentalists know Jesus would never return in 2012 because it would validate some pagan mythology. Non-fundamentalist Christians would believe it because of this movement towards Ecumenism, some idea that all religions share things in common and even that God is part of all religions. Pap, pure pap.

The False Rapture has been planned for two reasons officially (although I think this is really the brainchild of Lahaye and he wants to use it to sell even more books): to scare the non-Fundamentalists into belief, and to give the Fundamentalists a chance to laugh at the scared “left-behinders.” Some non-Lahayesian readings of the Tribulation suggest a mid-Trib Rapture or simply the Second Coming at the end of the Tribulation, so the False Rapture might also be an opportunity for the Fundies to make sure they have a safe room, a generator, and enough food for seven years.

So what are the signs of the times for the False Tribulation?

1. Your Fundamentalist friends stop inviting you to church potlucks (they’re using these events to plan)

2. The Bible verses that inundate your Fundamentalist friends Blogs and websites tell you to keep your eyes upon the Eastern skies, or that you will not know the day or hour of Christ’s return

3. The Bible on your Fundamentalist neighbor's coffee table is conveniently opened to Matthew 24, Daniel, or Revelations.

4. Your Fundamentalist neighbor invites you over for a beer—he will appear to have a beer (the Fundamentalists have actually been seen at recycling centers taking beer bottles to clean, fill with soda, and recap for this very purpose). Fundamentalists view ALL alcohol as a sin; they don’t even use wine for communion (symbolically substituting grape juice for wine seems significant, but I’ll save that for a different blog). Your neighbor will use beer to make him seem normal, and will then casually talk about all the strange “signs of the times”—earthquakes, wars, famine. OH MY GOD!!! WE’VE BEEN IN THE END TIMES FOR THE PAST 2 MILLION YEARS!!! AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

5. Your Fundamentalist friend sends you the complete Left Behind series, again, but with this critical note: “Dear X, I can’t remember if I gave you these great novels—I was just reading them and thought they are so exciting. I know you like to read and thought you might like them. I’ll call you tomorrow, Peggy.” It’s always the wives who send books. The key elements in this letter are the reference to the books as “novels” (Fundamentalists generally refer to them as non-fiction, scripture, or prophecy) and the reference to “tomorrow” (this means that the False Rapture is planned for that day).  When you call the next day to "thank" her, she won't answer, and after a few days, you'll start to wonder where she is. (Or you'll be glad to have the quiet.)



So how will they pull this off? Quite easily. First, they all simply go down in their secret rooms and don’t communicate with the outside world. A number of the men will crash their cars into telephone poles or other cars, leave rumpled clothes and personal effects on the seats, and then sneak back home. Inside, pajamas will be left on the beds, coffee pots will be left on—basically, the house will look like the inhabitants were Raptured. (Lahaye believes that those who are Raptured have time to neatly fold their clothes, but that seems stupid. He also thinks pace-makers, fillings, and other parts get left behind as well. What he doesn’t mention is what happens if a Christian dies and donates a heart to a sinner—where does the heart end up; or worse, what happens if a sinner dies and donates a heart to a Fundamentalist—does the heart stay in the bed or get to go to heaven? Answer that, Lahaye.)

Eventually, people will wonder where these Fundamentalists are, and then they’ll remember those stupid books and videos the Fundies sent them about the Rapture and will stream to the churches to repent. Then, after the entire country, nay world, has come to its knees, the Fundamentalists will return and everyone will praise Christ.

Or, the non-Fundamentalists will be so happy that the Fundamentalists are gone, they will celebrate and come together in peace.

Oh, one other thing. 2012 may be chosen because it’s an election year as well and the Fundies might use it to swing the electorate to the Tea Party. Sarah Palin as President (I wonder if that would put her in place to be the AntiChrist?)

Beware the signs of the False Times.

KILLING DURING THE TRIBULATION

It appears that a number of Fundamentalist Christians are concerned about my immortal soul—more than just my family. I assume that they have found this site because Blogger assumes that because I mention God a lot and cite the Bible, it should connect me to Christian sites—ahh, the problem with certain algorithms. Anyway, I have received a number of comments and e-mails telling me I will suffer through the Tribulation, so I thought I would provide a Killer’s Guide to the Tribulation (this is not sanctioned by Timothy Lahaye, despite his attempts to control and make money off everything remotely connected to the End of the World).

Whatever Lahaye thinks he knows, I know more. I grew up on Daniel, Revelation, and Matthew 24. I have an apocalyptic pedigree on both sides of my geneology.

