That Horace kid Pomeroy killed is lucky, I think. He didn't have to face the ridicule of his peers for wearing such pansy ass outfits. Like, what the hell? They thought he was a fuckin' girl when they found him!
Jesse Pomeroy would be approximately 136 years old if alive today. I'm gonna take a chance and say he's dead.
Let's start a Jesse Pomeroy fanclub. And an Albert Fish fanclub. Charles Manson has fanclubs comin' out the ass and he didn't do jack shit. Psh.

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Replying to:

*ahem*...I would first like to point out the rough and tumble dog icon that appears with this post. Thank you.


Anyway, Jesse Pomeroy is my hero because he had the guts to beat up annoying little kids. I mean...who needs little kids? They just run around like morons and get in your way. Damn kids. Especially that one kid he killed that was wearing all the fancy clothes and all...granted, he probably would have grown up to be a fine strapping young flaming homosexual, but think of the persecution he would have suffered. If you think about it, Jesse really just did that little boy a favor. Society looks at things all wrong these days. I mean...really. A little pain is good for everyone. Those little pansies he beat up probably deserved it just for being such pansies. If he's still alive, I'm writing Jesse Pomeroy a nice letter inviting him here to see if he can help with the children infestation we seem to be suffering here in hell. I really do think he'd be more than willing. Kinky, would you like to corraborate with me on this letter idea? I'd really like to meet this guy. Assuming he's not dead, that is. And even then, I'm sure we could think of something. I really want to write a letter to Richard "The Night Stalker" Ramirez. Any guy who can kill a man named Peter Pan is a-okay in my books. Why are all the really good guys already married? I'll bet Jesse Pomeroy has a little lady waiting for him at home too. Damn it. *pouts*


On a side note, the person who wrote the short story I am presently suffering through should be bludgeoned with a bowling pin until she passes out...then given adrenaline to wake her up and beaten again. Then the cycle repeats again and again until she promises to never write another short story full of her comma Nazi extremist ideas.


You have a situation. There's a wild fandango loose in the theatre. Watch out......Raaar.


I'm bored.