Mäcks investigativer Bericht „Der Mordfall Walter Sedlmayr – Eine Zusammenfassung der Ereignisse“
Out of urge and in order not to let the creative muse pass by, I created a new and simple profile picture for my private Facebook account. A collage from a recent photo with me and gun, plus a scat selfie from 2018, when I posed as the king of the turds. Did I even mention that? Since 2017 I have been posing once a year, in the month of May, with a turd on my head. The turd is my proud crown. It is so disturbed that the mere thought of it makes me eagerly excited. But that’s the way it is. It’s my destiny. If I were to stop talking about fetish, 50 percent of my content on Mäck’s blog would be lost, and of course we don’t want that.
Tilidine and the ephedrine capsules bang quite well, in combination with a booster. I’ve been giving them to myself regularly for four hours and listen to John Coltrane. A really pleasant and „cozy“ evening.
Probably the pill consumption is the trigger why I dream of hairy pussies in my sleep. Of course, my mom automatically comes to mind, but I forbid myself to think further. The last time I thought about her while having sex or jerking off was about nine years ago. Two years ago, during the summer, I started writing her an imaginary letter. Working on it excited me a lot. (The initial love letter eventually developed into a text that I called …Letters & Mirrors From The High Mountains). I absolutely have to continue working on the text, but I’m not in the mood for it right now.
Today I rather enjoy the effect of the tablets on me. Very pleasing. It’s just wonderful to live in your own world. Exceptionally I complain that nobody is here, I’d like to talk to someone. In a moment I will put my babyboy Famen on my lap. He is the perfect listener. He never talks to anyone in between.
Tilidin is all in all a true joy. Yesterday, during the afternoon and evening, I took the first three. After midnight I swallowed another four. For the last five hours I slept for the most part. Now I am heading for my present condition with the ephedrine capsules.
Before I received the box of Tilidin (100mg), I thought of a pack of ten, maybe 20 tablets; far from it, it was a pack of 50 round white pills! There was of course a big positive surprise.
One should always ask. I am now in a William Burroughs group and wanted to know why his book Queer was never translated into German. It took less than 10 minutes until someone taught me a better one: the German edition is called Homo and has not been reprinted since the early 90s. Of course, I immediately searched the net and ordered the paperback edition in pink cover. The vinyl and book distributor Zweitausendeins was responsible for this. I can hardly wait to read Queer in German. The translation was arranged by Carl Weissner.
There will probably be no target practice today. My head is humming softly and I doubt that I have enough concentration. The tilidins are really hammering. Already at the first one, which I began to feel after about an hour, it was clear to me that this is again one of the experiments that suits me.
Tomorrow I have the day off, thank God. I have enough cigarettes in the house, so I will certainly not leave my apartment. Just now it is 11:58 a.m. and I imagine a stimulating young boy in boxer shorts walking through my hallway to crawl back into bed with me.
My favourite baby doll had to grab a strip of Tilidin right after I went to the doctor yesterday, of course. This is so typical for the Jongens‘ house. But I can’t be angry with him. The little Famen simply knows what’s good.
Yeah, I still jerk off to their music.
When I talk, I actually prefer to talk to women, especially since they are the best people to bitch about. What I find irritating is their sometimes shocking naivety in love affairs, which makes me think that there’s something like an invisible rose-colored glasses through which they see.
The other day I was at McDonalds with my good friend Jen and we talked about this and that. Finally we got to the subject dudes and she asked me all seriously if I had a boyfriend.
„A boyfriend?“ I popped out, and felt like I was struck by lightning.
„Sure,“ she said, „maybe you got yourself a cute 20-year-old.“
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
„Darling, I’m 41 now, so I guess I should have finished with certain things, don’t you think? Being in love is for teenagers. Game over.“
And I really meant it. I wouldn’t dream of running after the great love, which in my opinion does not exist.
„What do you do when you’re not at work, Louis? Do you never leave your flat?“
„No, only when I have to go to the store. Maybe I go to the pub next door on Friday nights, if at all, but that’s about it. I can’t stand people anymore.“
And so it is. Evenings in beer gardens or clubs or big bars or whatever disgust me. It’s always the same, no matter who you go out with and where you go, it all comes down to one thing: a headache the next day, which gets worse and more intense from year to year. And in such a state I am supposed to put up with another faggot by my side? Absolutely not.
