Jesus fucking Christ, I hate Christians! They’re self-righteous, pompous assholes who believe that the entire world revolves around them. Fucking assholes. But the trait I hate most in Christians is their utter inability to use birth control.

The Duggar Family is a good ol’ family from Arkansas, who, according to the front page of their website, happen to have 18 fucking kids! Yes, they have 18 kids. The thing is, they used to use birth control, but the wife apparently got pregnant, had a miscarriage, and was incredibly upset over it. I have one question: why? If I was a female, I’d be hoping for miscarriages every time I got pregnant (which wouldn’t be frequently, because I’m smart enough to use birth control). I think miscarriages are a blessing. More people should have them. Child birth isn’t a miracle. It happens hundreds of thousands of times per day. The ability to use birth control is a miracle. We have too many people on Earth! Stop fucking!

Of course, being the asshole Christians that they are, they can’t just let their kids grow up and make their own decisions about their religious affiliations, they have to indoctrinate them when they’re young and gullible. It’s incredibly sick. Everyone knows that if you wait until children are older to indoctrinate them, they will take it no more seriously than Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny. Here’s a challenge for you Christians: if you have so much faith in your god, why don’t you wait until your children are capable of thinking for themselves before you start indoctrinating them. See how many of them fall for your bullshit then. I’m guessing very few, if any, will convert to the Dark Side.

And due to the Duggar Family’s utter inability to use birth control, or even to abstain from sexual contact for more than five minutes at a time, they have contributed to the world’s destruction. That’s 18 people who will grow up, have 18 more kids of their own, all of them dipshits (as all Christians are). That’s 324 people who will hold up traffic, preach at you and tell you you’re going to hell, drive gas-guzzling SUVs, ruin the environment, and refuse to tip waitresses on Sundays because they think people shouldn’t work on Sundays. Of course, the Christians don’t care about the environment, because the Rapture is coming soon, and the environment won’t be their problem at that point. We have to stop them! Contact your Congressman! Tell them we need laws against Christians reproducing so often and frequently! Tell them we need laws in place governing their reproductive behavior!

I know what you’re thinking: “It’s none of your business what they do in the bedroom! If they want to have 18 kids, let them have 18 kids! It’s not hurting anyone LOLOLOLOLOLZ!” But the thing is, it IS my business, and it IS hurting everyone. As I said in the above paragraph, they’re destructive assholes who don’t give a shit about the environment, because they believe the Rapture is coming soon, which is a very scary thought. Their complete disregard for people who aren’t like THEM is absolutely frightening.

Also, the Christians like to view themselves as America’s Parents, and if they see fit to try to govern what other people do in their bedroom (I am referring, of course, to the Christians’ stance on homosexuality), I think I can do the same. It goes both ways, assholes.

I hope the Rapture does come soon. I can’t wait for the wacko, nutty Fundamentalist Christians to get the fuck off planet Earth.

As I watch people live their lives, treat others like shit, and generally act like assholes, I think about killing them. I can’t kill them, of course, but I want to kill them. I fantasize about killing them. To watch the pathetic life drain from their eyes, to witness the extraordinary pain I inflict eating at them, to smell their fear. It’s all exquisite. What other way to cure the human condition than to root out the weak and pathetic? In these fantasies, I am the Tool of Darwin, natural selection of the social variety. The cleaner of that great Gene Pool.

I watch, and I listen, and I am appalled. You see, I was brought up in a manner that some may call “old-fashioned.” I lived by the Golden Rule. Treat others as you would have them treat you. But that rule seems to have been long forgotten in this selfish age of ours. Not that selfishness is evil, mind you. But if one’s selfish decisions impact others negatively, I can’t help but feel the need for revenge. There are some people that just need killing.

In my fantasies, I capture one such human, one that needs killing, and I bring him back to my home. He’s unconscious, of course, so I have to drag him to the door, and throw him into the living room. Of course, the jolt wakes him up, and for a brief second, confusion fills his eyes. He is tied up, so escape is improbable, and in this fantasy, impossible. He starts screaming, so I cut his vocal cords, and hear nothing but his wheezy, rasping breath escaping from the hole in his throat I so lovingly cut. The air bubbles in the blood are a nice touch. And he is trembling.

