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A Letter To My Future Son

Writing a Letter
 
Hello, Son.

Gosh, it feels good to say that. SON. Wow, it just feels so…warm, I guess. Anyway, I just want to start off by saying that I love you. Even though I may not be around to raise you, teach you life lessons, guide you through the trials and tribulations of your life, or root you on at any sporting events you may take part in, just know that I will always be with you in spirit, and only in spirit. My body has to serve either 25 years or life in a federal penitentiary for some murder/rape thing that I’m almost certain I didn’t do. Yes, even while I waste away in jail, I will still be hovering over your every step and choice, much like the prosecuting lawyers claim I hovered over my victim(s) for the 4 to 5 weeks before I found the perfect time to strike them down with the swift blow of a pervious victim’s femur that I allegedly superglued jagged rocks on to to make the impact that much more powerful.

 

You’re going to hear a lot of gibber-gabber talked about me throughout your many years of growth. You’re going to hear about my faults, you’re going to hear about my failings as a man, and, maybe when you’re rat of a mother gets a little tipsy (which will be often, so be prepared for that), you’re going to hear about my nearly insatiable bloodlust. Oh, and if you look me up on Wikipedia, I ask you now to completely disregard the section about “murder erections” – it’s a complete fabrication that was based entirely off of conjecture and a thing I once said to an FBI interrogator as a goof. So there’s going to be a lot of lies swirling around about me from everyone you know. I may not be able to clear most of them up for you, but I urge you to watch the History Channel made-for-TV-movie/documentary about me titled, “The Woodsprings Maniac: How One Suburbanite Slaughtered Dozens.” The title is a bit sensationalistic, but the narrative is tight, and getting Rip Torn to play me was brilliant casting as he added a subtext to the part that subtly suggests that I may have more reason for what I did besides the obvious and, let’s face it, clichéd premise of simple bloodlust and a cleansing of earth’s impurities through ritual murder.

But that’s not why I’m writing this to you. I’m writing this because I want to leave behind a legacy that you can be proud of. I may not ever be able to see you, but I want you to know that I do want to be a part of your life. So, with that, I will now attempt to pass on the one word of advice that I wish my father had passed on to me:

If you’re anything like me, bullies will be a big problem for you, so closely examine the anatomy textbook I have enclosed in this package, and familiarize yourself with the location of the jugular vein. One small strike to it, even with a semi-sharp object, can cause blood to spurt out of there like old faithful. There will be a lot of blood, but don’t be afraid to take a stab at it. That last part was just a little prison humor. Haha! But, no. Seriously. Stab it.

 
Jugular
Also, I know you’re your mom is going to jump all over this, so I’m going to cut it off before it starts: I didn’t kill your grandfather. Yes, it is true, the man harbored a wicked soul, but I didn’t kill him and make it out to look like a suicide. I’m pretty sure he did do it himself, probably because he was struggling to be a good person (as we all are, especially me) and he couldn’t stand the guilt of assisting me on one of my “night adventures.” (That’s a line I thank the History Channel for dubbing my sprees with, even if it’s something I ever actually called my nights on the prowl). And watch out for your Uncle Steven. That guy’s got a screw loose. He’s not a good influence. He never says “bless you” after you sneeze, and he’s terrible at finding isolated locations that are devoid of any potential witnesses within a 25 mile radius. In short, he’s a screw up.

So, that’s it. I probably won’t get to send you another letter for a while, so soak in everything I have written here. I love you, and I hope for the day we can be together again.

Oh, and when you get older, check underneath the 8th tile to the left of the bathtub, the one under the window. There you will find a bit of a continuation of the easter egg hunt I played with the police. I should note that you won’t find any candy or money in these “eggs,” just more of the work that your daddy is proud of.
 
Easter egg hunt

2 Responses to "A Letter To My Future Son"

  1. DonkeyXote says:

    “There will be a lot of blood, but don’t be afraid to take a stab at it. That last part was just a little prison humor. Haha! But, no. Seriously. Stab it.”

    xD

    ahhh articles like these are a hoot!

  2. Anonymous me says:

    love it..i actually imagine this would be a real letter written by some crazy like dalmer or gacy..