Title: We Kill Because We Care

By: AJR

 [Mountain Dew][October 4, 2004] Chapter One

AS HE approached, she was nothing more than a silhouette outlined by the taillights of the ambulance. Her knees were planted into the gravel curb. Flashes of color—her hazel eyes, dyed red hair dark enough to look black—but her face was hard to make out. Strings of brown blood trailed from the corners of her lips.

Jenny is alive . . .

Her tongue hung out of her mouth to the pavement. Her pupils shifted, glared at him. It wasn’t easy for him to see, but her tears fell and smeared with dry blood.

                . . . denial. I licked the blood off her spine. But I swear to God I’ll never leave you.

At a little past one in the morning the sky was black. Prospect Road ran down the middle of a grassy section of desert, with low streetlights placed every fifteen feet until the crest of the hill.

Mathis towered over the girl, taking the scissors out of the pocket of his jeans. The October wind was cool but sweat still made his fingers sticky against the blades.

                The toe of his boot slammed into the girl’s right set of rips. Her body cringed and she curled on her side. A single cry, followed by silent, bloody tears.

                 He brought his boot back down hard against her stomach. The sharp edge of his heel stabbed into her crotch. His heel dug into the soft flesh, twisting until she went silent. She was wearing strait-leg jeans and a black hoodie. When he brought his foot away, he saw blood soaking through the underside of her jeans.

                She rolled on her back.

                I swear to God, Jenny.

                He pressed his boot to her stomach and bent on his other knee, letting all his weight push on her belly, on her internal organs. Mathis could feel her heartbeat gently rattling her entire body. The girl’s eyes were staring at the asphalt, waiting, her dark red hair jagged in front of them.

                With both hands, the scissors still gripped between his fingers, he gripped the bottom of her hoodie. He slipped it past her chest with little protest and he let it rest around her neck. She coughed and drooled a string of fresh blood out of the side of her mouth.

                She wasn’t wearing a shirt under the hoodie. Her breasts were big for her slender frame, with a simple black bra holding them back.

                I was lying when I said I loved you.

                Mathis ripped her bra off by the cups, jerking her breasts, jerking her entire body. Soft pink nipples. Underdeveloped, slightly puffy around the edges.

                He took one glance at her face. She couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. Her wrists and ankles were feeble. Her hair was matted with her blood; lips slightly parted enough to take short breaths of air. Silent sobs that he should have found sexy but he didn’t—he didn’t care.

                Mathis grabbed her left breast with his hand, forcing his fingers around the tender flesh. His fingernails dug, twisted into the skin around her nipple, forcing it to hold position. He felt veins pulsing blood on his palm underneath.

He dug the scissors vertically into the edge of her nipple, stabbed in deeper. Warm blood sprayed back on his fingers. Her entire breast was syrupy with blood in a space of a few seconds. He twisted the scissors in a full circle. Skin tore open without sound except the girl’s wheezing. Though the scissors resisted as they went into the breast tissue, he twisted until he could feel it tear. He brought them up a half inch as another jet of blood followed—

He rememberd Jenny in her black cowgirl slacks and white button-up shirt with her blond hair back in a ponytail. No mental image of her eye color. But they had danced on Prospect Road. The brush of her blond hair on his neck. Her innocent laughter. Her tongue on his ear.

                —and he pulled the scissors blades apart against the tension. The girl’s whole chest convulsed as any sound of her crying silenced. Blood drained over her rips, pooling under her naked torso. Blood ran down her stomach and soaked into the waistline of her jeans.

                The scissors came out horizontally, the blades sideways. Her nipple and part of her lower breast tore in half, spliting down the hardened red center. Yellow tissue slipped up the hole of broken skin with another outburst of blood that splattered against her neck.

With the back of his hand, scissors still gripped, he pulled his long brown hair out of his face and behind his ears. The girl’s eyes closed, but minor convulsions caused her arms to shake and scrape against the road. The blood flow slowed, but still trickled out from the wound between the flaps of frayed skin that were plastered to her breast.

