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Become a Serial Killer

  1. #1
    by intentionally catching and then spreading covid 19 and then spreading it to weak and vulnerable persons.

    especially the olds.
  2. #2
    covid isn't real
    The following users say it would be alright if the author of this post didn't die in a fire!
  3. #3
    DrugSmuggler African Astronaut
    Really Easy to Follow 7 Steps in Becoming a Serial Killer…..DUH 🙄

    Step 1) Deliberately have no contact with any formal parents whether on the mom’s side or the father’s. As a child, hold pent up anger and blame the world for your misfortune. If you’re in a foster home, yell at your caretakers that they’re not your real parents.

    Step 2) With all the time in the world, lay your curiosity on dead animals. Handle their corpses. If you can withstand the guts and gore, inspect the insides further by slicing through the belly of the creature and caring for it. It can be a squirrel, a rabbit, a possum, a cat, or a dog—it doesn’t matter. In the end, taking the head as a souvenir can be cathartic for your morbid fascination.

    Step 3) Watch humans interacting daily. Watch from park benches, café seats, or bus stops. Imagine carving the skin of these people like a pumpkin on All Hallows’ Eve. Picture their blood drying on wallpaper, splotching on your clothes, their listless eyes turned up to show first snow.

    Step 4) Create an alter-ego. Fantasize you are the most important person amongst a thousand of your body guards. You are the leader of forty legions of phantoms who shadow you around. You are worth something, no matter what anybody else says. You are one of a kind—and those others are nothing but a fleck of mote circling around your stratosphere.

    Step 5) Remember: practice small and expand your horizon. By killing humans, you are doing them a favor. They’ve always wanted to die, you see. Their meaningless, drab life of waking up, going to work, returning home to rinse and repeat, straddling the night air like a tailcoat wanting to end, only to discover their cure for their ailments hides back in a clock on a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday that comes along all too slowly. It’s the same as your never-ending torment that winds itself up and ticks toward its bottomless chasm.

    Step 6) Select your victim. Follow her to her car. Appear lost; befuddled, pretend you are not of the area. Approach her slowly, smiling. Explain you need cash since your car is broken down at an intersection and is out of gas. You need a lift. Her hair maybe auburn, black, brunette, or blonde. Whatever the case, she steps back, hesitant. You notice her skin under the light, soft and supple. She denies your request. She runs, but before she can get any farther down the street yelling for help, you yank her hair and pull her back as she screams. You clamp a hand over her mouth. You muffle her, of course, to prevent drawing attention. Count the seconds. Slide the knife across the throat without puncturing and feel the pulse throb in her neck, oh how rapidly, begging to live. You pull her in; throw her in the vehicle, as you drive, the sharp instrument gleaming out in the open. She’ll cower and weep for her children, but do not be swayed. She’ll yammer on about her family history and how she must live, please don’t hurt her. Please don’t—I won’t tell anyone who you are. I swear, I swear to God. Assure her you’ll let her live if she complies. And she will—they always do.

    Step 7) Make it quick. Hear how the heart beats so wildly. When you are finished, feel the life seep out of her slowly with glazed eyes. The face stiffening from rigor mortis, the stench of blood tickles your nostrils. Do you as you please with the body, because dead is dead. No one will find about your depraved acts until your next victim. You are God. Let them promise you. Let them swear. Eventually, detectives will come knocking and ask you questions. News reporters’ bulbs flash in your face as you are taken into the station. A movie is scripted in your name, inspired by you. In court hearing, a jury decides your fate. You plea insanity, but you know the truth: you can be sentenced for a lesser charge if you reveal the bodies of the rest of the corpses, which you should, even though some of them have passed through your stomach. You can lie about how many you’ve killed—stretch the truth—or never reveal where they were buried. But do not tell them about the phantoms or the voices or even I. You will become a legend.
  4. #4
    Even better, become a serial killer killer.
  5. #5
    Sudo Black Hole [my hereto riemannian peach]
    Originally posted by DrugSmuggler Really Easy to Follow 7 Steps in Becoming a Serial Killer…..DUH 🙄

    Step 1) Deliberately have no contact with any formal parents whether on the mom’s side or the father’s. As a child, hold pent up anger and blame the world for your misfortune. If you’re in a foster home, yell at your caretakers that they’re not your real parents.

    Step 2) With all the time in the world, lay your curiosity on dead animals. Handle their corpses. If you can withstand the guts and gore, inspect the insides further by slicing through the belly of the creature and caring for it. It can be a squirrel, a rabbit, a possum, a cat, or a dog—it doesn’t matter. In the end, taking the head as a souvenir can be cathartic for your morbid fascination.

