UnBooks:Two Hours in the Life of a Psychopath

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Surprise

With a groan that comes from having overdosed on my special meds the night bygone, I manage to pull myself into a sitting position amongst the smelling-of-fetid-cheese rags that serve as my bedsheets. Looking around the cell in which I've spent the last five years of my life I suddenly explode in a fit of whicked, maniacal laughter- only to stop abruptly when I notice a new and shiny object at the base of my cell door. Could it be, a gift from my panda brethren in the outside world? A sign that their magnificent, effulgent radioactive thunderbolts of Death are about to fall like gentle summer rain across the human cities? Are my days locked in this s******* about to come to an end?

Despite the excruciating feeling of one-thousand-freight-trains-loaded-with-maniacs-driving-steamrollers crashing repeatedly into the side of my skull, I manage to crawl through the dirt and filth that is the floor of my cell towards the mysterious object; my only thoughts being to find out who it was that had braved the machine gun nests, minefields, barbed wire and crocodile swamps to bring it to me, and more importantly, find out what They would want with me. Looking around the cell at the burnt wall-padding and doubly-barred windows I am forced to the conclusion that the object was pushed under my cell door- there's simply no other way it could've got into this maximum-security cell. Getting closer to the shiny object my vision clouds momentarily as the blood rushes up through my thin, wasted shoulders to my oxygen-starved brain, but when it returns again I am able to look upon the object- and I am instantly transfixed by it.

The object before me was a pair of scissors.

But not just any pair of scissors; the most shiny, lustrous, relucent pair of scissors anyone could ever hope to own, the sort of scissors I thought only existed in my wildest dreams... Why, with such a pair of scissors, one would never want for anything else... One's whole existence, whole being, whole life would be complete!

Staring quizzically at my newest possession I am touched to see that the scissors have been wrapped with a single red ribbon that ties into a neat bow on the top. Whoever my mysterious benefactor is, he/she/it certainly went to great lengths to make me feel wanted.

I don't think anyone has ever gone to such great lengths to actually make me feel so wanted...Heh heh heh, wanted...

I suppress a little giggle of evil satisfaction, then, realizing that I have no reason to suppress it, I let it all out; a loud, whicked laugh- after all, it's not everyday that I'm allowed to go near metal objects, especially such saliently cuspate, apical ones like this one...

Carefully I pick up the scissors- whose pristine, untarnished surface glistens like a lake under a full moon- and carry it to the charred and satisfyingly friable remains of (what used to be,) my cot. Looks can be deceiving, and despite the scissors' radiant, pulchritudinous exterior, for all I know they could be a bomb, part of some elaborate contrivance on my life by one of Them. And of course, the muffled noises I am suddenly able to discern inside the cell would serve to reinforce that notion... But then it just dawns on me that those noises are merely the dying solicitations of that traitorous Tickle-Me Elmo toy which, despite its lack of limbs, is still somehow managing to move about my cell...

At any rate, I haven't managed to live this long by being a creduluous, incautious person, and this time would be no exception: I hurriedly proceed to do what any experienced mind-control-device-destroyer does when threatened by a potential mind-control device. I dunk the scissors in one of the many feculent pools that dot the floor of my cell, so as to destroy all of its hidden circuitry, and with it, its chances of gaining control of my mind. Turning my head up to the direction of the inevitable cameras They probably have hidden in the ceiling, I proceed to holler in their general direction: Once again your attempt on my life has been an abysmal failure, you f****** humans! Next time you make an attempt on my life please make it at least vaguely worthy of my intellectual accumen!

At this pronouncement the peccant Tickle-me-Elmo toy beside me gives a semi-coherent guffaw, and I turn and kick the traitorous thing into the wall. Look who's laughing now, you ass, my inner monologue gloats.

"Mr Elmo, we could've been friends" I begin to him in a reasonable voice, "But your attempts to gain my friendship, my trust, and then betray me to Them have revealed to me your true colours. Forsooth! From this moment on I shall not trust another being with so much as my name! I'll be the least trusting humanoid on the face of this Earth, and there is nothing any of you out there can do about that!" With that final pronouncement I turn my back on the pitiful creature and its satisfyingly tortured death cries and make my way to my burnt-out cot.

