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Oh the happiness I could have had mingling among you hedonists, being counted as one
of you, only if you didn’t fuck the living shit out of me.
You could have been great. I could have been great. Ask yourself what you did to me to have
made me clean the slate. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Only if you could be the victim of your reprehensible and wicked crimes, you Christian
Nazis, you would have brute-restrained your animal urges to fuck me.
You could be at home right now eating your fucking caviar and your fucking cognac, had
you not ravenously raped my soul. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Can you feel the pain that you
fucked us in, you Descendants of Satan? Well, can you feel it? | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
All the shit you’ve given me, right back at you with hollow points. [photograph of hollow
point bullets]
Don’t you just wish you finished me off when you had the chance? Don’t you just wish you
killed me? | 1 | Specific Threats | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
You had a hundred billion chances and ways to have avoided today, but you decided to spill
my blood. You forced me into a corner and gave me only one option. The decision was yours.
Now you have blood on your hands that will never wash off, you Apostles of Sin. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Congratulations. You have succeeded in extinguishing my life. Vandalizing my heart wasn’t
enough for you. Raping my soul wasn’t enough for you. Committing emotional sodomy
on me wasn’t enough for you. Every single second wasted on your wanton hedonism and
menacing sadism could have been used to prevent today. Ask yourselves, What was I doing
all this time? All these months, hours, seconds. Only if you could have been the victim of
your crimes. Only if you could have been the victim .. . | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
To you sadistic snobs, I may be nothing but a piece of dog shit. You have vandalized my
heart, raped my soul, and torched my conscious again and again. You thought it was one
pathetic, void life that you were extinguishing. Thanks to you, I die, like Jesus Christ, to
inspire generations of the Weak and Defenseless people — my Brothers, Sisters, and Children — that you fuck.
Like Moses, I spread the sea and lead my people — the Weak, the Defenseless, and the Innocent
Children of all ages that you fucked and will always try to fuck — to eternal freedom. Thanks to
you Sinners, you Spillers of Blood, I set the example of the century for my Children to follow. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
You may stand steadfast on the battlefield of your life’s dedication to eternal terrorism American Al-Qaeda, but the Children that you have fucked will rise. By the power greater than God we will hunt you down, you Lovers of Terrorism, and we will kill you.
Do they wanna fuck us and pretend to be devout Christians? Do they wanna smear dog shit
on our face then give us a dirty towel to wipe away? Do they wanna rape us then give us
stained toilet paper to clean up? Do they wanna cut our throat then give us a used band aid
to patch up? Do they wanna perpetrate endless sessions of crucifixions and holocausts on our
innocent life then go to church and praise the Lord and Jesus? Do they wanna fuck us and
pretend to be Jesus Christ? I say we’re the Jesus Christs, my Brothers, Sisters, and Children.
Jesus Christ exists in us all: Ax Jesus Christ, John Jesus Christ, Jane Jesus Christ, Seung Jesus
Christ, Carlos Jesus Christ, Hakeem Jesus Christ, Mohammad Jesus Christ, Zhang Jesus
Christ, Oliver Jesus Christ, Elizabeth Jesus Christ, Vladimir Jesus Christ. ___________ Jesus
Christ. I say there is no pain they can inflict on us that they haven’t already inflicted. I say
they can’t fuck us any more than they have already done. I say there are no lies they can say
about us that they haven’t already said. I say fuck you, you Descendants of Satan Disguised
as Devout Christians. I say we take up the cross, take up our guns and knives and hammers,
and take no prisoners and spare no lives until our last breath and last ounce of energy. | 1 | Specific Threats | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Seer of Veracity. Seal of the Anti-Terrorist. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Number of the Anti-Terrorist. [photograph of hand-drawn “88” with the numbers overlapping]
You wanna rape us John Mark Karrs? You wanna rape us Debra LaFaves? Fuck you. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
By destroying we create. We create the feelings in you of what it is like to be the victim, what
it is like to be fucked and destroyed. Because of your annihilations, we create and raise new
breeds of Children who will show you fuckers what you have done to us. Like Easter, it will
be a day of rebirth. It will be a start of a revolution of the Children that you fucked. You have
never felt a single ounce of pain your whole life, thus, by destroying you, by giving you pain,
we attempt to show you responsibilities and meanings of other people’s lives | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
It’s grand for you to fuck us 24/7 for fun, but we can’t have a single minute of harmless
playtime, only suffer. It’s dandy for you to rape us, but we’re not allowed to even speak, only
be raped? Fuck you.
You love to pretend to, but you Hedonists, Charlatans, Sadists, Rapists, Terrorists will never
know the feelings of giving up your lives for a cause. You have never felt a single ounce of
pain in your hedonistic lives. You will never give up a single can of your Bud Light, a shot
of your cognac, or a half-drop of your own precious blood for another human being, only
fuck the shit out of him and lie afterwards. You fucked us, now we fuck you, now we kill
you. There can be no lighter penalty for Masqueraded Democratic Terrorists who commit
unforgivable acts of treason against mankind. There is no where in the world you can run,
you Lovers of Terrorism. There is nowhere in the world you can hide, you Lovers of Sadism.
You will never know when and where the Weak and Defenseless that you fucked will strike
— day, night, at school, in the public, in your home, during your most comfortable hour and
protected place. You will never know how we will kill you — slash your throat, bullet in your
back, torture you with knives, hammers, bolt cutters, scissors. You will always live in fear.
You will never be able to go to school or work or rest or sleep. Your heart will always pound
nonstop. Your sin-ridden soul will slowly eat up your conscious for the heinous crimes you have committed. So if you don’t want to die a painful death, do yourself a favor, do yourself
a coup de grace, and kill yourself clean or you will endure pains you can never feel but with
our hands. Kill yourself or we will hound you down and rip you, all your friends, and all
your family into small pieces. | 1 | Specific Threats | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
We have no sympathy in killing humans who have no respect for other people’s lives. | 1 | Specific Threats | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Now that the slate has been cleaned and you have the world’s attention, the question is what
are you going to do? Are you going to admit the truth or are you going to stand resolute on
your mission to eternally fuck the Weak and the Defenseless and lie about it? Are you still
going to use your power and manipulate the truth to end up with some sort of profit as you
have always done? Are you going to skip over all the crimes you’ve committed and act as
victims to the world so you can suck in millions of donation money to turn the situation
into a profit? Your two million dollar house wasn’t enough? Your BMW wasn’t enough? Your
inheritances weren’t enough? You have to fuck and steal form the Poor and the Weak who
have nothing in order to gratify your fucking pride and hedonism? What are you going to
do with the blood money? Buy a new Mercedes? You want to brainwash your bratty, snobby
kids that its right to steal from the poor, the Weak, and the Defenseless to always stay in
power? The fat surpluses that you roll on everyday aren’t enough? Fuck you. Your answer
rings loud and clear. I saw we take up the cross, Children of Ishmael, take up our guns and
knives and any sharp objects, and take no prisoners and spare no lives until our last breath
and last ounce of energy | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
The blood of the Innocents should never be shed, but the wicked we shall spread our wings
and strike. We do not want the Weak, the Defenseless, or the Innocent, but the sadistic, the
corrupt, and the wicked who prey and rape from the Weak, the Defenseless, and the Innocent.
We will seek and demolish them until our last breath. You Lifetakers may have succeeded in
raping our souls and shattering our dreams — but mark our words — the vendetta you have
witnessed today will reverberate throughout every home and every soul in America and will
inspire the Innocent kids that you have fucked to start a war of vendetta. We will raise hell
on earth that the world has never witnessed. Millions of deaths and millions of gallons of
blood on the streets | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
will not quench the avenging phoenix that you have caused us to unleash. Generation after
generation, we martyrs, like Eric and Dylan, will sacrifice our lives to fuck you thousand
folds for what you Apostles of Sin have done to us.
Pain of every atom between air and water, sky and ground, heaven and hell, life and death
wouldn’t begin to explain the experience that we went through under your wrath.
What did you expect me to do, you violators of human rights? | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
As the time approached, I wished for a last minute miracle and discard this mission you’ve
given me. Heaven knows I wouldn’t hurt a single leaf of a flower. But when the time came,
I did it. I had to. What other choices did you give me? All this time.. . You never know that
a human being is capable of doing until you fuck him to the edge.
When you’re raped of everything, you got nothing to lose. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
If you have a single milligram of conscience, a grain of integrity, a speck of heart, you will
kill yourself for all the lives you have brutally extinguished.
Can you now see all that used to be, all that could have been, and all that is to come, you
Sadistic Charlatans. | 1 | Specific Threats | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
All of you who have ever been fucked by these Descendants of Satan Disguised as Devout
Christians, all of you who have went through what I went through, all of you who have felt
what I have felt in my life, all of you who have suffered the wrath of these Democratic Terrorists, all of you who have been beaten, humiliated, and crucified — Children of Ishmael,
Crusaders of Anti-Terrorism, my Jesus Christ Brothers and Sisters — you’re in my heart. In
life and death and spirit.
We’ll soon be together. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Let the revolution begin! | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Die you Descendants of Satan! Fuck you, and die now!
I am Ax Ishmael. I am the Anti-Terrorist of America. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Are you happy now that you have destroyed my life? Now that you have stolen everything
you could from me? Now that you have gone on a 9/11 on my life like fucking Osama. Now
that you have fucked your own people like fucking Kim Jong-Il. Now that you have gone on
a hummer safari on my life like fucking Bush? Are you happy now? | 1 | Vague Discontent | Seung Hui Cho's "Manifesto" | 4/18/2007 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/cho_manifesto_1.1.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Not too long ago I had an epiphany about this class. What barbarians you people are. Now, tell me if I'm wrong, but I thought this was a poetry class, yet everybody-everybody but me that is-spent the whole hour and a half talking about eating. It started to with somebody talking about eating baked beans everyday overseas in some country. Then before I knew it, the conversation turned into a type of conversation that of animal massacre butchershop. Some body began talking about chopping off turtles' heads, dipping them into eel sauce and eating them: cooking lions' balls deep fried and thin sliced, and eating them with ketchup; and chewing on a nice, fat birds head with a nice bottle of wine. Then that somebody said she doesn't do that anymore because the animals that she ate are now her friends, yet she who the one who deliciously, joyfully, gobbled them up like one jolly clown. That's like a robber stealing twenty millions dollars from a bank and years later haughtily apologizing for stealing the money without returning any of it. Yea, as long as he's sorry! As if! I don't know who said that but somebody is in this room. That somebody sits in this vicinity, right there to be exact! If I'm not mistaken. I don't know which uncouth, low-life planet you come from but you disgust me. In fact, you all disgust me! Because as far as I can remember somebody jumped in and said, "have you eaten a snake. They taste so good. I love snakes!" Who said that? What's wrong with you! You wanna get leaparsy or something! As if that wasn't bad enough she went on, "Ostrage as good too. My uncle owns an ostrage farm and every summer we murder a few of them and we barbeque them on the grill rare...Posoms are pretty good tool. You should kill them and eat them because they go through your trash and make a mess. You should just kill them and eat them-" Then another person jumped in and said, "if you own a horse you should keep him locked up in a cage so his muscles don't develop. It's much easier to chew him that way." Before I could shake my head and catch a breath to all this genocide talk of innocent animals, certain individuals ran out of the class not to throw up on the bathroom floor but to get something to eat! "Hey you guys, you're making me hungry!" Who said that! You know exactly who you are! Yes, I'm talking to you, you, you..all of yoU! You low-life barbarians make me sick to the stomach that I want to barf all over my new shoes. If you despicable human begins who are all disgraces to human race keep this up, before you know it you'll turn into cannibals-eating little babies, your friends, siblings, your parents, grandparents. And your classmates! That's it, I'm getting the hell out before I blink and get eaten alive by you barbarious, uncivilized monsters! I hope y'all burn in hell for mass murdering and eating all those little, harmless animals! | 1 | Specific Threats | So-Called Advanced Creating Writing-Poetry | 10/10/2005 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_essay_and_professors_letter.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
it's obvious that i'm in a lot of trouble...yes, i'll come wed and get yelled at or whatever you want to do to me... | 1 | Grievance Airring | Cho's English Dept Emails | 12/2/2005 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho%27s%20English%20Dept%20Emails.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
a boy named LOSER
a boy named LOSER
walks off the sidewalk, shudders into his house,
and lays his weary head to sleep and dream.
In his dream, he lives two lives,
because in this world he has no life,
no class, no friends—just a Moron in this world.
During its long hours in the real world,
it’s no surprise he is LOSER.
Everyone knows—too bad—they say, only if he had a life.
Under the bright, cruel sun, he hulls his feet into his house.
Thinks about the two other lives.
Keeps on dreaming. Day dream.
What to do, what to say but dream.
That’s what losers do in this world,
where normal guys live their happy lives,
worry-free and be themselves, unlike LOSER.
A normal guy throws parties at his house,
but not LOSER—he has no life.
Be happy, be normal, get a life,
he says to himself; he can only in his dream:
In LOSER’s little mind, he brings over a girl to this house.
Only if he could do that in this real world.
LOSER. What can I say, that’s what losers do. LOSER!
Only if LOSER could live his lives.
Something LOSER can’t ever do!—lives those lives
and be normal and actually have a life.
You know why he can’t do it? He’s LOSER.
With everything he longs for, all he can do is dream
trapped in this world, in this wronged world.
Nothing to do but drag his heavy feet back into the house.
All alone in his little house
he likes to think he’s living his lives,
in his own safe little world.
No one tells him, LOSER, get a life!
No one gives him the hand gesture in his dream.
No one calls him LOSER:
Darn straight! This boy really is LOSER—LOSER with no life!
and he knows it. But he (what can he do) likes to live in his pathetic dream
drowning down in his little quirky house anyway—My Gawd! What a LOSER! | 1 | Vague Discontent | The Adventure of Spanky | 10/1/2005 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
“Good morning, Jelly. Did you have a good night sleep?” Spanky finds himself
dully mumbling at this girl, who is laying on a bed looking up at him with her big eyes.
Spanky looking back into her glittering eyes isn‟t quite sure who this girl is or where he
is at or what he is doing here as if he has been sleep-walking for ages and has just woken
up and needs refreshing. Jelly? Who is Jelly? he thinks. Did I just say good morning
Jelly? Who is she?
“Good morning, Spanky!” Jelly chirps in a surgary-sweet voice. “I had a great
sleep. Last night I wanted to talk with you and hug you and kiss you so badly. I was
feeling so lonely, so lonely that I dreamt about you.
“Really?” Spanky asks, his face starting to light up rubbing his pristine eyes,
flickering like a faulty electrical line. She dreamt about me, he thinks in his head. And
for some reason it seems to him that such a pretty girl dreaming about him doesn't make
any sense. He should be the one dreaming about her, not the other way around.
“Don‟t you remember,” she asks after studying his perplexed facial expression for
a minute. “What we did yesterday—”
“I don‟t! I mean, uh…” He wants to ask her who she is, if he is supposed to know
her, or if this is a big joke. Maybe this is a big dream…
He pinches himself. No, he is not dreaming. “What I meant was…what did we do
yesterday?”
“We snuggled! We talked! We smooched all day long! How could you not
remember, Spanky. We had so much fun!”
“You and I did that?” He searches his brain for this event, and soon, through his
foggy memory, there is a vague picture in his head of a pretty girl that looks a lot like the girl in front o him that he made out with. But it feels more like a dream than reality.
Saline—I mean Jelly—are you my…my…girlfriend?” he asks.
She laughs. The corners of her lips move towards her ears showing her beautiful
teeth and her beautiful smile. “Of course I am, silly. What kind of question is that!”
“Oh,” he mumbles half smiling and scratching his head, not quite sure what to say
or what to do. “Of course you are, ha ha ha,” he forces a laughter.
She laughs and stares at him.
“I must not have had a good sleep last night or something. I had so much fun,
hugging and kissing you that I couldn‟t sleep.” Though he has a hard time believing that
this fantasy-event actually happened, he convinces his brain to believe that it did. “I have
a headache.”
“Oh you have a headache,” she says in a girly-girly voice, winking at him. “I hope
you feel better. If I knew you were up all night long I would have called you and talked to
you. You would have spent the night together instead of thinking of each other. I bet
that‟s why you got a headache. You were longing to be with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now what shall we do about your headache? Do you want some pills, the little
grey ones?”
“I took some this morning.” He vaguely recalls taking some pills not too long ago,
but his memory is unclear like a brain cloud.”
“You want me to kiss your forehead so you get better quicker?” she asks bringing
her lips together and sticking them out. With her eyes closed, she makes a smack noise.
“Do you want a great, big smooch, Spanky?” “Uh…That‟s okay.” His eyes lower to the floor. “I took some already. It just
started to kick in. I‟m starting to feel a little better now,” he says in a quiet voice, rubbing
his forehead and changing his posture to stand straight.
“That‟s wonderful. I‟m gonna get dressed, then you can give me a Good Morning
Kiss. A nice kiss to start the day.” She gets out of her bed. She is wearing pink pajamas
and pink tank top. “You can watch me get dressed.”
This doesn‟t feel right to Spanky—standing in front of a girl who is about to
change—and so he says, “I‟ll wait outside,” and steps out.
Jelly pushes the blanket aside, gets out of bed, and is about to put on a pink t-shirt
and jeans, but changes her mind to keep him waiting for her and decides to not changed
out of her sleeping clothes. She then spends twenty minute in front of the mirror,
brushing her hair. Meanwhile Spanky waits outside the door staring at the closed door
wondering what she is doing inside. Jelly opens the door and walks out, almost bumping
into Spanky.
“Woe! Sorry Spanky.”
“Does it always take you this long for you to get dressed?” Spanky notices her
elegantly-brushed hair.