                He took hold of her right breast in the same position he had with the other, but he dug his fingers deeper into the edges of her nipple until he felt the leathery surface on the skin under his fingernails.

                 The blades were stuck together from the blood but he pulled them apart and positioned them horizontally around the entire tip of her breast.

Closed them.

Skin cut away without much pressure. He pulled the scissors back and her entire nipple came off intact, quickly covered by a rush of blood and fell on the asphalt beside her. The hole was octagonal and gushed blood. Individual coils of pink milk gland, fern-like, was exposed as more tissue spilled out around it. The entire side of the street was pooled with her blood . . .

                Dropping the scissors on the curb, he reached into his pocket. Blood and sweat made his hand slippery, but he pulled out two small white shells and put them in his other hand. Then pulled out his cigarette lighter and put it next to the scissors.

His foot put more weight on her gut. Her eyes were still closed and breathing slow as she bled out . . .

Then with speed he’d grown from experience, he snatched up his lighter and lit both M80s, slammed them into—

Jenny’s voice had been quite standing outside the hotel, teasing: Welcome to Chestburster. Her sensual smile.

—the bleeding holes in her breasts. They went in squishing the tissue, just another small burst of blood, and he was up, running a few steps toward the ambulance before—

 The girl’s entire upper body busted outward, filling the air with a stiff crack as dots of blood blasted across the road. Her back arched toward the sky, and her jaw snapped open without time to scream. Her breasts shredded into bloodied strings of unraveling pink glands, jerking air bound then falling back against her chest and stomach, dripping blood. Pieces of pale skin flew away from her body, then landed on the bloody asphalt. Her ribcage shifted and broke from pressure inside her. Her body convulsed again, and she vomited more blood out of her mouth and nose. Even her hazel eyes dripped blood to the ground.

ON THE night Mathis had met Jenny Waltz, he had been laying on a hotel bed when she’d walked in, barefoot, with a bottle of Dr. Pepper dangling from her fingers. She’d been wearing a white blouse buttoned to the collar. Her blond hair had been let down, no longer in a ponytail. Faint pink nail polish on her toes. His memories were broken. He remembered nothing about her personality.

The hotel room had been printed with light rose-print wallpaper. Red carpet. The bed had been bleach white, with such a thin cushion he had felt the springs gnawing against his spine. Everything had been stripped off the bed except the sheet.

There had been something about it that unnerved him, almost scared him, but he’d known it was most likely the LSD exaggerating his emotions. Still, he’d felt a reeling in the bottom of his gut that had made him want to throw up. The room had smelt like piss. Or maybe it’d been him.

Jenny had sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. She’d unscrewed the cap off her Dr. Pepper and taken a drink. He couldn’t remember what color her eyes had been, but she’d stared at him. Oh my God, what am I . . .There had been concern on her face.

He’d tried to sit up but couldn’t. He’d know where he’d been. He’d remembered laying down on the bed, but he hadn’t been able to move. His body had been caked in sweat, and he’d felt it soaking into the sheet. Spit had run down the side of his open mouth. He’d tried to say something, and he may have, but had realized his ears had gone numb. No feeling, no sound. He hadn’t been able to hear anything.

Mathis had turned to Jenny and opened his mouth to scream, to scream her name, and if he did he hadn’t heard it. His shoulder-length brown hair had gotten in his mouth. He’d tried to spit, making him cough, then gag.

Jenny had looked at him then. Mathis had always been easy going, but something in her eyes had told him it had been time to panic. She’d been the kind of girl who should have been at a party, drinking until she passed out and guys made bets on who got into her tight cunt first. But she wasn’t. She’d been in a hotel room watching him, tears dripping down her face . . .

The girl sprawled out on the gravel curb of Prospect Road looked nothing like Jenny. Their hair colors were different. Jenny was older by a few years, and her face was more mature.

Jenny was dead.

The girl on the side of the road was coated in her own blood. One eye was closed, the other bloody and open. Her jaw was out of socket, hanging in a way that stretched the skin to expose the red under her eyes. Hands stretched outward, palms up. Her breasts were torn pulp hanging with strings of blood. Her milk glands were torn and draped onto the road.

