Serial Killers on the cover of the Daily Mirror over the years, (From top to bottom):
- Dennis Rader (The BTK Killer).
- Ted Bundy.
- Jeffrey Dahmer.
- Dennis Nilsen.
- Collin Ireland (The Gay Slayer).
- Peter Sutcliffe (The Yorkshire Ripper).
- Robert Black.
The murder of his eighth victim Ernest Miller involved a change in modus operandi for Jeffrey Dahmer. Dahmer met Miller on September 3, 1990 in front of a bookstore at around 3 am. Dahmer was drawn to the young man’s physique, and he offered him $50 to come back home with him. Back at his apartment, both men stripped nude, Dahmer lay on top of Miller, listening to the noises of his body. He kissed his stomach then began to trail his lips downwards, towards Miller’s groin, at which point he was told, “That’ll cost extra.” Dahmer administered his concoction of liquor and sleeping pills, and Miller was soon asleep.
For several hours, Dahmer admired his acquisition, caressing him and masturbating, drinking beer all the while. One thing threatened to spoil the evening, however: he’d only been able to give Miller two sleeping pills, and the man was sure to wake up and cause a struggle if he tried to strangle him. He decided that the most efficient way to kill Miller that would cause the least amount of suffering was to slit his throat. After drinking more to drown his inhibition, Dahmer severed Miller’s jugular vein with the knife he used for dissection. Blood spurted everywhere, leaving a stain on the bed that would be discovered later by police.
Dahmer heaved the body onto his black table that he’d intended to use for his “altar” and took a round of photographs of it in various suggestive positions. Then he put the body into the bathtub to start dismemberment. At the point when he severed the head, he proceeded to kiss it and talk to it, apologizing for having to kill in such a brutal fashion, but there was just no other way.
True Crime + Text Posts Part II. As before, credit goes to those who made the actual text posts. Hey, btw, don’t be a dick and repost any of these, k? Thanks!
Okay that’s good. But if you ever need to talk I’m here. c: I love New friends.
Cases of leprosy. Manila, Philippines, 1899.
Westley Allan Dodd argued that he should be executed as soon as possible. and told the justices that those who were trying to save him from the gallows were trying to blame his crimes on society when he was trying to accept total blame and punishment for his deeds. Dodd said to the justices: “Did the system fail? I have said all along the system does not work. The “system” did not commit hundreds of sex crimes against nearly 100 children. The system did not kill three little boys. I did. Is there mitigating evidence in my case? No. Do I feel remorse? No. If this case is sent back to a trial court, I will plead guilty again and physically and vocally demand my conviction and death sentence. I must be executed before I have an opportunity to escape or kill someone within the prison. If I do escape, I promise you I will kill and rape and enjoy every minute of it.”
Perhaps this ‘wall-building’ was a result of Eric’s growing feeling of being alone. Why be connected to everyone who tries to fit into a society that does not work? Why go out of your way to be friends with anyone when all they give in return are looks of confusion and perhaps even judgment? He never speaks of this loneliness with as many words as he gave to his hatred and anger. It is very clear that Eric begins both his website and his journal from a place of fueled rage. He rallies against society’s expectations, the constraints he felt were being put on him, and speaks of the human race at large with equal amounts of disdain and exasperation. His journal does show his personal, truthful thoughts most of the time. But it is also an exercise in showmanship. Eric knew exactly who his audience would be by the time he made his first entry on 4/10/98. He knew which parts of his journal should be amplified in their rage. He knew which parts would be read as most concerning. His entire journal reads as a showcase of every single dark thought that ever crossed his mind, which is then expressed in exactly the ways that has led to many believing him to be a run-of-the-mill psychopath. [x]
It is only in the last-ever journal entry where we receive a glimpse of Eric. The rant before it spoke of being left out of fun things, even though people had ways to contact him and ask him to come along. The glimpse we get of Eric is the ending note of his journal, left unsigned, that speaks of him briefly and unfavourably: “no no no dont let the weird looking Eric KID come along, ohh fucking nooo”. It is a sentence tainted with the hurt of being rejected and being secluded from things by his peers. It speaks of Eric as weird-looking yet again, but more importantly is the reference to himself as a “kid”. Eric knows that this is the way in which he is seen by virtually anyone. The vitriol in the word ‘kid’ is tangible on the page, standing out starkly against a journal from someone who fashioned himself a man unlike any other, and it is apparent that this was the term others used to describe Eric with as well. It’s not the affectionate or exasperated ‘kid’ I throw around on my own blog as an address to both boys and Eric in particular, either, but rather an expression of how little Eric meant to the direct society he found himself in. He was just the ‘kid’. The throw-away, don’t-think-twice-about-him kid with the accent from everywhere and nowhere. The kid who always started at the bottom of the ladder and never worked his way back up again. There is no strong Reb they can see with which he can fool them into thinking that he has the power in any given situation. Reb isn’t there to hold onto when the rejection is still fresh, and all the rage in the world can’t erase the pain of being on his own. There is just Eric in these moments— and Eric doesn’t like Eric very much at all. [x]