When I was eleven I was thrilled to read about my exploits in the newspaper. I had cut the throats of six stray dogs in the neighborhood. But the papers got it all wrong, they wrote as if it was a bad thing to kill dogs that terrorized people.

Later on, in high school, I caved in the head of a pervert with a baseball bat. Again, the newspapers took his side. No mention of the fact that he molested little boys. Oh, no. The person that killed him was the bad guy.

Now, as an adult, I’ve found my calling. I kill bad people. So far I’ve killed nine people, but they were all bad. Crooks, liars, thieves, gang members. I should receive a medal from the city for saving them so much money. All I ever wanted to do was be helpful.

I thought of joining the Marines, but they don’t know anything personal about the people they kill. I need to know that they are bad people.