Slowly, her chest rose and fell with the sound of her cracked ribs readjusting inside her. The sound of blood gurgling out of her throat and backwashing into her mouth.

He tried to find his conscious, tried to know, tried anything to grab onto that conscious—without conscious there was no thrill. But he couldn’t. The girl was boring.

Flippantly, he took a step toward her and slammed the heel of his boot into her hand. Pushed it into the gravel with his full weight. A few cracks as bones broke and gravel embedded into her hand. He twisted his foot until he could feel the slip of blood, and she jerked as he brought his heel away.

The girl twisted her head to look into his eyes—and he brought his foot up again, then smashed it into her forehead. The edge of his heel squished into her right eye socket, the eye that had been open, and he felt a small fracture to her skull.

Glancing—her eye was oozing a string of white puss, outlined in blood, her pupil in the back of her head—he lifted his foot again. Down. Her skull cracked and the skin on her forehead ripped open with more blood. The pressure, spewing blood, caused the fibrous lining of her brain to fill the crack.

. . . a broken memory of Jenny in a coffee shop. Congratulations! mutilating a life, Mathis! Someone had said it. He could see the brown paneled walls. Jenny smiling, kissing his bottom lip. I wish your son the best . . .

Mathis ran his hand through his long hair. He hadn’t washed it in two days and he could feel the dirt. He turned around without bothering to look at her.

His jeans were spotted with blood, but little had gotten on his black polo.

The engine from the ambulance had shut off, and the lights were no longer flashing through the night. All he could see was the taillights, the open double doors in the back, and the faint interior lights.

Walking toward the ambulance, he kicked the asphalt so the blood on his boots would fall off. He didn’t see any reason for blood, unlike Morthlum. He could get by on his own.

Though he could care less about the girl, the fear he’d experienced in the hotel room gently overtook his mind. His hands were shaking. Sometimes his body reacted to the blood-thrill without him emotionally feeling it, but this wasn’t that. This was fear. It made him want to fall on his knees and curl up, crying, screaming . . . but all he could hear was Jenny’s broken voice from the hotel room floor, spitting up her own blood: But it’s scary the things you can get used to . . . for a brief moment he closed his eyes, but the fear was still there . . . we’re in Chestburster . . .

[Mountain Dew] Chapter Two

MATHIS PULLED his weak body into the passenger’s seat of the ambulance. The nerves in his forearms were stinging with pain. All he could smell was the drying blood on his shirt and that made his headache pulse like hell.

                The dash was black and the interior lights were off. Cold wind stung the back of his neck from the open back doors.

                He turned in his seat, and his ribcage exploded with a series of quick pains that made him lock his jaw from tension. He’d known something had been seriously wrong a few months ago when dull pain had turned sharp enough to make him double over, but he ignored it. As long as he kept his adrenaline up, it was hard to notice the pain, and he only experienced the fear when he thought of Jenny.

                Nothing would change.

                Mathis pulled his coarse hair out of his eyes and looked out the back doors down Prospect Road.

                Though it was hard for him to see, Morthlum was walking down the center yellow lines, a few feet from the girl’s corpse. The pool of blood around her had expanded, but that was the only details he could see. Everything else was blurry, black. He blinked, but his eyes still didn’t focus.

                Mathis had met Morthlum in the Old Country Hotel two and a half days after Jenny had died. He’d needed someone to help move her body—I’m scared this is really happening—to help clean up the blood, and Morthlum was the first person he’d seen. Morthlum had said his real name was Mathew, but Mathis didn’t care. Even now he didn’t care about the kid.

                Down the street, Morthlum bent on one knee in the girl’s blood. He was small, a foot shorter than Mathis, nineteen, with blond hair that went down to his shoulders. His white t-shirt glowed from the streetlight, and Mathis could make out the wording through the blur of his vision—Stop the Senseless Violence, printed in blood-red letters—as Morthlum brought his face into the left bloody stub of the girl’s chest.

He dropped his tongue out of his mouth, licked the blood off the skin that was coating her chest. Blood backwashed through his teeth and down his shirt, but he swallowed. He took one glance back at the ambulance before he put his hand on her chest and scraped the blood between his fingers . . .

