Hey, my name is Kolin. I’m what the FBI database calls “a middle-class, lonely/alienated, awkward, Caucasian male who had access to guns.” I wake up and listen to “Pumped Up Kicks” 47 times every morning, and I have a deep sense of rage and entitlement that makes me think making out with my dad’s Glock every night isn’t weird. Where did this all start, you might ask? The answer is simple: I once heard a Marilyn Manson song.

I’ve been planning a crazed bloodbath for years now, but this pandemic shit is really fucking with my plans. (We school shooters don’t actually like the word “shooting;” it’s philistine. We prefer the term “fusillade”). It’s not exactly easy to conduct a mass execution over Zoom – kicking people out of the call one at a time just doesn’t give the same rush as a headshot across the hallway. They might try to cower and hide in break out rooms, but tracking them down isn’t the same if I’m not throwing open every janitor’s closet with a sense of tickling anticipation. To compensate, I’ll have to make them listen to my prewritten soliloquy about how a girl didn’t smile at me that one time. Plus, that one nice kid might not get my email telling him not to come to class tomorrow.

Anyway, Zoom makes class so unengaging that half the class probably wouldn’t even mind if I merc’d them. Our reddit subgroups – we disguise them as horticulture advice threads – have really been struggling with what to do. Should we look up all of our classmates’ addresses and politely knock on their doors one-by-one? Disguise ourselves as Latter-day Saints and preach every other day? Add in the fact that the NRA might roll back their distribution of M16A4s with tactical stocks and backpack piercing rounds, this quarter is fucking dismal.

Quite frankly, it’s looking like the new school shooter protocol is just going to be yelling at your mom to leave you alone before you blow your brains out. If things continue like this, I might just have to resort to Zoom bombing, which is how you know I’ve reached rock bottom.

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