Lahaye is writing for a 21st Century reader who does not understand suffering. He creates an “age of accountability” at 12, where I was told by my grandmother, if I could say, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take,” I was old enough to go to Hell. I learned that prayer by four. The last thing contemporary readers want to hear is six year olds suffering in the Tribulation. Boo hoo.

So back to the Tribulation. This is a mostly an idea within a few Fundamentalist circles. It is a period of seven years which begins with Christ rapturing his Christians (and by Christians, Fundamentalists mean just themselves—Anglicans, Lutherans, Presbyterians, Methodists, etc.—they all get left behind, and Catholics go straight to Hell). During this seven-year period, the AntiChrist has reign over the earth, and those who refuse to follow him are rounded up and eventually executed (maybe even by guillotines, if a certain “Thief in the Night” film is to be believed—and yes, Lahaye plagiarizes this source like he does a few others as well).

Back again to the Tribulation. If you are lucky enough to avoid Christianity’s stranglehold on Western Civilization, there is a great opportunity for killing. What Lahaye and others do not bother to mention is that killing during the Tribulation can be done without any concern for retribution, regardless of what side you are on.

Now, to begin with, I must state that Lahaye’s theology is shoddy. He claims to have a doctorate, but when you actually look it up, and see what he studied, you will see that it lacks a certain gravitas, you might say. (The only reason his books have sold so well is that fundamentalist churches have essentially told their congregations to buy copies for themselves to read and copies to give to their hell-bound friends [essentially, any Christian who is not fundamentalist is hell-bound] so that once they’re left behind, they’ll be able to read the book. Oh wait, this list was about killing. Sorry.) So, if you are reading this during the Tribulation, don’t assume that anything Lahaye says is true—he was out to make a buck (and is probably gone, unless God is ironic).

1. If the AntiChrist is stamping foreheads and hands, realize that your choice here determines whom you get to kill.

a. If you take the Mark of the Beast, you may kill anyone without the Mark.

b. If you do not take the Mark of the Beast, you may kill anyone with the Mark.

2. The wonderful thing about the Mark, what the Bible and Lahaye never tell us, is that it legitimizes murder. You are killing for your God or AntiGod. And better yet, you’ve already been sealed when you do it. (Lahaye’s dumbest plot element in his series is a visible mark for Christians—if he is right, then once you have this mark, you can do whatever the hell you want and you’re still saved, including murder!!!) Having the Christians be visibly marked (yet the non-Xians can’t see it allows a certainty of whom you can trust—if the Tribulation is truly to be terrifying and a tribulation, you should be able to trust no one but God.

3. Once the Mark of the Beast is applied, the fun begins. This may even be fun enough for Fundamentalists to forgo the Rapture just to get in one last blast of killing, because unfortunately, there is no killing in Heaven (God’s such a killjoy). Anyway, if you are one of the no-Mark folks, then killing those with the Mark of the Beast is good wholesome fun. Since these people are already going to hell, they it doesn’t matter. KILL KILL KILL!!! And if you have the Mark, it’s even better. You can kill ANYONE! Kill the ones without the Mark, and the AntiChrist will be your bosom buddy (NOTE: Tom Hanks does not approve of this site), and if you kill the ones with the Mark, who cares?—they’re going to hell anyway.

4. As much as I think this whole Tribulation thing is crap to scare the holy shit out of kids, it sure sounds fun.

DEATH BY CHOCOLATE: THE CLASS ACTION LAWSUIT

To begin with, I must say that if anyone else sends me an email about killing with chocolate, I will have to go postal on you. (Note: The U. S. Postal Service does not support this site; furthermore, it also takes offense at the idea of “going postal.” They suggest “goin’ gangsta,” “going mobster,” or “going housewife.”) This site is for dummies and above—you’d have to be stupid to think giving someone a delicious dessert would kill them, all that will probably happen is that they’ll give you a hug or maybe want to have sex--hardly murder.

However, a promise is a promise. I have been talking with my lawyers, and we have decided that “Death by Chocolate” appearing on a menu constitutes a written contract between the restaurant owner, bar owner, or sundae parlor owner and the person making the order. Thus, my lawyers have told me, this constitutes breach of contract, if not outright fraud (if they know their desserts won’t kill, then we can sue for fraud). So if we can get originals of the menus from all the restaurants which promise “Death by Chocolate,” we’ll have an excellent case and will include them as defendants. NOTE: if you have receipts from the restaurants and can prove you are still alive (or the person for whom you bought the dessert), you too can be added as a plaintiff in this action. If we can bring this suit against all purveyors of said desserts, we can sue for billions. This will make the tobacco settlement look like chump change.

