I’m So Sad You Didn’t Think You Could Tell Your Father And Me You Were The Santa Fe Slasher
Listen, sweetie. There's something your father and I wanted to talk to you about. Over the past few months, we've noticed you've been behaving a little differently. Your grades have slipped, you always seem a little distracted, and, yes, we've noticed you sneaking out late every night. But we're not angry. If anything, we're just sad you didn't think you could tell us you were the Santa Fe Slasher.
Why didn't you tell us the truth? Did you think we'd be mad? Disappointed? Ashamed to be the parents of an active serial killer? No! Of course not!
Now, I'll admit we were a bit surprised at first. We didn't know you even liked knives. But we're your parents, pumpkin. We'll love and support you no matter what you do! We don't care how many dozen people you've stabbed, or how many other unconfirmed victims there might be. There's nothing shameful about being the most prolific serial killer in New Mexico state history.
When we saw those first grisly news reports six months ago, we never would have guessed it was you. Not because there's anything wrong with being the Santa Fe Slasher. We just really believed you all those times you said you were going to play Fortnite and sleep over at Matt's house. But then one night we called Matt's parents, and they said Matt had been dead for weeks. Your father and I exchanged looks, like, Uh-oh, that doesn't sound right." Then we poked around a little and found the bleach and the cleaver and the trash bag and the head, and we started getting pretty suspicious.
Yes, kiddo, I know we shouldn't have gone in your room without asking. But your father and I were worried. We understand that was a violation of your privacy, and we're sorry. In fact, there are other things we'd like to apologize for as well. Things like all the careless comments we've made in front of the TV. Thoughtless stuff like How disturbing," What a nightmare," and Huh, is that our machete?" That's no way for a parent to talk about their own child!
Worst of all, I remember one morning over breakfast I picked up the paper and said, What kind of monster would stab a pageant queen more than 60 times, then stuff her corpse into a playground trash can?" Gosh, I cringe just thinking about it. It was so insensitive of me! You're not a monster, honey. You're a strong, smart, curious, careful, cunning mass murderer. Who are we to judge you for stabbing someone more than 60 times? Heck, you could have stabbed her 6,000 times and it would have made no difference to us.
And jeez, that's not even the worst of it. Remember when we all went to that funeral for the Hansen girl? It was one of the closed casket ones. I marched right up to her mother at the wake and said, Cathleen, they're going to catch this son of a bitch, I know it, and he's going to fry." You were right by my side, munching on a bagel and taking in every word I said. Saying that was probably the worst thing I've ever done. I don't want you to fry. I want you to thrive!
How much have all those knives and duct tape been costing you, anyway? I bet you've been burning through your allowance. Money's a little tight right now, but I can ask around and see if we can get you any more lawns to mow. I know the Riveras probably need someone. Their yard's basically gone to pot since you stabbed their son and his girlfriend. Not that that's your fault, sweetheart. It's their job to maintain their lawn.
If being the Santa Fe Slasher makes you happy, then it makes me and your father happy. Plus, from what we've seen in the news, it sure looks like you're having a ball. You're getting out of the house, you're meeting people, and I bet it's great exercise.
Your father and I want to support you any way we can. Maybe we could even tag along some time. That wouldn't embarrass you too much, would it? Ooh, I can just imagine the three of us driving around the city together, hunting for victims and listening to This American Life. We'd let you do the killing, of course, but then maybe Dad and I could write something in the blood-something like Burn in Hell for the sins of Eve!" or God has forsaken the souls of Santa Fe."
Alternatively, I have some beautiful stationery just piling up in the kitchen junk drawer if you'd prefer to taunt law enforcement that way. Or, if that sounds lame, your father and I will just stand there and cheer. Either way, when the body's dumped, I promise we can all go to Dairy Queen! That is, if all this sounds good to you. We're not trying to smother you, hon. We just want to be a part of your life. More than anything, we just want you to know how proud you make us.
Now let's get those grades up, all right, buddy? If you do, your dad and I might even consider getting you that brand-new meat grinder you're always asking about!
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