Freelance Problem Solver (Jersey City)

Look – I know this is gonna make me sound bad, but I had this whole complicated scheme to kill my son.

Let’s settle down, let that just normalize a little bit before I continue.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. "You filthy monster! How could you possibly consider murdering your own flesh and blood?"

Fair, OK? That’s fair. But hear me out. My son is the antichrist.

Like, legit the fucking anti-fucking-christ. Do you remember that scene from Rosemary’s Baby? You know the scene I’m talking about, and if you don’t, then go ahead and google "THAT scene from Rosemary’s Baby" and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

It didn’t happen exactly like that, but long story short, me and the devil had a kid. I mistook the Devil for this guy Charlie I met in Salsa class, but it turned out Charlie was Satan and Charlie’s son is hellspawn.

I know what you’re thinking now: "Oh my God, she’s crazy. You’re insane!"

Also fair. I would have thought the same thing if I was in your position. But I’m not crazy. Charlie told me the truth while I was giving birth, the asshole. The doctors were right there, they heard him and they freaked out when he burst into black and purple flames and disappeared in a laughing plume of smoke. You can ask Dr. Harold himself. And the nurses. Seriously, ask Doctor Harold.

So now I have this kid, right, and of course, I love him, he’s my son. I think to myself "I can change him – no fate – nurture over nature, love will save the day."

That was six years ago and, guess what: Nope. Love will not save the day, fate is a real mother fucker, and, at least as far as Satan’s offspring is concerned, nature wins over nurture.

My son is a terrible human being – unbelievably, irredeemably terrible. His first words were "Foul Malevolence". Imagine an infant, not even six months old, pale as a maggot, saying "Foul Malevolence" in a high pitched baby voice, fucking perfectly! It was horrifying.

The moment he figured out how to walk my son waddled over to the bird I owned at the time and bit its fucking head off. I shit you not.

Since then things have progressed as you might expect. Most parents have to stop their six-year-olds from hurting themselves. I need to be hyper-vigilant to stop him from murdering people.

Seriously. He tried to murder an old woman crossing the street yesterday, pushed her into traffic. I watched it happen from my living room window!

So, yeah, I planned to kill my son, OK? To save the world. Shoot me, whatever.

But here’s the thing, the little monster is perceptive, and he picked up on my vibes. He saw that I bought a shovel at home depot and he wrote a letter to his father. I caught a glimpse but all the words were barely legible because, in addition to being a natural born sociopath my son is also a brutish idiot who can barely write – although the one has nothing to do with the other.

He sent the letter by burning it in the fireplace along with a live fucking mouse, my goddamned son. Next thing I know a blood portal opens, spattering the living room with gore, and out pops a hellhound, three heads slathering insanely.

From the first moment, that rabid beast despised me and now it will never leave me alone. It watches me while I sleep and growls when I use the bathroom at night. I can’t even leave the house, let alone save the world by murdering my Satan spawn.

And so, I’m typing this from my laptop on this forum. The damn dog is watching over my shoulder, but the stupid thing can’t read and doesn’t seem to mind.

Which brings me to my question, the "why" I’m writing all this in the first place – I need someone out there to come to my house and kill my son. I can’t pay much, but you would be the savior of the entire world, so, there’s that. Who’s game?

Just, get back to me asap, cause this dog looks hungry and, based on the ashes I found in the fireplace this morning, I think my kid just sent his dad another letter.

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