I have a good friend who likes to remind me that everything I write would be better if there was a serial killer in it. Poems, essays, blog posts, what have you. “Just add slaughter,” he says.
You can count on your friends.
Now I don’t know about you but as for me I’m not much interested in serial killers. I mean, yes, I don’t like them. Let’s get that out of the way. But America’s fascination with the whole subject bothers the heck out of me. Every minute spent watching a serial killer movie or TV show means someone isn’t reading about Leonardo da Vinci or the history of slavery–anything for god’s sake.
While Americans are busy with serial killer trading cards the collective imagination and intelligence of the nation plummets which speaks to the true definition of the term.
BTW all the serial killers on TV are portrayed as mentally ill. Did you know that the mentally ill are far less violent than everyone else? Huh?
Take that Mr. TV Executive.
Take that Stephe King, Dick Wolf, Netflix, etc.
Planet of the Blind 