SHUT THE FUCK UP DUMBASS: PART 1

I know this might be harsh, but please understand that I use the pejorative “DUMBASS” in my book “The Perfect Murder: Genius Edition” as well. In fact, on this point, the genius murderer might even be the DUMBER ASS.

You see, there is something about a truly perfect murder, a murder so brilliant that the police are dumbfounded, that makes you swell with pride. You did it, you outsmarted them all. You pulled off the perfect crime. But what good is it to be smarter or better than everyone else if they don’t know it? What’s the point? Isn’t that the whole purpose of being the best, having others know it? It’s why people were labels on their clothes, labels that say they spent more than you, or drive a Mercedes or a Porsche. And others, the ones with more brains than money, have their college names on their sweatshirts. If I walk down the street with a CalTech sweatshirt, you’ll believe I’m smarter than you—of course, if you aren’t up on college learnin’, then my sweatshirt that simply reads “COLLEGE” would probably be more effective.

Back to the supersmart killers, write out your deed, and put it in your safe deposit box that will be opened only upon your death. While this will provide little gratification while you’re alive, you’ll know that your posterity (unless it’s your posterity that you have killed) can glory in the fact that their ______ was a brilliant murderer. You might even consider writing it as a posthumous memoir, but that is up to you.

As for the dummies amongst us, there is a simple equation (not that simple, but it doesn’t require calculus).

For each person that knows about a murder, the odds of the killer being caught go up exponentially.

So what does that mean for the person who didn’t do well in math. Never fear. There are two common ways that we described progressions, geometric and exponential. A geometric progression means that for each person you tell, the numbers go up: you tell one person (so two people know, you and the person you told), then the chance you will get caught has doubled (1+1=2); you tell two people, it triples (1+2=3), tell three it quadruples (1+3=4), etc. An exponential equation rises much more quickly: if you tell one person, it quadruples, but by telling two, it goes to a factor of three: 2² = 4x as likely; 2³ = 8x; 2⁴ = 16x; 2⁵ = 32x; 2⁶ = 64x. (Stephen Hawking mentions in the introduction to A Brief History of Time that his editor warned him that each equation reduces the potential readership; he cut the equations down to one, E=mc², and although I’d like to include E=mc² in this post, it just doesn’t seem relevant. But I’m hoping that no one sees this equation before they start reading this blog. Besides, I’m not going to write down to the “Dummies” who read this; if you’re going to follow my blog, I’m going to treat you like someone who can understand one equation.

Now, these numbers are not static. If you happen to tell a girlfriend and then cheat on her, your chance of getting busted just went to 100%. Similarly, if you tell your friend and then sleep with his wife or girlfriend, you might as well start practicing your mug shot pose (do you smile? Look amused or bemused, look stoned or on crack, look angry or pathetic, stare into the soul of the camera?—it’s not as easy as it looks, and this picture is the one that the world will remember). Do you start to understand why silence is so important? Once you tell someone you’ve committed a murder, you have to be nice to them for the rest of their life (or you could just kill them too).

This is why you should also always kill alone (see also Strangers on the Train post and Don’t Kill with Your Friends) and keep your trap shut.

BACK TO SCHOOL FAQs

Every year at this time, our kids are returning to school. There’s the ritual of back-to-school sales, tearful goodbyes, and meeting the new roommates. It’s also the time college students’ minds turn to murder. Here is a representative sampling of the mail we get:

1. “If I kill my roommate, will I get straight A’s?”

MH: If I had a dollar for every time I get this question, I could retire and hire others to kill for me. Unfortunately, this is an urban myth. After extensive research, I believe I have found its source. Richard III appears to have killed or had killed one of his classmates at Eton (legend has it he did not like the sobriquet Limp Dick). The faculty, fearing for its own wellbeing, appears to have given him highest marks in all his studies. Since I have found no mention of this myth prior to Richard III, I am fairly confident it is the origin. So no, the death of a roommate, regardless of cause, does not mean straight A’s—what actually happens is that the school allows you to take an incomplete (I) and finish the work when you are less dpressed or distressed.

