Are You An Evil Murderer Demon Though, Like Maybe?
I am 99.9% positive that I’ve never murdered a person. That .1% is a pretty big deal to me, though, because I am one of the many incredibly irritating assholes on this planet who subscribes to the “but nothing is really impossible” logic best suited for writing Disney movies and/or ending/losing pointless arguments at dinner…
You know that feeling when you see a police officer and immediately think, “they got me,” even though you haven’t committed a crime?
No?
Whenever I see a cop car, or a police officer, or a bouncer at the door of a bar or club, or like, a Best Buy employee looking mean and hanging out by the exit, I assume that I am going to be arrested for one of the many murders I haven’t committed.
I am 99.9% positive that I’ve never murdered a person. That .1% is a pretty big deal to me, though, because I am one of the many incredibly irritating assholes on this planet who subscribes to the “but nothing is really impossible” logic best suited for writing Disney movies and/or ending/losing pointless arguments at dinner parties.
In short, I am not a murderer or a criminal, but I have convinced myself that I am the worst.
And like, I kind of am. Human beings are terrible. I often think about how great the universe would be if we could juuuuust eliminate Benedict Cumberbatch, who’s never done anything to me personally, but does offend me in the way that he looks like the next reptilian iteration of the genetically altered, hybrid human race.
So, I am kind of a murderer? Like, I look at Benedict Cumberbatch and think, “I wish you fucking would, dude.”
He’s probably a good guy, though. And I’m not a good guy, and I am convinced of that for some reason.
Why? Why does authority make me nervous? Why have I felt like I was a bad criminal — perhaps murdered someone when I was sleepwalking — person, ever since I can remember?
I’m not suffering from Catholic guilt, because I was never Catholic. I also had pretty nice parents and no one ever tried to kill or otherwise harm me in any way that wasn’t heavily based in text messages or AIM chats — those were truly a great environment for evil, damn. And I miss them! More proof.
But I digress.
I don’t know the source of my belief in my own evil. Maybe you do. Maybe you know something I don’t, and you can lead me down the righteous path. Maybe you know why I feel like I’m going to be arrested or found out for doing bad things that I don’t even know that I did. Maybe you alone hold the key to the salvation of all mankind.
That, or I still feel bad about the time I stole like, $100 worth of stuff from H&M when I was 16 and returned $80 two days later but kept the wallet and the sweater. Either way. 
