I've Got To Stop Taking Lives So Seriously

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Vol 39 Issue 16

Chimp Study On Human-Evasion Response To Feces-Hurling Nearly Complete

MADISON, WI—Chimpanzees at the University of Wisconsin's Primate Laboratory are nearing completion of a two-year study on human-evasion response to hurled feces, sources reported Tuesday. "Our research shows that Homo sapiens experience extreme agitation and an urge to flee when pelted with baseball-sized lumps of primate scat," said Dr. Jingles, speaking from his research cage. "In 10 out of 10 cases, our test subjects retreated to the far corner of the room and screamed, 'Stop! Stop! AIIIIGH!'" Dr. Jingles first made his mark in science in 1993, when he earned a Nobel Prize for conclusively proving the deliciousness of bananas.

Horse-Race Announcer Clearly Had Money on 'Little Dancer'

LOUISVILLE, KY—Judging by his call of Tuesday's third race at Churchill Downs, thoroughbred-race announcer Pat Ellis clearly had money on Little Dancer. "In the rear, trailing by 11 lengths, it's Little Dancer," said Ellis over Churchill Downs' public-address system. "Little Dancer not responding to the fast track like a lot of people insisted she would." Calling the race's exciting photo-finish between Indian Express and Kingston Kid, Ellis said: "And down the stretch they come! Indian Express and Kingston Kid neck and neck! Goddammit."

Family Embarrassed By Way Son Died

SAN ANGELO, TX—The parents and siblings of Cris Aulter, 25, expressed deep shame and embarrassment Tuesday over his accidental death from autoerotic asphyxiation. "I cannot express how deeply mortified I am," said John Aulter, 52, the boy's father. "I mean, where in the world did Cris get the idea to suffocate himself while jerking off? How will I ever show my face around the office again?" Aulter said he plans to tell friends and coworkers that his son was hit by a car.

Restaurant Patron Seeking Corroboration That Soda Is Not Diet

WAYLAND, NY—While eating lunch at the Back Porch Cafe Monday, a suspicious Diane Rollo, 43, sought confirmation from her lunch companions that the beverage in her glass was regular Coke and not diet. "Does this taste like diet to you?" asked Rollo, who ordered a Diet Coke, before handing the drink to Liz Lauderdorf. "This tastes like regular to me." After passing the drink to two other people at the table for sampling, Rollo said she was "70 percent sure" the soda was regular and sent it back.

The New York City Budget Crisis

With a deficit o $3.8 billion, New York is facing its worst fiscal crisis in three decades. How is Mayor Bloomberg making up for the shortfall?

The Dixie Chicks Controversy

The members of Dixie Chicks have been the focus of boycotts ever since saying they are ashamed to hail from the same state as President Bush. What do you think?
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I've Got To Stop Taking Lives So Seriously

I like to think of myself as a pretty happy person, but sometimes I'm a little too hard on myself. It's only natural to want to do the best job you can, but often, I'll get so caught up in the moment that I forget that slaughtering innocent people is supposed to be fun. I really need to stop taking lives so seriously.

When I turned 40, I looked in the mirror and realized that I was probably never going to be the most notorious serial killer who ever lived. That thought really depressed me. But then, one day, I said to myself, if I can leave this world remembered by my victims' loved ones, then I've made a true difference. As much as I know that's true, though, I still lose sight of it from time to time.

Whatever happened to those sunny teenage years, when I could go down to the railroad tracks, sever a dog's vocal cords, and happily hum "The Thieving Magpie" as I slowly skinned him alive? I used to have such a blast doing stuff like that. Every kill was a new adventure. Now, it's more of a grind.

I keep asking myself, if it's not fun, why bother? Why go through the trouble of sneaking into an innocent person's house, smothering him with a chloroform-soaked sofa cushion, and cooking and eating a stew of his intestines if I'm not going to enjoy it? After all, lives are short.

I'm always beating myself up over, "Oh, if only I'd killed one more hitchhiker last month, I could've bought myself that big freezer that holds four adults." Rather than dwell on the missed opportunities, I need to be proud of the people I did kill.

Recently, I've been trying to think more creatively to find new ways to bring back the joy. Here's one idea: After a few hours of torturing a victim, I'd leave the dungeon for a while and "forget" to tighten one of his manacles so he could manage to free himself. Then, just when he thinks he's about to escape to sweet, sweet freedom, he flings open the cellar door to find me standing there wagging my finger, saying, "Tut, tut, tut..." Then I drag him back to the cellar and brutally torture him as punishment for trying to escape. Maybe some fun little project like that is all I need.

I'd also love to pursue my "death match arena" project, in which I cage several receptionists for a week or so with nothing to eat but my feces, and then dose them all with cocaine and make them fight each other for more coke. I'd need at least 100 square feet for that, but I could make room if I consolidate my Pain Lab into just the electrified clamps and soldering irons. And I could make a neat little scoreboard at Kinko's. That'd be a hoot.

You know those silent movies where they tie the girl to the log and send it toward the huge sawblade? Maybe I could do a version of that where the blade moves really, really slow, like an inch an hour. Or I could always go back to kidnapping families and forcing them to act out Jack Chick comics. That was always a blast.

So I guess the lesson here is, it's never too late to rediscover the fun. Yes, there's hope for me yet. I just have to remember to stop and smell the roses before stuffing them into victims' empty eye sockets.

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