Serial killers and mass murderers are peculiar. They kill people and are usually pretty weird about it. The world would be a much safer place without serial killers. You could hitchhike to Oakland from Portland without fear of being picked up by some bunghole collecting fiend with a large knife. You could walk past ominous looking vans in shopping mall parking lots after dark. You could walk around naked. Not like you can't now but I think serial killers like nudity as much as anyone. Nudity is like people only without any clothes on.
There is one type of mass murderer. They kill a whole bunch of people at one time and then stop. Usually because they die or because they get caught. Sometimes they probably get eaten by animals. There are two types of serial killers though. All serial killers are either psychotics or sociopaths. Basically, there are weird ones and then there are really fucking weird ones.
Psychotics are all fucked up in the head. They hear voices and see shit and don't even have to ingest psychedelics. Murder is just a symptom of their madness. Psychotic serial killers are pretty rare but they are out there waiting to say weird shit to you before they kill you in an unpleasant and grotesque manner and then all your friends will cry and people will inherit the stuff you own.
Sociopaths are also just as fucked up in the head but they aren't insane. No, sociologists, doctors, people who write books about such things and the ship's counselor Deanna Troi have all determined that sociopaths don't suffer from mental illness but from a character flaw. That character flaw is that they are all fucked up in the head and they kill people. Sociopaths lack a conscience. They know the difference between right & wrong and they know what reality is but they just don't care. They kill and they do it without remorse or guilt and they probably even get a kick out of it.
Scientists and the ship's doctor Beverly Crusher understand psychotics. They're crazy motherfuckers what oughta be locked up. Maybe even beaten by cruel orderlies and forced to lay on cold bedpans. Sociopaths on the other hand seem to confuse the hell out of them. Some think it's genetics. An inborn predisposition to kill. Kinda like an ingrown toenail only people end up dead. Others think it's environment. A shitty childhood, fucked up parents, maybe a googly eye that's always looking to the right and all the other kids call you, "Hey you with the fucked-up looking googly eye". Some experts think it's a wee pinch of both. Born to kill, born all fucked-up in the head.
Serial killers fascinate some and repulse others but one thing's for sure. They're out there. Think about that the next time you're all, "Hey you, Watermelon Head!"
September, 1938. Elmendorf, Texas. The Sociable Inn on Highway 181 was a seedy roadside tavern much like many seedy roadside taverns popping up all over America like a bad case of genital warts. It was a rough and tumble place and Patrick Swayze would've got his ass kicked there. Pissed-off, pot-bellied, Hilter look-alike Joe Ball was the Sociable Inn's proprieter. Amusing, considering what a surly bastard the anti-social motherfucker was. Joe Ball was the prick of all pricks. King Prick if you will. A right mean, stupid cocksucker.
Joe's little hole in the wall was quite the happening place though. The waitresses were pretty, the beer was cold and the alligator pond out back was stocked full of the scaly reptilian horrors, and you could always count on King Prick to throw in some horse meat, maybe even a live dog, to get a good feeding frenzy going before people had to hit the high chaparral. Yep, people went to the Sociable to drink beer and watch large reptiles eat meat.
Joe Ball would've remained King Prick and little else if not for Hazel Brown. Hazel was a pretty waitress he hired and she was pretty popular with the local boys. Then she up and disappeared and some local yahoo said he saw old Joe sticking a few human limbs in that thar alligator pond after closing time. Well, sheriff's deputies rode on out to ask Joe a few questions and the fool bastard went and shot himself right in front of them.
Turns out Joe had a nasty habit of killing off waitresses. Some he fed to his pets round in the back. Others, like the unfortunate Hazel Brown, got chopped up into large, meaty chunks which were then buried in scattered locations in the rather large state of Texas. They probably balked when Joe tried to get in their panties so the bastard killed 'em. This was before internet pornography of course.
Joe's gators were given a new home in the San Antonio Zoo but most of them suffered from depression soon thereafter. Something to to do with their diet. Silly reptiles, Trix are for kids.
I met a member of The Family and let me tell you it was a hoot. Someday I'll find the article I wrote about it and post it here.
Richard Ramirez, a surly looking fucker in need of a haircut, was another one of those drifter types what got a kick out of death and random viciousness. Like a bull mastiff with no dick, he stalked and killed for kicks because girls didn't like him. Probably had something to do with the pentagram carved on his hand and the fact his teeth were falling out. Plus, he wore a backpack.
Ramirez flirted with Satanism, which is like Christianity only backwards but just as yawn-inducing and castrating. I tell you, religion ain't got nothing on base hedonism and some good Scotch. Unfortunately, Satanism didn't flirt back because it's not a girl, it's a goat and goats'll eat aluminum cans and shit, I mean, they're fucking weird animals if you ask me. Perhaps, if Satan were real and not some comic book superhero, Ramirez would've been above the law and could've stocked Hell full of souls, but he's not, so Richie ended up getting busted.
And what a bust it was! A state of the art computer system had been up and running all of three minutes when it matched a fingerprint from an auto theft to one of the Ramirez murders. The cops had their man. Two days later they literally saved Ramirez's life from an angry mob trying to kill him in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood in that cesspool of filth and glamour known as Los Angeles.
The press had dubbed Ramirez "The Night Stalker" not because he was a big fan of that old show Kolchak: The Night Stalker but apparently because of some AC/DC song but don't quote me on that because I never listen to them because they bore me. Frankly, the moniker is more fitting due to the fact that all of Ramirez's victims died in their homes. Creeping in the night like a drug addicted Satanist in need of a haircut with rotting teeth and a backpack, Ramirez would steal into a home and then kill whomever happened to be sleeping. One old lady was almost decapitated. Another old lady had her eyes gouged out with a spoon. Ramirez later drew a really bad picture of it. Ramirez was raised Catholic and had no friends. He couldn't draw either. The dude was destined for failure.
Ramirez was nailed for thirteen murders; four dudes and nine chicks. He was also linked to three other murders and a number of sexual assualts but not convicted for them. Later on he was criticized for his awful taste in music and lack of a decent haircut. Ramirez is still in jail and has a sore ass.