2. I will be spending a semester abroad in Grenoble, France. Is it okay to kill the French?

MH: Mais oui! Ha ha. Everyone wants to kill the French, even the French. I think the only people with more self-loathing may be the Swedes, at least if films are any guide to Zeitgeist. Back to the question: killing the French is perfectly acceptable, but we do not want to reinforce the stereotype of the Ugly American. As the guest in a foreign land, do not kill the family hosting you or their friends. Find a neighboring village and kill there. Generally speaking, if you kill the lazy artist types that just hang around smoking unfiltered cigarettes, wearing berets, and drinking wine all day the villagers will be happy enough to have those leeches gone that they will not care. REMEMBER: studying abroad is a privilege and we do not want to ruin it for the next generation of college students. NOTE: for students studying in other countries, the same instructions apply: kill the social leeches in the neighboring towns and people will celebrate; kill your host family and the entire Study Abroad program could be put in jeopardy.

3. If I kill all the jocks, will a cheerleader go out with me. Norbert

MH: No. No one will ever go out with you so long as your name is Norbert. Transfer to another school under the name “Alessandro” and come up with an Italian affect and you might get a date. And while it may not have any impact on your getting a date, I would still encourage you to kill all the jocks.

4. Have there been any famous college killers? My dorm walls are kinda bare.

MH: If you are this unaware, then how did you get into college? Did your parents pay for the football stadium or endow a chair? Of course, any history of college killers must begin in Texas (surprise surprise). A University of Texas student, Charles Whitman, killed 14 and wounded another 32 from his sniper position at the top of the bell tower, 29 stories up—that’s some shootin’. Then, for those of you with short memories, our Virginia Tech killer, Seung-Hui Cho, who killed 32 and wounded a bunch more (is this a case of the overachieving Asian kid having to do better even at killing than the white kid?). The problem with both of these men was they did not come up with a good name first. No one remembers them: at best, they are remembered as the UT sniper or the VT massacre. What kind of fame is that? All that killing and it’s the school that gets remembered, not the killer. Oh yeah, your question: because these young men did not come up with cool names first, you will not find posters of them. You’ll have to resign yourself to Monet’s Waterlilies and the Grateful Dead like everyone else in your dorm.

SO YOU WANT TO BE A SERIAL KILLER: PART 1: NAMES

Lots of people have killed one or two, but it takes a certain precocious type to aspire to be a serial killer. But, with the added celebrity comes an added responsibility, not only to your peers, your targets, but to posterity, the grand tradition of serial killers. And the first thing you must do, before you pick up that knife or gun, is come up with a name.

Now many of you may assume that is the responsibility of the police or F.B.I., but can you really trust them to give you a name worthy of history, one your kids could be proud of? I think not!

When we murderologists and novice serial killers think of the greats, of whom do we think? Who recalls Bob the Midday Mauler? George the Shooter? I bet you’ve never heard of them. What kind of notoriety is that? Think about their kids, telling their friends at school, “my dad is so cool, he’s George the Shooter.” Instead of instilling fear in his kids’ classmates, they’ll mock them. Do you really want that for your kids? Now imagine how Jack the Ripper’s kids were treated at school. Do you think anyone every bullied them? No, they probably stood in line to give his kids their lunch money.

For all the mass murderers and serial killers, no one has as cool a name as Jack the Ripper. Face it, he didn’t even kill that many people compared to a lot of these folks—it’s thought that it might have only been five—and how hard was it to kill a whore in London at the end of the 19th century? But the name, the name makes up for an otherwise unimpressive resume.

And Son of Sam? I bet the first kid who asked his son “so does that make you the Grandson of Sam?” ended up eviscerated on the cafeteria floor.

Or the Night Stalker—doesn’t that sound so much more badass that simply, Hello, I’m Richard Ramirez. And as if that wasn’t cool enough, tattooing a pentagram on your palm completes the presentation.

There are some very practical rules to follow when choosing a nom de guerre.

1. Given Jack the Ripper’s stature within our community, we have retired his name as a whole and both parts of it. I.e. you cannot be Jack the Crusher or Margaret the Ripper. We contemplated even retiring the “the” in his name, but that seemed too unmanageable.

2. Don’t use a name that has already been used. You cannot be Ivan the Terrible 2

3. Don’t slightly alter a name that’s already been used. You cannot be The Zodiac Slayer

4. Don’t pick a name you can’t fulfill. You cannot be the Unabomber if you don’t use bombs (you cannot be the Unabomber anyway, since it’s already been taken); similarly, you cannot have “Slash” in your name if you don’t use a blade

5. Don’t put someone famous’ name in your name unless you kill them. John Wayne Gacy did not kill John Wayne. The “Killer Clown” also seemed like he was trying too hard to tell us he was a killer. Psycho Clown is what he looked like—I think he should have worked that angle more. One exception: Hannibal Lecter: he did not kill Hannibal, but somehow it works.