I start by cutting his face. He may not be able to scream, but that doesn’t affect his facial expressions much. The raspy wheezing gets louder, and I savor every facial tic, every nuance of fear. I cut off his cheeks. I leave his eyes intact, because I want to see the life fade from them.

I start cutting toes next, making sure to dispose of every piece of meat I cut by placing it into a trash bag. He wants to scream, but can’t, and I’m sure he feels the helplessness of the situation, which, in turn, gets me off. “You are not in control any longer,” I say to him. “I am in control of you. I am your god. I determine whether you live or die.” Of course, he will die. It’s my fucking fantasy.

I won’t bore you with details, however, when it’s all said and done, he is in 39 parts, all in the trash bag. I dispose of the body by pouring salt in the bag, (to try to keep the body from rotting and smelling) tying it up, and driving it three miles from here, placing it into a dumpster. The trash will be dumped before he is discovered missing, and an investigation ensues. As I have no personal ties to the man in question, it is highly unlikely that I would be a suspect in his death.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the heart to kill. But I do have the heart to injure, maim, and torture. And my next student is waiting for me…

Picture this: a young man in his twenties, standing in line at the counter, to buy a pack of cigarettes. He did not have his ID on him, and, as the law requires, he was carded. Obviously he can’t get his pack of cigarettes, but rather than get mad at himself for his own ignorance, he takes it out on the cashier, calling her names, and threatening her with physical violence, threatening to get her fired. Needless to say it quite angered me. So I followed him out of the store.

He got in his car, and I got into mine. Fortunately, he lives not far from the store in question, so I didn’t have to follow him long enough for him to get suspicious. I noted where he parked his car, and parked mine a couple blocks down. I got out of the car, and grabbed my handy-dandy handkerchief, soaked it with the finest chloroform, picked up a box of toothpicks, and walked up to the door.

Knocked. Knocked twice. No answer. Give it a minute. He’s here I know he’s here he’s here I know he’s here. Knock. Knock. Door opens, and I greet my host with the handkerchief across the face. Hold it, hold it, almost. Done. He’s out, and I can begin my lessons.

He comes to, surprised to find himself tied to a chair. He tries to scream, but fortunately for me, I thought to gag him as well. I hit him hard across both kneecaps with a baseball bat I found in one of the rooms. He’s still screaming. SHUT THE FUCK UP! I hit him across the face with the bat, and he stops.

Comes to again, but this time I tell him, “You must be in excruciating pain right now, and there’s only one way to make it stop. You sit, and you listen. No, I’m not here to kill you. I just feel that you’re in need of some crash courses in proper… etiquette, if you will. Make one sound that is not asked of you, and you will feel more pain. Got it?” He whimpers, nods his head, and I continue.

“I followed you here. In fact, I’ve been watching you for the last two days, and you’re quite the peach. I’ve seen how you interact with other members of your species, and I think I can say with accuracy that it’s less than desirable behavior. Eight times I’ve seen you act rudely to your fellow humans, disrespecting anyone who even remotely disagrees with you. I find this behavior to be unacceptable, and I’m here for the sole purpose of righting these wrongs in you.” He says nothing. I take the box of toothpicks from my pocket, and open them. I start ramming them under his fingernails.

“MMMmmMM!” he tries to scream, rather pathetically. “Now, now, don’t forget what happened the last time,” I say, waving my pointer finger in front of his face, scolding him like a child. “I wouldn’t want to have to start injuring more… vital body parts, if you catch my meaning.” He immediately silences himself, and I finish with the toothpicks. Eight of them.

“What you see here are eight toothpicks, one for each transgression I’ve witnessed from you personally. I’m sure there are more, but I’m only counting the ones I’ve witnessed. I want you to think of every person you’ve been rude to, I want you to think of them over the course of the next few hours. Think of what caused you to behave in such a manner. When the pain gets worse, as it inevitably will, I want you to think even harder. You see, the goal is to learn to associate these behaviors with horrific physical pain, so you won’t feel compelled to repeat the behaviors.” I light the first toothpick, the one on the pinky finger of his right hand. “You’ll feel a burning sensation, which will steadily worsen as the toothpick continues to burn. When the toothpick is halfway burned, I will light the second one, and continue in that fashion until all of them have been extinguished. During this time, I want you to really think about what you’ve done. Think about the damage you’ve done by treating people the way you’ve been treating them over the last few years. And don’t you scream, either.” He nods. It has begun.