Mathis looked away. He was more concerned with the pain in his forearms.

They’d gutted the hull of the ambulance of the medical supplies and put them in Morthlum’s hotel room. The white steel walls were bare, and the stretcher was the only piece of equipment left on the floor. Beside it, in a brown cardboard box with duck tape around the edges were his syringes.

He twisted further in his chair and reached in. His lower spine broke out in a burning sensation and his ribs shot more pain, but he twisted his fingers around the plastic syringe, brought it into his palm, then gripped it with his other hand.

He twisted forward in the passenger’s seat and the pain in his spine eased. Slowly, he let the grip in his jaw loosen. For a moment Mathis just sat there, staring at the black dash. He could still see Jenny on the hotel room floor, bleeding from the round bullet holes in her abdomen as she had tried to breath, blood draining out of her mouth, overlaying her white teeth. He could still feel that desperation as he had stared at the wall, now staring the dash, his nerves ready to explode in his arms . . .

Mathis stabbed the needle into the base of his neck. The sudden pain took away from the aching in his nerves, and he pushed the plunger down. It came out and he threw it by his feet.

It would take half an hour for the watered-down LSD to have any effect.

He’d kicked his addiction at fourteen-years-old, but now at twenty he used it to calm his nerves by diluting it enough to give him lightheadedness. Lightheadedness distracted him from the pain.

Mathis twisted around in his seat again, and pain spliced at his upper spine as he turned his head to look back at Morthlum.

                There were enough streetlights on Prospect Road to see that most of blood on the girl’s chest was gone, leaving only smears along her neck. Morthlum’s hands were on her hips, and even though his vision was blurred, Mathis saw her jeans were unzipped. Morthlum writhed them off, underwear too, and revealed the bloody mess Mathis’s boot had made.

                Her pussy was spread apart, lips torn and bloodied. A standing pool of blackened blood was between them, and some spilled out as Morthlum has peeled back her underwear.

                Morthlum didn’t hesitate. He put out both arms to steady himself, then brought his face in. His tongue and teeth dug into her vagina, blood spewing out between her legs. He pulled his head back with a string of dried, black blood caught between his teeth, and he used his hand to push it in.

                Mathis looked back at the dash, straitening his spine and relieving some of the throbbing in his head. There was nothing left to do except wait for Morthlum to finish. This had been their first time killing outside of Chestburster, and the useless time unnerved him. Scared him. Brought him back to the hotel room, lying on the floor, staring at the wall, waiting for nothing to change . . .

                He reached into his pocket of his jeans. His scissors were still there. About nine more M80s.

                He hadn’t used the .357 Colt Python strapped above his ankle since he’d bought it from Jenny. Mathis had always thought guns were pathetic, but as he sat there with his entire upper body pulsing in pain, he realized how frail he was.

                The back doors closed, shaking the entire ambulance.

                Morthlum stepped up to the side door and opened it, pulling himself in by the steering wheel.

                The tips of his blond hair were striped with blood, and a splotch of blood covered the entire front of his white t-shirt. Morthlum and Mathis hadn’t slept in days, much less shaved, and blood outlined the stubble on his chin.

                Morthlum turned the key in the ignition and the dash lit up.

3:46am.

                “I can understand about her tits, man, but was it really necessary to kick her pussy in until her ovaries bled from the inside out?” Morthlum’s voice was boyish, with an honest tone that had unnerved Mathis when they’d first met. Mathis couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. He didn’t make eye contact. He didn’t reply. He didn’t care.

                The ambulance shook as Morthlum put it in gear and put on the gas. The distance between them and Chestburster was a little over three miles, and as soon as Morthlum pulled off the curb he was inching toward 100mph.

                Mathis pulled his unkempt hair out of his face and closed his eyes. “We’re not going to have much time.” It hurt to talk; pain spread like fire up his jaw line and into his temples. He closed his eyes without waiting for a reply.

                With his eyes closed, he could feel the LSD starting to distract him from the pain.

