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I Have Murder in My Mind

I am normally a very, very nice man. There are very few things that get my goat, no matter how dire the situation.

One of them, sadly, happens to be bad writers.

I am presently editing the work of a twenty-something excuse for an imbeccillic monkey given the God-given gift of using a keyboard. And, unfortunately, a computer with an Internet connection.

And because of this, this . . . ABOMINATION, I make one solemn promise.

Should the gods be kind enough to provide me with the chance to meet this writer personally, I will smile, and slowly, slowly gut him / her whilst he/she is living in order to extract only the most succulent, purest and most inimicable sort of pain. The most unadulterated scream of pain shall be like the tinkling of little piano keys in my ears. I will smile as his / her blood slowly drains from the body, the ebb of life from it's mortal shell. And just before he/she knocks out from sheer hemorrhagic pain, I will eschew a hole on his / her back and pull out his / her spinal cord.

AMEN.

Because some things just don't deserve to live.

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