If I go out at night, kill a bunch of people, render Jackson Pollock type imagery with their innards and drink their blood but I have done this every year for the past 30 years on the anniversary of killing my first hooker and skull fucking the corpse. Does that make me a spree killer or a serial killer? Honestly, there are so many labels for those of us who gain pleasure from artistic slaughter that one doesn't know how to correctly handle the confession to be read along with my will.
I would very much like my life story to be told in a big budget Hollywood production with a suave sophisticate playing yours truly but perhaps done in the style of David Lynch with the hopelessly inept police force portrayed by a cross eyed chimpanzee in a sailor suit.
I very much like the idea of a scene shot in stop motion 'Matrix' style of body parts joining together to become whole missing only the organs that were deemed the most tasty on the given night. Winter time stews of liver, kidneys and brains for a hearty, warming feast and delicate crisps made fron eyelids and female genitalia for those glorious June sunsets.
Suggestions of merit as to the naming of my endeavours and perhaps a pseudonym would be appreciated whilst spam and inarticulate ramblings may see you as an entrée.
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Scoundrel
