[264x400]I don't kill people.
Perhaps, it's just another inhibition to do away with. Perhaps not. There's really no way of telling. It's possible I've just never been able to well up so much interest in any person to care enough to end their life.

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Let's be brave, Shmee. We have to protect Mommy and Daddy.
Huh?
No, you're wrong, Shmee. They aren't bad people. They love me. They don't really mean it when they tell me to get kidnapped.

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Any pile of stuned growth unaware that entertainment is just that and nothing more, deserves to doom themselves to some dank cell, somewhere, for having been so stupid! Movies, books, T.V.--they're all just entertainment, not guidebooks for damning yourself!

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Actualy, I can't say that I hate very many people specifically: so few seem real enough to deserve that level of attention.

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The numbing mind-ream of knowing you're alone not because people won't accept you but because you find so little worth accepting. An imposed solitude is better than simply tolerating your company in waiting for something better. So loneliness is not such a terrible thing when you consider that the alternative to thought provoking solace is to be surrounded only by remindings of why that solitude is preferable.

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I like you. I enjoy our talks when you come visit me at the bookstore. I like you for all those reasons people ask a person out for. There, I've said my thing, now I just hope your thoughts run along those same lines. If not, then I'll just get awkward and leave quietly. After killing you.

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The world would be so much nicer if people only used guns on themselves.

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You have the rest of your lives to think of it. And I suggest you think quickly for a long life is never a guarantee.

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You tried to kill that girl. She liked you, and you tried to kill her. That was Impolite.

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Letters from "kindred spirits" come in telling of how they agree with my views and how the world stinks, and how they wish they could just kill themselves. Well, dispose of yourselves quietly, if you must, so long as you don't leave a note saying I told you do it, you self-esteem deficient loons. I happen to have a certain fondness for existing--soda wouldn't have that lovely fizzy feeling if you were dead.

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This is heaven. You can stop praying now.

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-- Okay, this is going to hurt quite a bit, but, I suppose, that's the entire point. I'm aiming for obscene agony, so if it's just mildly unbearable, do say something.
-- I said I was really sorry...
-- Awww... Apology accepted. But I've already done so much damage here, it'd be mean to let you live like this.

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Just because we've similar interests does not guarantee you're going to like me. My foot in your ass is a good example of that.
My delusionary hell does not agree with yours!

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Trust me. I intended to annihilate you in the nicest possible sense of the word.

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I know forgiveness is out of the question. I just ask for what we all ask of the people we respect--that the thought of me does not compel you to violent spasms of projectile vomiting.

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It's a frightening world to be alone in.