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Serial Killers


Peter Schuller

Dear President Vogel,

I blew a head-valve a few weeks back because I missed the latest TV Event of the Millennium, FOX's Celebrity Boxing 2. I missed it because I was halfway through watching a film and forgot to set the VCR. I believe the name of the film was "The Collectors". It was a documentary on the Independent Film Channel about people who collect art made by serial killers.

It was fascinating to see unknown losers convince famous murderers to send them art. These collectors buy, sell and display the art in galleries. Surprisingly, most of it isn't half bad. Like Chuck Manson, (who helped write several Beach Boys' songs) I guess their creativity transcends traditional boundaries. Clearly they are Renaissance men to be celebrated, not hung, shot, or deep-fried like some barbarians out there want.

It's funny how upset some people got at all this, as if commissioning art from murderers was wrong or something. One enraged art critic paid a gallery about $500 for a sketch and burned it right in the middle of the street. Some folks just have no taste or respect for greatness. Serial killers are the icons of the Modern Age. You're a complete nobody these days unless you're responsible for the deaths of at least 10 people.

Look at Bush. The Supreme Court didn't choose him over Al Gore because they thought he actually won or that he'd do a better job. Fuck, no! The only reason they chose him was because Bush murdered 154 people as Governor of Texas. Gore never killed anyone, not even in Vietnam. Tree hugging pussy!

They don't let you become President anymore unless you vow to kill at least 100,000 motherfuckers during your term. It's right in the Oath Of Office:

Chief Justice: "I do solemnly swear,"
President X: "I do solemnly swear,"
Chief Justice: "to kill 100,000 motherfuckers before leaving office."
President X: "to kill 100,000 motherfuckers before leaving office."

That's the real reason they impeached Clinton. He failed to kill his quota. Do you actually think they'd impeach a President for having an affair? I mean, get serious people!

History Beckons

The two collectors featured in this documentary are more than just art buffs. They fancy themselves as cultural historians. In addition to collecting art, they obsessively go after crime scene photos and other artifacts. At least twice a year, they take a field trip to "preserve history". They lament how some truly great killers have faded from the public's memory. I concur. It's amazing how many people with over 20 bodies to their credit have no name recognition with the general public. Clearly, the educational system has failed us all.

During the film, they go to Houston to preserve the legacy of one such killer, Dean "The Candyman" Corll. They visit the Corll family's candy factory next to the playground where Dean gave kids candy. They visit his house where he killed his 27 victims and bit off their dicks for his collection. Finally, they visit the boathouse where the victims were buried. Our historians meticulously filmed everything, took pictures and even collected a sample of crushed shells from the boathouse floor.

I was touched when they opined about Mr Corll never having the chance to make art. Sadly, we'll never know. His career was tragically pre-empted when he was killed by his teenage accomplice, Elmer Wayne Henley. I guess this is why he's but a mere bloodstain on history.

This is an important lesson. If you want to be remembered, leave something collectible behind. If people can't make a profit off your memory, you'll quickly be forgotten. It could be art, a line of clothing, action figures or a series of commemorative plates offered by the Bradford Exchange. Just leave something. That's why everything I ever posted on the internet will someday appear in a Limited Edition CD Box-set narrated by Malcolm McDowell and/or Patrick Stewart. Also, just before I launch my Grand Finale Plan, I shall remove a kidney, slice it into 100 equal bits, laser brand them with serial numbers and send them to collectors and auction houses. In 15 years, there'll be more chunks of my kidneys out there than splinters of the Holy Cross.

Scorched Earth Travel Company

Another historical field trip took our collectors to the former residence of jailbait connoisseur, Roman Polanski. This is the site of Chuck Manson's masterpiece, the Sharon Tate Murders. At one point, one collector lies where pregnant Tate's chalk outline once was and describes the powerful vibes he's feeling. (No doubt they were good, good, good, good vibrations.) Then they gleefully chisel part of a brick out of the fireplace and make a break to Surf City.

I have only one response to these kinds of ghoulish scavenger hunts. Cool! It's almost like actually being there the night of the murders. How could anybody be troubled by this? Just like our collectors said, history has to be preserved and passed on, or else it will be forgotten. Can you imagine living in a world where nobody has ever heard of Charles Manson or The Hillside Strangler? I know I can't.

That's why I see a potential growth industry here. You've heard of Eco-tourism, where handfuls of broke-ass hippies go out to the boonies and "tread lightly on Mother Earth" as if this was some mamby-pamby socialist state. Shit! More people would drive 10 hours to see the face of the Virgin Mary weeping in an oil leak on some guy's driveway than would paddle a kayak for 10 minutes to see the last breeding pair of Woodcrested Chirrups in the wild.

Eco-Tourism, pshaw! Psycho-Tourism is where it's at. People don't want to see rare ferns or endangered predators. They want to see human predators! They want to see John Wayne Gacy's crawlspace, where Pogo the Clown buried 30 victims. They want to see the soup kitchen where Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole struck up their highly successful necrophilliac-cannibal partnership. They want to sit in the V.W. van that Ted Bundy drove. They want to open Jeffrey Dahmer's fridge. These are the kind of things that matter to people.

I believe The Scorched Earth Party should get in on the ground floor of this trend. Given America's obsession with crime, Psycho-tourism is an All-American, capitalist venture that can't miss. Property of killers is inexplicably cheap. The killer generates free publicity and a fan base to draw from. Tours could be arranged for next to nothing. All it would take are a few guides and some buses.

Let's use Dean Corll as an example. We could buy his home, the factory and the boathouse for a few 100 grand. Tour buses would deliver pilgrims from surrounding Motel Sixes and Holiday Inns. They'd tour the candy factory and get to purchase authentic Corll Candy. Maybe they'll offer some to kids in the playground next door.

Then it's back on the bus and over to Dean's. Here a Disney-esque diorama awaits. First, we walk through the living room where a Dean-robot gets the boy-robots high on glue and paint fumes. Then we move to the bedroom where the boys are handcuffed to the torture-bed. Be careful not to trip on the plastic floor-liner. In the next room, we see Dean's bloody, bullet ridden, body lying on the floor. Turncoat Henley stands over him with the smoking gun. Dean's penis collection lies on a nearby table.

After that, it's off to the boathouse, where we're met with another scene. A couple of backhoes are there. The boathouse floor has been dug up, exposing replicas of the bodies. Henley is there too, leaning on the driver's side of the police car, talking to his mother on the police radio.

"Mama, I'm with the police...Mama, I killed Dean." The police recorded the actual conversation and it will be played on a tape loop for the tourists as they pass by.

From there, they're funneled into the gift shop where various Corll themed nick-nacks are available. Items include: life preservers, handcuffs, glue, plastic tarpaulins and "I survived the Dean Corll Tour" T-shirts. Also for sale: toy boats with Skipper Dean and 1st Mate Henley, Dean's Bag O' Penises and a variation of the kiddie board game classic, Candymanland.

Pockets emptied and shopping bags filled, they exit the giftshop, board a barge and serenely float down river. This symbolizes Candyman's victims drifting peacefully into the hereafter while taking our victims to the parking lot and their buses.

This is an example of what can be done with lesser known serial killers. Imagine what you could do with Jeffery Dahmer's apartment or Leonard Lake and Charles Ng's mountain hideaway. At the very least, Psycho-tourism should surpass military air shows, Civil War battle recreations and tours of Graceland or the White House.

Let's launch an IPO immediately! The money could be used to increase our stockpile of weapons and reward your loyal "family members" with the finest narcotics and legions of nubile, young escorts.

Now taking pre-orders for my CD box-set.

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