She’s the one you see standing in the corner, smiling quietly to herself. You feel like you can’t escape her very presence. What is it about her? Is it her lipstick, drawn seductively from lip to ear? Her surprising upper body strength? Or the fact that she has you chained up in her basement? It’s probably…probably that last one.
Don’t date a girl who murders people. She isn’t like the vacuous bimbos you usually date. When you first meet her you’d be delighted by her laugh that doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. You realise you have so much in common! Really an odd…almost improbable amount.It’s almost as if she’d been following you around for months, gathering information. “Ha! That’s…unlikely”, you chortle to yourself, and yet an odd passing feeling tells you that there beats underneath all her makeup, something evil, ancient, cold and cruel…
All pretty girls come alone to bars and buy you all these drinks, right? This is normal, right?
She’s a free spirit -independent and fierce. You notice this as she drives you to her place in her black unmarked SUV. You tell her that you don’t usually do this, as you giggle and play with your hair. “Shh..” she says and puts a single finger gently on your lips. “Embrace the silence…”That’s kind of an odd thing to say, you think to yourself as you realise that your limbs have gone numb. Hey why doesn’t your door have a handle on the inside? you casually remark as you slip into a deep sleep…uh oh.
Don’t date a girl who murders people, her closet isn’t full of clothes or shoes or even books or gay shit like that. Instead it houses her rather extensive collection of melee weapons, each won in a battle and marked with the blood of the previous owner. She also keeps her cats there. They feel quite at home.
Don’t date a girl who murders people, she isn’t going to shower you with womanly sympathy. She completely ignores your cries to be let go. She doesn’t care that you haven’t eaten in four days, she has her own problems, okay? Traditional gender roles are passé, okay? She doesn’t care about making houses a home, or decorating things with fluffy pillows or picture frames. But she takes extreme care to make sure no one can escape from her basement. You know that first hand. Oh, boy. George tried. Poor George. Optimistic George. Thinking that he had found a way to squeeze out of the ventilator. She had found him, of course, and now she had put him in the dark place for bad boys. You don’t want to go to the dark place.
Don’t date a girl who murders people, she roams free. You can’t tie her down to one place. The police have been trying that for twelve years. You think you have a shot? George always said that. Poor George. You miss the sound of his voice. It was the only thing you heard other than the judgmental patter of her cats’ feet. You sigh slowly and eat the mashed feminist literature that she feeds you. You give up hope of escape.
Don’t date a girl who murders people because if you do, she’ll write an article about how you shouldn’t date girls like her in which she greatly idealises her personality and lots of women will share it and high five each other. We’re not conventional! Woohoo!
Don’t date a girl who murders people, because she will murder you. Eventually.