Gary Leon Ridgway is a Shitty Serial Killer
HAHA! 49! Suck it Ridgway!
Hookers! Well I never!
You smell that BITCH? That's the smell of defeat because your pussy wannabe 48 kill record just got SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKED.
Excuse me folks, I hope you don't mind, but this is between me and serial killer Gary Leon Ridgway, so if it's not a problem please show yourself out. Ridgway, you're such a waste of skin. When I heard you tooting your own horn via that washed up lawyer I couldn't believe it. Not only did you think killing 48 people was something worth bragging about, but you sat there all smug and you didn't even get away with it. This isn't amateur hour poncho, what the hell kind of serial killer are you?
Since you seem to have trouble doing anything more complicated than murdering prostitutes repeatedly, let me itemize the reasons why you're a fucking pussy.
1. 48? 48?! Is that all you've got Ridgway?! I killed 49 and I just started six months ago. I figure by 2005 I will have killed off the equivalent of a non-incorporated township.
2. "I can't remember everyone I killed because blah blah I'm a cock-addled moron." You can't expect to compete in the big leagues and be taken seriously when you're pulling shit like that Gary. The reverse elephant shtick was old when that cannibal in Russia pulled it, and it's not getting any fresher as the years go by, so fucking drop it. You know how I just said I killed 49 people, well I was lying, I've killed a lot more than 49 people but I have to keep some in reserve in case your stupid ass starts "remembering". NEXT WEEK ON CNN: GARY LEON RIDGWAY CONFESSES TO KILLING INFINITY PLUS ONE PROSTITUTES. You fucking pantywaist reject.
3. Prostitutes! Why? "Because I hate them". Wow Gary - or should I say Mr. Originality - killing prostitutes, however did you come up with that? Were you perhaps inspired by every other serial killer ever in the history of the universe? Hmmmmm?
Okay, now I'm starting to hate them.
4. You had sex with their corpses. I mean come on Gary; you can't respect the game until you respect yourself. Personally, I live by the motto "when it breaks, replace it". If your self esteem is so low that you can't find yourself a new prostitute instead of raping the corpse of the last one then you should be in a mental hospital, not prison. Jesus Christ Gary, even Dahmer had the sense to turn them into zombies by injecting shit into their brains, and he was the biggest lightweight since that half-assed date rapist Bundy.
5. Five seconds after I see that walking sleeping pill that is your lawyer talking about how many people you killed Larry King is preempting the shit out of Liza Minelli's gay ex-husband to talk to your neighbors. Imagine my complete and total lack of surprise when it turned out they thought you seemed like such a nice and normal man. That's not what being a serial killer is about Gary. Whenever I see some pillowy soccer mom in a "My Future Victim of Zack Parsons is an Honor Student" t-shirt jabbering about how nice a particular serial killer was a little part of me dies. Might as well tack on another kill Gary, because you fucking wrapped my faith in the profession in a shower curtain, beat it to death with a motel lamp, and cut off its ears as souvenirs you motherfucking HACK!
I think I've covered the five points pretty well here, but I don't think I have adequately explained why your murders were so lifeless and uninspired. Even taken individually, since you're practically one of those half-victim passion killers, your murders lacked conviction and anything resembling innovation. Let me leave you in the dirt by telling you about my murders, because I think two or three of them is worth more than all 48 of your last-minute effortless hack jobs.
Murder Number One - Okay, so my first killing was a prostitute, but you know what? We all have to start somewhere, and once I took off the hooker training wheels I spread my wings and flew higher than you can even imagine. I don't know her name but I rode past her on horseback, entangled her in a thrown bola, and beat her to death with a mace. A fucking mace! You don't see good old fashioned blunt force trauma like that these days. Then I fed her corpse through a salad shooter and bagged it in about fifty freezer bags. That took a lot of work Gary, very labor intensive shit, and not for the lazy serial killer poseurs such as yourself. Now get what I did with the body! You're thinking "he ate it", but that's just the kind of stinkin' thinkin' that would make Zig Ziglar have a fucking embolism on the elevator to the top. I broke into the mayor's office in Boory, Idaho and I fucking put the freezer bags full of corpse chunks in a time capsule they were burying the next morning. THEN I ATTENDED THE FUCKING CEREMONY! Because there is no point to falling action if you don't have the goddamn dénouement.
Murder Number Two - My second killing was a lot closer to home. I lured my neighbor over for cookies that I had supposedly made and then threw a weighted claymore mine at his face. I still don't know how the cops never caught me for that one, I guess his body burned up completely what with the five tons of white phosphorous I had stored in the basement. Shit Gary, I hated that guy from the day I moved in, and I mean that in the visceral sense, not the "oh I hate prostitutes soooooo much" sense that you're used to.
BAM! Stick around, another notch!
Murder Number Three - I stalked a waitress at a Denny's in Florida for almost a month. I left notes, jars full of semen, her scrunchies that I had stolen from her night stand and passed through my digestive system. I didn't actually find her attractive, but part of the game of being a serial killer is playing the role of the villain. She had cop cars over every night and sometimes I would order pizzas and shit and have them deliver it to the back door just to get a laugh when her brother would run them off with a .22 rifle. Finally, after 40+ days of this, I waited until she got off work and clipped her with my unmarked white van and pulled her inside. Nothing too bad, just enough to daze her. Then I drove her to a secluded location and kept her doped out of her fucking gourd. I subjected her to over a week of improvisational puppet theater in that shack in the hills. Some of it was really great stuff, I wish I'd had a camcorder handy, but I was still learning the ropes. I was going to let her go and then sneak into the hospital and murder her there, but I fucked up the dosages or something on her drugs and she died. Whoops! Mistakes do happen. I have fond memories of those puppet plays though. Oh, the forced laughs we would have.