“My hair. It takes ten seconds to put on my clothes, then I usually spend twenty
minutes brushing my hair too. I didn‟t changed because I didn‟t want to keep you
waiting, and also I only spent ten minutes on my hair, even though my beautiful hair
needs special attention,” Jelly exclaims as she runs her fingers through her pretty, pink,
curly hair.
He stares at her hair for half a minute. Wow, Jelly has nice hair. Her hair is so
nice, he thinks, so pink! Her hair is smooth, elegant, pink, and curly. Her flowing hair is so graceful and
playful that his hand unconsciously reaches for them. However, before he could touch
them she asks:
“Okay. What do you want to do today?” Jelly asks. “Oh, Good Morning Kiss!”
The girl places her hands under his jaws to kiss him but he shudders when she closes in.
“What‟s wrong?”
Watching the girl in front of him who is about to kiss him—watching her large
eyes, her soft delicate skin, and her attractive, moist pink lips that is about to make
contact with his lips—makes Spanky‟s heart pump and thump as if he has never kissed a
girl before. But no, he kissed her last night. Didn‟t he?
He looks at the floor and makes up an excuse. “I would love to kiss you, but I
can‟t. I forgot to brush my teeth. My breath is so bad right now. I‟m sorry.”
“Boo! Come on, Spanky. You forgot to brush you teeth? Uh! What a let down.”
She slaps him. “No girl likes a guy with bad breath! The disgusting smell and germs in
your mouth! I know what we can do! You can brush you teeth with my toothbrush. Then
we can have our Good Morning kiss!”
“I can‟t…because…uh…” he mumbles for words, trying to find a excuse.
“Because my breath is so bad that I use this special toothbrush that helps me have clean
breath. Regular toothbrush doesn‟t work for me.
“But Spanky! I really wanna kiss you right now! I want to French Kiss you!”
His eyes widen. “French Kiss? Uh, I don‟t want to spread my germs into your
mouth or anything. Maybe later.
“Fine! You better brush your teeth before noon because I‟ll be waiting for Good
Afternoon Kiss. I‟ll be waiting for you to kiss me Spanky.”
“Sure Jelly. I won‟t forget.”
“Promise?” she asks, stepping forward to Spanky, looking directly into his eyes.
“Sure.”
“Say, „I promise.‟ She raises her right fist in front of him with her pinky sticking
out.
“I promise,” he submits, then stares at her pinky. After studying her cute pinky, he
hooks his pinky with her pinky. With their pinkies interlocked, she pulls her hand toward
her direction, making him lurch forward. Then Spanky does the same and pulls his hand
toward his direction lurching her toward him. Now the two are inches apart, close enough
for them to kiss each other. They look at each other in the eyes. Then Jelly glances down
at their intertwisted pinkies and bites them—her pinky and his pinky—mostly Spanky‟s
pinky, hinting what might happen if he breaks his promise.
“Ow,” he whispers out quickly pulling away his pinky out of the Pinky Lock and
grabbing his hurt finger. “Why‟d you do that?”
“Gawd, Spanky. I barely bit you. I bit my finger harder than yours,” she lies.
“You don‟t see me crying out like a baby.”
“Sorry.” He relaxes his arms, hanging naturally by his side, though he wants to
rub his injured finger. Feeling embarrassed, he stares at the floor.
“So, what do you want to do today, Spanky?”
Spanky isn‟t quite sure because his mind is still on his hurt pinkie. “I don‟t
know…What do you want to do?”
“NO… What do yooouu want to do, Spanky? Anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Yep.”
“Well! Let me think! Anything, eh? Anything I want…I wanna go to the
playground and play.”
“You wanna go where? The playground? How old are we?” She had in her mind
something romantic and at this she frowns at him in contempt as if she is talking to a
retarded boy.
“Silly Jelly, we‟re both nineteen.”
“Well, yea! DUH!” she utters in a sarcastic voice, wagging her head, the way girls
do. “You‟re nineteen years old and you want to go to the playground? And you want me
to go with you and play with you?”
“Yes.”
“What is wrong with you!” she chirps scornfully. I was thinking…” She pauses
for a few seconds. “The mall at least” She doesn‟t finish the sentence way she wants to.
“There are gonna be kids there. Nineteen-year-olds playing on the playground along with
little toddlers is just embarrassing!”
“I haven‟t played on the playground in ages. It would be nice to play, don‟t you
think. Don‟t you remember playing on the playground during recess when you were a
kid?”
“Well…” She does think about when she was a child playing—all the laughter, all
the innocence. “Maybe you‟re right. Maybe we‟re not all that grown up as we think,” she
comments taking a few more moments to think. “You know, I haven‟t been to the
playground in such a long time. Last time I stepped onto the playground was in fifth
grade…Oh.” She thinks for a few more moment. “Well, it would be fun to run around the
mulch and go down the slides.”
“And run across the bridge and go across the monkey bar,” he adds with a grin
“And go on the swings and climb up the jungle gym,” she excitingly continues.
Spanky gets a vision of himself on the swing with her holding her hair in his
hand.
“I remember having so much fun during the short thirty minutes of recess. And
when it was time to go inside, we were all whiney and moany. „Already! Oh man‟. I miss
that—I miss forgetting about everything and being lost in the moment,” she yearns.
“It really would be fun to go there and just play. You know what I want to do? I
want to go on the swings holding you hands.” She leans into his ears and whispers,
becoming seriously interested, “I want to hold your hands and kiss all over your face,
Spanky.” Then she straightens back to her former posture. “Do you go to the playground
often? Sounds like you go there often,” she states sarcastically.
“No. I haven‟t been to the playground in a long time either. I pass by it everyday
when I walk to class though. I just got this thought that it would be fun to go there and
play.”
“I haven‟t seen any playgrounds around here.”
“There‟s one down the street behind Superstar Supermarket. It‟s kind of hidden
by a row of trees.”
“How far is it away from here?”
“It‟s a ten minute walk. There really shouldn‟t be anybody there this early in the
morning.”
“Really. Let‟s go, then!” she yelps, jumping onto the tip of her toes, then back
down like a ballerina.
As they‟re leaving, she flicks on the TV to check the weather in the living room.
As she is clicking through channels, a wrestling match appears on the screen.
“Wait. I wanna watch this.”
“I need to check the weather though.”
“Let me just watch for a few minutes, okay?”
The current match is The Boink Brothers versus The Mexicools.
“Woe. I love The Mexicools! They‟re cool. They‟re not Mexicans, they‟re
Mexicools!” Spanky mumbles.
Psychosis of The Mexicools is in the ring locked up with D. Boink…
“That‟s enough,” Jelly states and turns off the TV. “Let‟s go.”
She leads out of her apartment, Spanky following after her. Walking out into the
hall, towards the stairs, and before stepping down the staircase, she stops and turns. He
stops next to her.
“What?” he asks.
“Rock, paper, scissors. Ready? One, two, three, shoot.”
He shoots paper. “I win. Paper beats rock, Jelly.” He steps down one.
“One, two, three, shoot.”
“Again, I beat you—scissors cuts paper.” He steps down another.
“One, two, three, shoot.”
“Again. Three in a row.” He steps down a third.
“No fair!” she wines. Not wanting to go on with the loosing streak, she zooms
down the staircase like thief on the run. “I beat you! I win. Ha ha!”
“You cheated, Jelly! You can‟t do that,” he yells, looking down at her from the
top of the staircase. “You think you‟re Eddie Guerrero1
or something? Latino Heat? You
cheater!”
“What? Latino Heat?”
“Yea. „I cheat, I lie, I steal?‟ Now, he is one cool wrestler.
“Okay… You‟re just bitter because I beat you.” She sticks out her tongue, red as
cherry. Come and get me, Spanky!”
As he watches her run, he sprints down the stairs, but his foot almost slips off the
edge of a step and nearly tumbles down all the way. But just in time, he grabs the hand
rail and regains balance, then continues to down the staircase chasing her. When he
reaches the ground floor and runs out onto the sidewalk, she is way ahead of him so he
keeps running after her. But faster he runs, further away she appears to be. Out of breath,
he stops and yells out to her, “Jelly! Wait for me!” He thinks that he is going to lose her.
Jelly stops running and turns around. Spanky bends over to catch some breath. When he
stands back up, she is slowly walking back to by his side.
“Wow. You are fast,” he says breathing calmer.
“Come on, you slowpoke. Which way?”
“This way.” He leads the way, walking. As he catches his breaths and as his head
clears with the thought of losing sight of Jelly, he realizes that it‟s rather cold out there.
He sees, from his point of view, fog coming from below, from his mouth. “It‟s kind of
chilly out here.” Turning his head he also sees her exhaling foggy breath out from her
mouth too. “I should have brought out a jacket,” he comments. He blows a warm stream
into the hole of his fist, then rubs his hands together to warm up his freezing fingers.
They walk down two more blocks and turn towards Superstar Supermarket,
walking around it and through a group a row of big trees. Slicing through the barricading
trees standing tightly side by side, they see the playground.
“Right there,” he points to the playground.
“It‟s big, it‟s huge, it‟s a Fat Poppa of a playground,” she cries looking up onto
the hill. “Let‟s run. I‟ll race you. One, two three, go,” she says in increasing speed, then
darts to the playground, ascending the hill at an unusually fast speed, reaching it in what
seems to be about five seconds, even before he had the time to get ready.
“I‟ll just walk,” thinking he‟ll never be able to go up a hill that fast. So he starts
taking long strides, then bends forward at the waist as the hill gets steeper, to counterbalance the center of gravity of his body due to the steep. Running out of breath, his
strides get shorter and choppier. He looks up to see how far he has to walk, and in doing
so catches a glimpse of the sky. In the sky there is a light grey sheet of clouds, a bit
depressing but showing signs of lighter mood seen through the fairer parts of the sky.
Looking at them more carefully, he sees holes of blue background between the evernoticeable breaks. A few seconds later, he finds himself he‟s finally on top of the hill. He
walks onto the mulch and looks around for Jelly.
“Jelly?” he questions turning his head left and right.
“I‟m right here,” she sings from the top of the slide above him. She slides down
and meets Spanky at the base. “Help me up.”
He takes hold of her arms and pulls her up. As he pulls, she hops forward and
hugs him, wrapping her arms around him.
I should hug her back, he thinks after pondering the situation. He raises his arms
in front of him, his hands unknowingly curled up towards his elbow, and gives her a
rabbit hug, squeezing her sides a few times, as if he doesn‟t know how to hug a girl.
She giggles at his hug. “I need a hug to make up for the missed kiss this
morning,” she says still hugging him snugly.
“Okay. Do you want to go down the slide again?” he asks, looking around to see
if anyone has witnessed the pathetic way he hugged her.
“Only if you want to.”
“I want to,” Spanky says.
They break the hug and climb up the ladder a few feet away. He climbs first, and
Jelly behind him. On the platform on top of the ladder, he turns and watches her escalate
up to him. With her standing next to him, he looks down at the mulch five feet below
him, and his eyes rise up and out to the edge of the playground, down the hill, and
straight out. “Ah. You can see everything up from here.” He places open palm over his
eye brows as if a pirate looking out across the sea from the deck. “There are the trees and
there is Superstar Supermarket. You can see the roof and everything. It looks so different
from up here.” He looks near his feet and steps up onto on of the large platform-step
leading to the slide. He looks far out. “You get a better view from here.”
“You can see little cars and people on the streets,” she observes.
“I should have brought my binocular. It would be fun to spy on people.”
“Yea, it would. It would be fun to spy on girls! Is that what you do on your free
time, Spanky?
“No! What makes you think that?” He then thinks of something to change the
subject.
“Noticing a building vaguely familiar from the angle he is at, he asks her, “is that
your apartment?”
“Where? Oh that? Yea, I think it is…It is my apartment. But you can‟t see my
window from here.” She hops up a step to the pinnacle of the structure of the slide. She
jumps a few times and stretches her neck to get a better look. “You still can‟t see that
well. But it‟s still really nice up here being able to see everything.”
Holding the railing and sticking his head out the rails, leaning out, he notices how
far up he is from the ground and how long the slide is. “Woe, it‟s kind of scary up here
though. I haven‟t been up this high, on top of a playground, in a long time.”
“Don‟t fall!” She shoves him lightly in the back.
He pulls back away from the rails, lands back on his feet, turns, and hugs her
tightly—not a wimpy bunny hug, but a Real Hug, like a child hugging a teddy bear. He
lets her go and stares at her. “Sorry.” Then looks away. What if he did hall? What would
have happened then?
“Come on, Spanky. Don‟t be a sissy,” she ridicule him with a smile. “Do you
want to go first?”
“What? Oh, down the slide.” Looking into the entrance-hole of the spiral-tunnel
slide, he is daunted—about to spiral down into the unknown into that dark, black hole.
Although he was excited about going down the slide a minute ago, he is starting to have
second thoughts, after consciously becoming aware of elevation of his current location.
“I don‟t know. Maybe going down the slide isn‟t such a good idea.”
“What! It was your idea! You‟re the one who wanted to come here!”
“But—”
She gives him an angry, bully look, looking like as if she might hit him. To avoid
the tentative violence, he gives in.
“Okay. I‟ll go down the slide.”
“Good. You go down first. No, I‟ll go first because I‟m a lady. Is that okay with
you?”
“Yes.”
She changes her mind. “No, let‟s go together.”
“Jelly, the slide isn‟t wide enough for both of us to go down together.”
“Okay. I‟ll go first then you follow right after me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Set?”
“Set.”
“Go!” Jelly slides down, screeching “wee!” in laughter arms raised in the air.
“Go!” Spanky slides right after, after closing his eyes and taking a big swallow,
squawking “woo!” half scared and half in enjoyment. Then, plop, followed by another
plop. Sliding down so fast that when they reach the bottom, they fall on their butts—Jelly
first, then Spanky. Spanky, on his butt right behind her, gets up and walks over in front of
her and pulls her arms to help her up. Unable to lift her using one arm, he pulls her with
both arms, leaning back to use his body weight for aid.
“That was fun,” she says enthusiastically. “Let‟s do it again,” she brushes her butt
to get the mulch off.
He exhales in relief, having gotten rid of the anxious feeling. But he isn‟t quite
sure he wants to do it again. “I almost landed on top of you. It‟s very dangerous.”
“It‟s very dangerous,” she mocks him.
“Come on. Don‟t be a loser, man.”
“Hey, what did you call me! I am not a ….”
“Let‟s go across the monkey bar.”
“Okay.”
They run across to the other side of the playground where the monkey bars are
located. They are stand at the start of the monkey bars.
“I‟ll go first this time. I‟m good at monkey bar.” Bar by bar, he monkies across
the monkey bars like a monkey. While doing so, he feels muscles around his armpits
stretching, occasionally hanging on one for a second and breathing deeper, bringing
refreshing feeling to his head. And she effortlessly follows behind him to the other end,
occasionally kicking his butt. “What are you doing? Don‟t kick my tushy,” he complains.
“Sorry. It was an accident,” she says innocently.
“Okay, fine,” unable to counter her innocence. When they finish the monkey bars,
he tells her they‟re going on the seesaw next. But she wants to do the monkey bar again.
“No!” he utters not wanting to get kicked again. “We‟re going on the seesaw!”
“Fine! We‟ll go on the seesaw.”
She sit on one side and waits for him to get on.
He tries to pull down the seat on the other side so he can get on. “I‟m gonna need
some help Jelly.”
She straightens out her legs so his side is lower. Spanky jumps up and tries to
place his chest on the seat to weigh it down. He tries to kick up a foot on the seat to
launch himself up. He hangs on the edge in pull-up position with his leg in squatting
position beneath but to no avail. “I can‟t do this.” He puts his hands around his waist and
faces Jelly.
“Oh. You need some help? How about this—when I jump, you hop on. Okay.”
“Okay.”
She launches off from the ground with her feet real hard. As the seesaw tips to
Spanky‟s side, she yells to him to hop on. “Now, now!”
He swiftly sits on the seat as it hits the tired implanted on the ground. The seesaw
tips back over to the other side. The two kids are taking turns bouncing back and forth on
the seesaw.
“Jelly?”
“Yea.”
“You better not dive off while I‟m in the air.”
“And if I do?”
“Don‟t. I don‟t want to bonk down on my…”
“Tushy?”
“…Yea, and hurt myself.”
“I won‟t do that to you. Will you dive off, Spanky, and make me bonk down on
my tushy?”
“Uh…” he lets seesaw tip back and froth a few more times before answering.
“Yes,” and before she pulls a quick one on him, he jumps off and she begins to descend.
“No!” she shrieks as her side falls down with great force. But with quick thinking,
she dives off before her seat hits the tire landing on her sides.
Having witnessed this amazing event, he runs over to her. “Woe, Jelly. That‟s was
amazing. How‟d you tumble off like that? You should be a stunt woman or something.
Wow. You are something, Jelly.”
“Why‟d you do that!” She gets in his face and pushes him back.
“I didn‟t wanna get screwed over. Nobody like getting screwed over…”
“But you said…”
“You said you wouldn‟t jump off. But I never did.”
“You!” she shakes her fist at him with an angry face.
“I‟m sorry. Did you get hurt? Do you want to punch me? Since I made you get
hurt, I‟ll let you punch me anywhere on my body. Pick a body part and punch me as hard
as you can.”
“What? You‟re letting me punch you?”
“It‟s only fair that you punch me.”
“A free punch!” She thinks about where to hit him—his nose, his eye, his chin,
his stomach…or maybe give him a low-blow, but she changes her mind. “No. I can‟t
punch you, Spanky. I won‟t. I didn‟t get hurt.”
“But the way you dived off was so awesome. You must have gotten hurt. Really.
Hit me. I want you to.”
“It‟s not like I jumped off five feet from the air. I just tipped myself over right
before it hit the ground. I‟m not hurt at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Half laughing and twittling her thumbs, she asserts, “But there is this one
thing.”
“What?” he gasps. “What‟s wrong?”
”You‟re it!” She tags his arm and runs away from him, laughing.