Given Mr Elmo's lack of limbs, the traitorous creature probably doesn't have much longer to live anyway. A pity, its death cries are like chicken soup to my ears...

Sitting down on the bed with the pair of scissors I proceed to watch the pair of scissors intently for two minutes, to be absolutely sure that the hidden circuits They put in the scissors have been destroyed- but wait, did I just hear a muffled, indistinct beeping noise come out of the scissors? No, I force myself and my various alter-ego's to conclude, those noises must just be the last dying cries of that traitorous Tickle-me-Elmo toy, which tried, and failed, to betray me to Them.

My preciousssssss...

At last I am able to convince myself that the threat the scissors held to my somewhat fragile control of my mind has been neutralised by my quick thinking. Abruptly I convulse into fresh paroxysms of insane laughter onto the floor with the knowledge that I have gained a pair of scissors from this fortuitous happening. I kick my feet, beat my chest, make moronic douche-bag-like sounds, and promptly pass-out from sheer elation.

Chapter 2: Purging The Heretical Growth

When I wake up again I instinctively lash out at my surroundings- I always like to make sure that They haven't narcotized me and taken me to another shithole to conduct all manner of heteroclitical, truculent experiments on me. Upon noticing the radiantly glistening object on the floor beside me I stop my maniacal flailing and turn towards the shiny object that looks so completely out of place amongst the grime and filth of my cell. Entranced, my pupils dilated to their fullest extent, I pick up the lustrous, shiny scissors and hold them up to the light at different angles. Tapping them for their mesmerising chime, I ponder to myself just how a single object could be so damn beautiful, so damn seductive. The scissors seem to almost sing with the sun, to chime with the intensity of its light, and cast darkly brilliant rainbows around the room... The feeling of Mr Scissors in my hand is almost orgasmic.

I think for you and me Mr Scissors, this is the beginning of a very long and intimate relationship.

And now to test Mr Scissors' sharpness... Looking around my cell in search of something to cut up, all I can see is the charred and burnt remains of my furniture, the midden of fungal bacteria-ridden food in one of the corners, and the various pools of ordure and urine that lie dotted across the floor. With a light sigh I am forced to the conclusion that the only cut up-able thing in this cell is myself. If only I was free to walk around in public, then I'd have plenty of things/people to cut up...

Causing harm to myself is something that comes naturally to me, indeed, since my early childhood whole chunks of my flesh have been known to just "disappear" from existence, even whole appendages in the case of half of my left hand and several of my toes. One part of my body that has always been a source of dolour and misery for me is the heretical, cancerous excrescence of my ostensible "birthmark," (as my late mother used to call it,) on my knee. Every day of my life since my earliest childhood I have had to wrestle with this malevolent growth for control of my mind, and I've never been able to get rid of it. From past experiences however, I know that attempting to burn this cancerous polyp off with fire and/or acid will only make it grow back bigger, as will biting, sand-belting and chainsawing it off. However, now that I have Mr Scissors on my side, I may just be able to defeat the dark forces of the soi-disant "Birthmark" once and for all; I've never used scissors against The Birthmark before...

I don't waste any time in starting to hack away at the execrable, pernicious angioma- every second I spend deliberating over how best to get rid of this evil, blasphemous growth only allows it to increase in strength and malevolence. And so I begin hacking madly at my left knee; only to laughingly remember that the "birthmark" is actually on the right knee. With a light sigh I start hacking and and clawing away at my right knee with the scissors, and my left hand, with even greater resolve. Chunks of flesh and bone go flying and my fingers turn incarnadine as they become coated with my insipidly pale red blood, but after a few intense minutes of manic hacking at my knee it is finally over, and my hallowed biomass purged of the evil polyp.

Emerging victorious from the acrimonious battle against the heinous, satanical forces of the birthmark, I proceed to execute a little victory cavort in recognition of myself, and the valiant Mr Scissors. It also dawns on me that I'm now free to turn my attention against those malignant, hateful alter egos of mine, and in time, bring-about their subjugation aswell! UNDISPUTED CONTROL OF MY MIND SHALL BE MINE! THEY SHALL COWER BEFORE MY HOLY MAJESTY, AND MY POWER LEVEL WILL BE OVER 9000!