                Jenny had sat cross-legged at the edge of the hotel bed as he’d regained mobility on the night he’d met her. She’d unbuttoned her blouse to the middle of her chest, exposing her ample cleavage held back by a stable black bra. He remembered her once saying she’d had a job at Victoria Secret. Her slacks had been unzipped enough to show her black underwear, tight against her. The barrel of the .357 magnum had been pressed against her underwear, wooden grip facing upward. Her finger hadn’t been on the trigger. He hadn’t known what she’d wanted, but he hadn’t been afraid anymore. He’d been breathing heavy, and his muscles had been pulsing with adrenaline. There had been a hurt in her eyes, like the gaze of a dying child. He’d sat up, his entire body aching like hell, and grabbed the magnum. He hadn’t had any second thoughts. He’d been confused, though. But he’d stabbed the barrel deeper into her cunt, deep enough to feel it slip in, and pulled back the trigger. Blood had backwashed out of the hole. Her eyes had rolled in the back of her head, but before she could fall backward he’d pulled the magnum out—blood—and pressed it under the tender flesh of her chin. Pulled the trigger. The angle had shot the bullet through her left eye. A hole in her face had opened up as her eye liquefied to bloody white puss. Blood had poured out onto her blouse, and she’d fallen backward off the bed. Her neck had snapped as her head had hit the floor.

                The ambulance stopped.

Quickly, he heard Morthlum open his door and swing out onto the asphalt.

                Mathis opened his eyes and stared at the black dashboard. The diluted LSD had taken full effect and his nerves calmed rapidly. His mind was sharp from the rush of adrenaline, but he still felt as if everything was unreal.

                He pushed the door open then stepped out onto the asphalt.

                Prospect Road led directly into Chestburster. The main complex was no more than a hundred yards wide. A circular asphalt walkway with a field of grass along the inside. Along the outside were five major buildings, with Chestburster Coffee Shop directly across from the entrance from Prospect Road. Streetlights glowed systematically. The details were hard for Mathis to make out—it was still hard for him to see. People filled the massive background space. Shadowed bodies walking alone along the pathways with no personality or distinction. The entire complex rested above the edge of a nameless manmade lake. Chestburster was teen feet above water level with wooden piers built over the shoreline.

                A green highway sign was posted on the opposite side of Prospect Road:

Chestburster

Los Vegas, Nevada

Mathis hadn’t been at Chestburster in a little over two days. Though the pain had mainly subsided, there was that reeling in the pit of his gut. The thrill as adrenaline coursed through his bloodstream. He’d played this moment in his mind since he’d left the previous Friday. Chestburster had been his life for so long it was all he could think about. All that didn’t bore him.

Morthlum stepped up to his side. Morthlum preferred to deal with the blood rather than kill, though he would finish a kill if he had to. Mathis didn’t care. He was expendable.

Together, they walked along the side of the walkway  in the dark.

Mathis could see a picnic table that wasn’t in direct light. A little girl with blond hair in a sundress sat at one side of the table. She was holding a plastic bag filled with water with a goldfish inside. There was a smile on her face. On the other side of the table was a fat kid, maybe seventeen, also with blond hair. He was wearing a baby blue t-shirt that outlined the fat rolls on his sides, hunched in, laughing. Between them was a single cupcake with a candle shaped into a seven stabbed into it, flame flickering.

Mathis took the right side of the table, walking slowly, while Morthlum came up behind the fat kid. Neither got their attention imminently. Neither had time to run.

Morthlum put one arm around the fat kid’s neck, then his other around his mouth. Muttered screaming.

The girl sprang out of her bench, dropping her fish onto the table, with speed that surprised Mathis. But she didn’t run. She stood there with terror in her eyes, but also a sense of understanding. A few tears ran down her face, but she didn’t outright start bawling. As if she didn’t care if she died.

Mathis grabbed her around her chest.

With his free hand—

She trembled and kicked him in the balls without much force.

—he pulled out the scissors from his pocket.

The adrenaline rushing through his hands made his actions feel automatic. His stomach was turning until he started to smile. I swear to God, Jenny . . . I can do this.