He mumbles to himself as he starts to chase her. He runs, in pursuit of her, across
the mulch, around the slide, up the ladder, across the bridge, down the steps, and under
the monkey bars. He drops to the ground. “Ow. Jelly, I‟m hurt. I‟m hurt!”
She stops and turns. “You think I was born yesterday,” the girl yells. “I‟m not
gonna fall for that trick.”
“Ugh!” he breaths out hard. “Does Jelly think she‟s smart or something?” he talks
to himself sitting on his butt playing with his fingernails. “Oh my Gawd. It‟s gonna take
forever to tag her. Oh my.” He sighs with his shoulders sagged. He was never good at
playing tag or good at anything for that matter.
“Come on now! Let‟s go. Let‟s go, boy!”
“Okay. I‟m coming,” the boy mumbles. Getting up, he chases her down again.
As she runs between the swings, she grabs the ropes of the swings on both sides
of her, pulls on them and lets them go, causing them to swing back and forth in a
squiggly way. Spanky slows down and stops the swings so he doesn‟t run into them and
get tangled up. Knowing she‟s too quick for him, he gives up—He just stands there, grabs
a rope of a swing, and hangs on them leaning back like a lame duck. Casually wandering
the playground with his eyeballs, he observes Jelly standing on a circular platform that
spins. He walks toward her. “Is that what you call merry-go-round?” He steps onto it.
“Yea. I think so.” She grabs the rail and with one foot on the merry-go-round,
pushes it off with her other foot, causing it to spin. He does the same.
“Faster,” she tells Spanky.
“Faster,” he replies.
They spin faster and faster until the world they see with their eyes turns to a blur.
She starts laughing. He starts laughing too.
“Woe, I‟m getting dizzy,” they both wonder at the same time. But they lift up
their heads and let one arm out to the side, enjoying the air blowing in their face and
through their finger and the dizzy feeling they haven‟t felt since childhood.
“I can‟t take it any more,” he hollers out.
“What?” she asks having missed what he just said.
“I‟m getting dizzy!” he yells as he lets go of the rail and jumps off the merry-goround, landing on his back on the mulch.
Jelly, seeing him laying on the ground, gasps in surprise—her jaws drop and her
hand goes up to her mouth—then does the same. She jumps off except, unlike Spanky,
she lands on her feet. She walks up to him and asks, “Are you okay?”
“I‟m fine,” he says calmly, trying to get up but not being able to because he‟s so
dizzy. His hands dance all around in front of him in attempt to grab something and
balance himself back on his feet, but his hand not finding anything to grasp anything. As
he‟s about half way up, he keeps plunking down on his butt.
She helps him up after a few seconds, after finding him acting that way amusing.
But unable to keep balance, he leans left, then right, then backwards taking stuttering
steps with his knees bent and his arms flying everywhere, like a drunk person. He almost
trips down on the ground.
“Whew. I am so dizzy.” He rests his hand on his forehead. He then feels heat, like
sitting next to a fireplace, on the side of his head from the breaking of the clouds in the
sky. “I feel a bit muggy,” he says, pulling collar down to get some air in his shirt and cool
down the nervous sweat.
“Sit down,” she commands tired of seeing him act foolish, and like a bully, she
pushes him, causing him to land on his butt. On the ground, he lays down on his back.
She lays down right next to him in the middle of the playground.
“I haven‟t done this in such a long time,” he mutters, looking at the sky.
“Me neither.”
“It‟s like when we were little, we used to spin around and around in place until we
got dizzy to our tummy and fell down on the floor. I used to do that a lot. Did you do that
when you were little?”
“No, I have never done that,” she tells him. “But I went on the merry-go-round
everyday during recess.” Jelly turns her head to look at Spanky, and her fingers creep
toward his hand like a spider then lays her hand on top of his.
He gasps surprised and looks down at his hand then at Jelly. He looks back up at
the sky and turns his hand around with his palm touching her hand. Their hands squeeze
in unison. Just about the very second, the grey clouds break away and rays of sunshine
breaks through. There are white, puffy, cumulus clouds right above him high in the sky.
“The sun‟s getting in my eyes,” he complains and lifts up his hand. “Let‟s go on
the swings now.”
Spanky and Jelly get up on their feet, brushing off pieces of wood off their backs.
“Let me help you, Spanky.” She sweeps her hand on his back starting on his
shoulders and down to his lower back and even lower. She spanks his butt.
He jumps up in the air, with his knees raised up in front of him and his left hand
dropping behind his butt area, almost losing balance and fall back down on his butt.
“Jelly! What are you doing?”
“I‟m helping you get all that stuff off your back and on your tushy. What? You
didn‟t like me slapping your tushy? LET‟S SPANK SPANKY!”
“That was such an inappropriate thing to do! Oh my Gawd!”
“But you have a dirty tushy. I‟m just trying to help you out,” she defends. “You
can slap my tushy. Would you like that?” asks Jelly while smiling at him.
“Uh-huh. Time for pay back,” he says bitterly.
She turns around. Standing behind her, he winds his hand back. But as he‟s about
to do what both he and Jelly think is gonna do, his hand stops an inch form her butt, and
instead he shakes her hair to get the mulch off of them. “You have a lot of mulch in your
hair,” he says picking out the big pieces, slowly taking his time, caressing her beautiful
hair.
Jelly coughs and clears her throat as if trying to tell him something.
“Okay, you‟re clean now. Now, onto the swings,” he says changing the subject.
He walks over to the swings and sits on one avoiding looking at her in the eye. She
follows him and sits on the swing next to him.
“Let‟s hold hands now since you didn‟t spank me like I wanted you to,” she says
looking at him with her back straight, eyes even with his.
“Okay.”
He hangs his arm by his side and she clutches his hand in her‟s. They hold hands.
“Do you like holding hands? Do you think this is romantic?” she questions and
looks up at the sky like Spanky. “I like holding hands and KISSING in the morning at the
break of dawn.”
“It is. I think so—holding hands while sitting on swings on the playground. I have
never done this before. It feels really weird. My tummy feels funny. I think it‟s
because…” His head slants downward.
He has never done this before? He supposedly made out with her all day long
yesterday and so holding her hands should be nothing, one would think.
Jelly and Spanky gaze at the scenery—In the predawn lights, there are little red
birds flying across the sky then taking residence on a tree. There are sunflowers on few
feet away from the tree with bees flying around it. The morning sun, rising from the east
begins to shine down on the two romantic youths. In the atmosphere, they see between
the diverging curtains of the grey sheet of cloud, streaks of white lines formed from jets
ripping through the sky on a light on a sea-blue background. Far east on the corner of the
horizon, hauling itself up out of its bed, the dazzling sun, like crystal emerald, blinds their
sights. They see trees around them, top half lit up and the other half still dim due to the
sun‟s angle. The bright colored flowers near them look pure and unadulterated, and
Spanky and Jelly sit there in the innocent, unfallen paradise.
They hold hands for what seems to be twenty minutes during which he attempts to
get his hand on her gorgeous hair, but can‟t get himself to actually do it because he
doesn‟t know what her reaction would be. However, just to see what she might do, he
moves his free hand nearer and nearer her head.
“It‟s starting to get real sunny,” she says, and places her hand on her forehead.
He scratches his head. “Okay. Yea. Let‟s go in. We might get skin cancer.” They
release their hands and get up. Newly-forming flocks of bulgy, bouncy clouds cover the
sun and the intensity of the heat decrease.
“Wait. I wanna go down the slide one more time. One last time before we go,”
Spanky says.
“But we did that already…Okay. I‟ll stand right here and watch you.”
Spanky goes up to the top of the slide up the ladder and the steps all the way up to
the top to the spiral slide. Looking into the tunnel of the slide scares him like the first
time. So he goes steps down a few to the straight slide that is half the length of the other
one.
“Don‟t slide down that one. That‟s not fun. Go back up.”
“But I like this one.” He slides down the short, straight slide, his arms up in the air
like a toddler. Having slid down the slide, he says, “Okay. Let‟s go home, Jelly.”
“Was that fun, Spanky? The short, boring slide?”
“Yep. A lot of fun.”
They walk back to her apartment. In her apartment, Spanky sits on the couch.
Jelly says, “I‟m sweaty. I‟m going to take a shower,” and starts to take off her
shoes and her socks while he‟s looking on.
He realizes what cute, pink socks she has on. She then gets ready to take off more
articles of clothing. He stands up and says, “I‟m gonna go to home and take a shower too.
I‟ll be back in thirty minutes.”
“Okay. Bye bye, Spanky.”
“Bye.”
Spanky, instead of taking a shower, dives onto his bed. Laying on his bed and
staring at the ceiling, he thinks to himself. And as he thinks, he remembers that Jelly is a
girl from his class that he has a crush on. He doesn‟t remember how he got her to be his
girlfriend…but nevertheless he continues to think:
Wow, that was a lot of fun—running around with her, chasing her, laying on the
ground with her, going on the swing with her and holding her hand. But most of all, I
loved brushing mulch off her hair. I love her hair! Her hair is so curly and fluffy. I wish I
could just grab them and play with them. I want to grasp some of her hair my left hand
and twirl them around with my right index finger. I see her do that all the time, and
sometimes it’s annoying, but it looks so fun. She’s always touching her hair—either
pushing them up, twirling them around and around, or chewing on them. That’s what I
want to do too—chew on her hair. I don’t know what hair tastes like, but she seems to
enjoy it so much. I’m sure it tastes good. I bet it’s chewy too. She does that whenever she
gets bored in class when the teacher lectures.
I always come in late to class and there aren’t any seats left except in the back
which is where I sit. When I look up at the board, her head is right there in front of my
sight and she’s constantly playing with her hair. It’s so distracting. I can’t even pay
attention to the teacher because her hair is so fluffy and curly, and she always fidgeting
with them. I want to yell at her, ‘Jelly! Stop it!’ or throw a crumpled piece of paper at
her head. Sometimes, I think she does that on purpose to gain attention as if she doesn’t
get enough already. In class, she’s always raising her hand and answering questions and
getting good grades and always liked by all her teachers. When we have a class
discussion, she’s always leading the class, incessantly talking, diverting attention away
from everyone else. She’s like a champion student. Teachers like champion students.
But what if she doesn’t let me touch her hair? What if I ask her, ‘Jelly, could I
play with your hair’ and she says ‘no.’ She’ll probably think that I’m a jerk for trying to
touch her hair. Oh well. Let’s write a poem about her hair.
He gets up out of bed, sits at his desk and diligently writes:
Hair Poem
I wish I could touch Jelly’s hair—
So perfect and pretty.
I just want to grab them and play—
Her hair and me right here.
I want to get to know her—
Her irresistible hair.
Her hair is so divine and beautiful—
Like the Greek Goddess of Hair | 1 | Specific Threats | The Adventure of Spanky | 6/27/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Act 1: Scene 1
(The scene opens in a dimly lit room. Mr. Brownstone is sitting at a desk, writing. John enters.)
John: Mr. Brownstone, I need to talk to you.
Mr. Brownstone: What is it, John?
John: It's about Jane. She's been acting strange lately.
Mr. Brownstone: Strange? How so?
John: She's been distant, and she keeps talking about leaving town.
Mr. Brownstone: (sighs) I see. Have you spoken to her about it?
John: I tried, but she won't listen to me.
Mr. Brownstone: I'll talk to her. Maybe I can help.
(John nods and exits. Mr. Brownstone continues writing as the lights fade out.)
Act 1: Scene 2
(Jane is sitting on a park bench, looking lost in thought. Mr. Brownstone approaches.)
Mr. Brownstone: Jane, may I sit?
Jane: (startled) Oh, Mr. Brownstone. Yes, of course.
Mr. Brownstone: John tells me you've been thinking about leaving town.
Jane: (sighs) It's true. I feel like I don't belong here anymore.
Mr. Brownstone: What makes you say that?
Jane: Everything feels different now. I need a fresh start.
Mr. Brownstone: Sometimes a change of scenery can help, but running away won't solve your problems.
Jane: I know, but I can't shake this feeling.
Mr. Brownstone: Have you talked to Mary about this?
Jane: No, I don't want to worry her.
Mr. Brownstone: She's your friend. She might be able to offer some perspective.
Jane: Maybe you're right. I'll talk to her.
Mr. Brownstone: Good. Remember, we're here for you.
(Mr. Brownstone exits. Jane sits for a moment longer before getting up and walking off stage.)
Act 1: Scene 3
(Mary's living room. Mary and Peter are sitting on the couch, talking. Jane enters.)
Jane: Mary, Peter. I need to talk to you both.
Mary: Jane! What's going on?
Jane: I've been feeling like I need to leave town. I don't know what to do.
Peter: Leave? Why?
Jane: Everything just feels wrong here. I need a fresh start.
Mary: Jane, you're one of my best friends. If you leave, I'll miss you terribly.
Jane: I know, Mary. That's why it's so hard.
Peter: Maybe a short trip would help. You don't have to leave forever.
Jane: That's a good idea. Maybe just a little time away will clear my head.
Mary: Whatever you decide, we're here for you.
Jane: Thank you, both of you.
(They embrace as the lights fade out.)
Act 2: Scene 1
(Mr. Brownstone's office. He is writing again. Mary enters.)
Mary: Mr. Brownstone, I need to talk to you about Jane.
Mr. Brownstone: Yes, what is it?
Mary: She's thinking about taking a short trip to clear her head.
Mr. Brownstone: That sounds like a good idea. Sometimes a little distance can bring clarity.
Mary: I hope so. I just want her to be happy.
Mr. Brownstone: We all do, Mary. We all do.
(They sit in silence for a moment before Mary exits. Mr. Brownstone continues writing.)
Act 2: Scene 2
(A train station. Jane is waiting for her train. John enters.)
John: Jane, you're really going through with this?
Jane: Yes, John. I need this.
John: I understand. Just promise me you'll come back.
Jane: I promise. I just need some time to figure things out.
John: Take all the time you need. We'll be here when you're ready.
Jane: Thank you, John.
(The train arrives. Jane boards the train and waves goodbye as it departs.)
Act 2: Scene 3
(Mr. Brownstone's office. He is writing. John and Mary enter.)
John: Mr. Brownstone, Jane just left on a trip.
Mr. Brownstone: I heard. Let's hope it brings her the clarity she needs.
Mary: I just want her to be happy.
Mr. Brownstone: We all do, Mary. We all do.
(They sit in silence as the lights fade out.)
Act 3: Scene 1
(The train station. Jane returns, looking refreshed. Mr. Brownstone is waiting for her.)
Mr. Brownstone: Welcome back, Jane.
Jane: Mr. Brownstone. It's good to be back.
Mr. Brownstone: How do you feel?
Jane: Better. I have a clearer mind now.
Mr. Brownstone: I'm glad to hear that. Let's go see the others.
(They exit together as the lights fade out.)
Act 3: Scene 2
(Mary's living room. Mary and Peter are sitting on the couch. John enters.)
John: Jane's back!
Mary: Really? How is she?
John: She seems better. Mr. Brownstone brought her back.
(Jane and Mr. Brownstone enter.)
Mary: Jane! I'm so glad you're back.
Jane: It's good to be back, Mary. I missed you all.
Peter: How do you feel?
Jane: Much better. I needed that time away.
Mr. Brownstone: We're glad to have you back, Jane.
Jane: Thank you, Mr. Brownstone. For everything.
Mr. Brownstone: Anytime, Jane.
(They all embrace as the lights fade out.) | 1 | Grievance Airring | Mr. Brownstone | 6/28/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Mr.%20Brownstone%20-%20a%20play%20by%20Seung%20Hui%20Cho.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Act 1: Scene 1
(The scene opens in the living room. Richard McBeef is sitting on the couch reading a newspaper. John enters.)
John: I don't like you, Richard.
Richard McBeef: Why not, John?
John: Because you're not my real dad.
Richard McBeef: I know I'm not your real dad, but I care about you and your mother.
John: (angrily) No, you don't! You just want to take her away from me.
Richard McBeef: That's not true, John. I want us to be a family.
John: You'll never be my family!
(John storms out. Richard McBeef looks troubled and sighs as the lights fade out.)
Act 1: Scene 2
(Sue is in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Richard McBeef enters.)
Richard McBeef: Sue, we need to talk about John.
Sue: What about him?
Richard McBeef: He's been acting out. He says he doesn't like me because I'm not his real dad.
Sue: He just needs time to adjust, Richard. It's been hard for him since his father passed away.
Richard McBeef: I understand that, but we need to find a way to help him cope.
Sue: I'll talk to him tonight. Maybe we can all sit down together and have a family discussion.
Richard McBeef: That sounds like a good idea.
(They embrace as the lights fade out.)
Act 1: Scene 3
(John's bedroom. John is sitting on his bed, looking upset. Sue enters.)
Sue: John, can we talk?
John: About what?
Sue: About Richard. I know you're having a hard time accepting him.
John: I don't want to talk about him.
Sue: I know it's difficult, but he's trying his best to be there for us.
John: He'll never be my dad.
Sue: He knows that, John. He just wants to be part of our lives.
John: (softening) I don't know if I can ever accept him.
Sue: Just give him a chance, for me?
John: I'll try, Mom.
Sue: That's all I ask.
(They hug as the lights fade out.)
Act 2: Scene 1
(The living room. Richard McBeef is watching TV. John enters.)
John: Richard, can we talk?
Richard McBeef: Of course, John. What's on your mind?
John: I talked to Mom. She wants us to try to get along.
Richard McBeef: I want that too, John. I know I'm not your dad, but I care about you.
John: It's just hard for me to accept that.
Richard McBeef: I understand. Losing a parent is never easy.
John: I miss my dad.
Richard McBeef: I know you do. And I'm not here to replace him. I just want to be here for you and your mom.
John: Maybe we can try to get along.
Richard McBeef: I'd like that.
(They shake hands as the lights fade out.)
Act 2: Scene 2
(The kitchen. Sue is setting the table for dinner. Richard McBeef and John enter, talking and laughing.)
