I’ve spent the last ten years killing serially while methodically building equity in the signature blue Burberry scarf that I use to strangle my victims and leave draped over their genitals, and of course, now they’ve decided to stop making it. This is really disappointing.
With so many murders happening each year, it’s extremely difficult to develop and sustain a calling card that’s distinct enough for an over-zealous, cocky young detective to convince a grizzled and surly, almost-retired detective who’s having marriage troubles that “there might be a pattern here!”
And it was working, too. Just recently a local newspaper finally gave me a nickname: The Scarf Killer. (Small aside here…the fucking SCARF KILLER? Seriously? That’s a name you give to the new REI neck muff, not a menacing sociopath. This is what happens when we stop valuing real journalism.)
Regardless of how uninspired it was, that nickname gave me a sense of momentum. We all need small victories as we pursue a path towards a larger goal, be it starting a family or killing one. And that nickname told me I was doing something right.
But now, just because some stuffy Product Director sitting in a big office somewhere pushes a button, POOF, the scarf disappears and my whole plan is as dead as that flight attendant whose hair tasted awful in soup.
This is just my luck. I’ve always struggled to commit to things, and this was the ONE instance where I was able to block out the nagging voices in my head telling me “You never follow through” and “You’re not organized enough” and “Killing is bad.”
And it’s not like that scarf was an arbitrary decision. I picked it specifically because it’s made of extremely durable cashmere and hand brushed with dried thistle stalks so it’s incredibly soft. I swear, my victims would get a fleeting look of pampered indulgence just before their larynxes collapsed as I’d grit my teeth and drool on their faces from the exertion.
It had fringing at both ends and everything. Dammit, I loved that scarf.
I’ve been scrambling to find more wherever I can. The other day, I noticed that a guy at work was wearing one. So I casually complimented him on it and asked if he’d be interested in selling it to me. He said no, so I lightly persisted. He began to get prickly with me and soon enough I started killing him and, irony of all ironies, when the deed was done I couldn’t even take the scarf with me because I had to drape it over his genitals.
I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Switch to some GAP equivalent? No way. People would notice, and I’d look like a total asshole. They don’t make 8-part Netflix docuseries about guys who are wishy-washy with their sadistic rituals.
I hate to abandon this endeavor, but the whole thing just seems kinda pointless now. I guess I’ll just have to find some other way to pass the time and get erections.