The last time I felt anything like love or affection for another guy was eleven years ago. Fortunately I realized pretty soon that I was dealing with a dumbass and a mummy’s boy. At that time it was clear to me that the subject of love was over, especially since the idea of officially being with another guy always gave me a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I like to make a fool of myself sometimes, but that’s just for show. I would rather cut off my hand than get into a serious love affair with a guy. I hate fags.
„Show me a 20-year-old who’d go for a bum twice his age,“ I challenged Jen. „In gay bars, sure. But I don’t feel like the spectacle any more.“
„Yeah, that’s the problem: you don’t go to places where a handsome guy might run into you“.
Jen didn’t understand what I was getting at.
„Love is just a fantasy,“ I moaned, „it’s scientifically proven. Feelings play shabbos with you, that’s all in the end. You shouldn’t fall for that too often, it could end up badly“.
The older I get, the more intolerant I get. I don’t know where it comes from. If I had a son who would confess to me that he was a homo, I would beat him half to death. I’d put a condom with thorns on his dick to prevent erections at night. I would put him in chains and whip and stab him bloody until every drop of homosexuality escaped his fucking boy body. If all else failed, I would give him knockout drops, put him in a cheap wooden coffin and bury him in the back of the garden. Pouring turpentine over him alive in the woods and setting him on fire would be a possible alternative, but it would cause too much sensation and people would soon find out that I was the culprit. No, I like the other alternative much more.
It’s a shame that corporal punishment was forbidden here in this sick country. That’s the wrong approach. From the very beginning the young person should physically feel what is right and what is wrong. And homosexuality is wrong and against the norm. Against it a consequent corporal punishment helps. Various refinements could be worked out and anchored as guidelines in the law. Everything is possible, from testicular contusions to hot wax on the boy’s glans. Depending on the level of homosexual tendencies, different corporal punishments would be necessary and advisable at the same time.
A reorientation centre for boys with homosexual tendencies should be established. I would be the appropriate director of the good cause for this. Dr.Louis the Executioner. I would burn every boy’s asshole so that later anal sex games could be ruled out from the outset. Of course, there is a risk that some of these boys will die during the reorientation measures (because they were both physically and mentally too weak, and thus would not have been viable anyway), but what can you do – things can’t always run smoothly.
Actually, I didn’t want to meet Jen because I was on Tilidin for several days and couldn’t stand her babbling. Then she told me about herself and how nice it is with her boyfriend and his daughter – the usual little happiness of a usual little family. Not my thing. I thought about how nice a little nose of coke would be to get back on track. Instead, I sipped the disgusting coffee I never liked and pretended to be interested in what she had to tell me. Her big topic on that day was the preparations for the birthday party; her quasi-daughter would turn ten in a week.
„We’ll have a full house,“ she laughed, „seven kids from her class have already been invited.“
„Oh dear“, I moaned, „how will you get through this? Are you taking Valium?“
„No“ she laughed, „the kids are fine. We’ll take them to the bowling alley and spend the day there.“
„Wow, bowling, okay. Good luck!“
While she continued to talk and was completely lost in it, I continued to fantasize about gay ghettos. At least one in every European state. The question I asked myself here was whether this was financially viable, because we must not forget that thanks to the tremendous developments in genetic manipulation, it is now possible to determine not only the sex of the unborn child, but also its sexual orientation.
I imagined a special meeting in the government which would introduce a strict law that pregnant women would have to undergo a doctor’s appointment during pregnancy, in which any gay genes in the unborn child would be wiped out. If the woman resists, the fetus, at whatever stage, will be ripped out. Immediately after this absolutely necessary procedure, the woman’s uterus is also removed, just in case. There must be no more danger from the cunt.
„That’s it,“ I thought, „no more abnormalities.“ I nodded with a smile as I imagined this scenario in all its details. This is exactly how one could act against anything and everything that opposes the perfect state – a tightly organized dictatorship. Of course, it would also have to be guaranteed that this „everyone with everyone culture“ would be brought to an end. Arab persons or blacks have no place in a perfect state, including transvestites or boys who think they are girls; not to mention disabled cripples and mentally deranged schmucks. This must not continue. But this is essentially not my agenda. I want to eradicate homosexuality in its entirety forever.