Sue: It's good to see you two getting along.
Richard McBeef: We're trying our best.
John: Yeah, we're making an effort.
Sue: That makes me very happy.
Richard McBeef: We're all in this together.
John: Thanks, Richard.
Richard McBeef: Anytime, John.
(They sit down to dinner as the lights fade out.)
Act 2: Scene 3
(The living room. Richard McBeef, John, and Sue are sitting together, talking and laughing. The atmosphere is warm and familial.)
Richard McBeef: I'm glad we had that talk, John.
John: Me too. It feels good to get along.
Sue: This is what family is all about.
Richard McBeef: Absolutely. We're stronger together.
John: I think things are going to be okay.
Sue: I know they will be.
(They all smile as the lights fade out.) | 1 | Vague Discontent | Richard McBeef | [late] 2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
Half way across the bridge, he slowly let the beat up car come to a halt. It was early morning hours before the crack of dawn, with no human being within sight, no sight of visible movements. He parked the car where it was standing in idle, dully drags his feet out of the door, and approaches the ledge of the bridge to where when looked down saw black, puddley waves of the water. And as he raised his head to look out into the horizon he perceives a vast sheet of rolling spikes like a grand, eternal torture device. For whatever reason wanting to feel the icy-cold sea, he hopped over the rails and with one hand on the rail leaned forward to touch the water. What if I just let go, he thought. What if I wasn't stupid enough to always fail. What if... Still reaching out to the sea, he let his eyelids droop and rested his chin on his chest. Mmm...Mommy mommy mommy, he thought as the other hand slowly but undoubtedly loosened. But all the sudden, a loud horn boomed which compelled him instantly jump back over the rails and land on his chest. He looks up and there is a car with four obnoxious and angry teenagers waiting for him to move his car. So he gasps and quickly gets up, runs to his car, and floors it. The car with a bunch of teenagers switched lane and passed him by yelling at him. With a sigh he stops on the side of the road, deep in thought. May I should drive my crappy car and my crappy self into the sea. Deep, black, wonderful sea. Swim with the fishes, play with sea turtles, laugh with mermaids. I don't know. Undecided, he got out of the car and walked in circles faster and faster. Then ran in circles faster and faster. Minutes passed, hours passed until a cars sports car passed him and one the left shoulder of the road he stopped and screamed, PSYCHO!!! He quickly went into his car and floored it just to get away from the place he was at. I'm not a psycho! I wish I was a psycho, though. It would be so much easier. He pulled his car over again a few minutes later for no reason and thinks, and not much later jumps on the top of his car. With his arms spread out, he looked up at the sky and spun in circles like a lunatic. He spun and spun and spun. Spun some more. He spun until the world he perceived through his two eyes morphed into a blur. As doing so his legs tangled, tumbled over, and flips off the car. His head bounced off the black road but didn't pass out, even though he wanted to. He bounced his head hard on the asphalt but he was still conscious. I don't want to live. I want to die. Kill me...Save me the agony and torment... With these musings he closed his eyes and played dead. | 1 | Specific Threats | Story 1 | 2005-2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
It's dark outside. A somber, morbid morning.
He gets out of bed unusually early, and instead of eating breakfast and brushing his teeth as he always does, his puts on his black jeans, a strappy black vest with many pockets, a black hat, a large dark sunglasses, and a flimsy jacket, and heads out without his backpack.
His mom is in the kitchen packing lunch for him, her, and his father. She notices her son leaving. "Bud, it's only six. Where you going?"
"Need to finish up a project."
"Oh. But why aren't you taking your backpack with you?"
"Left it in my locker."
"Oh. Hold on for five minutes. I'm almost done packing your lunch."
"I'll buy my lunch."
"Bud, you know how early I woke up to do this for you..."
"Mom!" he yells and slams the door and runs. "Damn it, why is she always so bitchy! God damn it! I hate her."
A few blocks down the sidewalk, he sees a sports coupe in idle. He passes by it but doesn't see anyone inside. After long moments of thinking and taking a deep breath, he jerks his head left and right and runs around the car into the driver's seat and shoots down the road, nervously laughing. He turns on the radio, lowers the windows, and opens the sunroof, feeling the myriad sparks of wind to his face. But he keeps the speed limit to avoid confrontations with cops. On this soon-to-be special day he can't afford to ruin it with carelessness. Because of the expected early arrival to the school due to his newfound car, he decides to do drive around the town.
On the empty parking lot of a grocery store, he turns the steering wheel all the way sending the car skidding in circles. Then he parks the car crooked on two spaces. Inside the store, he strolls around looking for nothing in particular. In the snack section he sees some gummy bears that catches his eyes. After long moments and looking around he quickly and slyly sticks a pack in his vest. Then he finds himself in the liquor section. Again, looking around he sticks a bottle of beer in his vest and speedwalks out.
He drives toward the school eating gummy bears and drinking beer which is something new for him. On finishing them he throws the wrapper and the bottle out the window after checking all angles and parks the car on the side of the road. He walks deep in the woods and searches for the tree with a mark on it. Next to the tree he digs with both hands and uncovers the box. The secret place where he hides his only friends—his guns. The 9mm, .357 Magnum, and 12-inch sawed off shotgun. He tactfully hides his guns on his vest—the 9mm in the shoulder holster, the magnum on his waist, and the shotgun strapped on the left side of his body.
Back in the car he drives to school, then passes time waiting, thinking about his life up until the current moment—All the emotional and mental abuse he has endured, feelings of invisibility, inadequacy, unworthiness, the bombardment and the thrashing of scornful derisions that he wants to demolish and sabotage his physical idleness and paralysis in a dramatic fashion before he looses sanity. He wants no more of the hellish torment of his intrinsically tragic life.
He punches the steering wheel. He kicks the flooring of the car. He swings his fists and stomps his feet in a flurry of tantrum, then sinks the top of his head on the steering wheel. Hours pass. Students unload from buses or is dropped off. Many park their cars and strut inside smiling, laughing, embracing each other—Oversized football players acting, talking, and walking like rappers making obnoxious commotions and comments that they should keep to themselves. Cheerleaders in showy uniforms gossiping in high-pitched tone with their noses slightly pointed to the sky and severe makeup on their faces. Nerd-types carrying stacks of books, wearing obscene pink wrinkle-free shirts, and talking about the upcoming state chess championship.
A few eyes glance at Bud but without the glint of recognition.
"I hate this! I hate all these frauds! I hate my life! I hate this car! I hate this school! I hate—I hate—I Errrgh!"
This mortifying frenzy of episode all too repetitious passes. The clock turns eight.
"This is it...This is when you damn people die with me..."
Once everyone has entered school, he gets out of the car, zips his jacket, readjusts his sunglasses and hat, and enters. The halls are nearly empty, only a few shutting their lockers and running to class. The bell rings, the hall completely empty. Bud stands in the middle of the empty hall. He stands there for a moment and turns and goes to an arbitrary classroom, and stands in front of the door. Looking in, a fun-natured teacher ecstatically lectures making social and political jokes occasionally. The class laughs. Everyone is smiling and laughing as if they're in heaven-on-earth, something magical and enchanting about all the people's intrinsic nature that Bud will never experience. Everyone is smiling and laughing except a gothic girl with obnoxious black clothes sitting in the back staring at Bud. Her stoned facial expression turns to concerned frown. Scanning the happy faces of the class, Bud's eyes lay on the gothic girl. And for a few seconds their eyes interlock, but he breaks away and runs to the bathroom.
He has his head resting on the wall in a stall, pondering on all the happy faces, wondering what their such happy lives, how they could be so happy and have so much fun, their loving family and friends, and the beautiful lives they'll live. I can't do this...I have no moral right... When he is about to walk out, his thought lands on the unhappy-faced girl. He sighs, shakes his head, and decides to go home.
But right out the door of the bathroom he runs into the somber-fashioned girl.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
"Wh—what?"
She snatches the glasses off his face and flicks his hat off. "What. You're gonna shoot us all? Huh?" She jerks his jacket open and uncovers his guns. "Sawed off shotgun? A 9mm—"
"Shut up!" he urgently whispers and covers up his guns. "Stop it!"
She pushes him into the bathroom and whispers, "You gonna shoot me now? Shoot me! You think you're such a tough guy, don't you. All your guns. Come on, blow my head off with your're freaking shotgun."
"Shut up, shut up! You don't understand. I—I was—"
"You were what?"
"I chickened out. I was about to go home. I'm just a—a—"
"You're a what?"
"I'm nothing. I'm a loser. I can't do anything. I was going to kill every god damn person in this damn school, swear to god I was, but I...couldn't. I just couldn't. Damn it I hate myself! Just leave me alone." Utter depressed and disappointed at himself, he runs out down the hall, out of the school to the car, and was about to shoot away, but the girl jumps on the hood. He stops. She rolls down onto the ground and jumps into the passenger seat.
"What is wrong with you?"
"That's the same question I would like to ask myself...I wish I knew. I don't think you should be here. This car is stolen. If I get stopped by a cop my life will be forever over. A stolen car, two hand guns, and a sawed off shotgun."
Neither of them say anything for awhile.
"Turn here. Pull into the driveway," she commands and he obeys. "This is my house." She gets out of the car, into the house, and opens the garage. She beckons him to drive into the garage.
"Well be safe here."
Grabbing onto his wrist she leads him into her room upstairs. From the closet she undigs a large chest. She opens—a .8 caliber automatic rifle and a M16 machine gun. "You and me. We can fight to claim our deserving throne." | 1 | Planned Violence | Story 2 | 2005-2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
With a cafeteria fork, she punctures a soda can multiple times. There is a severe frown on her face, and her lips are in the shape of an upside-down U.
"I hate him!"
"Calm down, Jen—"
"All he ever talks about is his stupid car. He spends all his time with it. How can he dump me like that over that damn car! Argh!" Jen fiercely stabs with the fork which shoots out the other side. "I wish this was him...Or better yet, his damn car! I'm always like, Let's go out tonight. He goes, Can't, need to wash my car. How about tomorrow night? I say. Can't, need to change her break pads...and change her oil...and rotate her tires. My car needs me," Jen bobs her head sideways, completely absorbed in her thought, all while continuing to viciously thrusting the fork. "Him and his stupid car. I hope she gets run over by a trailer tractor."
Maggie, sitting across from her, with much concern and distress, grabs the soda can and leads Jen away for a walk to help her to appease her anger.
All of the sudden, a sparkling red sports car screeches and parks in the school lot. A tall, handsome, muscular teenager pops open the door. Before walking into the building, he moonwalks a few feet in front his car, kneels on one knee, and gives a two-thumbs-up at the car. He winks and blows a kiss, then proceeds to strut arrogantly—shifting his shoulders dramatically forwards and back—into the school.
The girls stop moving and hold their breaths.
“Woe! Look at that guy. He’s a total hottie!” Jen whispers. Her frown has been wiped clean and is replaced by an expression of admiration and joy.
“Like, yeah! I know!” Maggie squeals.
“He is so confident and cocky. Just look at the way he walks. And look at his muscles! Oh my god! He is such a hunk!”
“Like, yeah! I know!”
The two girls grab each others’ hands and laugh and jump up and down.
“Let’s find out who he is,” Jen suggests.
They run in the entrance and tail behind the guy, occasionally hiding behind lockers and hall trash cans, like a spy mission.
The guy steps into a classroom.
“There he goes!”
Jen clumsily runs over a trash can; as a result she becomes mad and kicks the trash can.
“Get out of our way! We’re trying to stalk a guy here, do you mind!” She picks it up and throws it against the wall. Then the girls face each other and laugh. The excitement for the guy leave them squeaking and yelping. Jen and Maggie sprint to the door of the class and press their noses on the narrow window. Jen licks the window beaming a dreamy expression at the guy while Maggie bloats her cheeks, staring. The guy drifts his eyes on the girls and wrinkles his forehead. Instantly, the girls duck under the window—and giggle.
Jen yelps, “Oh my god! He looked right at us!”
“Like, yeah! I know! He is so handsome! He’s like a greek god!”
“Did you make out his chest under his shirt! Oh my god! He has so much muscles! He’s a total hottie!”
“Like, yeah! I know!”
The door creaks open a few inches. Above their heads, an aged male teacher shoots them a look of annoyance and concern.
“Hi,” Maggie greets.
“Oops. I think we’re disrupting his class, Maggie,” Jen says. Stretching their necks, the two girls take a peeking through the ajar door to look at the guy they are utterly infatuated with. They gasp and run arm-in-arm toward the exit to the parking lot, giggling.
“Oh god!”
They are still giggling, standing under a tree. The guy speeds out to the lot and check his car, the girls unaware of his presence. He detects the girls under a tree and walks to them. The girls perceive him approaching them. Jen gasps, places her hand on her chest, and quickly brushes her hair with her hand. With a great smile she greets him. “Hiiiii!”
The guy responds by asking them if they touched his car. He remarks in an impersonal tone, “It’s a brand new car. There better not be any scratches on it,” before going back into the school.
Jen’s face turns back to an overwhelming frown. After having time to swallow the guy’s cold talk, their eyes land on the sports car, and scuffle to it, a bit intimidated. They circle around the car: It’s long red hood, the smooth luscious curves of the fender line, melon-like wheels, lascivious upturned rear-end. “Stupid car!” Behind the car, Maggie sneers, slaps the trunk, and continues to study the car. She sharply remarks to the car, “A Corvette. You think you’re pretty hot stuff, don’t you. I bet you’re used to getting all the attention. I bet you like it. Despite what you think, you not hot! You suck! And you’re fat! You need to lose like ten pounds from your ass right away, slut! Do yourself the favor! It’s for your own good!” Jen slaps the trunk again, then turns to her friend. “She has a pretty nice ass, but my ass beats her’s any day!”
“Like totally! No question about that!” Maggie agrees. She shakes her head vigorously.
Then Jen points her hips, licks her finger, and lays it on her buttocks intonating a sizzling noise. Starting at her head, she seductively glides her hands down her hair, over her bosoms, and to her hips and below. “She thinks she’s all that; she’s just a piece of trashy tramp! You ho! You think you’re real hot, don’t you, but I’m way hotter than you!” She kicks the car.
Stepping in between Maggie and the car, Jen restrains her. “It’s not worth it, Jen. Be a bigger woman and let it go.”
Even with Jen hugging her midsection in an effort to restrain her, Maggie grows more destructive—she struggles and kicks, and screams with fierce, “You ho! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU, DAMN IT! HO! AHHHH!
“Stop Jen! Please!” She lays kicking and screaming Jen on the ground. Maggie smushes her by laying on top of her.
In time, Jen’s anger subsides. “Okay, okay.”
“Let’s skip and do something fun today. That stupid car totally ruined our moods for the day.”
“Yeah. That slut of a car!” Jen beams a loathing look at it. “Let’s get outta here.”
Maggie’s parents’ have gone to work. They have the whole house to themselves. On TV, there are shows for kids which don’t interest the girls. So they stroll around the house looking for something to do. In the basement, they rummage through boxes of old toys such as jump ropes, dried clays, artificial makeups, and Barbie dolls with pink and yellow sports cars.
“Oh God! Yuck!” Jen shouts.
Maggie quickly pushes the cars down to the bottom of the box, but on second thought takes them out and comments that they can smash it up with a hammer.
In the back yard, they lay the two plastic cars on the grass. Jen goes first. With a hammer in her hand, she swings it high over her head, then she swings it down on the car with a massive force. The plastics break and splinter all over. After dropping the hammer, she violently stomps on the same car until the entire car nearly flattens as Maggie encourages her on.
“Yeah! Kill it. Kill it. Kill the damn car! Yeah!”
“Now it’s your turn to kill the other car, Maggie.”
She picks up the hammer and is about to smash it, but she stops. She gets a bright thought. “How about if we burned this one.” She brings out a grill from the garage. They squirt excessive gasoline on it. They stand back a few feet a throw a lighted match into it. With a big boom, the car gloriously explodes like a small bomb.
“Yey!” the girls cheer and applauds splayed on the grass as they sit up. They laugh and continue to cheer.
They go back inside and look for more cars that they can destroy. They look through all the boxes and Maggie’s closet but there are no more. Bummed, they walk outside to find something to do and find themselves back at the school. Jen spots the red sports car parked in the same place in the middle of the parking lot. In Jen’s mind, she sees and hears the car peering at her and giving her a taunting laughter. She perceives it as a transcendence of a gorgeous but superficial woman. Jen immediately frowns at the sight of it.
“That damn car!” There are small pebbles on the ground. She picks on up and angrily throws it at the car. “You know what we should do, Maggie. We should kill her. We should teach who the boss is.”
Maggie gives her a look. “Are you sure we wanna do that? We might get in a lot of trouble. That’s a pretty expensive car.”
“We won’t get caught. Come on, Maggie. Just look at that ho! Look at the way she’s laughing at us! She thinks she all that! Look at those headlights, wheels, the way she’s sticking out her ass like that! What is she doing here anyway. Why doesn’t she just work as a cheap prostitute in some abandoned alley!”
“Well…”
“Well nothing!” She grabs Maggie’s arm and runs behind a large tree on the edge of the compound. “We need to think up a plan.”
Behind the tree, they discuss how to cause most damage on the car without causing excessive commotion. Many of Jen’s ideas they decide is too risky, and she proposes more. She incessantly thinks out loud about the pros and cons of each plan. She finally settles on one.
They casually stroll to the car checking over their shoulders and the surroundings. As they approach the car, a man emerges from a white sedan. The girls swerves the direction they’re headed away from the Corvette and hides behind a large SUV until the man disappears from their sights. They try again. They calmly walk to the Corvette, but when they’re within a few yards, a woman driving a Jeep right across from the Corvette. Jen and Maggie walk past the Corvette and hides behind a truck.
“Oh god! Move it woman!”
