I want to kill you.

I am going to just dispense will all of the pretense for now and say something that has been coming to my mind a lot lately. Normies all over the world of any race, creed, or idiocy, note this well. I want to kill you. All of you. Without fear or favour.

If I had some of the techniques I have given to some of my favourite characters in my writings or have been seen in some of my favourite characters from other peoples’ work, I would be doing this already. In fact, I have started to contemplate working a new character into my canon who can pause time and set up a convoluted chain of accidental events in order to kill a person. Cracked.com did a great article concerning videogames of the future in which they described a game called Killchain for the FukkheadBox 180 and the Publicity Misfire 3.

Eustacia Cutler and Temple Grandin, consider yourselves warned. If I had the superpower that Cracked.com describes thusly:

So, with each level you’ll find yourself in a bustling city, then, time will slow until all of the people are frozen like statues. You can then position any person or object, arranged so that once time resumes you’ll create a chain reaction of chaos that will ultimately kill the target.

your painful and convoluted demise would be mere seconds (by your count) away. I would so enjoy setting up each step in the kill chain (256 football-playing normies all boot each other in the arse at the exact same moment, monkey points and laughs, and so forth) that I would be giggling my fukking arse off throughout the process. And when it is all set up, ready to start, can you guess how much contemplation or thought it would take me to hit that button marked “kill”?

Let me put it this way. If you guessed it would take me any more consideration than buying a bottle of milk, you are wrong. Dead wrong.

Why all of this hatred and promise that, barring this possibility I have just outlined, I would gladly shoot your face off and call it a day?

Wait, let me clarify something first. When I state that I would shoot Eustacia Cutler’s face off with a large calibre pistol or make every car in America crash with the end result of shredding her to bits with the glass if I could, I want to be clear about something. I am not making a threat. A threat goes like this:

You came into my house and talked down at me like I am a piece of shit who needs your permission to live where I presently am. I am going to kill you for that.

No, what I am doing here is stating a fact. Give me a button that will annihilate a billion people at once with Eustacia Culter being amongst the dead, and I will pound that button like I am Mike Tyson and the button is Steve Urkel.

Longtime readers of this site or indeed anything I have ever written will know something very curious and potentially worrying about me. Namely, I find the concept of perpetual childhood, and those who think it to be a good thing, highly offensive. If someone told me they were going to revert me to an infant or toddler state and make me stay that way forever, however jokingly, days later the police would be finding pieces of them scattered over every segment of Sydney.

They look like grown men, but inside they’re only 10 years old. They don’t want adults to show them how sex is done; they want 10-year-olds to show them.

So when Eustacia Cutler says the above, how do you think that makes me feel? Like I want to rip her brains out through her nose, pulp them into liquid, and make her drink them whilst a horse that I have brought out the works sodomises her to death under the influence of PCP. And that would be just for starters.

Eustacia, I am a grown man. I am about five feet and eight and a half inches tall, weigh around two hundred pounds, and grow hair from my lower face at a rate that would make a Dwarf say damn. And I feel all of the same things every other grown man feels. When I perceive a great threat to the health of my sister’s children, I want to break that threat into little bits. When I watch films like RoboCop, I feel joy that there is evidence in front of me that a director and writer understands, even groks, how I see the world. When I am introduced to characters like Quorra, I want to hold her and assure her that I will kill every normie in the world (this includes you, Eustacia) before I let any harm come to her.

The first occasion when I engaged in sexual intercourse with a woman was between my fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays. I mention this for two reasons. The less germaine reason is because I just want to slap some people who believe teenagers should have the same responses emotionally as four year olds around the head until their eyeballs rattle. The germaine reason in this case is because I did not go to bed with this lass because I felt a need to be educated or “taught” by her. In fact, it was a mutual learning experience. But the point I want you to get through your sick, disgusting head is this. The reason she and I did the bump at that time was because we loved one another and wanted to express that fact.

I am willing to bet right now, you are shaking your head in denial and trying to assign other reasons. So I am going to tell you something that I sorely wish every other autistic adult would tell the like of you as loudly and often as possible.

Your opinions concerning what motivates an autistic individual to do anything only count when they coincide with that of the autistic individual. Otherwise, they are utterly worthless. No, not merely worthless. In cases like the above quote from you, they are beneath contempt.

I am also going to tell you something that probably has not ever occurred to you in a month of Sundays. I have met a lot of people who were sexually abused during their childhoods. Including more than one whose male parent took pictures of them naked and then submitted those pictures to child pornographers. I only wish I were making that up.

The tears I have heard shed, the expressions of rage and anger, the difficulties that these children display as they grow into adolescence and adulthood, they are devastating for me to witness. Not merely because they reflect difficulties of a similar nature that I have had and have, but because they never ever really go away.

Eustacia, I have two parental figures who did not understand that there was a difference between my space and theirs. They have crossed that border on so many occasions and in ways that have made me uncomfortable, and not necessarily in a sexual context, that I no longer speak to my male parental unit and my mother is genuinely frightened of me. Your statement does not merely wound me because it is transparently bullshit and tantamount to slander or libel. It wounds me because somewhere out there, there might be a person who believes it and decides to mistreat me based on the mistaken impression they get from it.

During my adolescence, I often found myself engaging in a sexual manner with women who were substantially older than me. I also did the same with women who were of a similar or slightly younger age. On all occasions, what attracted me to them was the fact that they were women. I emphasised that word for a reason. You see, I am an uncle to two girls who are now old enough to speak and walk. And I can tell you without having to refer to them any further that I see a very big distinction between a girl and a woman. Without getting into a big monologue about the complexities of sexual attraction as I feel it, the distinction is both on a physical and intellectual level.

I will not get that close to a girl who is not old enough to be considered a legal adult (for a number of reasons I can elaborate on if asked). But nor will I bother with a woman who is not capable of engaging me in conversation that keeps my mind stimulated. This means a younger version of the sickness that is you would not have a chance, Eustacia. But it also means you owe me (and many others) a real apology.

Often, I am left asking questions regarding what kind of world I am living in when certain kinds of people are allowed to live and breathe whilst people are being violated and murdered for things they can help no more than the colour of their eyes.

Eustacia, I am being perfectly serious when I say that if I could round up you and anyone who thinks what I have quoted above from you is valid, and leave you to die like flies in unsanitary camps, I would sleep a great deal more soundly at night.