I feel as though I need to get this out there, though I may be putting my life in jeopardy by doing so (Dunt Dunt Dunnnnnt).
Some of you may not be aware that the greater NYC area has a real life, authentic serial killer, just like you see in the movin picture shows.
Kali was down in NYC this week visiting her sister, and she wasn’t aware that a mass murderer was picking off craigslist whores at an alarming rate (any rate is alarming I guess, depending on who you talk to). At first I was a little worried about this, because Kali fits the profile of the stereotypical whore. But now I am not so sure if I should have been worried about her, or whether I need to be worried about my own safety.
I won’t beat around the bush anymore. I think I know who the NYC serial killer is. I believe it to be none other than my officemate and roommate, Jeremy Bronson.
Do I have any proof of this? No. Do I have any real reason to even consider this to be plausible? Not really. But I still believe it with every fiber of my being.
There is only one small thing that planted this idea in my head, and like Leo’s wife in Inception, I have little doubt that it will grow and grow in there until I jump out of a high rise window.
Jerm has begun bringing large chunks of meat though airport security on a regular basis. He first asked me if I thought he would be allowed to bring a bone-in pork shoulder through TSA. A normal person would have asked why. I didn’t question it, I just figured that it would end with me getting pork, so I told him absolutely. He tried, and surprisingly, he was allowed.
Since that first day, he has done it multiple times, and is now known by the TSA personnel as the guy who brings big chunks of meat and bone though the x-ray. I fear that this is how he gets away with it. He is killing people in Rochester, cutting them up in chunks (that when baked for 8 hours at 225 degrees, are just as tender as can be), taking them on airplanes right under everyone’s nose, and dumping the parts on Long Island beaches.
Now you know as much as I do. A simple theory indeed, but one that has completely changed the way that I interact with him.
Because serial killers a lot of times are referred to by using all three names, I have started calling him Jeremy Matthew Bronson at all meetings and public events. No one knows why. When they look at me funny, I raise my eyebrows and slightly nod in Jerm’s direction, then give the slash the throat sign with my thumb, wink and smile crazily.
I have to sit in the office with Jeremy Matthew Bronson 5 days a week, for roughly 8 hours,minus the time that we spend going to the vending machine, or the coffee pot, or the Bat Cave. The Bat Cave is the bathroom on site where we like to poo. Its dark, and out of the way, and you are much less likely to have someone come ride sidecar with you following a night of overeating Sak Tai food.
The way our office is set up, my desk faces the door. This is great for passers-by not being about to see what I am up to. Unfortunately, it also means that I have to sit with my back to JMB (I have started using this moniker for him as well. Its shorter, but far more confusing, because when I say this, no one knows who or what I am talking about. The way of the nuke world is to use TLA’s (see previous post). The more TLA’s you know, the higher up the food chain you move. So no one will ever admit they don’t know one. So when I say that I think we might have a huge issue with JMB that we all need to be concerned about, the management just agrees and forms a committee to complete a risk matrix on whatever a JMB is… all the while, I am in a duffle bag in his trunk because no one would admit that this is not a common usage TLA, and means nothing to them).
Anyway, I have to sit with my back to him all day. It’s like playing faceball. You know that something bad is about to happen to you, but you can’t see it coming. So I made a little trip to the bike shop, and bought two very large rear view mirrors that I have attached to both sides of my computer monitor. They give me a fairly clear view of what he is doing, however due to the size of my head, there is a dead spot (how Freudian). This requires me to continually rock my head from left to right to see him when he is directly behind me… No one will come anywhere near our office.
In any normal situation, when someone had to share an office with another who may or may not be a mass murderer, they get to go home and get some much needed down time after they punch out. Not me. I get to walk out with, get in a car with, ride home, eat dinner, bathe with, and then cuddle up next two my tormenter. It is an around the clock nightmare.
There are some signs in our home life, that also have lead me to believe that I am sleeping with the enemy. Charlie has been acting even more weird than usual.
I haven’t talked much about Chucky. He is our house hound dog. He is much like Lenny from Of Mice and Men. He does not know a great deal yet, as he is still a puppy, and his growth has vastly outpaced his ability to control his body when up to speed. Coupled with his retard strength, he can be a bit of a handful. I often get on top of him and try to smother him with a pillow, but I just end up getting dragged around the house like those rodeo guys that get their boot stuck in the stirrup. I end up with compound fractures, and Charlie doesn’t even know we were fighting. I’m afraid that it will one day turn into a Sling blade type ending, with him waiting for the police over my lifeless body. But I can only have one irrational fear of being murdered by one of my loved ones at a time, so I will get back to Charles at a later date.
The only thing that outshines Chucks tongue length, is his sense of smell. If anything is out of the ordinary, he will barrel it over, or rip your arm out of socket if you have him on a leash. Lately, he will not leave JMB alone. At first it seemed out of place, and raised my suspicions. Then one day I came in and found JMB rubbing raw slab bacon all over his naked body while sitting in the kitchen sink. This too was a little odd, but it did fully explain Charlie’s behavior, so I could no longer prove that Charlie held the key to getting this fucking psycho put away for life. I think I may be dealing with a criminal mastermind.
I have no doubt that JMB will eventually read this. And it will bring the situation to a head. I just hope that that doesn’t lead to him carrying my head through the Greater Rochester International Airport. But I can’t take going on like this with him any longer, I just want to get it over with.
In closing, I will leave you with the words of Jerry Springer. Take care of yourself… and each other. And if you see a crazy eyed ginger, that smells of sweet savory bacon, for Christ sake, turn and walk the other way.
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