Mathis kneed the girl and she lowered her head for the space of a second. He went in with the scissors—stabbed them directly into the base of her neck. Into her spine. He could feel the scissors separate links in her spine as they recoiled back. There was little blood, but it ran down to her shoulders. Not big enough. Her body convulsed, trembled in his hands.

He pulled back the scissors and knifed them into the side of her neck. Her muscles protested, but he twisted the scissors as blood spewed across the asphalt, down his hand.

The scissors fell out of her neck, stretching the skin, as he let go. A jet of blood shot into the air and splattered against the girl’s shoulder and ran down her arm.

He grabbed his lighter and an M80 out of his pocket, not letting go of the girl with his other arm. He’d learned to light M80s with one hand.

The surge of adrenaline had stopped any thoughts he had.

Mathis let go of the girl, and as she fell he pushed the M80 into the second bleeding hole the scissors had made, and he jumped back. Jumped back far enough, but ran backwards a few feet more . . .

The entire right side of the girl’s neck liquefied into blood as scraps of muscle and blood blew horizontally out, then fell onto the pavement. Skin on her jaw stripped off and exploded into bloody confetti, revealing her white bone, now covered in her own blood.

Mathis glanced to his side and saw the fat kid running toward the girl.

She twisted and fell face-up, landing with the sound of her skull cracking open under her. A pool of blood quickly drained out of her neck and formed under her head.

The left side of her neck was still intact and bleeding, with her mangled white spine visible. Black burns replaced muscle. A few veins, maybe arteries, were severed and leaking more blood out of the smoldering muscle. Her face, except her white, bloody jaw, was untouched. Blue eyes glossed over with tears. Blond hair matted with blood.

The fat kid fell on his knees and scooped up her body against his chest. He was crying, shaking as he repeated Oh, God over and over again under his breath.

Mathis stepped to his right side, a foot away, but he didn’t move. Morthlum stepped up to his left. The fat kid’s entire body trembled. His free hand was quivering, and he slammed it into the ground in a loose fist. Because you were weak.

Together they stood and watched him, let him, mourn over the seven-year-old girl who’d just had her birthday party and gotten her first goldfish.

[Mountain Dew][4:02 AM] Chapter Three

Some of you have tried talking to me on here. Sorry, but I simply cannot reply to you because my computer will not let me. And even if it did, I'm not sure I'd be...umm...able to. I love this site. Of all the sites, this one, BY FAR, is the best. MySpace is stupid, and though Facebook is the most useful, Xanga is the only one that really has much of a point. I just don't use it because everyone has moved to Facebook.

I just finished Pet Sematary by Stephen King yesterday at 4:00. I liked it, I think. Some of the lines like, "The day we planted Gage..." send shivers down my spine just thinking about them. Other lines, like the one King uses to end the book just are so downright cheesy couldn't help but chuckle. King is not a great writer, and he really needs to realize how cheesy he is at times, but, honestly, Dekker is exactly the same anymore. Why does every author who has so much potential just go down the drain? Unlike Ted and his cliché "deep thoughts", at least King makes me realize how desperate my life is. Oh well. Thank God that Suda51 (Killer 7, No More Heroes) and James Wan (Saw) were born in my generation---those two men know how to tell stories.

So, anyway, what's knew with me since I last posted? I met Chris and I screwed up friendships with other people. Chris and I started filming our own children's series we show at church: "Jigsaw and Friends", which teaches kids the need for violence in a retarded politically correct society. "There is only a 10% chance you'll die when we film, only a 25% chance you'll break a bone, and only a 75% chance you'll receive a minor injury! How can you pass that up, sir? HOW???" But a lot of people have passed it up. Gabby told me today she'd do it...I swear, I hugged her for 5 minutes I was so happy. I just hope to God I don't suck. The first video we made was downright classic, and it had quotes that no one forgets. Like the one where Nick was in the bathroom and I had to poop: "I don't care! I'll go on him! If he doesn't move, I'll call the police. That's what police do...they attack hott girls." But the second video sucked. The third one was even worse. But this one we have real weapons, more people, and I'm growing out my beard so I look creepier. If it sucks, I won’t be surprised, though.