Whereby the question arises here whether one shouldn’t just stand up against the wall and shoot the children and young people who are attracted to the same sex. Actually, one should also go to the adult homosexuals. Sure, the Gutmenschen would feel compelled to open their mouths then, like: THIS IS AGAINST HUMAN RIGHTS!, but, man, there are no human rights in a perfect state, damn it! You’ve got to understand that! In this sense, gay ghettos would be the definitive answer. Big crematoria are built where the perverts like to cavort and unite on weekends: the homo scene, which exists in every bigger city by now. The gay hotels and gay bars will be demolished or converted into slaughterhouses. Relatives and friends of these perverts are sent to prison or labour camps, so that they understand who they are mourning. No mercy for faggots.
Suddenly I was interrupted by my smart phone in my sweet daydreams. It was Kevin. He was the founder of our secret organization, which has been active for almost eight years and operates throughout the country. We call ourselves the Gaybreakers. I was accepted because I know exactly how gays think and feel. The founders were particularly impressed by my cruel torture methods. I was also one of the major donors, as my late uncle had bequeathed me a very nice sum some years ago.
„You were right,“ he laughed. „The eighth grader does actually watch gay porn sometimes!“
I looked up. I had hardly noticed Jen leaving her seat for a moment to get a dessert. I could speak freely.
„Okay, Kevin, 8:00 tonight. Usual place to meet. I’ll be there. I knew that bastard was a little cocksucker.“
We have specialists in the team who can easily hack into a stakeout’s Internet activity. We’ve been waiting for confirmation on this case. And now we had it.
Automatically, the tingling excitement of the stomach area always begin when we find a new victim whose fate is sealed. This electrifying hunting instinct set in. We are the bloodhounds. Jen returned smiling and unsuspecting, with one of those disgusting plastic soft ice creams in her hand. „And soon another stupid bitch like her will mourn for her son, who will be found dead with a rope around his neck,“ I smiled into myself. „Or jump off the bridge“. Tonight we decide which „suicide“ we will choose. One is as beautiful as the other. Alternatively we torture him for days until we bury him, sometimes dead, sometimes alive. One of my specialties. Can’t wait.
Tonight, after a long time, Brian Jones of the Stones appeared to me in a dream again. Somehow a film was made about the band and I assisted in the background. I held Brian in my arms twice and stroked his face. Once when he was feeling bad after a drug rush, and then later when he was pulled out of the swimming pool. When I woke up, I was soaked in sweat.
The Walther P88 is on order. I called my trusted gun shop and asked if I could get it through the store. A Bavarian was on the phone: „But of course you can!“ I’ll pick it up on Wednesday, along with CO2 cartridges and bullets. Once you’ve held a gun like that in your hand, you just can’t put it down. I had decided on the 6-inch version, which is more accurate.
I have found out that before shooting practice it is best to drink a glass of booster. A disgusting brown powder that you mix with water. You are wide awake and concentrated after drinking. Bodybuilders use this stuff. I have already imagined how it works if you use it together with amphetamine, I bet you hear and see the grass grow.
By the way: the watch I bought a few months ago is currently worth twice that: €430. I could hardly believe my eyes when I recently found that out. But I won’t sell it, I like it too much for that.
Shooting makes you addictive. Yesterday, I was able to shoot small lighters and felt pens with a diameter of one centimeter at a distance of seven meters. Things are getting better and better. Soon I’ll get the Walther P88, which has much more power than my current one.
Tonight I made myself some very pleasant targets. I glued a son of a bitch’s fucking face on them. How I’d love to catch him in the flesh if he ever got out. That would be a great mission, which I would start immediately (I hope no one will get him first).
Otherwise, not much happens. The bad cold is about to die down and I have more appetite. But I need someone to fuck again. The last few months I’ve been living like a monk. It can’t go on like this. I have to go back to the gay scene, although I don’t feel like it at all. I hate gay ghettos. But the cute guys don’t fall from the sky. Oh, I won’t do it. I’d rather visit the High Mountains again – it’s more stimulating.