Friday, November 23, 2007
Warning: Stupid Alert! This is the first time I tried to add a link. If you can't open it, cut & paste it. Then if you can't read it, email me and I'll send the link.
I remember when Ashley sent her first email, back in the summer of 2003. Now she has a MySpace account, can sit there and text message while she's carrying on aconversation with me, all kinds of stuff to put her light-years ahead of me on this damn thing I type on. She had to deal with her share of online sparring with wannabe friends and juvenile goofs. I recall high school in ways that make me wonder why I didn't go Columbine on Bogan High School. (Instead I wrote "Corky's Quickies," adapted into a section of TRUE TALES OF THE SCARLET SPONGE.) I recall people laughing when I did a Lovecraft riff about stories called "The Sumbitch Horror" and "The Coulour Out Of MySpace." The above article tells how a mother in downstate O'Fallon created a fake name to get a neighbor girl with low-esteem to believe a guy was interested in her. Others were let in on the joke, nasty emails were sent by the fake person on how bad this girl was. She hung herself. There is no way to prosecute the cowardly cunt of a mother. The FBI was even involved. Forget Gacy and Speck, the BTK Strangler and The Green River Killer, Terrible Ted Bundy, too. I was sickened by this article and want nothing more than to go to that subdivision and torture the holy hell out of that shit of a human. I can't, though. (Not even because my blog is likely examined ever since I posted the photo of Vampire Bush and Bush & Cheney kissing). But I can write a story using my persona Every Mother's Son, a serial killer who kills the ones who escaped the law. You can read other EMS stories in my collection FIENDS BY TORCHLIGHT, both true tales of Illinois, a guy who strangled dogs as he raped them (honestly), and a committeeman in Bible Belt Bureau County who terrorized a woman reporter who was going to out him as an embezzler with fake emails that her husband was a child molester that she had a heart attack and he watched her die, then called the sheriff. Time to send my alter ego south. Because I like to think I'm decent. I read the Act of Contrition every day, keep it in my wallet. But I had to create Jimmy Dvorak, my killer by name, to keep my blood pressure and brain patterns in check. I try to tell people that I am simply a writer, but when I am pushed into the corner and have to admit that I'm a horror writer, well, if I am, then its for the greater good....Wayne