I’m totally sure this is not what they had in mind when they suggested this
“Gonzo Geordie had an ax
To give her daddy forty whacks.
When that job was goodly done
Gonzo’s mom got forty-one.”
The neighborhood children, they be singin’ my song. Agin. My name be Gonzo. I love when they sing my song. I’m some body big. Biggest. Right Doc? Gonzo is famous. I’m a see-leb-ree-tee. Real deal.
“But why did you kill them? Your mother, your father,” Dr. Welby is asking me. Again. “Why? Did they hurt you?”
“No M’am” I tell him, smiling, friendly-like. I like Dr. Welby. Nice man. Can I can kill him too? Split that big head of his’n right down the middle. Like a melon. “No siree, nothin’ like that. They wuz always good to me.” I pause. I wait. He waits. We wait together.
“Then why?” persisted the doctor. I was happy to answer, though she’d said the same thing lots of times and got the same answer.
“Cause I wanted to. Always wanted to. I tole’em, I did. They just didna believe me.”
Serial killer they call me. I sound important. I like that. I’m so happy. Always wanted to be. Though until after I done it, I didna know it had a special fancy name. Other kids, they was wanting to be firemen and nurses and stuff but me, Gonzo, I was snuffing kitties and wanting to turn Mommy and Daddy into glop.
I should have cooked them in the big iron pot but darn I didna have nuff time. Mebbe next time. Mebbe.
Now, they singing my story all over the place, singing my song.
“It didna use forty whacks. Not like the song,” I tell the Doc, sadly. “Not nearly nor specially not forty-one whacks. T’was less’en the number of fingers on my hand to make daddy all pulpy.
“Nothin’ to ax no more, nope. Not hardly nothin’ but red goopiness. Mommy? Less, not sure how many. But not enough as I wanted.
“I wisht it was forty or forty-one, forty-two, more even. Mebbe someday. Yup, just a few more would’ve been good. My song … it’d be longer. Yup. Longer.”
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