An Open Letter to the Next Mass Shooter

The following message is directed towards the next school/club/theater shooter.  You know who you are.  

You’re angry.  The world fucking owes you, man.  At least you think so, and your opinion MATTERS.  To you.

You’re a male, of course.  It’s not even a question.  As a member of the inferior sex, you’re just prone to want to kill random people with guns, and hilariously, because ‘Muricans love guns way more than little kids, you’ve got a whole collection of “legal” firearms. Awwwww......

It’s not ever your fault, it’s our society or maybe your mommy abused you or your daddy was a racist some big-vaginaed woman said that trying to ride your teensy weensy (which was flaccid because you prefer big, hairy, butch ape men and could never admit it) was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. Your precious fee-fees were hurt so now you’re a homicidal maniac blah blah blah.  

The Void awaits

At any rate, you’re a sad, sad, lonely man with a gargantuan ego and an even larger entitlement complex.  They will call you a lone wolf shortly after you take a dozen bullets to your scrotum (perhaps you should not have used it as your primary organ of cognition) and you and all your dreams will end in one terrifying second as you realize neither Heaven nor Hell awaits, just a terrifying flash-memory of everybody you disappointed and a one-way, screaming-in-protest-holy-shit-if-only-I-could-go-back-in-time ticket to the black, eternal void.  

No more you!  

As a wannabe serial killer who has a few more brain cells than you, meaning just enough so I don’t think I’m a speshul snowflake who could not possibly ever be wrong-headed, I would like to make a suggestion for your impending swan song.

How about taking your coup de grace act to a room of Wall Street executives?    In a world where Gwyneth Paltrow has her own restaurant, what the hell are you doing marching into a gay man’s club?  

Seriously, if you have a semi-automatic weapon and a grudge, there are plenty of country clubs and executive power retreats where you could gleefully introduce the very unheard-of and nouveau notion that infinite greed comes with infinite consequences.   You want to be a hero?  Want to start a cool trend?  There are Nestlé, Monsanto, and Dow Chemical CEOs with your name on their heads; it is written there between their eyes under the Number of the Beast.  You could be doing the whole world a huge public service.  You would be praised like a god long after your death.  

Instead, you choose mediocrity.

You target universities, because you’re dumb.  You target gay clubs, because you can’t admit you want to be corn-holed by other males.  You target sororities, because you are dweeby and unpopular.  You target schools full of kids because you can’t stand that you’re not King Bully of the schoolyard anymore.  

You’re a loser. After you die, you’ll be the worst sort of loser… a FORGOTTEN loser!  

Don't forget to pucker up when you kiss the void.