[Disclaimer: What follows is an extremely disturbing and derogatory post, filled with excessive gore and coated with massive doses of abuse, anybody who reads it should do on their own will]

The best thing about murder?

It’s an addiction. They say dope gets you on a high, orgasm shows you nirvana, and nicotine bends your mood. I say a pint of boiling blood beats all the above. Blood straight from the arteries. Cannibal is a name those punks at the police station gave, and the world accepts it. Cannibalism is just hype, but it is nature. There are snakes which eat snakes, whales which eat their kind, but man is just acting to be reclusive, innocent, but deep down there is a dork in everyone.

Good things come in small packages. Well, though not exactly, those plump little chicks at the basement of the overpriced pubs think the same. Hot things come in small clothes. The oomph of those curvilinear cleavages, the hips and the thighs. 36-24-36, add up all the numbers, you get six. Six, say it at about hundred words a minute, you end up with sex. That’s what all they want. Femme fatale, the ultimate truth. Feminism is the thrash they made up to blame the Y chromosome. Girls are sex, not anymore. They are hot, hot as in blood. Hot as in food. Hot as in pain. There is nothing as tasty as a woman’s thighs. And nothing s fulfilling as their pleading last look.

Observation. That’s the keyword for any murder. Just like you pick out the vegetable you want to cook, one needs to pick out the individuals. Women taste better and digest faster. The fat content in them gives pep to the flavor. The roasted meat has a unique tenderness. If you want to eat a man, you shouldn’t be a man. Whores were considered to be delicacies in olden days. Their willingness to sell themselves was their weak point. One night and a great fight later they always tasted better. But someone started getting suspicious. The pimps upped their surveillance. Those sluts in the pink panties are no more what they seemed to be.  They have you surrounded with an arsenal to blow half the earth. The puss is cunning, the watchdog, cruel. AIDS amplified the need for cleaner blood. An army and AIDS saved the tarts. But nevertheless, the AIDS virus cannot live without a live blood source for more than 5 seconds. And I always heat the blood before drinking.

Tonight’s victim, a 26 year old cunt, living by herself.  Cunt because she has no right to live, no one to cry. White, plump and hot. Hot in my type of way. White is the preferred skin tone, as white when smeared with blood looks like a Mona Lisa in the horizon. The unparalleled beauty sinks, leaving dark redness behind. Food always should appeal to the eye, and then only it is worth eating. The skin does the magic, the rest, ask my taste buds.  Sex is the one which gives away most of the murderers. If sex is your motto, go fuck a whore. You don’t fuck the food you eat right? Misconceptions? Talking about them, it reminds me of tigers. Every fuckin muscled man is referred to as a tiger. “He looks like a fuckin tiger”, “Here comes the tiger”. Fuck, I even met a woman who called me a tiger. The next thing I remember doing was proving her wrong. I’m no tiger, I’m the Lion. A tiger, though it kills its victim in cold blood, does not eat it right away. It leaves it stale for some time and then continues with its feast. A lion is the king of the jungle because, it eats as it kills. I eat while I kill. The best part is, no Vitamin A is lost when you cull and gobble those eyes. Black or brown.

Show some compassion in this damned world, every little fuck will be behind you. Be it be a street dog or a stray hooker they’ll land up on your bed, dancing in your pants. The 26 year old cunt I was talking about, the victim for tonight is the latter. Some shitty call operator in the big corp. across the sewer, her life was in doldrums. A guy cheated on her, parents fucked her all time, and friends jeered. After three shots of vodka, she cuddled up on my bed. I let her sleep, blood with alcohol doesn’t taste well, ever tasted coke with tea?  The vodka hit her hard. She slept like a baby. Babies are the tastiest, but they are rare to find. Mothers are the hardest to fight.

“Where am I?”
She was still in the alcohol induced stupor. I took my knife, the one with the gleaming cruelty etched on its blade. The kind which Bedouins use to chop off Camel's heads. With one little swish, I cut her wrist away. The swish even though it seems quick, should be hard or the knife won’t pass through the bone like butter. Just like a rooster whose head get’s chopped off, the lady started wriggling, but the chords held her in place. A small plastic basin beneath her wrist collected the blood, dark red and soothing. The saliva secretion in my mouth attained the zenith. I got on to a high.

The human brain always mystified me. Envy, love, hatred, intelligence all under one skull. The first time I saw it, I was aghast! I expected a mass of nerves but it was more like a Sorbitol jelly. The glistening nerve tips of the scalp induced a pale red color into this jelly. Just like one consumes a raw egg, I broke the skull and drank the elixir. The warm and soothing mixture burned the insides of my stomach, this is ground zero.

The nail polish on her nails looked battered like those houses in the paint advertisements. But what’s a fun trip without memorabilia?

I opened the closet. Any unassuming biology student would mistake me for an anthropologist, except they won’t be alive the next moment to know that they were wrong. Ivory like nails smeared with small brown spots lay neatly arranged in little formaldehyde flasks collected over the years.

“I am no butcher,
But I am the savior of the crap class,
I endorse the cause of ineloquent bitches,
‘Cause they need to be slit up and consumed,
After all food is next God”.

Just like one disposes off the tons of toxic waste into those stingy septic tanks, I dispose the body into those hapless heap of lifeless shit, ignored even by the warrior clans of housefly.

“Food, food everywhere,
Walking down, slick and bare,
Food, food everywhere,
You can have it only if you dare”

This is a man eat man world. Just that people are superficial. The inner demon is always is pushed down, it’s given a makeover. You can’t paint a sparrow black and call it a crow can you? The darkness which lurks behind those strata of fat around you heart, needs to come out, famine is the marketing strategy show off word used by those fucked up seed companies. Look around, meat is always tasty, wherever it comes from.

Welcome, to my world, 

-Psycho Boy Jack.

[Note: This story is as original it can be, no verse has been inspired or intentional.]