THE JOHNNY BASTARD FILES : Hero

I never had any positive role models when I was a kid. My father was always a pathetic, self-pitying loser and alcoholic. I had no older brother (no brother period), and my family was wary of my presence at best. To them, I was nothing more than a demonic devil child who partook in disgusting practices such as eating my own excretions. Oh, I got plenty of attention, so don't give me any of that shit that I say the things that I say as a cry for attention. I hate listening to that shit from people and reading it in emails sent to my inbox. I was never about attention. I wanted less attention, believe it or not. I just wanted my parents, sister, and faggot shrink to leave me alone and let me east my shit in peace!

Like any other kid at that age, I was into comics and cartoons and stuff like that. It was al the action and adventure that captivated my interest. Sure, I was into superheroes like Superman, Batman, and Spiderman, but I thought of the heroes themselves as nothing but posers, and goody two-shoes. Superman and Spiderman were altruistic fools. If I had super-powers, I would use them for my own benefit rather than to making the world a safer and better place for mankind. Fuck that! Let the world decay inot a withering, decrepit cesspool, an even worse hellwhole than it is now. Let crime and terrorism reign supreme and the good people of America live in constant terror 24-7. That would make the world a better place for me and I wouldn't have to do a damn thing.

Even Batman is a moron in his own right. So he doesn't have superpowers and fights crime out of a desire for revenge because "evil-doers" killed his mommy and daddy—oh BOO-HOO! When I was a kid, I envied him for that, and I envy him now more than ever. But I guess the revenge element is cool in its own way. So why not make it an eye for an eye, rather than having that stupid no-killing code of honor that every superhero seems to adhere to. Kill the Joker, the Penguine, Riddler, and Two-Face; that's the only way true vengeance can ever be achieved. I love an eye-for-an-eye mentality and all the chaos and destruction it always seems to bring.

This refusal to kill even the most heinous nemesis is a flaw held as a badge of honor by way too many superheroes...of my childhood anyway, and even as a kid—long before all of my misanthropy and libertine leanings had fully flourished and blossomed to what they are now (though the seeds had already been planted)--this stupid code of "honor" made me sick to my stomach. Not only was it completely unrealistic (no one in reality would ever adhere to such a shitty code), but all it did was sneak a little bit of sentamental, idealistic bullshit morality into the mix. Don't make me laugh! If I were a superhero, things would be much different, but I won't go into that here, but I won't get into that in any great detail here. Let me just say that I'd kill the villains the first time I fought them; that'll keep those scumbags from coming back again and again to keep fucking with me. But my policies as a superhero is a rant for another day. Let's just say that superheroes are no heroes in my book.

But for now, lets concentrate on the real life heros.

First we'll get into the celebrities: Actors. Role models. Sports players. Olympic gold medal winners. They are all a bunch of greedy, arrogant shitheads. They think that because they push themselves to the limits that makes them a hero. Bullshit! They do it for the fame and fortune and to nurture their stupid pride. I can't for the life of me understand how anyone can call these assholes heroes.

But what about those that save lives and make such a huge difference in the world--a positive difference, of course? And they do it for altruistic reasons rather than their own personal gain.

Those sappy, pathetic fools will get no respect or admiration from me.

But there are certain individuals that have earned my admiration and respect and that I would even go so far as to call a hero. There are many examples of these, but for now, I'll just give you one to keep this installment from getting too long:

Serial killers.

If anyone has earned the right and the honor to be called a hero, it is men like Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, Albert Fish, The Boston Strangler, Jack the Ripper, John Wayn Gacy, The Zodiac, and Richard Ramirez. I think that we all have a certain amount of admiration for the serial killer--I'm just the one of the few with the balls to admit to thinking of these guys as heroes. But we all do to a certain extent. How else would you explain all the documentaries, specials, articles, and references providing vast amounts of information on individual serial murderers? Or various websites such as Crime Library, Serial Killers A-Z, and Killer Fonts? Let's face it, folks, the world at large practically worships these guys.

And why shouldn't we worship them? Look at all the entertainment they provide for us. And they don't even get paid for their good deeds. They put their freedom at risk doing what they do and their health as well, killing their victims as thoroughly as they do. They kill strangers; they have no way of knowing where their victim had been, what they'd done, or what they might be carrying around with them. The serial killer usually tears right into his victim and it is a very bloody affair. And lets not forget that the killer will very often have sexual intercourse (non-consensual, of course) either before or after the victim is dead. If the victim has AIDS or Hepatitis, the poor killer doesn't stand a chance.

Serial killers truly do make the world a better place. The world is way too overpopulated as it is--six billion people is definitely a lot to be cramming into our small world. Anything that reduces it to even a very small percentage is a thing of beauty. Sure, serial killers may not rank up there with famine, disease, war, or terrorism, but it still makes a small contribution, cracking a small dent in the overpopulation problem, and thus, must be given proper credit.

Jake Truman is one of these great heroes, though not well-known as he only killed three women before getting caught. But he still wins my admiration because at least he tried. And best of all, I actually knew him before he murdered his first victim, and he was definitely my hero since the day we met.


I had no friends in elementary school, junior high, or high school. Everyone thought I was a freak--like my parents, my sister, and my child-shrink--and they either fought to keep their distance, giving me wide berth as I walked through the school corridor, or they made a point to make my life a living hell. I won't go through that in detail here as it was painful, humiliating, and way too shameful. I'll just say that it helped to fuel the fires of my passionate hatred of the world. I guess that at that stage of life--like any other phase--you must conform to their way or they will make your life a living hell until you do or until you leave. I was never able to do that, however; I guess I'm just a bad actor.

Jake Truman was probably one of the first friends I ever had (and only friend, perhaps). Maybe when I was very young, a little kid, my parents might have gotten me together with some other kid, but I no longer remember that now. Besides Eve, I think that Jake was about the only person I ever knew that I could truly relate to at least in some way.

I met Jake Truman when I first started college. We were college roomates. We got along perfectly throughout the four months we knew each other. It was a short period of time, yes, but we developed a bond of friendship that would last a lifetime.

Truman was obsessed with the whole concept of death and read everything he could get his hands on about the topic. Had the Internet been around at the time, he would have no doubt been deeply engaged and fascinated with sites such as Ogrish and the now defunct Choose Death. He loved everything about death and corpses and the many causes of death, whether natural or resulting from foul play. He admired serial killers as I admire them, and dreamed of one day becoming one himself. He wanted to go down as one of the big-name killers. Truman already had a plan and role-played the scenario often, psyching himself up, getting ready for when he would one day--several years later--act out his violent fantasies for real.

We both flunked out around the same time, at the end of the first semester, and we never saw each other again after that. But five years later, I saw the name "Jake Truman" in the paper and I smiled. He had been apprehanded by the police while fleeing from a murder scene, covered in the blood of his first victim; tried for three counts of murder; found guilty; and sentenced to die. I was smiling fondly, filled with joy after finishing the article, because it was then that I knew that Jake Truman, my best friend, had finally lived his dream.

He never made it to the gas chamber, though.

A month later, he was found raped and beaten to death in the shower. He was degraded and died a horrible death, but none of that matters now and it didn't matter then, because even in death, he was still a serial killer; his lifelong dream had still been achieved, and no one can ever take that away.

 

December 06, 2001

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