Put The Knife Away Before I Plunge It Into Your Ass-Hole

I’m A Killing Machine

O.K. – So you believe that I am an assassin out to kill you. Why then make a big deal about it and wave a stick and a knife around when you can run?

Especially since you ran anyway when you saw that your 7-inch blade which is shorter than my cock by the way did not scare me.

My cock’s name is Godzilla. It is small for a chicken I know.

And you Mr. stick and knife wielding psycho; will have yourself decapitated with your own blade because that’s what I do.

I cut off heads with blades. And if it were not for the police showing up so soon that day at Universal City, your head would have come off.

You know I’m A Killing Machine and yet you tempt and tease the flesh-ripping, blood-letting talents to be expressed upon you.

There would have been no problem with your weak attempt at racism or your frowzy atmosphere. You can call be “Kobe” and say “what’s up black”?!

You can mock my instrument of music and my shoes. But dare not threaten the women and frighten the children.

That knife may have scared a lot of other people into panic. But my fear becomes channeled into destroying the source of the fear.

I eliminate threats with extreme prejudice. And not the flimsy prejudice you thought would arouse some pain in me.

Maybe if you were wearing a pointy white hatted sheet and had a gang of honkies with rifles and it was the year 1918 I may have trembled.

But you are a fucking jack-ass. And you looked like a canine bitch running from the pound when I unflinchingly advanced to your blade.

And I was the dog-catcher. You would have been euthanized. But then came the cops to save you from your would-be assassin. Me.

The police took so long I could have bled you in front of everyone and been long gone before a single siren could blare.

I’m A Killing Machine. That is what I was bred, born and raised to be. In the most occult of epigenetic labs was I made for the purpose.

My biological programming and psychological conditioning is far superior than you and most other so-called humans for the matters of murder.

Does it really make any sense that you would activate my attention upon you when indeed you know I’m A Killing Machine?

Maybe I should have had pity upon you instead of moving in for the kill. It could be that you are mentally unstable and need help.

But too bad the cops got you. Because if you keep ranting about assassins out to get you then you will end up with the psychiatrists.

And as we all know, psychiatrists will make you go insane with their psychopharmaceuticals even if you were never before afflicted with madness.

I was so thrilled at the idea of beating you with the metal buckle at the end of my green leather belt and then sawing your head off with your own knife.

You claimed to be a certified chef. I am the butcher. There would have been much blood.

And should I ever see you again; there will be blood. I’m A Killing Machine.

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Following is a post copied from FaceBook on July 18th 2013

“Apparently my reputation precedes me.

Today at noon a man boarded the bus on Ventura Blvd. and began threatning to crack people’s skulls with a stick he was carrying and to fillet them with a very large 6-8inch kitchen knife he had.

He focused on me because he thought I was “A Killing Machine” assassin out to strike and kill him.

So to protect the civilians I followed him to Universal Studios where the police apprehended him at around 12:19.

Now off to Whole Foods and then back to teach my assassin skills to my 6:30pm BootCamp group.”