Writer/Producer for Unlikely Assassins. Writer for CBS's The Inspectors. 2 Seasons on Last Comic Standing. 1st Place Winner at Las Vegas Comedy Festival. Child.
One of the most disturbing things about the Epstein files is that, with so many men accused, the only person actually in prison is a woman. #EpsteinFiles
Jacob Savage's article "The Lost Generation" in @compactmag feels like he's revealing a smaller truth inside of a much bigger one. https://t.co/NYFSxucWM6
Hey @substack@hamishmckenzie There is an amazing new novel, Two Hits of Acid in Cambodia, being serialized on your platform. It's a riot. Check it out.
https://t.co/vFD5X8xVN8
Hey @jairajs89 There is an amazing new novel, Two Hits of Acid in Cambodia, being serialized on your platform. It's a riot. Check it out. https://t.co/DATjPx3V8J
Hey @chrisbest There is an amazing new novel, Two Hits of Acid in Cambodia, being serialized on your platform. It's a riot. Check it out. https://t.co/DATjPx3V8J
Cookies, once a mere diversion, now serve as a macabre reminder of the duality that defines my existence – a predator who revels in stolen pleasures while leaving a trail of devastation in his wake.
The world may condemn me as a heartless killer, but in the stolen sweetness of those pilfered treats, I find a perverted sanctuary, a temporary escape from the darkness that defines me.
In the dimly lit corners of my hideout, surrounded by ill-gotten gains and the echoes of my crimes, I savor the stolen cookies with morbid satisfaction.
As the city trembles at the mere mention of my name, I find solace in the simple act of devouring stolen cookies. The crumbs that fall from my lips are remnants of a façade, concealing the monstrous reality that lies beneath.
The juxtaposition of my sadistic crimes and the innocent joy of pilfered sweets creates a twisted dichotomy, an enigma that only deepens my descent into madness.
Yet, in the distorted tapestry of my mind, the monstrous truth is overshadowed by the perverse delight I derive from stolen cookies. I revel in the sugary ecstasy that momentarily numbs the darkness within.
What they don't know is that, amidst the stolen loot and the bloodstained bills, I harbor a dark secret – a hunger that transcends the boundaries of morality. I am not just a bank robber; I am a killer who preys on the unsuspecting, leaving a trail of mutilated bodies in my wake.