When the woman heads indoors, Jen and Maggie speedwalks to the targeted vehicle. Maggie leans on the front of the hood on the lookout while Jen clumsily but quickly deflates the tires. Maggie notices a few people heading towards their direction. She hopes that they make a turn. She starts to sweat and her heart pounds. Jen, after finishing with the tires, takes out the hammer in her purse. First, she damages the wheels with the back end of the hammer, then smashes the tail lights with a powerful and cathartic force. Maggie sorts the consequences of this crime in her head. She bites her nail still looking keenly at the group as Jen is about to begin smashing the windows. Fortunately for the girls, the group of people turn and move out of sight.
Jen has already destroyed the rear glass and the two windows on the side.
“Oh. Let me!” Maggie cries.
Jen hands her the hammer and smashes the rest.
Behind the tree, they discuss how to cause most damage on the car without causing excessive commotion. Many of Jen’s ideas they decide is too risky, and she proposes more. She incessantly thinks out loud about the pros and cons of each plans. She finally settles on one.
They casually stroll to the car checking over their shoulders and the surroundings. As they approach the car, a man emerges from a white sedan. The girls swerves the direction they’re headed away from the Corvette and hides behind a large SUV until the man disappears from their sights. They try again. They calmly walk to the Corvette, but when they’re within a few yards, a woman driving a Jeep right across from the Corvette. Jen and Maggie walk past the Corvette and hides behind a truck.
“Oh god! Move it woman!”
When the woman heads indoors, Jen and Maggie speedwalks to the targeted vehicle. Maggie leans on the front of the hood on the lookout while Jen clumsily but quickly deflates the tires. Maggie notices a few people heading towards their direction. She hopes that they make a turn. She starts to sweat and her heart pounds. Jen, after finishing with the tires, takes out the hammer in her purse. First, she damages the wheels with the back end of the hammer, then smashes the tail lights with a powerful and cathartic force. Maggie sorts the consequences of this crime in her head. She bites her nail still looking keenly at the group as Jen is about to begin smashing the windows. Fortunately for the girls, the group of people turn and move out of sight.
Jen has already destroyed the rear glass and the two windows on the side.
“Oh. Let me!” Maggie cries.
Jen hands her the hammer and smashes the rest.
Jen places the hammer back in her purse, and they’re about to run, but they hear a yell behind them.
“Hey! What’s going on down there!”
The girls freeze in motion for a split second, unable to move. With her back still turned to the voice, Jen hollers, “Stop right there, you! You criminal!” Jen turns to the school security guard and hollers at him, “He ran into the woods! Did you see him? Go get him! Go!”
The guard radios for help and runs into the wood.
While they are alone, before the second school security guard arrives, Jen hurriedly whispers to Maggie to leave her to do all the talking. In no time, the second guard arrives. Jen tells him that a boy tried to annihilate the Corvette, but thankfully, for Jen and Maggie, they repelled him into the woods and a guard went chasing after him.
The cops are called. When the sirens can be heard, the owner of the Corvette rushes out just as the girls expected. When he sees his damaged sports car, his expression turns to immense distraught. A few drops of tears run down his cheeks.
“AHHHH! Who did this! Why! My baby! What have they done to you!” He madly stomps the ground and pulls his hair!
Jen comes to his side and informs him, “It was this boy—We tried to grab him—He ran in the woods!”
He runs into the woods. He and the guard come back empty-handed.
Jen wraps her arms around him, and comforts and assures him that everything will be okay. He hugs her back. There is a toothy smile on Jen’s face.
She reluctantly shuffles her feet into the enormous living room where her mother slouches on the couch, flipping through her daughter’s Seventeen magazine while crunching on potato chips, low fat.
“Hey mom…”
“Yes dear,” she responds after a gulp of ice tea.
“Uh…never mind.”
“What is it? Something you want to tell me?” Her mother lifts her droopy eyes from the magazine and peers at her daughter. After a few moments of study, she lays the magazine, pages down, on the coffee table. She stuffs her mouth with one more chip, sits up, dusts her silk pajamas, and turns her body towards the girl.
“Yes…well, I just wanted to tell you, uh,” she frets, looking around the living room while twittling her fingers, “that uh, uh, I like what you did with the room. Oh. Are those new curtains? Very eloquent.”
“Huh?” The mother replies while shooting a look of daze and concern. “You know I don’t clean or redecorate. None of us have done anything with the place for five years. You know that.”
“Oh. Really. Yea. Well, anyway, I have to go to school now.”
“You’re speaking nonsense. It’s eight at night. What’s wrong with you, girl!”
Before the seventeen year old could flee, her mother bolts to her and grasps her wrist. “Are you feeling okay?” She lays her hand on the girl’s forehead “Are you drunk?” She sniffs at the girls lips. “Do you do drugs?” She lifts the girl’s eyelids and examines them. “Are you pregnant…Are you—”
Right then and there the girl gasps and her hand uncontrollably fly to her mouth. The mother shouts, "WHAT! YOU’RE PREGNANT?"
"How did you…Uh mom. You hear that? The dog is calling me. I gotta go." She tries to pull away but her mother refuses to let go.
"Tell me Jen. Are you PREGNATE? or not"
"Oh. oh, okaaaayy. It’s true. I am pregnant. But just a little. Please don’t get mad mom."
"Just a little pregnant? Is this a joke to you? What is wrong with you, Jen? Did I raise you like this? Did I raise you to be a—" The mother abruptly stops speaking and tries to summon up the right word.
"I know mom. I am a SLUT. I’m sorry. You asked me if you raised me this way a second ago…Uh, but didn’t you say you had me when you were eighteen and that you had to drop out six months before graduation? But hey, look on the bright side, I beat you by a full year!" Then Jen laughs hysterically to herself. "I couldn’t help it, mom. He was so hot! Just like dad. You can’t yell at me, mom, because you did the same thing! You did it with dad when you were eighteen because you had uncontrollable hots for him!"
The thirty-five years old woman stands there sternly, utterly stunned watching her daughter speak and laugh of teenage pregnancy as a sort of a joke or a prestigious achievement. She opens her mouth to yell at the teen, but Jen silenced her mother:
"You know, I’ve been thinking, alone in my room," Jen boldly tells her, "I’ve been blaming myself for weeks now. I said to myself, ‘it’s all my fault, what am I going to do now.’ But you know what, it’s not completely my fault. If you mom, weren’t such a slut yourself, I would not have turned out like you. What I’m trying to say is that, my | 1 | Specific Threats | Story 3 | 2005-2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
She reluctantly shuffled her feet into the enormous living room where her mother slouched on the couch, flipping through her daughter’s Seventeen magazine and crunching down on potato chips, low fat.
“Hey mom…”
“Yes dear,” she responded after a gulp of ice tea.
“Uh…never mind.”
“What is it? Something you want to tell me?” The mother lifted her droopy eyes off of the magazine and peered at her daughter. After a few moments of study, she laid the magazine, pages down, on the coffee table. She stuffed her mouth with one more chip, sat up, dusted her silk pajamas, and turned her body towards the girl.
“Yes…well, I just wanted to tell you, uh,” she fretted, looking around the living room while twittling with her fingers, “that uh, I like what you did with the room. Oh. Are those new curtains? Very eloquent.”
“Huh?” The mother replied while shooting a look of daze and concern. “You know I don’t clean or redecorate. None of us have done anything with the place for five years. You know that.”
“Oh. Really. Yea. Well, anyway I have to go to school now.”
“You’re speaking nonsense. It’s eight at night. What is wrong with you!”
Before the seventeen year old could flee, her mother bolted to her and grasped her wrist. “Are you feeling okay?” She laid her hand on the girl’s forehead “Are you drunk?” She sniffed at the girls lips. “Do you do drugs?” She lifted the girl’s eyelids and examined them. “Are you pregnant…Are you…”
Right then and there the girl gasped and her hand uncontrollably flew to her mouth.
The mother shouted, “WHAT! YOU’RE PREGNANT?”
“How did you…Uh mom. You hear that? The dog is calling me. I gotta go.” She tried to pull away but the mother refused to let go.
“Tell me Daphne. Are you PRENATE? or not”
“Oh. oh, okaaaayy. It’s true. I am pregnant. But just a little. Please don’t get mad mom.”
“Just a little pregnant? Is this a joke to you? What is wrong with you, Daphne. Did I raise you like this? Did I raise you to be a …” The mother abruptly stopped speaking and tried to summon up the right word. But instead Daphne filled the slit of empty gap instead:
“I know mom. I am a SLUT. I’m sorry. You asked me if you raised me this way a minute ago…Uh, but didn’t you say you had me when you were eighteen and that you had to drop out six months before graduation? But hey, look on the bright side, I beat you by a full year!” Then Daphne laughed hysterically to herself.
The thirty-five years old woman stood there sternly, utterly stunned watching her daughter speak and laugh of teenage pregnancy as a sort of a joke or a prestigious achievement and a sense of attempt to transfer blame. She opened her mouth to yell at the teen, but the teen silenced her mother:
“You know, I’ve been thinking, alone in my room,” Daphne tells her untimidly. I’ve been blaming myself for weeks now. I said to myself, ‘it’s all my fault, what am I going to do now.’ But you know what, it’s not completely my fault. If you mom, weren’t such a slut yourself, I would not have turned out like you. What I’m trying to say is that, my pregnancy is entirely your fault! I inherited the slut genes from you! Like mother like daughter! If I hadn’t possessed your traits, I would never have gotten pregnant! How can you do this to me mom! All your fault…”
"I just wanna smush it into tiny pieces like this." She goes for the tray, but Mrs. Johnson quickly moves it under her desk.
"Hold it, Suzie. Sit back down."
"Okay. I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson."
"It makes you sick? Do you throw up?"
"When it goes in my mouth and I start to chew, I get this bad taste of the baloney and I spit it out."
"So you don’t eat it?"
"How can I?"
"But you never threw up or got a stomachache?"
"No."
"Okay. What is it about it that you hate?"
"Everything. It makes me sad that they only serve the baloney, and it makes me mad that I have to eat it. It’s so sad."
The bell rings signifying that the lunch period has ended. She shifts in her chair, but the principle tells her she’ll give her a pass.
"Can you bring your lunch from home, Suzie? Is that a possibility?"
"That’s even worse. The baloney my stepmom packs is yuckier. My stepmom hates me. She always packs cheap baloney sandwich in my lunch box."
The principle has her chin resting on her knuckles, stumped what to do. Then she covers her mouth, physically suppressing an explosion of laughter."Damn it Ax, what the hell is this! Cocaine! I told you I’ll turn you over to the cops if I find catch you with this shit!" Ax’s father slaps him on the back of the head. "How much was this? Damn it, how much?" Holding the bag in one hand in the air, the tall and heavy forty-five-year-old father hits his son again, but this time harder.
"Three hundred but—"
"God damn it Ax, three hundred. I bust my ass to give you a lavish home and an enormous allowance and this is what you do with my hard earned money. Do you know how hard it is to be laying bricks ten hours a day?" | 1 | Specific Threats | Exercise #2 | 2005-2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
"I don’t like baloneys," she whines to herself. "Baloneys are what they give us for lunch every single day, these cheap low-grade pink things." Suzie opens the sandwich, peels the meat off, and holds the flimsy meat in the air. "I’m simply sick and tired of it. No more baloneys for me. I hate baloneys!" She lays it on the table. With her fist closed tight, she hammers the round piece of meat, compressing and separating it into pieces. Pink juices squirt and spray in her eyes. "Ow." She rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. Pounding her fist on the meat even harder, she sobs and yells loudly, "I hate baloneys, I HATE BALONEYS! Hmmm..." When she ceases crying and looks up, there are expressionless faces of children in the cafeteria staring at her. A few minutes of silence ensue. There is a tap on Suzie’s shoulder. She looks up.
"You better come with me, young lady," a cafeteria personnel says. "Gather your things."
Suzie looks up at her with her pink eyes, puts her lunch on the tray, and follows her. As they head for the door, the children stare at Suzie with peculiar and dazed faces. She notices their expressions and hangs her head low.
"This is the third time you made a scene in the cafeteria this week. I have no choice but to send you to the principal’s office," the woman tells Suzie outside the cafeteria.
Suzie hangs her head again and pouts her lips.
"This way."
Outside the principle’s door, Suzie waits while the woman whispers something to the principle.
"Come on in and have a seat," the forty-year-old woman says as the cafeteria personnel leaves.
Suzie hops onto a cushioned chair and places the tray on her lap.
"What happened, ummm..."
"Suzie," she whispers.
"Yes. Tell me what happened in the cafeteria, Suzie."
Suzie lays her eyes on the sandwich but doesn’t say anything.
"Something about your lunch? Sandwich? Baloney?"
Suddenly, a frown appears on Suzie’s face and she pounds the sandwich, yelling, "I just don’t like baloneys!"
As an instinctive reaction, the principle bellies on her desk, reaches and grabs the tray, and yanks it away from Suzie. She gently places it on the corner furthest away from her.
"I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson," Suzie cries. "I just can’t help it. They always serve the same old thing in the cafeteria. I always get sick when I eat those stupid baloney sandwiches!"
"Is that why you’re so angry?"
"When I take a bite of it and realize that it’s a baloney again, I get mad and want to hurt the sandwich."
"Oh." The principle responds and stares at her desk and tries to repress a laughter. She doesn’t know what to say. "You want to hurt the sandwich? As in kill?"
"It’s okay, Mrs. Johnson. I can pack my own lunch or something," she responds after perceiving that this aging woman can do absolutely nothing to solve her problem, just mock her. "I think I should go now. It’s reading time."
The principle asks if doesn’t want to talk some more which Suzie reassures it isn’t necessary. After receiving a pass, Suzie exits.
Suzie heads for her class. As she nears the door, she gets a feeling that the kids will stare at her and call her the baloney girl the way they have the past few days. So, before anyone could catch her, she runs out the back exit. She wonders where she should go. She decides to go to the grocery store.
In a large grocery store, she roams around the aisles looking at different items. Now and again when she finds something she likes such as candies, she rips it open and stuffs them in her mouth. In thirty minutes, she has eaten a chocolate cake, cookies, chips, and ice cream which fill up her stomach fully. She is especially satisfied since she didn’t have much of lunch. At the end of one aisle, she reaches the meat section. She sees a pack of baloneys.
"Ewww. Baloneys. Nooo!" Instinctively, she rips open packs after packs of it with her teeth and throws them on the floor. Ten packs later, she stomps on the pile of baloney meats like jumping on a trampoline.
From one side of the store she hears a voice yelling, "Hey, stop!" She sees a man in green running towards her. Suzie, who is three-foot-tall, gasps and runs towards the other end zigzagging and zooming between people's legs like a race car. Once she is outside, she sprints to her the farm she lives in. After running two miles nonstop, she is home. First, she goes into the barn to catch her breath. She goes out through a crack and to her relief; no one is there. The cows moo in the barn. She goes to them and seeing that they need milking, she gets a canister and spends twenty minutes milking the cows. Then she goes inside. Her stepmother is watching daytime soap opera.
"What are you doing home this early?" she roars.
"I got in trou—"
Before she can finish, the stepmother yells, "Did you milk the cows?"
Suzie responds yes.
"Did you feed the animals?"
She languidly shakes her head no.
"Then get to work!" the stepmother yells. "When you're done go to the machine room and get to work. No play, no dinner, no sleep until you do fifty pounds! Get out of here!" As her stepdaughter heads out, she turns up the volume of the TV.
Out in the back, she feeds the turkeys and the pigs. When she is done, she heads into the machine room. She opens the refrigerator, takes out many pounds of turkey, pork, and beef she can manage and dumps it into an enormous grinder. She turns on the button. She covers her ears with her palms. Ten minutes later the meats are a large blob.
She pushes the button to swivel the gigantic bowl in order to move the meat into the mixer but gets stuck. So she has to push it to help get unstuck. After the meat goes into the mixer, she drains out the blood into a container and discards it; then she pours flavoring into the meat. The mixed meat flows on into a large square machine where it is molded into a long cylinder shape. When it comes out and pushed onto the conveyer belt, the meat undergoes chopping and packaging.Catatonically. Mixture of bliss, shock, and disbelief fills his heart and is almost paralyzed by it. His lips are apart and his face is pasty.
"Hello?" Jen laughs waving her hand in front of his face. "Let’s go. What are you doing? Come on. Now that you’re rich, take me to a Ritz-Carlton hotel where we can stay the night."
"Huh? Oh. Okay," he responds after a delay, still a bit bemused.
"But before we do that, let’s go get some high quality snow. Maybe some H? You got ten grand in cash you won earlier." Jen smacks Ax’s chest. "Come on! Get over it. You’re a millionaire now, damn it! You can do anything and everything you want now."
"Oh." Ax smiles at her. "Snow. Yeah." He finally shakes himself out of the trance. But he says the word snow again."Come on. Let's snort some coke. I've never done expensive coke before."
Ax slashes the pack with a switchblade and lays some on the nightstand table. He splits the blob of the powder into rows. With a rolled hundred dollar bill, he places one end up his nostril and the other end on a row of the drug. He snorts the row.
"Oh god!" he pushes on the side of the nostril that he snorted with. "It's so pure and so good that it hurts! Oh shit, that's so good," he cries.
Hopping up from the bed, she moves to the table and quickly does a row. A half a second later, she scrunches up her face, winces, and rolls herself in the fur blanket. Ax looks at her.
"What are you supposed to be? A sushi?" He jumps on her and unrolls her. Being extremely high, he rubs his forehead on her long straight hair and moans. He starts to chew on her hair which she soon realizes.
"Hey. Stop that." She gently pushes him away. "Chew on the blanket or something."
Minutes after the effect wears out, they go for some more. When he is about to inhale another row, he reveries.
After a long day at school and work, Ax throws open the door of the apartment where he sees his dad and a woman shuffling covering themselves up and the drugs.