Chapter 3: An Unexpected Visitor

Sensing a disturbance in the corridor outside my door I turn my gaze in the direction of my door. Two creatures, putatively of humanoid countenance, but possibly of cyborg-quadruped appearance, walk down the corridor outside and stop outside my depleted-Uranium cell-door. Over the space of the next minute or so I hear the various bolts and locks on my heavily-reinforced cell door turned, until with a final click the last lock is turned and the door swung open. A pale, stunted figure is roughly shoved into the room and the door is promptly swung shut again, the bolts hurriedly drawn across again. The stunted albino creature- who I recognise to be my best and only friend Michael- starts scrabbling frantically against the cell door in what would appear to be a futile attempt to escape; but to no avail.

It's just him and me (and that blasphemous Tickle-me-Elmo toy which still hasn't died yet,) together in the cell. All the things that could happen!

"Hello little Michael" I rasp at the trembling subjacent figure, limping towards him on my bloodied knees, Mr Scissors clenched tightly in my blood-soaked hands. Michael gives a terror-stricken yelp at this pronouncement and runs into the furthest corner of my room, the one where I keep my collection of gumballs, bottle tops, glass shards and pins. Michael stiffens as the various upward-pointing pins and shards of glass enter his foot, but stays backed into the corner anyway, choosing instead to just stare in apparent trepidation at me with those capacious, bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes...

Being the easily-distracted, desultory person that I am, I randomly decide to ignore my disturbed friend for the time being, and instead decide to focus my attention on eating something. Having gone an entire week eating only pills I am feeling in the mood for something more substantial than just pills... heh heh heh, pills...

Without further ado I turn my body and limp towards the corner of the room where the pile of fungal, hairy food stands. Choosing the hairiest, most pungent chunk of solid stuff I can I sit down and watch it intently for about three minutes. When it makes no attempt to move within that time I call it my weekly meal of proper food and cram it into my mouth. I think it was a slice of pizza a long time ago...

Turning my attention back towards Michael I notice that he has moved out of his corner and has started helping himself to my tablets and pills, the more lethal ones that I've been given by those many people who want me to overdose on them and die. But Michael isn't just eating them, he's gorging himself on them; literally putting the open containers to his mouth and drinking the tablets like a maniac. (A very disturbed, atrophied, albino maniac...) At the rate he's taking those tablets he's going to overdose and kill himself. But he can't die, I haven't even started on him yet!

I begin to tremble in a terible, (but also completely justified,) rage. If Michael thinks he can just waltz into my cell, and then go and die, without my permission, then he is gravely mistaken, and much more disturbed than I at first thought. If anyone/anything was going to kill him, then it would be me, not some deadly combination of pills and tablets!

Still grasping the bloodied Mr Scissors tightly I start limping towards my friend as fast as my mutilated knees will allow me to. I WILL get you, you f****** albino piece of s***, just you wait...

Michael notices me coming and starts taking different drugs at an even faster rate, but just as I begin to get within scissor-throwing range of him he starts to convulse in a violent fit. Foam froths out of his mouth and he falls to the floor in a flurry of whirling, pasty, albino limbs. Intrigued, but also a little disappointed, I stop and watch his fit for the next thirty seconds before it subsides and he lies motionless on the ground.

Chapter 3.333: Is He Dead?

If there's one thing I cannot abide, it's people being selfish; and that's exactly what Michael was being: selfish. In fact, the word "selfish" doesn't even do justice to Michael's self-centred-ness. Nor do the words "obnoxious" and "rude" accurately connote the sheer self-centered-ness of Michael's blatantly selfish actions. But my vengeance will be sweet. If he wants to play dirty, then I'll play dirty. And if he wanted to have a corpse at the end of the day, then I'll be sure to make sure that I'm the one that prevents that from happening. It's been such a long while since I last fed on human flesh, and eating his corpse would be the least I could do to get back at him for his slight against me.

Looking closely at Michael again however, I am able to detect a slight rise and fall of his chest, and an evil smile begins to form across my face, which in turn gives rise to another pronouncement from my inner monologue. So Mr Michael, you were merely trying to pretend that you were dead. Unfortunately for you, my intellect is much too vast for me to fall for your fatuous playground tricks. You were a fool in thinking that you could pit yourself against my intellect, and now young man, you shall know my who I am when I execute my vengeance upon you with furious rebukes!

