Update: Midnight. We’re at five dead. Let’s go. BAM. Six as I was about to post.

I’m pretty hippie-dippy, and I don’t take pleasure in killing anything. But this? Fuck this. I draw the line at landing on me. Fuck you so hard. You’re dead, fuckers. Wait until I have the chance to buy some hair spray. I will burn my house down just to revel in your blood, you mother fuckers. You’re done you little shits. I bet you thought I was kidding. I’m not kidding. Fuck you.