"What the—"
"Get the hell outta here, Ax!" | 1 | Specific Threats | Story 1 | 9/20/2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
The bell screeches, the sirens yell, and the chiming sound of coins pervades throughout the casino. People look towards at the machine making commotions. Ax Manson has won the lottery.
"You won? You won, Ax! You won!" Jen exclaims.
There is a stoned and dazed look on his face. "I won?" He gasps and a wide smile appears on his face. "Ah!"
A crowd of people gather around Ax and Jen. There are shuffling murmurs, and a few people pat him on the shoulder and say, "Wow. Ten million dollars. Good job, man. You’re gonna share with us, right?"
"Yea right. He gonna share it with me only. His super-hot girlfriend!" Grabbing Ax’s face, she stamps a warm kiss on his lips and gently rubs the black patch beneath his eyes. He pulls away.
"Let get the money before someone steals it or something." He takes the ticket from the slot and makes way to the service desk. At the desk, they give him papers to sign and give him the check. He and Jen leave the casino to get away from all the sycophantic people fawning up to him because they used to frown at him at his black eye, torn leather jacket, faded jeans, but now they smile at him.
Ax takes a deep breath walking down the neon-lighted and clattering streets of the midnight hour. In the middle of the sidewalk, he suddenly stops and stares out.
"I was gonna say I used my own money," Ax whimpers quickly, shoulders hunched. And even quieter, he adds, "Besides, you only give me a dollar a week and this one and a half bedroom apartment isn’t exactly what one would call lavish."
His father’s eyes grow red and his stature expands. "You fucking son of a bitch! You’re just like your mother. Unappreciative, ungrateful, coke-snorting fuck bitch your mother was! Now you act just like her!"
Ax’s fingers turn into a hard fist and his teeth clench, and with furrowed brows full of anger, he looks up at his dad, who is six foot four. "Don’t talk about her like that!"
"What the fuck!" The father punches his son that sends him crashing into the bookcase and on the floor. He is nearly knocked out. "You think you can do better out there on your own. I provide you a roof over your head and food on the table and this is the respect you give me! Then get out. Get out of my house, you ungrateful piece of shit!"
After throwing a pillow from the bed and books from the bookcase at his son splayed on the floor, the father stomps into his master bedroom and with the bag of cocaine in his hand and slams the door shut.
Slowly and painfully, Ax manages to haul himself on the bed. Soon, he places the books back on the shelf and returns the pillow on the bed. Carefully rubbing below his eye with the tip of his fingers, he takes a cursory look around his undersized room. The walls are stained with rain leaks, the walls are grubby with smudges and rips, and the small bed, desk, and bookcase there are barely extra room left. Sitting on the edge of his bed emotionally and physically hurt, Ax thinks about his mother who died five year ago when he was twelve. She succumbed to the evils of drugs when she could not handle the excessive abuse at the hands of her husband. One day she found a bag of cocaine laying on the escort service page of an open phone book. As days went by she found more drugs in the room—heroin under the bed, ecstasy and valium in the Advil bottle in the cabinet. Well knowing that her husband was with his call girls when out, the beating she’d take when he is in, and no one else to turn to, she eventually overdosed.
Ax slowly falls asleep.
They stride slowly through the streets of New York City looking for dealers he befriended over the past few years. There is a familiar face in the crowd at the entrance of a night club.
"Hey Ax. What’s up."
"What's up, Duff." They exchange a shake and head into the club.
In a private room, Ax says, "I got some major dough. Give me two pounds of your best."
"Whoa Ax. You’ve come a long way man. You used to scrap on toilet seats for shit now you’re buying in pounds. Must be getting pretty good at the ‘cino."
After a few more chats, he hands over ten thousand dollars and places the two packs of cocaine in his jacket pocket.
Back out on the streets, they find the Ritz-Carlton and get the most expensive room. Expensive furniture fills the hotel room with an Italian leather couch, bright French lamps, and a large bed with a white mink fur blanket. Jen jumps on it and says it is so soft.
In disbelief, he is about to close the door and go hang out by the dumpster, but he catches a glimpse of the rainbow-colored bag and syringe. "Hey, isn’t that my needle? That’s mine. Those are my drugs! I just got that yesterday."
"Shut the fuck up and get out of my apartment!"
He usually yields, but this time he decides to stand up to his father. "No dad, I won’t shut up. You search my room and yell at me when you find drugs. But what about you? You take my drugs that I work hard to buy and you do it yourself, you fucking hypocrite. Some father you are!"
"Fuck you, Ax!" He strides to him and slaps him with a thud. "How dare you talk to your father like that, you little fucker! I’m trying to avoid the same fate as your bitchy mother! You got the genes of that cocksucking whore—"
"Fuck you, dad! You and your fucking prostitute!" He takes a hard swing at his dad, but Jim effortlessly catches the fist with his left hand and twists it.
"Is this how you treat your father, is this how you talk to your father?" he roars as he backs Ax into the corner. "Shut the door, Candy, and turn on the TV." "Okay Jim," the woman obeys. In the corner of the kitchen, the man takes off his belt and whips it across his son’s face. "Fuck you, dad. Fuck you, dad," he taunts. "Is this how you talk to your father who raised you, you son of a bitch? I’m trying to teach you discipline, son."
With the leather belt around Ax’s neck, he slowly tightens and smacks his face. "Is this what it takes for me to treat me with respect, you little fucking turd! Fuck you!" He hawks and spits a big blob on his son’s face. He releases the tension on the belt and lays him on his side by pushing his head with the bottom of his cowboy boots. "Until you return with respect and get the hell outta here, you’re mine! I have the legal right to discipline you even if I need to fuck you when you're under my roof!" He spits again and barges out with the prostitute and the drugs.
Ax slowly sits up from on the cold floor and stares aimlessly out the window and sighs wondering how much more he can take. Slowly getting up, he heads outside, gets on his beat up bicycle, and peddles with no destination in mind. Soo, he finds himself at the graveyard where his mother was buried. Leaning against the tombstone, he lights upa joint of marijuana and slowly smokes it to relax and escape from the reality. "Hey? What are you doing? You okay?" Jen asks, staring at him with a concerned look.
"Yeah." He shakes his head and snorts a dose of cocaine. He snorts some more, then moans in pleasure and pain. Jen does the same.
After a few minutes, they decide to rent a car and go for a drive to get some fresh air. Driving a Mercedes convertible down the street, they feel the feathery wind blowing by them. Pulling over at the nightclub where his friends work, they go inside, sit at the bar, and order vodka. Looking around, there are strippers all around and aging males. In the crowd, there is a familiar face—his teacher. "Oh shit." Ax covers his face.
"What? You have that many enemies, Ax?" Jen quips.
"Teacher," he whispers. "Teacher, right there."
Jen gasps and also covers her face. "What is he doing?"
The forty-five-year-old teacher slips a hundred dollar bills in the stripper's lingerie.
"I wish I had a camera right now. I would love to bust his ass," she whispers.
Monday morning, first period class. Ax and Jen are snoozing.
"Manson! The answer please."
"What?" he slurs and rubs his eyes.
"Answer to number three... What, you high again last night with your prostitute or something?"
The class laughs at him. "His prostitute is sitting right next to him," someone says.
Jen frowns.
"Get up to the board," the teacher orders.
"But I don’t know the answer."
"Want me to give you a detention?"
Ax stands in front of the class. "That's a nice jacket you got on there, Manson," Mr. Jackson comments. A student yells out, "where’d you get that, the dumpster?"
Another asks, "when was the last time you washed your hair, buddy?" Another asks, "how many pounds of coke do you do a day, you crackhead?" The whole class laughs at him. Standing in front of him, Mr. Jackson pulls Ax’s eyelids up and looks carefully into them and smells Ax. The teacher laughs at him.
"Don’t touch me, man," Ax roars.
"What are you gonna do? Cut me with your switchblade?" He shakes his head.
Ax runs out.
Mr. Jackson recognizes Ax by his clothes and approaches him. "Hey Ax, what are you doing here?" He rests his hand on Ax’s shoulder. "Does your whore work here?" he asks looking at Jen.
"Fuck you, Jackson."
"Ooooh. Little hostile there, Manson. You know, I can have you kicked out of here since you're underaged."
"Let’s get outta here, Jen." Ax and Jen start to leave, but they run into a large man. They look up and it is Ax’s dad. "Oh shit." They run around him and head out the door, but they hear, "Hey Jim..." "Hey Tom." Ax and Jen stop to turn and look. Ax’s father and teacher are embracing each other.
"Your son, is he still doing drugs?"
"Yea. That little turd. I just can’t discipline him."
Ax and Jen run out, but Jim and Tom follow them out.
"Hey Ax, wait up there. Don’t you wanna socialize with your father and teacher?"
Wanting to get away from the volatile situation, Ax wants to run back to his hotel room, but Jen holds his hand and waits for the wicked adults to come.
"Guess what, Ax doesn’t need you guys anymore. He won the jackpot. Ten million dollars!"
"That's right," Ax speaks boldly with Jen holding his hand. "I’m dropping out of school, Tom, and I’m moving out of the apartment, Jim. I don’t need all the shit anymore. So you guys can fuck off!"
The two men stare at Ax for a moment. "Ten million dollars," they whisper. The wicked look on their faces suddenly turns into sycophantic smiles.
"You know, Ax, my lovely dovely son, all the beatings I gave was for your own good. You know how much it hurt me to beat you like that. It hurt me more than it hurt you. You wait until you have your own kids, Ax, then you'll understand. Physical pains goes away in a few days, but emotional pain which was a backlash of me hurting you is infinitely greater."
"I think you're father is exactly right, Ax, my lovely student. Why don't we go back in the club and have drink. On me. I buy you some top notch lap dances. How about it, Ax?"
With his eyes open in disbelief, Ax yells, "You two-faced duplicitous motheruckers! Fuck you. All the shit you've given me. Fuck you, teacher. Fuck you, data! you see this?" He holds the ten million dollar check in the air. You want a piece of the pie, you bitches? You're getting none! Absolutely none!
Walking like two gay men, they slowly come near Ax. "But come on Ax," Mr. Johnson says seductively like a prostitute. "Hum, Ax. That's a nice name. You know what an axe turned on its side looks like? A big dick! Which is I'm sure whatyou have. No wonder you have such a hot girlfriend."
Jen standing next to him bursts into laughter.
"What the fuck..." Ax mumbles.
"Ooo. Can I see the ticket," he father asks and takes it. He looks at it and he is confirmed that it is a ten million dollar check. Quickly, his father lunges his hand in his son's jacket pocket and takes out the switchblade. He press the button opening it and with a swift swing slices Ax's throat. Jim and Tom run into the darkness and precariousness of the night. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Story 2 | 10/25/2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
“What do you wanna do now, Moe?”
“I don’t know? What do you wanna do?”
“Let’s go try to catch an octopus and play with it.”
“Okay, Mary. Let’s go.”
Moe and Mary, holding hands, skipped to the dock past the titanic mansions flanking the field of green grass with summer wind blowing against their faces. There were rows of large, luxurious yachts aligned neatly on either side of the dock, and they slowly walked by them, admiring the flashy ships. At the end of the dock, a small row boat was nearly hidden by the massive double deck, sport cruiser. They untied the rope and jumped in the row boat. Mary and Moe sat side-by-side each rowing a paddle.
“Let’s go all the way down there beyond the buoy this time,” Mary said.
“Okay.”
They started to row faster, and continued to talk. The cool water danced and spilt into the boat onto their tattered shirts and dungarees and faces giving them tingly sensation. The smell of salt made them feel hungry.
“When we get to the deep waters, there’ll be lots and lots of octopuses. We can pick one out that you like and we can play with its long squiggly legs,” Moe said.
“What if we can’t find any? There are less and less octopuses as the days go by. I don’t know if there’ll be any.”
“Oh. Not even a squid. Not even a sea horse. Where have all you sea creatures gone?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing... What do you wanna do now, Moe?”
“I’m not sure. There’s nothing to do out here if there aren’t any octopuses.”
The two children sat and scanned their surroundings for possible activities. A ship appeared in the horizon, headed toward Moe and Mary. When the ship neared, a man and a woman waved at the children and asked them if they wanted to come onboard. Moe and Mary, decided, have had nothing to do, so they tied the row boat in the back of the ship and climbed onboard. They noticed that the name of the yacht was Octopus as printed in big letters on the side and back of the yacht.
The adults were a thirty-year-old couple who loved kids and were trying to conceive children. They didn’t work because the woman’s family was so immensely rich that they gave the two lots of money. So they spent all their time traveling meeting children so they can learn about kids in order to become good parents when they have kids of their own.
“How are you kids?”
“Not too good,” Moe responded.
“We were trying to find some octopus to play with, but we couldn’t find any. Too bad.”
The blonde woman wearing pink lipsticks, sparkly earrings, and a summer dress smiled. “Octopus? Really. We love octopuses too! What a coincidence!”
“Come on into the kitchen, kids,” the man dressed in polo shirt and khaki shorts said.
“Let’s sit down and eat,” said the woman and led everyone to the upper deck patio table where they got a good view of the horizon. The adults left the box in front of the two children, and they started to eat.
“I’m Joey and this is my wife, Ann.”
“Hi,” Ann said. Joey and Ann smiled at them. She had bleached alabaster-white teeth, curly and bouncy hair, and was pretty. Joey had side-combed hair, and was good-looking.
“Octopus,” Mary said staring at Ann.
“Octopus,” Moe repeated staring at Joey. The two kids stopped eating and the expression on their faces turned morose.
“Oh, we can explain. We have never eaten octopuses. We were fishing and it caught in our hook. We didn’t know what we should do with it so we decided to cook it to see what it tastes like.”
“Are you gonna eat it?” Moe asked.
“No. Of course not,” assured Ann.
“Oh. That’s good,” whispered Mary.
“Can we play with it? It may be dead, but at least we can play with it.”
Joey and Ann agreed. Back in the kitchen they surrounded the table with it and stared at it for a few minutes. The octopus was still intact. It laid lifeless on the large silver plate with gold rim around it. The kids moved their heads right on top of it and sniffed it. Then, with their index finger pointed straight out, they slowly reach in but at the last second, they pull back.
“Eww. A dead octopus,” Mary squealed.
“He’s a Popozao,” Ann whispered to the kids and chuckles. “You kids can travel with us any time if you’d like. We got everything money can buy. Do you guys like operas?”
“Do you catch octopus?” Mary inquired.
Joey came down with a box of cookies. Ann looked at him. “Sure. We can do that.”
“Do you want to try now?” Joey asked them.
The faces of Moe and Mary brightened, but transformed into a quizzical look. They become suspicious of the intentions of these nice people. “Wait a minute. Why are you guys so nice to us? Are you guys one of those rich people who are so rich that they go around looking for poor kids to buy like Angelina Jolie? Are you guys trying to adopt us?” Moe asked.
“Oh no. We just like kids, that’s all. You see, we want kids of our own.”
“Okay. But you’re not Mark Foley or John Mark Karr, are you?”
The adults gave a laugh of absurdity at the question. “Of course not!!”
“Okay, then. Just making sure you guys weren’t weirdos from somewhere. Let’s catch an octopus then.”
“Trust us. We’re gonna have kids of our own. We spent ten grands on fertility doctors. We bought a five hundred dollar bottle of French wine to celebrate when I get pregnant,” Ann reassured them.
“You guys really are brats,” Moe commented.
From the storage in the basement, Joey took out the two fishing poles and a fishing net. He pushed a button, and a platform slid out at the tail of the yacht nearly level with the water. Four of them went down the ladder and sat on the platform. Moe and
“Oh my god,” she screamed, nearly in tears as the gruesome creature advanced towards them looking at them with golden eyes.
Scared, Moe and Mary hugged each other tight.
With swift jabs, Joey stabbed out its eyes, and poked through other parts of its body. It started to spray black ink out of its mouth.
“Ahhh,” they screamed and ran away and around it. Moe and Mary were shocked and shivering by the behavior of the wicked creature. From behind it, Joey thrust the rod straight into and through the head of the octopus and killed it.
“You killed it! That bad octopus!” said Moe frowning.
“That damn octopus!!” squealed Mary.
Moe and Mary went near it and kicked it because they were angry that it tried to attack it.
“Damn you. You try to hurt us, you big octopus!” They kick some more.
“We always play with small octopuses and they’re nice to us, but this big old one is a meanie,” Moe yelled. “Uf. Take that you old meanie!” He and Mary kicked its head and legs some more. The more they thought about its horrific behavior, they got angrier.
On the floor the black ink that it expelled spread further on the deck. Ann said, “Damn it. That filthy liquid is spreading.” With a frown on her face, she got a mop and attempted to wipe the stains clean, but it became apparent that it wasn’t working. She too, then went up to the octopus and started to kick it. “Look what you did to my boat! Aghh! Damn it!” She kicked it some more.
Joey too kicked the octopus. He couldn’t help himself. After a few minutes, they stopped kicking the creature.
Ann took a large bite on its leg and the severed piece squirmed wildly in her mouth. She chewed on it ferociously. The rubbery chewiness of it mixed with the raw sea smell and the squirming of it gave her a pleasure to her tongue.
“Mm. The squirming,” said Ann and smiled continuing to chew.
“So good,” exclaimed Mary.
“Maybe we can open up an octopus restaurant and serve raw octopuses to customers, Joey. And the kids can be the spokespeople of it. People love children. If they see children eating live octopuses like candy, they’ll be allured by it. How about it kids. We’ll pay you. And all the octopuses you can eat.”
These innocent, nature-loving kids were soon corrupted by the snobby adult with way too much money.
