Wasn’t I? I grew up in an old style family. My parents used to tell me to be grateful with anyone who were taking care of me and my family. Sigh! They even taught me to say “thank you” to people who helped me and my relatives, they taught me. Sigh!
No, it is not true. They were the ugliest fuckers you couldn’t ever had heard. My mother was totally fucked up and became a prostitute, I don’t know why, and my father was a drunken fucking chop always along the cliff. When I was pretty young, was introduced to masters who could be able to improve my life-style. You can figure out what kind of masters! You know, I wasn’t perfect. I was really happy for having been showed up those masters but, unfortunately, I fell asleep when they pronounced those smart, wise words. Those curvy words were not able to stroke my boring daytime.
However, sigh!, you know, I didn’t feel good when they shouted “Hey you, motherfucker! You fucking dumbasshole, come here and shut up”. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t polite. I don’t want to tell you what happened after that: my body and soul are still suffering those injures.
Suddenly, I became a bad boy; my beautiful complexion turned ugly and I started to react people’s wickedness. It was obvious, truly normal, really human.
Now, you could think: “Is this man a stupid or a fucker? What’s this story? Pure joking?”. No men. That’s not the matter! I’m not a moron nor a sucker. I was just misleaded and manipulated.
I grew up this way, going on suffering bad manners from the mob, always frightened by awful attacks. I wasn’t prepared for life as well as for fighting. When a teenager, things were getting worse and worse. Anyway no problem men. I started to self-defence, took a gun-machine and had my revenge. Ohh, sweet, sweet revenge. I could imagine my victims’ shitty blood getting out their fucking bodies, men. Ayeee!! They, ugly fucking butts fullfilled of the bullets I shot them.
Yeeesss, I was having my wonderful revenge enjoying any holy minute my victims suffered.
My life-style changed, of course. I had no fear, no pain, no doubts anymore. It was like touching the sky with my bloody, shiny fingers pointing the air above me. What a wonderful sensation, what a fantastic power I could feel at that time.
I wasn’t a good boy anymore. I considered women as dirty whores and men likely fucking loosers without any hope. They deserved to be slaughtered. I started my killing training slaughtering those fuckers, men or women, in order to clean the world and chill my inflamed mind.
I managed my terryfing new life with no problem, like an almond-shaped eye in Asia. I escaped detention several times. (I can tell you policemen are not so smart as to catch murderers like me). Eventually, they caught me and put me into this stinky jail, where I’m spending my fucking time, remembering my bloody life.
Get back to my tale. One day I was looking at my face in the mirror of my bathroom and saw an ugly face looking at me. I saw a terrible image, a so gross cock spooging into the dark dump that my life then was. Anyway, guys, believe me: it’s a job like others! Huh!
If I was able to criticize my image at the mirror it meant I still had, inside myself, a reminiscence of humaneness. At that dreadful sight I thought I would die. I hadn’t a soul anymore; I wasn’t a human being anymore.
But this episode didn’t stop me killing people, it just displaced my reasons. I became a rational killer, a mindful murderer.
Excerpts from the un-authorized self-biography of Eugene Zadros, serial killer.
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