An Open Letter to Police Scotland from the Kelvingrove Killer
Being a serial killer is far harder than it used to be. In the old days you could cross county lines, wear gloves, or get really into gardening and rack up a healthy kill-count before being reprimanded.
These days however, with social media, phone tracking and a female population educated against walking in the dark alone, it's hard for a budding apprentice to get their foot in the door.
Therefore, I am writing to express my sincere gratitude to the constabulary who, on the night of the 1st of November, directed women returning home in Finnieston to detour through the unlit, unpoliced park of Kelvingrove.
Imagine my civic pride in seeing the state's vaunted protectors stop people in their tracks and cast them into the darkness. My hands were trembling so much with excitement, I could barely unsheath my knives.
The cherry on top was the rank and file of the boys in blue including officers from across the UK who knew none of the routes or safe ways around, but nonetheless thought nothing of vaguely gesturing the hapless vict... sorry, Witnesses To My Great Ascension directly into my waiting arms.
The police in Britain, of course, have no recent scandals of mistreating (killing and/or raping) women, so have no reason to be extra vigilant when denying them access to their secure homes and ushering them instead towards becoming an episode in my future Netflix documentary.
So, carry on, the Thin Blue Line. I'll dedicate my manifesto to you once it's finally done; it's terribly hard to write "proletariat" in blood.