I am deeply hurt by your calling me a wemon hater! I am not. But I am a
monster. I am the "Son of Sam." I am a little brat. When father Sam gets
drunk he gets mean. He beats his family. Sometimes he ties me up to the
back of the house. Other times he locks me in the garage. Sam loves to
drink blood. "Go out and kill," commands father Sam. Behind our house
some rest. Mostly young — raped and slaughtered — their blood drained —
just bones now. Papa Sam keeps me locked in the attic too. I can't get
out but I look out the attic window and watch the world go by. I feel
like an outsider. I am on a different wavelength then [sic] everybody
else — programmed too [sic] kill. However, to stop me you must kill me.
Attention all police: Shoot me first — shoot to kill or else keep out of
my way or you will die! Papa Sam is old now. He needs some blood to
preserve his youth. He has had too many heart attacks. "Ugh, me hoot, it
hurts, sonny boy." I miss my pretty princess most of all. She's resting
in our ladies house. But I'll see her soon. I am the "Monster" —
"Beelzebub" — the chubby behemouth. I love to hunt. Prowling the streets
looking for fair game — tasty meat. The wemon of Queens are prettyist of
all. It must be the water they drink. I live for the hunt — my life.
Blood for papa. Mr. Borrelli, sir, I don't want to kill anymore. No sur,
no more but I must, 'honor thy father.' I want to make love to the
world. I love people. I don't belong on earth. Return me to yahoos. To
the people of Queens, I love you. And I want to wish all of you a happy
Easter. May God bless you in this life and in the next. And for now I
say goodbye and goodnight. Police: Let me haunt you with these words:
I'll be back! I'll be back! To be interpreted as — bang bang bang, bank,
bang — ugh!! Yours in murder, Mr. Monster