You know what I hate? (No, not "humanity," though that is a true statement.) I hate little girls (or boys) who think they are SO far above me just because they are accepted by the majority of the public. What do I mean? I mean, just because you're born with a pretty face and all the pathetic whores (or manwhores) suck your toes and you expect me to do the same. I stood up to someone like that the other day, I got in her face, smiled, and would have literally ripped that face off if it wasn't against the law. I used to think this girl had potential, now she's a LOAF.

My sister and I invented that phrase the other day: LOAF (always spelled in all caps). Basically, it is the dullest word I could think of and it's applied to the dullest people I can think of. It so dull it's almost funny. "[I wish I could say your name, little girl, but I'll give you some respect], I gave your personality a name: LOAF!"

Remember how I was talking about writers losing (haha, Shelbi, I fixed that, I almost spelled it looseing again) everything they had going for them? You don't know how many normal people I've talked to recently who have lost everything that made them great just like Ted did. Maybe people say that about me as well...and maybe it's true. Okay, it is true. I used to have entire classroom laughing until they were on the floor, now I can't even make myself smile. I feel like an old man. Heck, I even called someone a "whippersnapper" the other day without even thinking about it.

I don’t know how to end this. I’m depressed. What’s new? Depression. What will be new in 5 years from now? Depression.  Hopefully by then I’ll at least not be this depressed.

If you haven't noticed, I'll clue you in: I only write reveiws on games that awe me. That's why I haven't writen a reveiw on Metroid Prime 3 (which I beat in December), Zelda: The Twilight Prinsess (which I beat over a year ago), or Super Mario Galexy (which I couldn't force myself to beat). Games (or movies, or books) that awe me are few and far between. I beat the new Goici Suda (Suda 51) game No More Heroes on 2/20/08 at 3:55pm. To saw "aweing" is a insault---"beutiful, captivating, bloodthirstingly sexy" or anything you'd used to call a chick are understatements. Speachless is probibly the only thing that equals how I felt when the credits rolled...the second time.

QUOTES:

Random Man: Coconuts are worth more than human life! The God of Coconuts is watching you.

Travis: LET THE BLOODSPILL BEGIN! Die [f]-head! [he cuts a thug’s head in half] Strawberry on the shortcake!

Death Metal: Welcome to paradise, Travis.

Travis: This isn't paradise.

Death Metal: What is it, then?

Travis: A place to kill...

[They fight, Travis cuts his hands off]

Death Metal: Extraordinary! The title of Master Sword is yours.

Travis: You don’t get it. I don’t care about power. I just want to be number one.

Death Metal: Then master the way of the assassin.

Travis: Here’s your ticket to paradise, old man. [He cuts his head off]

Dr. Peace: Don’t die on me too quickly, I want to gorge on the satisfaction until I vomit.

[Travis stabs him in the chest]

Travis: It’s open mike night in hell, old man. Sing all you want down there.

Shinobu: I will avenge the day you took my father’s life!

Travis: What? I just watched your father’s wrestling videos.

Shinobu: Just kill me already, you’ve dishonored me enough.

Travis: Nope. Kill me then kill yourself. Something right out of a samurai movie, isn’t it?

Shinobu: I can’t…

[Travis walks away]

Travis: Are you going to kill her?

Sylvia: No, probably not. Are you in love Travis?

Travis: No. She’s so young…why not kill her when she’s older?

Sylvia: You’re sick.

Travis: So are you.

Sylvia: Need to pop a breath mint? Use the toilet? Personal hygiene is always important. I am 100% certain you will leave this fight, Travis—in a body bag. But don’t be discouraged, trust your force. And when you’re ready, enter the garden of madness.

[person]: You mean my wife? Married 10 years, all that. She’s a big spender.

As you guessed, the reason I didn’t tell you who said the last quote was because the person saying it is a major plot twist in himself. That said, there is 4 major plot twists in the end of the game. And keep in mind, most of the quotes I chose have double meanings you only understand once you beat the game.