“What’s so Interesting?”
The bad boys, the psychopaths, the murderers. Why do they get all the press?
Psycho!
The Zodiac Killer!
Monster!
Halloween!
John Wayne Gacey!
Henry Lee Lucas!
Ted Bundy!
Jeffrey Dahmer!
Gary Michael Heidnik!
Albert DeSalvo!
David Berkowitz!
Samuel Little!
Charles Manson!
Oh, no. Wait. The last guy. Yeah, he’s a cunt! He didn’t really do the deed himself. Got all his brainwashed hippies to do it for him. All though I have to give the guy some props. He was able to convince all those free-loving hippie chicks to get their orgy on whenever he felt like it. So, I think I might like him the best.
“Are you thinking what I’m Thinking?”
So human history goes back a bit. And, I can’t help but wonder when people got together and said, “Maybe it’s not so good that we kill people.” What did people think and do before the ten commandments? When there were no guidelines. No collective rules about the best way to govern ourselves.
Sure we could go back to Hammurabi. I mean the guy didn’t exactly say you couldn’t kill, but there was incentive not to unless you yourself were willing to die too.
Actually, now that I think about it, the better question is that of a moral one. Or, let’s ask ourselves why not kill? Surely, our buddy Jeffrey Dahmer asked himself that at some point. It’s only logical right?
I can come up with only two possible answers. The most obvious is that you think it is morally wrong and you could possibly go to hell. If you believe in that sort of thing. Then there is a good possibility that you could lose your freedoms and go to jail. Then you become someone's biiiaatchhh and you gonna be taking it up the ASS! Could be your into that sort of thing.
All those psychos had to know those two possibilities existed and yet they did it anyway. Now without going to far off on a tangent, I have to agree with my man Solomon when he said there is a time to kill. I did a poll here at the DungJack office and come to find out that the majority of people here wouldn’t kill because they don’t want Tyrone’s BBC shoved up their poop shoot. I am in 100% agreement.
“It’s in you too!”
Well, enough about that. Back to my original question. Why do they get all the press? Why do they have movies made about them? Why do people who play by the rules die in utmost obscurity? Where is the movie about my life?
The good student. The wanna-be writer. The house with the picket fence. Settle down with the old ball and chain complete with the hella vanilla sex life.
I want my 15 minutes goddamn it. And I think that is why they did it. All of them. After being shown no love, no attention, no admiration from those closest to them. This was their shot. Their one chance at glory.
Oh sure, say they were deranged. Sadistic. Power mongers. The killing itself served no purpose. It’s not like they did us any favors by taking out people like Hitler, or Stalin, or Mao.
They didn’t rid us of the scum of society. They all knew eventually it would come to end. Thirty percent of serial killers are caught because of their ties to the victim. They want people to know it was them.
And I will say this, not every kid who mistreats animals grows up to be a sadistic killer. There were plenty of times the family dogs wandered into the war zones in my backyard only to meet the wrong end of a pellet gun. And yet here I am living the dream in absolute obscurity.
Make no mistake people. It does not take years of psycho-analysis to know what makes people such as this tick. The standouts. The eccentrics. The egotists. But yet, we almost revere them. Their lives are digitally captured for so many future generations.
And we come back. We tune in. We salivate. Hell, we would even meet them if the opportunity was there. Don’t say you wouldn’t, you fucking sanctimonious prick. You are not that high and mighty. You would relish the chance to sit across from them. Go toe to toe with them with just a small pane of glass to keep you from being eaten alive. The adrenaline rush alone would probably be better than sex.
We don’t want to talk to the little guy. The guy who plays by the rules.
Goes to church.
Holds a steady job.
Does the dishes.
Kisses his wife and kids good by.
The guy who has been turned down so many times he’s living in his parent's basement saving up for the true-to-life sex doll.
Goddamn that shit is so boring.
Yet we watch. We too want to be badass. We too want to be remembered by history.
And that is why they did what they did.
But I still don’t know why you are so enamored with them. But you might. You watch because you know, deep down inside, the places you won’t talk about, the places you are ashamed of, the places you want to reveal but won’t. That’s why we do it. But you won’t say, will you?
I know you. Your kind. In that place you don’t want to admit exists, you see a tiny bit of them.
And them in you.
Don’t worry. I won’t tell.
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