Fact, Fiction, and Blatant Lies

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Cover of book



Streetshore Creative






22 July 2002 - 9:54 p.m.

Open letter to the murderer of Samantha Runnion:

Do you understand that you are defective?

That you are not an evil genius?

That you are not testing any boundaries?

Are you aware that you are not expressing yourself?

Do you understand that when your father's sperm and your mother's egg met that something went wrong?

Do you understand that you are defective?

That there is something wrong with you?

That you are an abomination?

Do you know the definition of abomination?

An abomination is a crime against nature.

Do you understand that you are fundamentally incompatible with the universe?

Do you understand that you are defective?

Do you understand that millions of people would be better off if you were never born?

Millions.

Millions.

Millions.

Millions.

Do you understand that you are defective?

That you are missing something important?

That you are, at best, incompplete?

That you are less than evil?

That you are smaller than evil?

Evil implies knowledge of good.

Do you realize that you have wasted your life's worth of food an air?

That it could have been better used to feed maggots or rats?

Do you understand that people who are militantly against the death penalty want you dead?

Do you understand that you have chipped away at the overall good of the world?

That you have changed me?

That if I found you, I would kill you my self?

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

My self.

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