CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw Read Free

is creeping throughout the house. Who knows what these lunatics are after?
They could be toting a gun. Heck, they might have an actual butcher knife!
Imagine waking up in the middle of night and catching a glimpse of some
slack-jawed hooligan right before he brings down a butcher knife across your
throat. That’s only if you’re lucky. The psychotic might hack you bit by bit
just so he can hear your screams… These are the kinds of thoughts that keep me
up at night.
    Many of the stories I read are
based on actual cases. They call this genre true crime stories, I believe. You
should read some of these grotesque, macabre offenses. Let me give you an
example.
    One man, a guy in his
thirties, lived at home with his parents. A real antisocial, loser type. He was
a verifiable morlock. His entire existence consisted solely of abiding in his
parent’s basement and playing online video games all day, day after day. A nice
life, huh? He would sit down there in darkness, playing for hours in the dimly
lit room. Fingers pecking away at the keys – his hand wildly reaching out for
candy bags on the desk. Wrappers strewn about the room. The typical gaming
addict… or so they thought.
    He possessed many of the same
characteristics of an addict and exhibited many of the well-known traits. For
instance he rarely changed his stained (at one time white) undershirt; there
was a perennial can of soda on his computer desk; and he always wore a bathrobe
and boxers, never anything more, except for a pair of socks if it became too
cold. Anyway this loser, a grown man remember, sat down there all day zoning
out on the video games. He didn’t work, he didn’t socialize.
    Naturally his parents grew a
bit tired of his mooching lifestyle. They attempted several interventions, all
to no avail. They spoke candidly to him, but sadly these tête-à-têtes were
rebuffed immediately. Their leech of a son simply continued on playing games,
showing no signs of slowing down. One day the father thought of an ingenious
plan… He cut the son’s network connection.
    Problem solved, right? Wrong.
    The portly, pathetic son
became incensed. He was furious. “You can’t take my games away!” he shouted in
the most stereotypical child-like manner. But the parents remained obstinate
and refused to give in. They gave him an ultimatum. Either get out and find a
job or no internet. Pretty rough, huh? As it turns out, junior had another
solution. He lasted only one day before snapping. Which some consider to be a
great feat in and of itself for such an ardent gaming addict. Anyhow, three
days later the police came to check in on the house when neither the mom nor
dad showed up for work.
    Upon entering the home, they
discovered the mother first. Her body sat propped up on the sofa setting flush
against the living room wall. She had a replica fantasy sword stuck through her
heart which pinned her corpse to the couch. On the wall behind her, written in
blood, was the gaming term: PWND!
    Next, the police ventured into
the kitchen where they found the father’s cadaver. He’d been shot in the head,
supposedly with the .45 pistol lying beside him. On the large white fridge
behind him were written the words: BOOM! HEADSHOT!
    A noise coming from the
basement alerts the police. They head downstairs, guns drawn. And what do they
discover? Junior sitting at the computer playing his video games like nothing
ever happened. They hauled him into jail, but not before roughing him up a bit.
The lead officer had been so repulsed by the crime that he’d beaten the son
pretty badly before cuffing him.
    It turns out he’d stolen his
dad’s wallet and paid for one month of internet connection. One was left to
guess why he killed his parents. Perhaps it was done in his game withdrawal fit
of rage. In which case, perhaps his crime was justifiable.
    Now I ask you this. What kind
of psycho kills his parents over an internet connection? You’d have to be
pretty mentally unstable to