    Step 3) Watch humans interacting daily. Watch from park benches, café seats, or bus stops. Imagine carving the skin of these people like a pumpkin on All Hallows’ Eve. Picture their blood drying on wallpaper, splotching on your clothes, their listless eyes turned up to show first snow.

    Step 4) Create an alter-ego. Fantasize you are the most important person amongst a thousand of your body guards. You are the leader of forty legions of phantoms who shadow you around. You are worth something, no matter what anybody else says. You are one of a kind—and those others are nothing but a fleck of mote circling around your stratosphere.

    Step 5) Remember: practice small and expand your horizon. By killing humans, you are doing them a favor. They’ve always wanted to die, you see. Their meaningless, drab life of waking up, going to work, returning home to rinse and repeat, straddling the night air like a tailcoat wanting to end, only to discover their cure for their ailments hides back in a clock on a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday that comes along all too slowly. It’s the same as your never-ending torment that winds itself up and ticks toward its bottomless chasm.

    Step 6) Select your victim. Follow her to her car. Appear lost; befuddled, pretend you are not of the area. Approach her slowly, smiling. Explain you need cash since your car is broken down at an intersection and is out of gas. You need a lift. Her hair maybe auburn, black, brunette, or blonde. Whatever the case, she steps back, hesitant. You notice her skin under the light, soft and supple. She denies your request. She runs, but before she can get any farther down the street yelling for help, you yank her hair and pull her back as she screams. You clamp a hand over her mouth. You muffle her, of course, to prevent drawing attention. Count the seconds. Slide the knife across the throat without puncturing and feel the pulse throb in her neck, oh how rapidly, begging to live. You pull her in; throw her in the vehicle, as you drive, the sharp instrument gleaming out in the open. She’ll cower and weep for her children, but do not be swayed. She’ll yammer on about her family history and how she must live, please don’t hurt her. Please don’t—I won’t tell anyone who you are. I swear, I swear to God. Assure her you’ll let her live if she complies. And she will—they always do.

    Step 7) Make it quick. Hear how the heart beats so wildly. When you are finished, feel the life seep out of her slowly with glazed eyes. The face stiffening from rigor mortis, the stench of blood tickles your nostrils. Do you as you please with the body, because dead is dead. No one will find about your depraved acts until your next victim. You are God. Let them promise you. Let them swear. Eventually, detectives will come knocking and ask you questions. News reporters’ bulbs flash in your face as you are taken into the station. A movie is scripted in your name, inspired by you. In court hearing, a jury decides your fate. You plea insanity, but you know the truth: you can be sentenced for a lesser charge if you reveal the bodies of the rest of the corpses, which you should, even though some of them have passed through your stomach. You can lie about how many you’ve killed—stretch the truth—or never reveal where they were buried. But do not tell them about the phantoms or the voices or even I. You will become a legend.

    This website sometimes features some good story telling.
    The following users say it would be alright if the author of this post didn't die in a fire!
  6. #6
    Originally posted by DrugSmuggler Really Easy to Follow 7 Steps in Becoming a Serial Killer…..DUH 🙄

    Step 1) Deliberately have no contact with any formal parents whether on the mom’s side or the father’s. As a child, hold pent up anger and blame the world for your misfortune. If you’re in a foster home, yell at your caretakers that they’re not your real parents.

    Step 2) With all the time in the world, lay your curiosity on dead animals. Handle their corpses. If you can withstand the guts and gore, inspect the insides further by slicing through the belly of the creature and caring for it. It can be a squirrel, a rabbit, a possum, a cat, or a dog—it doesn’t matter. In the end, taking the head as a souvenir can be cathartic for your morbid fascination.

    Step 3) Watch humans interacting daily. Watch from park benches, café seats, or bus stops. Imagine carving the skin of these people like a pumpkin on All Hallows’ Eve. Picture their blood drying on wallpaper, splotching on your clothes, their listless eyes turned up to show first snow.

    Step 4) Create an alter-ego. Fantasize you are the most important person amongst a thousand of your body guards. You are the leader of forty legions of phantoms who shadow you around. You are worth something, no matter what anybody else says. You are one of a kind—and those others are nothing but a fleck of mote circling around your stratosphere.

    Step 5) Remember: practice small and expand your horizon. By killing humans, you are doing them a favor. They’ve always wanted to die, you see. Their meaningless, drab life of waking up, going to work, returning home to rinse and repeat, straddling the night air like a tailcoat wanting to end, only to discover their cure for their ailments hides back in a clock on a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday that comes along all too slowly. It’s the same as your never-ending torment that winds itself up and ticks toward its bottomless chasm.