Michael looks so vulnerable lying there on the ground, and Mr Scissors feels so arousing in my pleasantly bloodied hands I know exactly what it is I have to do. I could get us all to play a little game together. One that would enable me to put Mr Scissors to further use, and one that would involve a lot of blood, and a lot of pain... Heh heh heh, pain...

We wants out out of this s***hole NOW

Chapter 4: Fun With An Unconscious Guy And Some Scissors

After some rummaging around the cell I manage to dig my old heavy-duty strait jacket out from under the charred remains of a cabinet, and I proceed to fit Michael into it. It isn't easy because Michael doesn't bother to help me, being unconscious and all, but eventually I manage to fit him into it. He looks so funny lying on the ground that I randomly lash out and kick him. Hard. In the stomach. And then I kick him again, this time in the head, for good measure and to make myself feel good. And then suddenly I lose all control and I start kicking him continuosly in the head and the upper chest. After the first few kicks he starts to move but I don't let up in case he starts to exploit any weakness of mine. Being the weak, blood-deprived person that I am, my legs quickly tire and I am forced onto my knees to start using my fists on him. But after a few punches into his head they too are tired out and I am forced to lie down out of the sheer exertion of it all. As I do this, Michael starts to moan and writhe, and I am forced to get back onto my feet so that he doesn't interpret this as a weakness on my part.

Michael groans, shakes his head slowly, and eventually opens his moist, bloodshot eyes. Upon seeing me he starts struggling against the strait-jacket; but to no avail. He then stops his futile struggling and just stares up at me.

Looking down at Michael it suddenly occurs to me just how much his face resembles a ball of paper that has just come out of the back pocket of an old pair of jeans which have just come out of the washing machine. I let out a little chuckle at this realization, but to Michael I must have looked a sight with my blood-saturated shirt, bloodied hands, knees and scissors, and that lopsided, psychopathic grin across my face...

"Michael, you've known since we first met that I've coveted your spleen" I say to him in the steadiest, smoothest voice I can manage, gradually getting sharper as I notice the horrified look appearing on his face; "well, I think it's about time you gave it to me." Michaels eyes widen in what would appear to be abject horror at this last pronouncement, and he starts struggling against the strait-jacket with renewed vigour.

Standing and watching Michael make his pitiful attempts to escape from the heavy-duty kevlar and carbon-compound material strait-jacket I am filled with an even greater sense of evil satisfaction. Mr Scissors however is quick to remind me of the task at hand, and with out further ado I begin to move in on my prey, eager to lay my hands upon his spleen. The thought of removing Michael's spleen, however, summons up the inevitable bout of laughter that comes with my dreams of spleen-removing, and I have to pause to try to suppress it. I manage to suppress most of the laugh, but a small whimper ultimately still manages to escape my lips and I am forced to slit both of my wrists with Mr Scissors because of my shame...

Having done that, with blood seeping out of every one of my limbs, an evil grin written upon my face and Mr Scissors clenched tightly in my fist, I again begin to move in on my struggling prey...

Chapter 5: Death In A Mental Institution

And so I set to work cutting Michael open in much the same way a butcher would a fat pig. A very fat, albino pig. In fact, Michael's skin is pierced in much the same way a diamond-capped drill pierces a particularly pungeant hunk of Jarlsburg cheese: very easily. However, locating Michael's spleen amongst all those other non-essential organs in the body proves to be a lot more bloodier and difficult than I actually expected, not made easier by the fact that Michael keeps squirming; but eventually I'm able to find his spleen, cloistered near the liver- and I am immediately transfixed by it...

I might have finally located Michaels spleen, but like most spleens one may come across, it sure as hell was not going to go down without a fight. With a sudden cry I abruptly and viciously tug at the spleen to disrupt its inevitable attempts at preempting my attacks; and then I begin severing the obnoxious tubes the spleen has running between it and the other organs. This was one fight that I could not allow myself to lose...

If blood and other bodily fluids were previously washing over me while I was rummaging about Michaels bodily organs, they are now positively gushing over me and my once white garment; saturating the hitherto damp, reddened loincloth with copious amounts of blood, and conjuring up the mephitic odours of severed body organs. I however just ignore these feeble attempts at resistance by Michael and his spleen, and keep focused on the task in much the same tunnel-minded way a zombie looks for brains... Heh heh heh, brains...