“Okay,” said Moe and Mary. They took more bites out of the sea creature. “I never knew how yummy octopuses, especially live ones, are.” | 1 | Specific Threats | Story 3 | 11/4/2006 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Cho_Fiction_Poetry.pdf | Seung-Hui Cho |
If things go according to plan, today would be when I die. I wait until the school buses are detected, then head out on foot disguised as a student. I go somewhere and gear up, then hold a class hostage and go apeshit, then blow my brains out. Work sucks, school sucks, life sucks. I just want out of this shit. Fuck this state, it really is bad. Think I'm insane? I'm actually more rational, peaceful, and less loony than a majority of the citizenry of this entire region. | 1 | Vague Discontent | Atchison Note #1 | 12/7/2017 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?”:]
1.I was immune to getting hurt/killed/infected with a std
2.I had 43 million worshippers
3.I had a life.. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 9/11/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I mean terrorist attacks happen all the time. Sure thousands died, but millions have died
from George. Honestly, it's been almost 10 years and idiots are still whining. 911 did
make a lot of idiot patriot extremists in america, you have to give 911 that. I wish another
terrorist plane attack would happen so that I could go back to europe and back for 3 cents.
Ahh, I remember I was a little kindergartener.. (Could of been 1st grader but I was "too
young") | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 9/11/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “If you were a God”:]
As a god, it would be my responsibility not to destroy the universal balance; thus, I am
unable to just appear instantly. I would need to "convert" them to being open minded
about other gods and then I will appear. I will give out my 3 main rules:
1.Do not harm any living thing, if you break this rule, I will break your skull.
2.Do not act in violence of any form.
3.Don't be a stuffhead.
I would try to act with any other gods out there, such as if Gaia was real, I would let
her take care of her creations, and her earth. I would let Zeus and Poseidon make the
hurricanes and earthquakes, and I would let Hades rule the energy of darkness.
I would be sure to "Educate" them on solar/wind/water powered technology | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 9/13/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I am going to grab a knife and shove it in the neck of my mother. I will then drag her dead
body by the trash can, drain her blood and then finally cut her and grind her up into little
pieces. I will eat some of those pieces and then I will probably barf.. I will throw her body
away in the trash can.. I will then go slaughter sacred animals to appease the gods.
HAIL SATAN
..I am agnostic, not satanist.. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 9/13/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I will rape your hot lovey sister and then strangle her with her own hair. Then I will sneak
into your parent's room and slaughter them.. I will slowly walk to your room holding my
blood thirsty knife in my right hand.. I walk into your room when I see that you're making
out with yourself.. I will grab you, tie you to your bed with your own hair, and super glue
it shut.
My blood thirsty crave is not over..
I finally rip your hair out and you experience excruciating pain.. So painful that you
scream and scream.. But it can't stop! I ripped out the skin of your head, blood is drooping
everywhere.. Finally I pluck your eyes right out with my knife and throw them down..
I then cut your neck off and the arms and legs.. Only the torso remains.. I cut off the
genitals and I stab the stomach repeatedly.. I finally finish off by ripping out your heart
and consuming it.. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 9/22/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
"IWILLNEVERLETYOUFORGETABOUTME" | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 9/25/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Rule 11 : Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.
Start being nice to me, or I will not hire you all. All of those idiots who have messed up
my life in the past, I will hire them for a day, and then fire them. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 9/26/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
2005.. Age 9.. I was playing sm64ds when I lost the level. I went AGK on my ds, threw it
extremely hard at a wall and broke it..
2005 Age 9.. After recieving my ds again, a day later, I got pissed again and ripped the
upper half of the DS off..
2005 Age 9.. I got my DS Again, but when playing Pokemon, lost and threw it right at the
wall again..
The 2005 ones are true.. I had a very bad anger problem.
2009.. Age 13.. After getting another DS, threw it right at the TV and said "How's that"? | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 9/26/2009 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Look guys I just smoked an entire $500 worth bag of OG Kush so It's hard to hate you. I
love furries, gays, jews, al-queda, and america.
●irl● teenage kid with no friends who hates everything and wants to shoot up his school
but is too week to fire a gun and my parents are annyoing but will financially supply me
for the next 30 years i love to hate and fart a lot making my room smell remnicsant of
cheese and boiled eggs
^ All trolls except me. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 10/28/2011 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Don't play WoW. It turned my brother into a basement dweller and now he's doing weed.
He's 24, works at a convenience store and dropped out of high school. MMOs are just the
same as Heroin and will destroy not only your body, but your mind | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 12/3/2011 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I support interesting people and I hope to be internet famous one day.
In short, I'm a hypocritical weeaboo in denial troll who has been cursed into an endless
state of constant boredom which has driven me to depression and anger | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 12/7/2011 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
The shortest I can describe trolls: Trolls are basically young teenagers who 'bully' online
to get a raise because they have a personality disorder and want to cover up the hole that
real bullies left in their emotion | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 12/16/2011 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “If you could kill any video game character”:]
I would kill Tidus and the methods of doing this may offend many of you.
I would start off by crusifying him and leaving him without food for a total of three
days, afterwards I would force him to eat rats. I would apply 1,000 small cuts throughout
his body and dip him in a tub of Hydrogen Peroxide. Afterwards, I would recut the wounds and apply a scorpion's sting to 30 of them over a time period of 2 hours after
which I would nurse his health a tad. Next, I would rip his nails out and pour bleach and
ammonia on them while making sure he doesn't inhale any. I would shoot him in his
knee with a crossbow and since I'm an honorable man I would make this the last of his
punishment. A quick sword blow to his chest and a large + incision to his belly would do
the trick.
I would leave him in pain for the remainder of his very short life to allow him to reflect on
his personality. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 12/28/2011 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “What's your zombie plan?”:]
Jack a gun and shoot myself in the head. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 1/28/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Every personality disorder test I take I usually end up getting over half of them at a severe
level and I'm being honest most of the time. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 1/28/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Hey, I'm eldigato. In short, I am a psychopath dedicated to the art of destruction. In my
years of minecraft, I have always aimed to make interesting stories. I have always done my
deeds solo and for that reason they never reached the peak I had hoped for. That is why I
have registered here today.. In hopes that I can work with people with similar intentions
and cause many great calamities.
Resume
Griefing: I like to take my time in order to cause the most damage, but I have attacked
many servers with a hit-and-run style of disruption before and caused massive amounts of
damage. I would like to say that my best griefing attack was the Scattered Space incident,
although the damage wasn't intense compared to most of my attacks on servers, I stirred
up plenty of drama in their community.
Cooperation: I would like to think myself as that of a rogue in many situations, but I have
shown to be able to work with others. Considering our personalities, I don't think I would
have any troubles with group raiding.
Admins: I can bullshit my way out of things, but I am a honest man. If I focus, I can have
a silver tounge that avoids truthfulness.
I hope that this information is enough to provide and I hope in the future I can infest the
world one day | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 1/29/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[A chat with a friend; “eldigato” is Atchison]
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: if you want to shoot up a bronycon
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: save the last bullet for yourself
eldigato: no shit
eldigato: look at columbine
eldigato: but I need GUN ideas
eldigato: something great for crown destruction
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: but seriously don't do it
eldigato: by just one man.
eldigato: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PxtD7trjFz8
eldigato: I'm going to anyways.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: fucking hell
eldigato: I have been exposed to too much truths in the world.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: i think i might need to call the police
eldigato: WBC, White house, Bronycon..
eldigato: hmm..
eldigato: My former school
eldigato: but then again they're going to die from car crashes and alcohol anyways
eldigato: no need
eldigato: but hmm..
eldigato: WBC has some morals.. White house <--- Ultimate target but not the true evil
eldigato: just the Masked evil puppet ; the figurehead
eldigato: if I want to actually do justice I'd be tortured even though it's an international
crime
eldigato: hmm..
eldigato: Bronies are.. weird..
eldigato: but truth is our populace of the world is going to destroy us horribly.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: so are many other people in this world
eldigato: the new wave of being gay is nature's way of stopping that..
eldigato: i hate it..
eldigato: but it's required..
eldigato: I must fight..
eldigato: But I don't know who needs it the most..
eldigato: And I'm a legendary.. I'm a one in a billion..
eldigato: Only a dozen others have progressed as powerfully as I have spiritually..
eldigato: We are well and beyond even the most humble guru..
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: http://gifrinth.com/vocabulary/1292136800497.png
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: dude
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: you need help
eldigato: The world is ..
eldigato: Truly .. Doomed..
eldigato: I seem to be the only one actually dedicated to what I stand for.
eldigato: You have let "Morals" corrupt you..
eldigato: Bronies, furries..
eldigato: Republicans, liberals..
eldigato: Those with weak power intellectually..
eldigato: tainted with their instincts
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: i hope you're trolling now
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: because i'm scared
eldigato: of murder, genocide, manipulation, deception, torture, cruelty, and faggotry..
eldigato: all of them need to die..
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: jesus tittyfucking christ
eldigato: Truly good people try to change the world..
eldigato: They get called the fags.
eldigato: They get silenced..
eldigato: Even Killed.
eldigato: They ultimately barely even drop an ounce of water in a lake..
eldigato: I'll fucking destroy and re build the world.
eldigato: In my image; In a truly american image
eldigato: where all thought may be free
eldigato: where all action whether it be dark or light may be actionable
eldigato: But..
eldigato: Where being evil will be so difficult, that the culprits be destroyed as fast as
bronies flood the internet.
eldigato: I will probably fail.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: i'm scared, seriously
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: I HOPE you're trolling
eldigato: I'm not.
eldigato: I thought my men would have followed my idealism.
eldigato: It's what we truly stand for.
eldigato: What the world truly needs.
eldigato: You don't have as much comprehension as I do!
eldigato: You don't understand what the fuck we're fighting against.
eldigato: It's just the tip of the iceburg.
eldigato: And that iceburg needs to melt 44% in 30 years lol like the uhh
eldigato: arctic caps
eldigato: well melt to 44% it's size I mean
eldigato: lol noone is seriously caring
eldigato: oh boy I love how any intelligent people are sileneced so carefully.
eldigato: The US is masterfully manipulative.
eldigato: I could speak as loud as possible
eldigato: THousands along with me
eldigato: they'd destroy my traces without even laying a finger
eldigato: Then again, it helps when your country is infested with life forms with
intelligence roughly 1/500th as powerful as any of us.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: like people who watch fox news?
eldigato: Precisely.
eldigato: Rednecks; white trash
eldigato: THey are america.
eldigato: And they are the cancer that has plagued america.
eldigato: And my family has served hundreds of years to our broad land.
eldigato: and I will not let it be for nothing.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: i guess you want to be the chemo
eldigato: That is why I will be the hero of my people.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: i want to fukken save this chatlog to a word
document
eldigato: My words tend to have that effect on people.
[EC] Breen, SKYMARSHALL IS SPY: shit, i gotta go eat
eldigato: hahahahahahahahaahahah
eldigato: what do you think of my words | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 2/1/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I would cut as many veins in his neck as I could, avoiding his jugular. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 3/7/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
My guilty pleasure is probably DMT, but it's ok since it's amazingly god. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 6/30/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
My dream job would have to involve synthesizing pure LSD legally and selling it to the
right kind of people who wouldn't abuse it. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 6/30/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I will be living in a basement pretty soon, once I'm finished moving in with my bro | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/12/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I played this game while on marijuana, LSD, Salvia, and Shrooms. I can honestly say that
once you're experienced with the types, you can handle it, as long as you have a sitter to
help calm you down when creepy stuff happens. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/12/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
If all of the internet went out, people would go psycho and kill eachother and hang
mutilated corpses from their town's bridges. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/27/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “If you had a chance to commit an act of kindness to the world, what
would you do?”:]
I'd go back in time and stop a lot of the school shootings such as Columbine or V-Tech by
being a positive influence spreading hope in the minds of the shooters and keep them on
a path of enlightenment
or more realistically, I'd clean up trash around my town (which I already do) and volunteer
at places. Oh, and befriend the lonely or friendless kids at school. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/28/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “What are you doing to advance yourself?”:]
Dropping out of High School in order to just study a GED book my SCI teacher gave me
and take the test when I feel ready and then move onto college, while working on fixing
myself and learning how to be happy for once, and overcoming a tobacco addiction. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 8/15/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “What gets on your nerves?”:]
14 year old boys, people who say they're nerd to be cool, 'nerds' and 'geeks' whose favorite
star wars movies are I, II, or III, cats, friends parents, parents, peers, adults, demons and
ghosts, viruses, aliens, illegal aliens, rednecks, people who capitalize the beginning of
every word of their sentences, people who talk on and on and still think you're listening
even though you're in another room, people who yell, republicans, liberals, annoying gay
people, stoners 18- who smoke crap and ***** and moan at you about their 'chronic' crap
24/7 and try to be super cool, mental illness, living with depression, matrixing, abandoned
houses, 5:07, columbine, food impurities, stupid or evil cultures, people with UAAS
(uptight arrogant ******* syndrome), kids who think they're 90s kids even though they
were 90s toddlers at best and nowadays are really 90s infants, drunk people, fat bosses,
isolation, having a long distance brolationship. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 8/17/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I got suspended from school for a week in april for wearing a black duster | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 8/18/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
July 26th, 2012
In my dream, I went into a bizarre dimension with blue spots in terrain, Rocky Black and
grey terrain, and a cloudy black sky. I didn't see the sky, but out of nowhere, a powerful
being appeared to me, and the sky had a thin plate of volcanic, powerful orange (gaseous
like) material. The being spoke to me words with power, which I can't really recall. In my
next dream, I was awake, in my bed, and there was an alien there. I was being hooked
with wires to my brain, sort of feeding me information. It was feeding me dreams within
my own dream, kind of like inception. In this dream thing, I was studying the possible
amount of dreams. There was a chart, like the audacity ogg vorbis specs one. There was a
limit to dreams and personality, according to the info.
The info I remember is:
Personality: 136,742
Dreams: 144 million or more (relative to your body? Or could it be more?)
There was another dream about school. See, last year, I dropped back in after dropping
out from absolute f'ing hell. I usually saw this poor bloke while passing to the next
class. Probably 14 or 15, but he barely did anything to warrant any bullying, yet he got so
much ♥♥♥♥ for everything. I've probably interacted with the kid 3 times; the 1st was
seeing some of my friends trying to cheer him up, the 2nd was seeing him get ♥♥♥♥ed
with by some jock idiots, in which I pulled a knife on them and intimidated them into
leaving, and the 3rd was where he had this delicate science project, so I basically daunted
the idiots in the middle of the hallway into getting to class and made sure that this kid's
project wasn't ruined by D-bags.
In my thoughts, I could just see myself at an earlier age in the kid. So, the dream directed
my mind into the social 'chart' of the kid and the students in general, in which I just kind
of got a broader social look in people; i.e. being able to 'put myself into other people's
shoes'. I worked and thought and came up with a moral that I really need to reach that kid
and prevent anything bad from happening, because I don't want someone to have to deal
with the mentality that can develop from that.
The dream flashed to another dream, which was a type of mind probe in a way. I just felt
like I was being read. I was having to face my own flaws in a very disturbing and hostile
state of REM.
I kind of woke up and still felt the alien type thing (Probably caused from human natural
DMT from last sentence) glaring at me. It kind of had that 'snobby' or arrogant type of
personality seen from some reports of aliens. While I woke up, that thing kind of faded
off probably due to the release of DMT stopping.
Just for reference, I haven't done DMT or LSD. I've been clean from any type of drug
(Tobacco / Alcohol / weed) for 3 months before that dream. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 8/21/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
My psychiatrist told me I need to look on the bright side of things.. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 8/23/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Only 30% of the global population is capable of having any control over anyone. Of which,
only 30% are deserving of having any of it at all, of which, only 10% should actually have
the power. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 10/5/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Responding to the prompt “What medical problem/disorders do you have?”:]
Major Depression, inability to feel joy, intense levels of sadistic desire and various
addictions to substances. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 10/5/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
It's an autisk
it will bite you and infect you with autism and the only way to cure yourself is to stop
playing building games for a year. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 10/31/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I am in the top 3% of my shit redneck school, but that really isn't an accomplishment.. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 5/29/2012 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Stuff I want for my birthday 30 arbys sandwitches that is all! | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 2/28/2013 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
AK > M16/4
at least my AK will kill what I shoot
and wont jam on me
or need special cleaning
Also remember that guns are LOUD AS FUCK
a shotgun blast without hearing protection could make you permanently deaf.
even a .22 is loud enough to be heard for a 1km radius at least.
Guns are extremely loud, extremely deadly and need to be respected.
A suppressed gun is still loud. Only an Oil Filter + .22 subsonic will be truly 'silenced'. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
child soldiers are cool i wish i coulda been one | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I think the college system and american society needs a massive change. I don't see the
point in dishing out $30k a year just to get into college, only for most people to either
drop out or get a useless degree, or something they're not entirely interested in.
I don't think everything should be free, but there's one thing that absolutely must beEducation. Primary and Secondary school is free for students, which is excellent because
every human deserves the chance and the right to be educated.
Yet in college, most the time it's going into a huge room with a hundred other students,
taking notes of what the professor says, and then studying your ass off to try to actually
pass the class. A lot of times, the teachers aren't even good at teaching in the first place.
Yet in Elementary ~ High, you have teachers working their ass off, helping each student at
the rise of a hand.
So normally school only costs tax payers. You get all the help you need for free, during
class. You can fuck up all you want.
College, you pay a FUCKLOAD of $$$ for, get shitty teachers, have to do everything
yourself, and have a low chance of success.
In america, College is Bullshit! | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I can't believe it's been 8 whole years since then.. Most of 2007 didn't go too well for me
either, but when I went back to school late that year it was like post-columbine all over
again. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
A massive amount of americans are depressed for a lot of reasons. Lousy enviornment,
few friends, bad or nonexistent family members, singleness, bullying, harassment, stress,
taxes, poverty, etc.
Compared to a lot of countries, much of the US is a third world country in comparison.