6. You cannot use a cartoon supercriminal as your moniker.  No Riddlers, Jokers, Penguins, Dr Nos.  Trademark infringement is prosecuted more harshly than murder since it's the rich folks who are missing out on more money.

7. Don’t pick a name that has been copyrighted in part or in toto. You cannot be the McDonald’s Machete—even if the police don’t get you, the lawyers for McDonald’s will

8. No alliteration. You cannot be the McDonald’s Machete—even if McDonald’s doesn’t get you, one of us will for trivializing the noble tradition of serial killing

9. No initials that no one can ever remember—who the hell was the BLT killer, or BTK or something? He had at least ten kills but no one can remember who the hell he is. What kind of legacy is that?

10. No stupid puns—there’s some guy out in Los Angeles, he’s been getting away with murder for over 20 years, and he goes by the name the Grim Sleeper. My God!!!! If that man has any self-respect, he’ll kill himself for such a crappy name. What was he smokin’?

11. No acronyms, anagrams, or palindromes. If your claim to fame is witty word play, write a damn book and leave the killing to us

12. No schoolyard nicknames like “Scooter” or “Binky” or “Dickwad” unless you carve them in your target’s flesh. That makes it vengeful. Otherwise it’s simply an Oedipal issue and you probably still wet your bed.

13. Don’t include your home address in your name. If you choose to be the 47 Bluejay Lane Shooter, you are simply too dumb to point a gun in the right direction when you shoot

14. Don’t try to set yourself above other serial killers. You cannot be Best Killer Ever—you’ll end up having the shortest career ever.

15. Copyright your name before your first kill. You’ll find that you make more from copyright fees than you could imagine. If you also copyright your image, you’ll be set. You know how much Michael Jordan (who does not approve of this site) makes from his little Air Jordan image?

So, now that you know what is expected, start thinking up a good moniker. If you have doubts, feel free to contact The Perfect Murder and we will gladly critique your choice. Few come up with their names on the first try—before the Hillside Strangler was the Hillside Strangler, he was thinking about using The Suburban Strangler—see how much a little outside advice helped him?

Poor Josef Stalin. Talk about a pathetic name for a mass murderer. He appears to have had killed up to twice as many civilians as Hitler, but does society shrink at the name Stalin—oh him, wasn’t he the guy in the picture with Roosevelt and Churchill? Do we glare icily at parents who name their kids Joseph? Name your kid Adolph and see if Children’s Services don’t come? Your name matters (Shakespeare was wrong), and you only get to make it once (although technically, you could start killing under a different name, but you would need a different “signature” [see SO YOU WANT TO BE A SERIAL KILLER: PART 2: SIGNATURES] and you will lose credit for all kills under the previous name).

Think up some good names and let’s get killin’.

HIT-WOMEN OF THE WORLD: I AM SORRY

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Wow, my gmail box filled up so fast on this one, a whole lot faster than when I pissed off the butlers and the hillbillies. Turns out the perfect murderer might be a murderess—oops, I mean MsMurderer. If I am to believe these emails and comments, which I have no reason not to, then most of the unsolved murders are actually committed by women, making women the more prolific and perfect of all murdering demographics. Since the police, the public, and even me, a pseudo-professional murderologist don’t expect the killers to be women, the women can kill with impunity. It’s brilliant, and again, women, I’m sorry.

I have been contacted by a shadow Russian mob, made up only of women, whose best killer is a 95 year old babushka nicknamed “Baba Yar.” She’s killed so many male mobsters that any time a mobster ends up dead, they blame it on “Baba Yar”—rumor has it she’s killed more than the number of her years.

There’s a Japanese syndicate, the Crane, out of Kobe that leaves origami canes on its targets. They control all the male prostitution in Japan and most of southeast Asia—and they routinely kill males who try to get in on their action or European and American men coming over looking for children for the sex trade.

And there’s a Tijuana border drug gang, The Daughter of Coatlicue (?), that specializes in smuggling morning after pills and counterfeit Viagra (once it gets big, it NEVER goes down—evidently a bunch made it into L.A., but doctors are not reporting it because supposedly a number of their board members are still “aroused”). Another, Las Chingadas are also eliminating the gangs that target women in Cuidad Juarez and the police and politicians that assist them or look the other way. Don’t mess with those chicas.