Pus and bile wash over my hands as the gall bladder is slit open in one of my wild slashing movements, but despite these attempts by the combined forces of Michael and his spleen at stopping me, I prove to be too powerful for them, and eventually I'm able to sever all of the tubes the spleen has connecting it to tyrannical host Michael. Mission accomplished.

Having ruthlessly crushed all remaining resistance I proceed to put Mr Scissors down and begin the task of spleen-removing. I do it slowly and cautiously, not wanting to provoke the spleen to any actions we both might regret. When it makes no further attempts to attack me I take it away quickly and force my various alter-egos to conclude that it doesn't possess any antipathy towards me for having taken it from its master. On the contrary, it's probably feeling grateful towards me for having liberated it from such a tyrannical host as Michael. One can only imagine the inhumane treatment this poor spleen received at the hands of that sociopath Michael; even just by looking at its pale, unhealthy colour one could conclude that this spleen has been subject to many hardships... Maybe that's why it didn't resist me as much as it could have when I stole it from Michael...

As far as spleens go, Mr Spleen here must be a fairly intelligent one...

Perhaps nobody will ever know the true extent of the psychological trauma poor Mr Spleen suffered at the hands of that raving sociopath Michael. No amount of in-depth counselling and medication-taking will ever be able to erase those traumatic, enturbulating memories and experiences he now has to carry for the rest of his life...

I hear Mr Scissors murmur in jealousy at my sudden preoccupation with Mr Spleen, and so, holding Mr Spleen as far away as possible from us I carefully explain to Mr Scissors that while I have become quite attached to Mr Spleen over the last few seconds, nobody will ever be able to replace him as my best friend. I also add that it is very rude of him to just exclude Mr Spleen from our little conversation like that, but he doesn't deign to give any indication of having heard this and decides to keep lying there like the weighty, fat little thing that he is. The little bastard.

Mr Spleen, visibly distraught at having been ignored by me for a few seconds starts clamouring for my attention again and suddenly I snap. In a fit of uncharacteristically violent anger I throw Mr Spleen down onto the floor beside Mr Scissors and tell the two of them to sort out their issues. With an emphatic "Humph" I leave them and stride off to the still corpse of Michael, which is right where I left it. Michael's corpse evidently hasn't made any attempts to escape yet...

The sight of all the blood spilt over the floor makes me stop in my tracks and I begin to tremble in a fanatical rage. If Michael's corpse thought he could just waltz into my cell and bleed all over the floor then he was obviously more disturbed than I at first thought. My anger roused, I start to yell obscenities at the corpse, "...do you mean to tell me young Michael's corpse that you expect me to clean up all your blood? Did you honestly come here thinking that I would do this all for you? Young man (corpse), it is plain to me that you have serious issues. I shan't condescend to play with you until you've had a bath and cleaned up all this crap." Michael's corpse however gives no indication of having heard this but just keeps lying there with a content smile on his lips... And then it dawns on me- the bastard was laughing at me! He was mocking me!

I can't let this stand. Nobody mocks me, Charles Montgomery Rupert Penry-Jones Owers-Baxter, and lives to tell the tale! He will be sorry. I'll make him sorry. He shall rue the day he dared to mock me. I'll kill the F*****! I'LL KILL HIM! And then I'll eat him alive, and kill him again! Mwahahaha hahaha! I'LL KILL HIM!

But wait, I'm not going to just kill him. I'll wipe humanity itself off the face of this earth! Foolish humans, thinking this Stygian s***hole is going to contain me, just as this 24-hour armed guard, the patrolling helicopters, and the 20 kilometers of open water are going to be a match for my righteous wrath. You shall all know that I am Charles Montgomery Rupert Penry-Jones Owers-Baxter when I execute my great vengeance upon you with my furious rebukes! I'll kill all of you, remove all of your spleens!, and with them, RULE THE WORLD! <Insane laughter> I'LL KILL YOU ALL!

Article written in the style of its subject This article is funny because it is written in the real or imagined writing style of its subject. If you do not find it funny, then it is probably because you are an ignorant cultural philistine who can't appreciate awesome literature. (From reader: Or it is because I'm a psychopath.)