Serial killers (revisited)

21 Mar

too close to home

too close to home

My ex-girlfriend used to ask me why I was hesitant to have kids with her. I’d answer without any hesitation whatsoever, ” Because two crazy people can’t have kids. I’m one ” Hey Bulldog” listen away from losing my mind and starting my own cult out in Topanga Canyon.

Obviously black people don’t make good serial killers (except that guy from Texas who killed all those defenseless women in Michigan but he just looked off).

We usually get arrested the first time we kill someone. White guys get the benefit of the doubt. It usually takes a disgusting stench from someone’s basement or accidentally stumbling upon bodies in a guy’s trunk before they get busted (It took them forever to catch the Green River Killer, Ted Bundy, Gacy, and Dahmer)

Everyone always acts so surprised ” Oh you know he was a pretty quiet neighbor, kept to himself a lot, but he was quite considerate, he always offered to take out my garbage.” 

You have to have a weird sort of respect for serial killers though. It’s hard work, and it’s not like you can make a living killing people as a full time job (unless you’re George W. Bush or Tom Ridge)

Imagine there are people who hold full time jobs working 8-12 hours a day, then stalk their prey, kill them and methodically dispose of all the evidence. Now that’s hard work.

If I was that dedicated in my own hustle, I’d be a Pulitzer Prize winning author. I’m too lazy. I’ve considered killing people,but after racking my brain I realized just how difficult it is getting away with something like that.

Now I’ve masterminded thefts of massive quantity of candy, and I’ve cheated in high school science to get through my sophomore year. But to think of all the different ways a crime can be linked back to you, it is befuddling to think that some people have gotten away with it once, let alone fifteen plus times. How mentally cool do you have to be? It’s scary enough drinking and driving.

There was this one time in college, when I was having difficulty getting over an ex-girlfriend, that my grief and distress led me to sit and ponder on a small hill (that happened to sit about 75 yards from the front of her apartment). 

I was just sitting there 1:30 in the morning watching for when her new man would step onto her porch to leave. It was freezing cold, the middle of December if I recall correctly, and I just wanted to see a glimpse of the guy who was stoking my ex-old lady’s thighs. I just needed to see what he looked like, just for comparison’s sake.

It was driving me crazy and I couldn’t believe the state of mind I was had created this reality. And then I thought, “I wonder if this was how O. J. felt.” For whatever reason thinking this made me do a quick psychological evaluation of myself. I grabbed my backpack and immediately got to my feet. Then I hurriedly made my way home.

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