And the American women. Nowhere but America can you find such entrepreneurial spirit. While there are women’s social clubs like Guns and Glamour, most of the groups tend to be middle class suburban moms. One, Criminal Chicks, meets under the guise of the school PTA—in fact, they often refer to themselves as the Harpie Valley PTA. They said since men never come and never want to know anything about it, they’re free to do whatever they want. They even suggested that other PTAs consider charging for hits as well, especially during these periods of tight school budgets and poorly supported bake-sells and fundraisers. No one ever suspects the PTA, and no one ever complains so long as the money comes in. The most notorious, at least that I can tell, is Vagina Dentata, a loose-knit group of chapters in the Northeast (the more radical ones prefer the more vulgar translation, “Chewin’ Cunts) that targets rapists—they kill them and then cut off the penises and testicles. Their most daring and delicious action is that they sponsor July 4 picnics where they serve “bratwurst” and “sheep testicles” which are allegedly popular with mayors, prosecutors and attorneys, and police. I think their covers are scrapbooking and knitting clubs.

And then there’s a bunch of freelancers. Stay at home women who find housework and Oprah boring, that want a little more zing and ca-ching in their lives. Wow, I am summarily embarrassed by my utter ignorance on this topic, and sincerely appreciate the education I have received. Never again will I look at a woman as a sex object or a thinking individual, now I will see woman as adept and efficient killer.

So again, I am truly sorry not respecting or appreciating the murderous potential of the fairer, nay superior sex.

Does this constitute a re-evaluation of the femme fatale? God, I don’t understand all this reinvention, reconstruction crap. Can’t we all just be killers?

And if I have managed to piss off anyone else in this post, relax and wait a few days and I’ll be on to pissing off someone else.

And please don’t kill me.

HIT MEN

While I was always told, if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself (and to which I religiously adhere), some of you out there prefer to have someone else do their dirty work.  To this end, I have decided to respond to the flood of e-mails concerning hit-men (as much as I believe in equal opportunity, hit women are essentially a fiction of film--definitely sexy, but in the real world, you'll be hard pressed to find any hit-women, much less ones that will have sex with you and kill your target).

Every murderologist I know has a favorite “hit man” story, and they almost always begin “A man walks into a bar….” I think TV has led us astray on this one. Why do we assume that if we go into a seedy bar, the person sitting next to us will be a professional hit man. This is utterly moronic, and if I offend some of my readers who may have tried this (and are probably reading this from a prison computer), then clearly you should be reading the Pop-Up version of this.

Okay, I will try to maintain my professional demeanor. Walking into a seedy bar and asking for a hit man is an invitation to jail. Eighty-four percent of the people in any given seedy bar who will answer your call are undercover cops or FBI. They know that Morons and Imbeciles are easy to catch—it’s the proverbial fish in a barrel—and if they can catch enough Moron and Imbeciles then it raises their conviction percentages. It’s why the average education of those serving life sentences is less than 12th grade. Sadly, a lot less.

So, don’t go to a seedy bar looking for a hit man. The same is true for ads that you find in Guns and Ammo or Soldier of Fortune. Here, I think the numbers might be as high as 94%--most of whom are FBI since these magazines are shipped over state lines.

In an ideal world, hit men and women would be free to advertise anywhere, but in our society, coming out as a hit man or woman can lead to ridicule, ostracization, and arrest. I’ve formulated a theory based on the college girls gone wild model. Quite a few college girls have admitted to stripping for college tuition, even prostitution, but the demand to see a bunch of dicks just hasn’t materialized. But guys need money too, especially guys at expensive colleges. This is the brilliance of the plan.

First, going to seedy bars is the biggest mistake. Go to nice bars close to expensive universities, Harvard, Yale, Stanford, etc. Don’t talk to the patrons, who will be snotty rich kids that you’ll want to kill anyway. Talk to the guy tending bar. He’s probably a student there who has to work his way through. He’s probably smart (which is why he got in). Sit at the bar, mumbling to yourself, “God, I wish X was dead.” As a guy working his way through, he’ll know that commiseration leads to good tips. Big tips make him think you have money. If, after a few visits and a number of drinks, you let slip that you’d pay a certain amount of money for someone to die (Do your homework: find out how much one year’s tuition is), see what he says. Either he’ll be sympathetic to your plight and let slip he might be able to help, or he’ll ask you out. The great thing about this scenario is that you know the guy behind the bar is not a cop, and if he reports you, you can blame it on the vodka speaking (never allow the bartender to set you up with a “friend” who will do it).

And never pay in advance. 10-20% down is fair, although TV shows suggest it should be 50. If a kid demands 50, be suspicious and ask for references.