Look, Mr. Serial Killer, when it comes to death I know you’re the expert and everything, but really, shouldn’t I be dead by now?
I mean, you’ve been at this for hours now. And sure, I know you said that you’re having “a lot of fun” with all this torture. But I think it was about the time that you suggested putting the needles in my eyes that I began to wonder if all this torture was less about savoring the kill, and more about procrastinating.
Trust me, I know all about it. There have been plenty of times when I’m at the office and I’ll just sit there and shuffle the papers on my desk back and forth for a while. To the untrained eye, it might look like I’m getting the job done, but really I’m just delaying the inevitable.
You’re a serial KILLER, for Christ’s sake. Not a serial torturer. There’s no way around it. At some point or another, you’re going to have to kill me.
So what are we doing here dancing around the issue with a bunch of knife pricks, branding irons and bathtubs filled with piranhas? Seriously, why preoccupy yourself with coming up with newer and more novel ways to slowly drain the blood from my body? One bullet to the head sure would be a lot faster, and would deliver the exact same results: my death.
While I’ve been sitting here, strapped to this makeshift operating table (naked), my mind has wandered a bit (you’ve given me A LOT of time to think). And in all that time, I couldn’t help but realize that a more efficient serial killer could have killed 10, maybe 12 victims by now.
I know you said earlier that you were more interested in quality than quantity. And for most professions, I suppose that might be a valid argument. But you’re a SERIAL killer. Really, when it all comes down to it, you’re job is nothing more than a numbers game.
I hate to say it, but all this dilly-dallying really makes me think that this might be your first murder attempt. You sir, are no Jeffrey Dahmer (now that guy could kill people!). And sure, we’ve all got to start somewhere, but there are some professions where on-the-job training simply won’t do.
I mean, if I wasn’t such a nice guy, I might have used these past few hours to formulate an escape plan. And it would have been pretty easy too, because the strap holding my right hand down is pretty loose. See? I can slip that little guy right out of there.
Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t think all of your victims are going to be as patient as I am. And if I’d gotten away, then what? Not only would I NOT be dead, but I’d probably march right on over to the police station to report you.
Is that what you want!? To go to jail? No, I don’t think so. So why don’t we stop beating around the bush here? Put that sulfuric acid down and let’s get down to business! Shooting. Stabbing. Choking. It’s your choice. But so help me God, if I’m still alive in 5 minutes, I’m going to be pretty darn angry with you. So stop dawdling and GET TO IT ALREADY!
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