It's a shame. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
There are no gods in this world, my friend. It's a shitty thing to say, but you have to help
yourself- most people do not care about you. Good people have always been a minority. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Women should not be allowed to enter into the military or government, nor should they
be allowed to vote. They should be demoted to sex objects to be sold by their fathers to all
genetically superior people – intellectuals | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Adam | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Girls ask to be treated preferentailly, and say they want prince charming who will act as if
she was a princess or queen -
then ignores the prince and goes and fucks 3 other people instead, quickly settling for a
meth-head roidmonkey biker.
Nice guys need to learn to ignore what women say. Benevolence, Politeness and
selflessness are very admirable traits, but most women have barely evolved.
Make a subconscious effort to be a leader; to be dominant. Reward them for good
behavior, make them reliant on you. That is the only way to get anywhere with them 95%
of the time.
In the even that you find a real woman (which is very uncommon in america) then hold
onto her and never let her go. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
We will not be ready for alien contact until the following goals are able to be reached and
held as a basic standard for all human life -
Affordable access to clean and pure Food, Water, Shelter, Health Care, Job Opportunities,
Free Education at all levels.
No wars.
Less than 10,000 homicides a year (for the entire world)
A Type-1 Civilization
Average IQ of 115.
All abrahamic religions nearly dead.
Little terrorism / extremism
Democratic and pure governments and societies
It's going to be a few more generations until we even reach half these goals lol | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
We need WW3 already. It is the only way for our species to survive.
Kick natural selection up to the max and allow only the smartest and strongest to live,
as all of these degenerates meet a brutal, well-deserved death. They are nothing but
parasites, draining massive amounts of resources and contributing nothing to this world.
Put women in their place instead of allowing them to pursue their nature. We have
generations of feral women who are only trained to see themselves as 10/10 princesses.
Then make it so only people with triple-didget IQs can breed. Maybe... only people
with STEM education can have kids. This will keep the world population at a stable
1,000,000,000 maximum and allow every human being to live a high-quality life, free from
much corruption.
Put intellectuals in charge of the world instead of degenerates and rich douchebags | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Mass murder is the purity and cleansing of a corrupt degenerate genepool.
Marc Lepine is a hero | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Sex between an unmarried man and woman - I think saving yourself (whatever gender
you are) until marraige is stupid not because I'm against the idea of loyalty, but because
once you get married, the sex stops. Marriage is a scam and 80% of divorces are made
by women. I hate the idea of sexual casualization. If you're gonna bone someone make
sure it's during a relationship. I think that's a reasonable, non-extremist and level-headed
opinion..
Divorce
The effects of divorce are extensive and cause a lot of conflict on families. Elliot Rodger
dealt with family divorce. Same with adam lanza. And btw 80% of divorces are initiated
by women. They don't marry for love, they just marry for alimony and taking all our stuff.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA so much for feminism.
Having a baby outside of marriage
You should only have a baby if you're married, and only after you've given it plenty of time
that you have good faith that it'll work out.
Gay or lesbian relations
LOL. Look if they're annoying or tumblr feminazis - extremists than I hate those people
too but who gives a fuck what LGBT people do? You're just in the closet when all you
think about is gay people dude.
Medical research using stem cells from human embryos
Let's hold back scientific and technological progress!
Pornography
I love porn to an extent but between mormon idiocy of banning porn and liberal
degeneracy like San francisco I think being in the middle of that debate is the only logical
thing you can do.
Access to porn decreases rape. But at the same time most porn is messed up nowadays.
Suicide
Suicide is society's fault. We're a corrupt, morally bankrupt and savage society which
produces 15,000 gun homicides a year, countless acts of mass murder and like 30~50,000
suicides / yr as well.
Cloning Humans
LOL really? | 1 | Grievance Airring | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Tattoos, piercing, self-harm, anything that permanently alters your body for 'expression' is
stupid and pointless. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Women say they want intelligent, friendly, supportive and sophisticated guys. So instead
of fucking the nerds they always go for some dumbass roidmonkey jackass with mountain dew shirts and trucker hats then wonder why she gets abused, rammed and discarded.
They don't deserve jack shit. At this point we should go back to making them nothing
more than property. They had their chance to take care of themselves and look where they
ended up. HAHAHAHAHAHA | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
"Hand to hand.. it is the basis of all combat."
"Only a fool trusts his life to a weapon." | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
All extremism is bad. Feminism is authoritarian left-wing garbage that will absolutely
destroy society. Same with right-wing extremism, with them you get Waco, Timothy
McVeigh, Anders Breivik and other terrorists.3 With the left you can get commie savages
and liberal college educated (see: money wasters) degenerates.
The greatest countries in the world are reasonably progressive centrist nations dedicated
to peace. America is mostly extremism and idiocy; the liberals are a disgrace to left-wing
politics and the republicans to the right wing.
Now I'm not calling for women being beaten up, mutilated and forced into wearing those
robes that cover all their skin like they do in Papa New Guinea or the middle east.
All I want is for them to treat men with respect and to not be hypocritical degenerate
money wasting idiots. There are a few real women out there.. Budd Dwyer's wife, the
Liberian Monkey Island researcher wife, a few.
You know what makes them real women? Intelligence, loyalty, determination. Most
american women? Brain-dead, immature, cheating, lazy, fat, mentally damaged.
It is obvious to anyone that this country has failed. My grand father served in WW2, Korea
and Vietnam.. all just for his children's generation to fuck everything up, and for their
kid's generation to finish the job. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Kill yourself. Make the world a better place. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Oh and all the school shootings every 2 days. Schools are hostile anti-intellectual
prison facilities that put children in a fierce and unforgiving competition, force them to
memorize rudimentary facts, join into a hivemind agenda, restrict critical thinking and
produce slaves | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I've already lived in Texas, namely Abilene from 2000~2002. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Women have always had it easy. Us men cannot have any emotion, we have to be into
sports and killing, and we have to be strong. Women are only expected to use up our
resources and -- in a distant past, take care of the family unit.
Modern women, however, don't raise their kids. I know my little brother's best friend lived
in a household with a single mother. She was 250+ pounds, made him do all of the chores
and cleaning, and ignored the two youngest children. Those kids have spent most of their
time playing video games instead of being taught values and morality. They will not have
anything to reflect back on when they are older, and it is likely they will grow up weaker
physically and mentally than would be.
That single mother? She married a jock football player at age 17, only to divorce him 8
years later and stunt the family. 50$ says she probably had some nice guy friends who she
neglected or treated like shit. If she married one of the nerds / nice guys, I'd guarantee the
entire family would be better off.
Women ignore and bully nice guys, and leave them to be rather miserable and rejected
for their lifetime. The intellectuals and benevolent people usually never get laid and
get bullied well into adulthood. It doesn't really change after high school. Yet retards,
gearheads, and douchebags get rewarded for their idiocies.
This is evidence enough that women are stupid. Dish in the constant nagging, golddigging, manipulating, hypersexuality, cheating and so many other aspects of the typical
'liberated' woman, and anyone who doesn't have their head in their ass will agree that
civilization has a major moral crisis going on.
And yet for what I have just said, I would be shunned by most people, even though it's the
reality. P.C. degenerates are destroying society. | 1 | Specific Threats | William Atchison Online | 7/6/1905 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I'm against gay marriage because I do not want them to experience the soul crushing pain
that follows a long time committed relationship, just for 99% of them to fail. All that hard
work and energy, cast away within a short time, a powerful partnership obliterated often
by corrupt avarice.
If gay people had to suffer the romance us straight people live, then they wouldn't be
happy anymore, and I cannot let that happen. They are too precious. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 6/9/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Mid 2014?!
Wow, I was going on a nostalgia frenzy, scanning through my past. .. My current life is
so damned miserable. I got few friends anymore, no social life online or offline outside
of some infrequent comments on youtube / steam. My alt channel (made in 2009 as a
backup for mrapophis) is barely surviving at 9 subs, less than 200 views. G+ Youtube
is difficult for me to get used to! My life has no purpose anymore :( My last resort for
socialization - my family, they ignore me now. Douchebags! But, it is halfway through
2014! The time, unfortunately flied. If only I could go back in time 20 years! YEAR - RANK
1994 *** 1995 **** 1996 ***** 1997 ***** 1998 ***** 1999 ***** 2000 ***** 2001 ****
2002 *** 2003 *** 2004 *** 2005 * 2006 * 2007 *** 2008 **** 2009 *** 2010 ** 2011 *
2012 * 2013 * 2014 * Story of my life. If any of my family ever sees this, you assholes better
start being a real family. Let's go for a walk, watch some movies, ANYTHING as a family.
Im tired of vegging out! | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 6/19/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
[Commenting on the video game Majora’s Mask:]
I was 5 when it came out. I was in the UK, where my bro played the hell outta the PSX/
N64 games. He just got in MM and played it, but when he was at school or asleep, I would
play on my own save. I didn't finish it much, but I did re-discover it at age 8. It was one
of the few games I had left, besides OOT and SM64. I would come home from my crappy
school, sit down and watch the colbert report and play some zelda. It was a depressing
game, and I was a depressed kid. It multiplied the effects.. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/2/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I sometimes get high and jack off 10 times in a day
Also while high, I might play LSD dream emulator
I still play maplestory and WoW (though, only once in a blue moon)
I sleep as much as I can and usually have a migrating sleep schedule
I barely get out of the house
I barely socialize
I barely socialize online
I waste my life as the years soar by.. It's already the 2nd half of 2014 O.O | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/3/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Stuck in a Rural Redneck town
The people who are against abortion are usually people who should've been aborted in the
first place.
Children are savages, and they're gonna grow up to be douchebaggy parasites anyways.
They should be exterminated from an early age. Obviously, not all children; not all people
are inherintely evil and parasitic in nature. Anyone who is a benevolent or intelligent
person deserves a chance at life. However, who should be the judge for who will live or
die? All the nerds are too uptight to ever carry this out, so now we got stuck with the bush
presidency and they are the enbodiment of stupidity. This obeezy presidency is just bush
2.0, so I doubt the MASTER's plan of UNITY and PURIFICATION will ever come to
fruition.
As for euthanasia, life is horrible. Just because the majority of people can get laid and have
everything handed to them and live in heaven, doesn't mean 100% of people will. Even
in the first world, there's so much injustice. Like people living past age 30 still as virgins
with little friends. I'm sure a lot of them are friendly, hell that's why its called a Nice guy.
But this is a decadent society that rewards cruelty, manipulation, douchebaggetry, and
parasitic idiocy.
ALL humans should be entitled to an instant painless death. Jack Kevorkian was a hero!
Besides, the world population is at like 7.2 billion now, and only like 1 billion (at most) are
benevolent or intelligent. We need to exterminate this dumbass species to about 1 bill and
cap it there till we're a type 2 civilization. Thanks obama # | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 7/13/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
We must all be excellent to eachother
It's best to assume that this is your only life, so make the best of it!
Even if there isnt an after life, all humans should focus on how they'll be remembered
Do good deeds, be nice and cool and all that because I seriously doubt that if you're a
douche like a war criminal, corporate lawyer, congressman etc then all of a sudden pray
@ your death bed for acceptance that you'll automatically get into a heavenly plane of
existence ya know
The meaning of life - all life exists to pass on it's seed. But we're a intelligent species (well
except in the south or while you're high) so the meaning of all our lives should be to be
the uhh .. to be the best you can be!
Party on dudes | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 8/25/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
What if hitler got accepted into that art school then was manipulated by the jews to think
that all non-jews were evil greedy scumbags who steal money and try to ruin the world
financially
then he went on a mass murder genocide spree where he tried to establish an Israeli Empire to take over the world? And he targeted people with blond hair and blue eyes. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 8/30/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
I don't want to be lame or anything but I should probably come out about all this.
In this town (flora vista)..
#1. I have no education. I dropped out of AHS back in ~10, then was forced to attend again
and dropped out again in ~12. I had a 3.5 GPA but the culture there was backwards as hell,
as if it was stuck in the 1950s. Nothing but savages and douchebags. I never motivated
myself to get a GED, I need the forced classes and structure of school, but couldn't deal
with all the methheads, roughnecks and rednecks.
#2. I have no job, I tried to apply at a few places, Wendys, General Dollar, and Dairy
Queen. All rejected lol And besides, I don't have the strength to deal with those people,
I can be a hard worker, but I got real bad social anxiety, hate and fear of all these people.
Plus I don't got a phone to keep in touch with the boss if they force me to go in for
overtime. I got a nocturnal schedule anyways. No car though, nor a license.
#3. I have no friends here. All my friends are digital now, only time in life that I had a
social life were the times I didnt live in the four corners. I tried a lot during my childhood
in this area. But let me just put it this way- one of my friends and their little brothers and
sisters, stealthily stole my Playstation 1 I had since the 90s, along with dozens of games -
all which could be worth thousands of dollars nowadays.
During high school, the other borrowed my N64 and games over the summer, promising
to return them once school started again, and guess what the jackass did? He sold it to a
guy in denver for $200. Didn't even give me any of the dough. Then threatened to kick my
ass when I defended myself from some hicks.
The others talked crap behind my back.. There was a time though around 4/20/12 when
I got high with a few people out in the hills. One of the kids lived a few houses down and
when I dropped out didn't even stop over to say hello.
I may not seem the type, but I've been somewhat outgoing, friendly, a joker. I wasn't
that kid who actively avoided people all the time and dressed in all black and listened to
goth music. I went in, did my damned work, made straight A's then went home to a crap
abusive family and did more work and surfed the net.
My point? I tried to socialize in this shit town but to no avail.
#4. Major Depression, large amounts of anger and hatred, lots of boredom.. I used to cure
it through bong hits and video games but I cant even find those enjoyable anymore.
My dad's a fat lazy idiot who watches fox news all day, weighs 350 pounds and throws
hissy fits over everything. Never even bothered to help me get my drivers license and I'm
not entitled or spoiled or anything, I'd gladly get a job and pay for my own car.
My moms a psycho hillbilly drunk from florida who's really mentally ill. She smokes and
drinks a lot and smells disgusting, and has no manners whatsoever. The most hillbilly
accent you can imagine.
My bro is an antisocial douche with no education at 27. He's a user, always manipulating
people and draining their resources. He moved back in to this crap house with his wife
who bored 2 kids from some other guy, ex-meth, no education either.
I got literally 0 contacts and I'm too lazy to get a GED.
Look, I'm sorry if I'm rude and hateful or anything, but I don't know what to do. I've lived
no life for nearly 19 years, most of which was in the miserable ass sun-belt. Did you know
new mexico has the fourth highest suicide rate?
I don't know if I'm even gonna get an education. I don't want to sound dumb but going
into the wild is another option, but I'm thinking of getting a truck with those roofed
installations on the back, then putting a bed in there and driving out of new mexico.
the DMV is being whiny and asking for a proof of bank account and proof of rent or
something; they're one of the worst DMVs out there and that's saying something, eh?
I am the only atheist I know in my town, and I've had knives pulled on me over it. If I do
drift, I need a gun, a water purifier, medkit and some MREs. I've been thinking of driving
to either the Denver area, San Jose, CA, Oregon, Washington, or Maine. I'd love to become
a Canadian resident, but I gotta get a GED, get accepted into a 4 year college before I have
any chances. It'd be nearing the 2020s before that.
Every day I wake up filled with misery, boredom and hatred. In fact, I spent most of the
2010s only on youtube, barely any forums, or in school where I was pretty miserable. I do
get out of the house every day, where I take 2~4 hour walks to shed off some pounds and
build stamina.
Here's my area. I dont like giving out personal info too much but I just want to prove my
point. I live in the heart of the southwest, with no cities for like 200 miles in any direction.
This causes an effect where the area I'm in is extremely rural. With the mormon influence
of utah, it also makes it really republican, like 80%. Everyone does meth, tobacco like
crazy, lots of alcohol etc. AHS had a graduation rate of like 50%.
Should I escape this dump or deal with it? How can I become polite and make some
friends out there in this world? | 1 | Grievance Airring | William Atchison Online | 9/2/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
Well IRL on my 13th birthday back in belen I had some good friends over, we were playing
some XBOX and wii and shit then we were going on about ghosts stories and my friend
derek talked about this creepy mask demon that stalked his dreams.. then the eletricity
was screwing up and there was a much more eerie presence then I saw this fucking
masked demon in the top-corner of the den.
After then I always had a fear of corners and saw that mask sometimes but always had
dreams about it. I remember one of my nightmares had it trap me through all the video
games I played except it would corrupt and distort them. So I was playing OOT and saw
that dante ghost suddenly attack me, where all 20 of my hearts quickly drained, at 2 hearts
/ second and I felt a really cold chill. Woke up and saw a bunch of mist across the room or
something.
One of the other worlds was like this game called RTB, where it talked to me in the
bedroom map, as I asked what the hell it was. Then it described how it was murdered by
David Ray Parker. | 1 | Vague Discontent | William Atchison Online | 9/2/2014 | https://schoolshooters.info/sites/default/files/Atchison_note_1.pdf | William Atchison |
End of preview. Expand
in Dataset Viewer.
About SSDataset
The SSDataset aggregates comprehensive texts from school shooters, sourced from schoolshooters.info, along with rich metadata including original document links, estimated document creation dates, perpetrator identities, and both binary and multiclass classification labels (human-annotated). It also includes texts from non-perpetrators such as student writings and social media posts, serving as a baseline for model training.
Classification Tasks
Binary Classification
- 0: Non-Threatening
- 1: Threatening
Binary classification distinguishes between potentially threatening and non-threatening communications.
Multiclass Classification
Detailed categorization of texts to understand intent and severity:
- Vague Discontent: Non-specific unhappiness or frustration.
- Grievance Airring: Specific grievances without direct threats.
- Ideation of Violence: General thoughts of violence without specific plans.
- Specific Threats: Direct threats without detailed plans.
- Planned Violence: Explicit plans or intentions for violence.
- Non-Threatening: Same as '0' binary classification.
Utilization
SSDataset supports research in threat detection, psychological analysis, and law enforcement, offering a detailed framework for developing algorithms to identify and categorize threatening behaviors in texts.
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