How I Murdered People and lLoved It

The purpose of a writer is to kill and maim.
When you get that ticket from that know nothing deputy, don’t you just want to kill him?
But you can’t.
So you write about it; you vent; the blood departs your spleen and you return to…normal.
A serial killer, a murderer most inventive.
The deputy is dead, and you are alive.
So, does that make me a psychopath?
I think it makes me sane.
I am a murderer in my own mind, and that makes me more sane than you.
You don’t believe me?
Well, read Twisted Gods.
That is a sick puppy if there ever was one.
It starts out with a crime you cannot imagine, and then just gets worse.
And, by the end, by the time all the bodies are strewn about and starting to rot, I guarantee…you are going to feel good.
When you hit that last conclusion, and realize just how bad the human race is and how it all deserves to die…you’re going to be a happy camper.
That’s Twisted Gods, at

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