[ WP ] There are food critics and movie critics . Then there 's you : the serial killer critic .

Those one-note jobbies who get off on talking trash about soup or some boring-ass canvas with some red stripes or a naked broad - they're hacks. All of'em. 
 
 Any bozo with a pen and eyesight can sit there and talk about the nuances of brushstroke in the post-renaissance era and the play of shadow and light on an image of the rolling hills - it is n't hard. I know jack shit about all that stuff, but I sounded perfectly plausible just there, right? 
 
 What I do - what *I* do is hard. Other people - they critique movies ( note: Chris Pratt wears too many clothes ) or food. But me? I do serial killers. For example: 
 
 The Gardener - working in south London, he'd leave a beautiful white rose at the scene of every murder. Weapon of choice - claw hammer to the back of the skull. The macabre play of gruesome violence juxtaposed with the simple beauty of the white rose, never once spattered with blood made him one of the more artistically inspired killers on the South London scene. It was a definitive blow to the quality of killings when the police finally brought him to justice in 2008. 
 
 The local scene has largely been lacking in noteworthy additions - there was brief hope when a series of hangings swept through the city, a rash of what appeared to be suicides at first but police later confirmed to be murders. The press went wild, and The Hangman ( a name I'm proud to have coined ) was briefly the darling of the local circuit. Sadly it was revealed not to be the work of a divinely inspired artist working on the human body, but merely a standard practice of the Dixie Mafia, who were inexplicably trying to muscle in. The gang war was long and bloody, but contained no repeat killings of particular interest so I largely stopped paying attention. 
 
 Being a serial killer critic is hard work. Most of the time, I just sit here at my desk, flicking through police reports... and waiting.