Murder Number Four - Nothing spectacular on this one. I was working late night maintenance at a dough mixing facility and one night I got the other guy drunk on Mad Dog and chucked his ass into the dough mixer. I fled the scene and I don't even think it got filed as a homicide, which I admit is a black mark on my record, but you and I both know it was no industrial accident.
Murder Number Five - Stripper in Tucson. She said her name was Divinity, but that's okay I used the equally believable alias Captain Mac "Mack" McMaclowsky and wore an eye patch. I took her out dancing after work one night, we went back to her place, watched a porno, then things got a little frisky if you know what I mean Gary. In case you don't I mean that I tied her to the bed, drizzled her naked body with honey, and then released a swarm of locusts into the room. Grasshoppers will chew through fucking steel if you put enough honey on it.
Murder Number Six - Have you ever killed an astronaut? I have! Captain Raj Patel flew on a 1994 space shuttle mission to the Mir space station. I tracked him down at his hotel in Atlanta, he was there as the keynote speaker for a conference on space exploration. Imagine that conference's surprise when they found his decapitated corpse in the bathtub. Imagine the surprise of the space shuttle astronauts four months later when they opened the zero G robotics experiment from MIT and Raj Patel's rotten noggin' floated out. I like to have fun with that sort of thing, keep it fresh, unlike you Gary.
Murders Seven Through Thirteen - I was a big fan of the movie "Seven", but unlike you I'm not about to go around emulating every movie I see or serial killer biography I read just to be cool. Instead I decided to do a little parody of that and kill someone at each of the seven wonders of the world. Now, obviously a little guesswork was involved, but I did thoroughly research the original locations of the seven wonders by playing hours of Civilization III. I killed a French tourist at the Pyramids of Giza with a machete. I burned a teenage boy from Syria to death at the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. I ate most of a Greek telephone repairman where the shadow of the Statue of Zeus would be. I would have eaten all of him by goddamn I was about ready to puke from all of that son of a bitch's chest hair. The Temple of Artemis bore witness to my human sacrifice in the form of a Benjamin Franklin impersonator I launched from a catapult I designed and built myself. Don't ask about that one, I was going through a weird phase. The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus was a great place for a picnic with a lovely lady followed by a forced drowning in a bucket full of salt water I had packed in the car. It's a lot easier to drown someone in a bucket than you would think. I wish the Colossus of Rhodes had survived the centuries to see me dismember and immolate a longshoreman I had lured into the wilderness under the auspices of a massive heroin deal. My last stop was the Library of Alexandria, where I fittingly murdered a librarian by giving him too many bear hugs while wearing my razor suit. Much to my dismay the authorities never put the pieces of my little series together.
Enjoy the show Zeus.
Murder Number Fourteen - I think it was Nietzsche that said "that which does not kill you, makes you stronger", but Nietzsche never pictured me throwing shurikens at a house frau I picked up while posing as a plumber. That crazy broad must have taken 60 solid hits before she lost consciousness. So Gary, am I supposed to believe that those first 59 had her charged up like the Hulk and that last one just put her over the edge? I don't think so; I think Nietzsche needs to do a little re-thinking on that maxim of his.
Murder Number Fifteen - This just in! You CAN kill someone with marshmallows. It just requires you to kick them hard enough.
Murder Number Sixteen - This is an odd one. There was this guy named Logan who found out about my murders and wanted to team up with me. I figured why not, I could partner with him for a couple and then when I got tired of his shenanigans just add him to the tally. Unfortunately for him, the guy was a total fucking nut bag. He refused to ride in the shock cage in the van. He wouldn't let me knock him out with drugs and make candles in the shape of his colon. The last straw was when he even refused to let me cut open his skull and fill it with spiders. I challenged him to a duel at high noon. Gary, hang on, don't give me that look. It was still a murder! The night before the duel I flashbanged his room in the motel, ran in, and shot the shit out of him with five different black powder pistols I had tied to my belt. The hotel staff freaked out but calmed down a little bit when I cut off their feet and fed them to my pet pig Duke Hogus.
Murders Number Seventeen and Eighteen - These two were the dopes who freaked out when I killed Logan. The clerk and the maid at the Motor Motel in Pasadena were not a big fan of my creative foot prosthetics that included bowls of salt nailed to their shins, roller skates attached to their stumps with hot glue, and Gideon Bibles and duct tape. I thought it was whimsical and fun, but they just would not stop screaming. I strangled them to death, threw their corpses into the ocean, and took over operation of the Motor Motel.
You know what Gary, no, I'm not going to do any more. You know why? Because you're fucking ungrateful. I doubt you're even learning anything from all this.
I did not slay my way across 42 states and 22 countries just to sit there and let some smug and dull asshole like you steal all of the glory of being a serial killer. You're bringing this whole industry down with your nice-guy exterior and troubled hooker-killing cliché dark side. About the only thing unusual at all about you is that you've got a wife, and I bet she would make a better serial killer than your sorry ass.
Gary Leon Ridgway, you disgust me.
Part of Your Balanced Death
Hail and well met, would you like to buy a fishing grub? Livestock here, with plenty of fishing grubs and wasp wings to go around. I'll cut to the chase: NEW PHOTOSHOP PHRIDAY!!!! This one is our triumphant return to the topic of breakfast cereal, which we have not covered in over a year. Imagine pouring yourself a bowl of this hot stuff:
My children and I would be most pleased if you visited Photoshop Phriday. It's so very lonely up their in the hills with no one around for miles and miles.