Well, it’s been a busy few days here at Casa de here-o.  We’ve watched all of season two – and oh, season 3 while we’re at it – of Dexter in the last two days.  In fact, I don’t think we took a break in the last couple days except for oh, work and maybe a bit of food.  I guess that makes us serial-watchers, doesn’t it?  (Hah-hah, get it?  Dexter is a serial killer!!)  It also makes us serially lazy.  But can you blame us, it’s been partially overcast outside!

This morning as I filled my coffee cup and tried to think my way out of my morning wood, I was imagining what it would be like if I were a serial killer.  What, you’re surprised I’m NOT?  Sorry kids, I have nothing like that to make me into a celebrity – I have no reason to be autographing … your stomachs … with a scalpel.  Yet.

First of all, if I were a serial killer I wouldn’t be a SERIAL killer – I’d be a parallel killer.  On one hand, I’d be chopping people’s heads off and throwing them in rivers or whatever, and on the other hand I’d be surgically cutting out eyeballs and filling body cavities with turkey stuffing and rolling them into shallow graves.  Variety is the spice of life, bitches!

I’m no investigatey type person – but if they were investigating one series of murders and that trail led them to ME, and then a separate team of investigators investigating a whole different set of serial killings ALSO landed at my door at the same time, I think they’d all be a bit screwed up.  They’d all be like, “Whoa, hey, here we are at this guy’s house all at the same time investigating two clear different killers – there must be a mistake in our procedures leading to this strange coincidence, let us give up on this guy and return to our respective drawing boards!”  Cause hey, that’s a crazy coincidence, right?

Although it’s fun to joke around about being a serial killer, I don’t think I’d really make a very good one.  First of all, you’ve gotta be clean about things.  I’d be spilling blood all over the place and being ultra-lazy and excusey-thinking, “Whoops, blood all over the floor, ah well, if the cops followed me this far, I’m a caught man anyways.”  Anything to get out of cleaning up.  And cleaning my killing instruments?  Oh man, there’d be DNA from five years ago on my hatchet or butcher knife, I’d never really worry about sterilizing or cleaning my tools because hey, I’m going to kill someone with them anyways, that’s kind of the goal.  If I somehow slip up and they escape with a slashed forearm, the infection will get ‘em.

I’d also be bad because I’d shed a lot of hair all over the place.  And I chew my fingernails, so there would be just about as much of me laying around as there would my victims.  That’s not something you can just stop doing, you know.

Worse though, I’m liberal with my farts – and those farts of mine seem to linger.  I mean hell, weeks would pass after one of my murders and the cops would only need to enter a crime scene and take one whiff and they’d say, “WHOAH, JESUS, OUR GUY HAS BEEN BUSY AGAIN.”  (And then as the cop I would add, “You two, come over here, we must stand in groups of three and discuss sports in the background or we’ll NEVER make it on TV.”)

What would they call me as the serial killer though?  How do you go about your grisly business in a manner that would give them a clear way to nickname you?  I’d hate to open a newspaper and see, “The Fat Lazy Killer Strikes Again!”  Because like … fuck you cops and media. I’d have to do some weird stuff just till the nickname I wanted stuck.

What would I have to do in order to be known by the nickname, “Awesome Ninja Killer”?  Put ninja masks on my victims and cut the word ‘awesome’ into their chest?  Man, that’d be a lot of work and cost a bit of money, I’m sure ninja masks don’t come cheap – especially after 100 of them (cause I’d be prolific, I tend to be about quantity over quality).  And what if the cutout words ‘awesome’ got mangled a bit due to decomposition?  I’d hate to be known as the ‘aresone ninja’ killer.  Flesh typos?  I bet they happen all the time.

Anyways, all this thinking has led me to believe that it’s way easier to sit at home and nap lots instead of going out into the world and finding victims.  Screw that, it’s like another job.  See?  Wayyyy too lazy and unmotivated to be a serial killer, right ‘cops that are reading this while they investigate me‘?  Righto!