Killing people is ridiculously fucking easy.

People always claim it takes a certain breed of evil to kill, but it really doesn't. Anybody can do it - You squeeze a trigger half a centimeter more, or plant the accelerator pedal and aim for your ex-wife on the zebra crossing. You swap your elderly mother's pills for placebos, and when her heart gives out, you finish your cigarette before calling an ambulance.

Shit, it's like pringles. After that first one, there's no turning back. You're there for life, or you'll be next. That's the way it goes. When I was a kid, I worked in an abbatoir through highschool. According to my old paysheets, by the eight of seventeen I had killed over twelve thousand steer. These days, I get a lot more cash for killing a lot less dumb animals.

But that first kill? That first snuffing of insignificant but nontheless sentient candle? When you feel the heat from the muzzle flash crease across your brow, and you feel hot powder stipple your hand and the tiny flecks of splashback pitter-patter on your face like a whore spitting - it's like fucking Marilyn monroe without a condom.

I started out with the gov, working in the army. You never realise how much you hate the human race until they're swanning around in your crosshairs and you've got a flag on your shoulder that says you can rape, pillage and murder until you don't think you could get any harder.

Rape is cool too, but it gets boring. The screms are the best bit, but they make it hard to do on a spur-of-the-moment thing. I mean, shit, I could bust into any fucker's house and toss a toaster in the bathtub with him, but you can't just drag a McDonald's employee over the counter, slam her head into the grill and fuck her while the skin peels. Okay, well, you can, but you can't get away with it twice.

Bitch wouldn't put double mustard on my quarter pounder.