From a lifetime of stuttering, speaking was

Rapp-app-app-app-app-app-app-app-app-app-app-app-app-ort. BANG! The desert eagle splattered his head across the keyboard. The killer smelled the barrel of his gun because

he had severe problems interacting socially with other people, problems that were only exacerbated by the sociopathic behavior required of his profession. His therapist had said

rather dryly that the job would probably give him a heart attack within the decade. His shrink's bluish lips didn't seem to make much noise after that, as he let loose a string of

incoherent phrases stuck together with a glue of pronunciation almost as bad as his own breath. "And how does that make you feel, Mr. Vance?" She wrote 'nutjob' on her pad.

"How does it make me feel? ME, feel? Doctor, I can't feel anything. Look out there. Nevermind, you see. I'm not..." The patient was losing all coherent thought, "I think it all

comes down to the Kennedy family you see... They are all dead and I think that Audrey Hepburn slept with one of them... In a few you will see what I mean." He seem to be going

crazy. Absolutely stark raving mad. He was breathing heavily and a small trail of drool began to run down his chin. "You'll see. They'll all see. The truth is out there." Then

Martin lopped his tubby hamster ass right back into the wheel that was publicly known in the fair City of Rodentiarabidiaville to be jank as fuck. Martin, aka 'Masochistic

Martian' ran and ran, considering the events of the day in full using his pea-sized brain. "It is a far, far better thing I do... Ooh! A carrot!" And he lost his thought forever.