The fire from the first toothpick is starting to graze his finger a little, and I can see him struggling not to scream. “Don’t even think about screaming. Think about what you’ve done. Each bit of pain you will feel is the pain you’ve inflicted by your coarse words, threats, and general disrespect. You will feel it. There’s no way out of it.”

During the coarse of the next 90 minutes, I teach, burning toothpick after toothpick. In fact, I had to redo my teachings, as he hadn’t learned when I had finished the first time, yelling “Fuck you! You’re a fucking dead man!” Of course, I don’t take threats lightly, and was dismayed by his slow learning speed, but what can you expect from Homo sapiens? All in all, they’re a rather stupid race of beings. I’m surprised they’ve survived this long…

But after the second course, he was all smiles and politeness. Let’s hope it sticks.

11:13 p.m.

You know, I probably wouldn’t be such a bitter, angry person if people would just stop being pricks, if they’d actually treat their fellow human beings with respect. I’ve started locking myself in my house, afraid to leave, not because people frighten me, but because they anger me with the way they behave towards members of their own species.

There’s no fucking excuse for people to be this rude. However, despite the amount of anger I feel towards the human race in general (ever the misanthrope, I am), I somehow manage not to kill people. Which is saying a lot, because sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just throttle someone. Just really start choking the shit out of them, watching the life fade from their mean eyes. You know, the sorts of things that the disillusioned and apathetic dream about. People like me.

And I’m sure that people who are close to me will read this, thinking I’ve finally snapped, that I will end up being just another statistic, a serial killer with a grudge. But I’m not a killer. I never will kill. I can’t. It’s not in my nature. But fantasizing about killing people is in every human’s nature. There is not one person alive who has never fantasized about ending the life of someone they felt was deserving of it. It’s only human to seek revenge, to feel the desire to lash out, to mete out justice where needed. Anyone who claims they never think about harming another person is full of shit. It’s simple self-preservation, the instinct to protect one’s own. It’s that fucking simple.

But the key difference between me and a serial killer is that I only think of it. It is merely a passing thought, but a powerful one. I would never carry these thoughts out. It is simply not in my nature to do so. I fully know right from wrong, and honestly have no desire to end another person’s life. But the need for revenge, however, is almost over-powering. I want people to feel bad for the way they treat others. I want them to understand how the way they act affects others. I want them to learn from their mistakes and never repeat them. I don’t want them to die. I just want to teach them. That’s all…

And, though I could never actually kill a person, I do know that I am certainly capable of hurting them. Oh, how I could hurt them, and what better way to instill in a person my teachings than through the exquisite pain that only I know how to inflict? For it is the pain that teaches quickly. Self-preservation and all that shit. You learn to associate the pain with certain behaviors that appear to be causing the pain, and due to our inherent natures to avoid pain at all costs, learn to stop the behavior associated with the pain. It’s that fucking simple…

I was invited by some friends to go to the Rocky Horror Picture Show in Lafayette. Well, not so much invited as forced against my will to go, because they’d bought my outfit to wear. I dressed as Janet. They apparently thought it would be funny to make me go in drag. Not only that, but if you dress up as a character in the movie, you get one whole dollar taken off your admission price. So, for those of you who have yet to send in your dares (remember, I’m doing that whole thing where you email me dares and I video tape them), this video is proof that I’m really not scared to do anything. I mean, I dressed up as a girl and went out in public for several hours! How many people do that?

It was lots of fun, especially because they had a bar! A bar! I got drunk and had a blast. It was more fun than I thought it would be. I had originally intended to record the entire thing and put it on the website, but the theater was so dark, I couldn’t film it. But I do have video evidence of my little excursion. It’s a pretty large file, so if you don’t have broadband, give up now.

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