I must confess. I went on a killing spree today.
No long trial for me. I did it. And I'll kill again. Sixteen victims and their many children. Sprayed down in the prime of life. I did not even dispose of the bodies. The lone witness may say that I kicked one of the corpses three times. I admit that, as well. It's hard to control my violent tendencies when I'm on a rampage.
It was premeditated murder. I've been planning the attack for several weeks now. I contemplated purchasing a weapon, but I had the means to carry out my mayhem already, ensconced high on a laundry-room shelf. And I knew how to use it. This ain't my first rodeo. This ain't the first time this ol' cowgirl's been known...to kill.
The attack occurred at 11:08 central daylight time. After The View, of course. Bieber was on today. I told my accomplice to wait outside while I checked my weapon, careful that it did not discharge prematurely. Then I stepped out the kitchen door and commenced the carnage. My targets never knew what hit them. They dropped like flies to the wooden planking of the porch. A few seconds of writhing, and it was over. For them. Not for me. I set out on a quest for additional quarry. I was not disappointed.
Prey was ripe for the killing. As I rounded each corner, new targets appeared. It was better than a video game. The objects of my detection did not attempt to escape. I came. I saw. I killed. After one complete loop of the crime scene, all was quiet. Bodies littered the ground. I left them where they fell.
I don't care how much good the victims might have done for the environment, had they lived.
I cannot share my abode with a stinger. Especially not with sixteen of them, and all their little future stingers. Not. Gonna. Happen.