I couldn't make up my mind who I wanted to

I couldn't make up my mind who I wanted to be: the bound woman, the withered lover, the angry princess, or the dire mother. To be a truly great serial killer, you must have a name

that comforts people;tells them "You're in the hands of a professional" and not some runofthemill hobby murderer.Finally,I settled for "Steve" and moved on.My first

mistake was to introduce myself to my hogtied victim awaiting slaughter. Her eyes widened in shock: "What?! I'm to be murdered by someone named just 'Steve'? Is that even legal?" I

see dumb people, and they don't know they're dumb -- I gasped. Where did that voice come from? It wasn't the hapless person before me, and it wasn't me. Icy fingers at my wrist

made me pee my pants. I could barely tolerate the dumb people but dumb people with cold hands made me cringe with fright. I had to reach the nukes. Time to end this madness.

bowed down, as he should, and let me hobble and waddle my way across to the nuclear missiles. The pee soaked smell of trousers alerted the Sergeant of my presence, and he welcomed

Sgt. Plaghufzghhy was quick to give me fresh clothes and a boiler suit. I was allowed to go into the headquarters of the folding story department, where Rebbie and Woab worked.

"Oh, now, Ambika, no need for a boiler suit here," said Sparky Pickles the copy boy. "Sure it's hot this time of year, but you could wear a summer dress or t-shirt and shorts, what

ever you wanted." The climate was, Ambika was forced to admit, much more forgiving here than she was used to. The office life of Sparky Pickles could be one she got used to!