I have some down-time coming at work, and I plan to spend it killing, maiming and playing competitive bocce ball all across this great land of ours. Oh, wait! That's ridiculous: it won't be bocce ball season for another six months. So just the killing and maiming, then. From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters, I plan to mow people down with a variety of high-powered firearms, explosives and edged weapons, and also maybe staplers or other office supplies. I will also be stopping for a Tastee-Freeze every now and then. Not too often, though: I'm watching my weight. Plus I'm totally not going to miss a single episode of Glee, even for the killing. That show is awesome.

            I suppose you're probably thinking, Floyd doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd go on a nationwide killing spree. (Or maybe you're not, in which case, very perceptive of you. Or you read my blog.) And it's true, I have been kind of a stick-in-the-mud when it comes to homicidal sociopathic behavior. But you know, I was watching a Tony Robbins special on PBS the other day (I'd like to claim that I watch PBS because of how great the shows are, but it's really because of how my remote is broken and I'm too lazy to get up and change the channel, so I've been watching PBS for the past 8 years now), and Tony convinced me: I can do anything I set my mind to. And because of the killing rage his show induced in me, what I've set my mind to is, well, killing. 

            I just want to be clear: I am a people-person. I feel it's important to get out and meet new people. If I then kill them immediately after meeting them, well, in what part of the people-person manual does it say that I can't kill those people I'm a person of? I repeat: the important part is getting out there and meeting people. The survival rate of the people that I meet is completely beside the point. Do not stand in the way of my progress as a person. And hey, at least I'm not sitting home alone masturbating. Or anyway, I won't be.

             Also, I hear chicks dig psycho killers.

            (I hear that from the voices in my head, which are never wrong.) (Well, except about how Elvis was my real dad.) (Sorry, Priscilla, for insisting on the blood test.)

            I must tell you, I love this great country of ours, and I plan to slay people from every part of it, in all their diversity: black and white, man, woman and child, drinker of skim and whole milk, those who feel like a nut and those who do not. In no other nation do they have the freedoms we enjoy, and I love our freedoms most of all, except maybe for our Tastee-Freezes. Thanks to our nation's capacious interpretation of the Second Amendment and adoration of free enterprise, I have been able to compile a cache of armaments comparable to the U.S. Army's, though not as good as Blackwater's, of course. (If only…) (I love drive-thru gun stores--not to mention drive-thru liquor stores.) (I mean, if you're off to mass-murder a crowd of people while liquored up, as indeed I plan to be, you don't want to have to waste time getting out of the car.) We are not a free people, I tell you, unless a dangerous lunatic can have access to a semiautomatic rifle, rocket-launcher or tactical nuclear weapon. Suck it, France! How many killing sprees have you snail-eating surrender-monkeys had, huh? We win! U.S.A!  U.S.A!  U.S.A!

            Now, I'm not naive. I know that there will be some roadblocks. Like, for example, roadblocks. Once I get a little success--knock off a family in Kansas, launch a grenade at a senior-care center in Boise, stop for a Tastee-Freeze or two--there'll be the haters, trying to bring me down. Oh, it's wrong to kill random strangers. Oh, what did those cute little pre-schoolers ever do to you? What do you have against nuns? (Three little words: steel ruler.) (Plus they never taught me to count.) I just have to clear my mind of all that negativity, you know? and do what I do best: kill randomly. It's the work that matters.

            Oh, I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that I don't think about fame and fortune. Who, embarking on a nationwide killing spree, would not be thinking of the floodlights and weapons that the FBI will train on him, the newsmannequins interviewing his family and friends (I'm perfect for that: I really am very quiet and I do totally keep to myself), the ultimate standoff where I scream, "You'll never take me alive!" before I am riddled with bullets? Man, I'll admit it: I've got kind of a chill down my spine right now, just thinking of it. But that's not what this is about. Hell, I'd still embark on a nationwide killing spree--and be grateful, too--even if my killing spree were to be ended by just a couple of rural deputies who take me out with a lucky shot, and even if all the media attention I got were a mention in the Evansville, Indiana Penny Saver. Fame and fortune is all very well, but I know what's really important: the killing.

            It'd be nice if I got some play, though. (I just want to be clear here: chicks really do dig psycho killers, right? Because if not, it's off.) And of course, some Tastee-Freeze.