Manifesto of a Predictive Text School Shooter

April is school shooting month here at Misery Tourism, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity for another bleak, abhorrent predictive text experiment. This time I trained the pt-voicebox editor on schoolshooters.info‘s archive of letters, social media profiles, manifestos, amateur short stories, message board posts, and other perverse original works created by the killers themselves.  (Special thanks to the editor of surfaces.cx, who made me aware of this wonderful/horrible resource on twitter.) Once my algorithmic writer’s aide was sufficiently homicidal, I used it to compose the following epistle.

to the university administration, iowa authorities, and all,

attention: family, friends, neighbors, and dylan klebold.

this letter is written in april, of course.

my friends from planetcyber and the police department would not want me to pull the biggest prank of all ages. showed them all.

nobody saw the revolver in my heart. smile somehow.

was all alone, authentic, unwanted outcast; everyone else conspiring like fucking osama to kill my little innocent mind. sometimes i wanna smear dog shit on your soul. hedonism is nothing special … except for all of those beautiful girls who represent my mother and kim.

sexual relationships inexplicably becomes traumatic experience, and she begins filming my entire youth, and my black blood kept getting in my gym bag. this world really, really disappointed me.

console me with this stupid, degenerate, obnoxious mexican named lucky. he was always better at skateboarding, but i am more confident. mother fucking jocks in front of the gym with that happiness that i needed.

is one kick ass man (who can easily hurt) the most beautiful thing in this evil, barbaric, and all alone school? dulling my mind/body and everything else is not going to continue, so when you look at me today in first floor johnson city depot, you should stop immediately and then call the police.

please forgive me but not the normal fullywhite kids who called me a short, boring name. later they will realize how powerful god can be. slaves who have free minds are still considered innocent (unfallen), and this dumb fuck is going postal, dude.

you guys rock on to another rejected, insulted, humiliated, cast out, bullied, starved, tortured, and ridiculed me. feel the shotgun rain drops you guys.

cop pulled out his last pistol but i was too dangerous for his illegal shit. wow. and so he doesn’t catch me, morticia.

be dead in happiness: no ambitions, no respect, no reason to kill them all. that shit is not my tragedy. did god just want naturalselector89 to make his world hell?

suffer in jail. and dead people finally have no regrets about how homosexuality just got into my veins.

religious fanatics like majority totalitarianism, consumerism, mass pacifism, state mafia, modern tv shows, rap music, marilyn manson, holywood, and the mouse that was man, but i watched this shit on suicide with my cousin and it amazed me.

wouldn’t you think democracy means letting people say, “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck you.”

emotions tell people that don’t know anything that they understand why children deserve forced loses of their sexuality, but they should laugh blindly, and then call my apartment for some fun.

dress up for online dating, while she starts talking about how lame pokemon cards were like i still remember my own teeth or the first girl my heart raped. sorry.

he told my mother i subconsciously spend recess in danger of coyotes and mountain lions with her feet. as if public castigation is what i wanted, right?

in jail for possession of marijuana at pinecrest i would find sanctuary with the skateboarders, because they despise inferior niggahs too, but then they enrolled in the video game competitions and i can’t swallow all that bad boy scene.

eric harris, dylan klebold: who would you pick for the best fuckin racist tirade? it would be a phenomenal fun afternoon.

a gun and enough ammunition to get my thoughts out. what else can i do? shit. break their bodies, because males deserve utter annihilation. and that canadian had it all figured out. he said, “good is just adrenaline.” everybody defines “normal” differently, and i decided to pull the rope that was hanging you.

would hate to spill this new and powerful thing where everyone can see. who could survive within this world after 13? he took my sawedoff shotgun shells and i became obsessed with dinosaurs and dressed like them, but that certainly did not make it any better. leave me alone. i don’t care about getting popular boys fucked.

never be a cool memorial service for me or reenactments of my story by the university community. whatever. that’s not the only way to be cool. you can suck my dog. he has no idea how [hamlet monologue] the human race strives for their livelihood while reading about book report on the weekends after they kill every friday night in front of the school cafeteria with james and noah as she runs between the swings and grabs you.

light up a few more, and before i die, will jesus christ, mohammad, and all of the best sex they had (which i never will experience) only love me? i don’t think so. however, life after me on earth may be just a little lame.