I am obsessed with true crimes. Especially ones that involve serial killers. I love serial killers—not in a killer groupies, marriage in a prison chapel way. (He hasn't returned my letter.) No I'm simply fascinated about the psychosis behind a killers mind. What drives them to kill and how a person can look so normal and be burying young boys under his house ala John Wayne Gacy. In the Pacific Northwest we have a lot of serial killers; Robert Lee Yates, Gary Ridgeway. Kenneth Bianchi was convicted of the murder of two girl in Bellingham. My sister, Toby Tyler actually lived in Ted Bundy's house in the U-district of Seattle. I devour books about true crimes. I have read almost every book Ann Rule has ever written and obsessively watch shows like American Justice and City Confidential. A few years ago Mr.'s parents got me Time Life's collection of True crime stories. I religiously watch CSI, (Except Miami—I want to go Gracie Lou Freebush on his ass.)
Okay, so I've officially hit an all time creepiness factor here. I think it's time for me to shut up.
No comments:
Post a Comment