    Step 6) Select your victim. Follow her to her car. Appear lost; befuddled, pretend you are not of the area. Approach her slowly, smiling. Explain you need cash since your car is broken down at an intersection and is out of gas. You need a lift. Her hair maybe auburn, black, brunette, or blonde. Whatever the case, she steps back, hesitant. You notice her skin under the light, soft and supple. She denies your request. She runs, but before she can get any farther down the street yelling for help, you yank her hair and pull her back as she screams. You clamp a hand over her mouth. You muffle her, of course, to prevent drawing attention. Count the seconds. Slide the knife across the throat without puncturing and feel the pulse throb in her neck, oh how rapidly, begging to live. You pull her in; throw her in the vehicle, as you drive, the sharp instrument gleaming out in the open. She’ll cower and weep for her children, but do not be swayed. She’ll yammer on about her family history and how she must live, please don’t hurt her. Please don’t—I won’t tell anyone who you are. I swear, I swear to God. Assure her you’ll let her live if she complies. And she will—they always do.

    Step 7) Make it quick. Hear how the heart beats so wildly. When you are finished, feel the life seep out of her slowly with glazed eyes. The face stiffening from rigor mortis, the stench of blood tickles your nostrils. Do you as you please with the body, because dead is dead. No one will find about your depraved acts until your next victim. You are God. Let them promise you. Let them swear. Eventually, detectives will come knocking and ask you questions. News reporters’ bulbs flash in your face as you are taken into the station. A movie is scripted in your name, inspired by you. In court hearing, a jury decides your fate. You plea insanity, but you know the truth: you can be sentenced for a lesser charge if you reveal the bodies of the rest of the corpses, which you should, even though some of them have passed through your stomach. You can lie about how many you’ve killed—stretch the truth—or never reveal where they were buried. But do not tell them about the phantoms or the voices or even I. You will become a legend.

    the good ones doesnt get caught
  7. #7
    DrugSmuggler African Astronaut
    Everyone eventually gets caught.
    No one here gets out alive
  8. #8
    STER0S Space Nigga [the disappointingly unanticipated slab]
    ive killed someone
  9. #9
    I've actually ate quite a few cannibals and serial killers in my time. I get a deal on 24-pack ketchup offers.
  10. #10
    Migh Yung Blood
    Originally posted by ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Even better, become a serial killer killer.

    Become a serial killer killer, killer.

    Become a serial number killer.

    Or just become a serial.
  11. #11
    Aleister Crowley African Astronaut
    Originally posted by Migh Become a serial killer killer, killer.

    Become a serial number killer.

    Or just become a serial.

    You're that faggot that use to bang on about Amazon vouchers.
  12. #12
    aldra JIDF Controlled Opposition
    pour cereal down peoples' throats until they suffocate
  13. #13
    Serial rapist is better, your victims have to live with the emotional pain for the rest of their life. The gift that keeps on giving etc.
  14. #14
    Originally posted by Jiggaboo_Johnson Serial rapist is better, your victims have to live with the emotional pain for the rest of their life. The gift that keeps on giving etc.

    not everyone is well endowed to be a serial rapist. imagine your victims scream at first expecting the worst, and then chuckled as soon as you have forced your way into her.

    murder is better.
  15. #15
    Originally posted by vindicktive vinny not everyone is well endowed to be a serial rapist. imagine your victims scream at first expecting the worst, and then chuckled as soon as you have forced your way into her.

    murder is better.

    I'm not Asian so no, I couldn't imagine such a thing happening.
  16. #16
    Originally posted by Jiggaboo_Johnson I'm not Asian so no, I couldn't imagine such a thing happening.

    thrn why do you frequent asian spas ?

  17. #17
    Originally posted by vindicktive vinny thrn why do you frequent asian spas ?


    Because they don't have any white or Latina ones that I'm aware of...trust me if I could find a white or latina one that gave happen endings I'd go...those Asian chicks don't have the "grip" of a good Venezuelan woman.
  18. #18
    aldra JIDF Controlled Opposition
    Originally posted by Jiggaboo_Johnson Serial rapist is better, your victims have to live with the emotional pain for the rest of their life. The gift that keeps on giving etc.

    Karl Panzram
  19. #19
    Originally posted by Jiggaboo_Johnson Because they don't have any white or Latina ones that I'm aware of…trust me if I could find a white or latina one that gave happen endings I'd go…those Asian chicks don't have the "grip" of a good Venezuelan woman.

    bussinesses supply according to demand.

    if asian spas are all you have ....
  20. #20
    Bradley victim of incest
    u need to have an array of kill kits spread accross the area you plan to work. the goal is to get as many of them as you can containing weapons, food, and disguises, make sure you include in each one a big dildo for you to sit on while you have other retarded fantasies about weapons caches in buckets you visit by rental car in order to work in that area and then either destroy the bucket or rebury it same hole fuck it ya dig
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