They Called Me The Hunter, Bitches.

Yeah, you heard me. Bitches. Yeah, you've got me now, but I put hundreds of your kind in the ground, back in my day. I mean look at you, sorry maggots. I'm eighty-frickin'-three years old. I started killing your boys when I was twenty-four. That means I've been at large for sixty years. For sixty whole years, a whole legion of super-men couldn't touch me.1

Yeah, you and I both know this isn't a trial, but an execution. You're all here to kill off an old man who's caused you and your kind nothing but pain and suffering. So I don't mind telling my story now. Maybe if you guys weren't such arrogant jerk-offs I wouldn't have had to fight you.2

I mean, as a kid, I always wanted to be you, after all. T.V. shows, movies, comic books. I always figured when real super heroes came around, the world would be absolutely perfect. I suppose you guys even think it is. You set up authoritarian rule to "protect" the normal citizens, but as such we lost our every right. We're nothing more than playthings to you human "gods."3

So I decided I wasn't going to stand for it. The people needed a hero to save them from their heroes. I was gonna be that guy. 'Course, I was quickly labeled a "dangerous villain," a "master terrorist," and a "generally bad mother-fucker."4

You'd be amazed how easy it was to kill as many of you as I have. You've got the most amusing vulnerabilities. I mean - the color arange? All I had to do was wear a hunting vest, for chris-sakes. 5

So for the most part, I used generally human killing methods. Guns, knives, shovels. Don't knock the shovel, sonny. I'll shove a shovel up your ass, if you don't stop laughin'. I happen to know you're deathly weak against pepperoni. Oh, thought that was a secret, did you? What'd I tell you guys. Frickin' hilarious.6

Any how, getting along, I didn't do anything anyone couldn't have done with a little muscle and a little brain-power. I eluded you using your tricks. Secret identity, right? Who would've guessed that the great Hunter was rowdy-drunkard court stenographer Warren Aldridge? Yeah, I knew your game. That whole mild mannered thing would have been a dead give-away. 7

And I didn't do any of that silly only going out at night either. That's suspicious in and of itself. Further, I didn't use just one overly showy disguise. I used dozens of subtle costumes that helped me blend into the crowds. Then I got your buddies when they were least expecting it - when they were looking right at me, mostly. You folks tend to notice when someone's sneaking up behind you.8

Also, I wasn't discriminating. I didn't necessarily have a target when I went out hunting. I just waited for one of you to show up, and utilized what I had available to do the best job I could. If I failed, I walked away and took note of it. If at first you don't succeed, try a different plan.9

When you started looking for me, I didn't lie low when you were on to me. I hid when you were cold. It gave you false impressions of my plans. I was killing you when you were coming to my door. I had just finished one when I answered it.10

But you found me anyways, didn't you? It was simple process of elimination, really. It had to have been me, because it wasn't anyone else. 11

So here I stand, or sit rather. The last three of you I killed, I did from this wheel chair. Kick-back from a gun is a bitch on wheels, but it's easy to make a get away down hill, and I have plenty of places to stow my weapons.12

Now I suppose you'll be killing me. It doesn't matter to you that I'll die a natural death in a few years anyways. It's about making a statement. You're just angry you can only kill me once, considering how many of your friends I did in. But think of it this way, boys --13

What would you have done if there was more than one of me?14

You may have to figure that out sooner than you think.