There's no need to tell you how we got started talking, or how it is they told me their entire story. There's hardly any need to change voice. I'll just convey the story as I heard it. Like you were sitting there in jail for the weekend, sans camera, and happened to meet these two beautiful terrible souls. And chat it up.

Because you know I'm not a chatty person. You know I didn't pry. You know I just wanted to mind my own damn business. But there was something deeper connecting us, and we ended up connecting, communicating.

Fuck you.

In history, you only get famous by doing great things. For most people that means killing as many people as possible. Want to be famous? Do some old fashioned serial killing. Kill people, drill holes in their heads and pour in Drano, have sex with their body parts, keep said parts in your freezer for later. Or drive around in a van and shoot people from a distance. Do whatever it is your do for as long as you can without getting caught; but the important thing is to get caught. Get caught and spend the next year in front of the cameras. Your face remembered by all. Your name in the history books of our age...New York Times, Washington Post, Newsweek, US Fucking News and World Fucking Report. If you're really lucky you'll get a hip write up in GQ or Maxim. The Poor Little Misunderstood Serial Killer.

This is what's important. The killing, the getting killed, that's just the means to an end. Read your self help. Read your Stephen R. Covey. Read your 7 Habits of Highly Successful People. Begin With The End In Mind.

Then read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Christians.

Then read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Husbands.

Then read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Spousal Abusers.

Read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Psychotics.

Read 7 Habit of Highly Successful Killers.

They'll all tell you the same damn thing: Begin With The End In Fucking Mind Asshole.

Fame.

Some people get famous doing sports or music; but most of the time that's not good enough; they need to kill their wives or themselves and then they'll be properly remembered by the rest of us.

That's the only imortality we can be sure of.

Even Jesus Himself wasn't famous. He had to die and then his estate had to sign with a really good agent, Paul. Paul was the Spin Doctor for Jesus. He'd already killed a lot of people, so he had that going for him, too. Eventually, Paul got tired just representing God all the time, so he decided to get himself killed so that he himself would be properly remembered. Followers are always trying to one-up their leaders. So God had to sign a new agent, Constantine.

I say all this in order to say that nobody ever remembers the victims. These new friends of mine? You'll read their story and tomorrow you'll forget them. You'll be busy with buying your Newsweek; you'll wake up with CNN on, an ad for NASDAQ reminding you that you're not rich enough yet or smart enough yet and by God definately not beautiful enough yet. You'll be busy choosing between your healthy and your unhealthy cereal for breakfast. You'll be busy scheduling the rest of your day so that you can work out and burn off that unhealthy cereal. You'll have your head down, chin to chest, poking that little silver electronic tablet with that little plastic leadless pencil, squigling little lines that turn into D-no-fuck-I-meant-B-no-fuck-not-P.

See how easy it was to forget them?

Name the last victim your remember. What was his-or-her name?

No, not you, you pathetic fuck.

Go back to your handheld meta-widget, you victim.

Don't bother listening.

I don't know why I even retell this story.

Nobody listens anymore.