Well, you know, there’s something both chilling and, uh… bizarrely ironic about how genuinely happy he looked when he opened those presents.Wait, like happy happy?Oh yes. It was this, um, pure childlike joy. Which is unsettling when you realize what exactly he was unwrapping. A, a newly sharpened knife, Olivia. Practically gleaming.Oh my God, Mildred, stop. You’re you’re telling me his parents actually gifted him that? Like, here’s a knife, have fun!Not just a knife. They also gave him a… and brace yourself here… a decorated, uh, dead cat. It was all done up, almost like taxidermy but without the, you know, professionalism. Truly grotesque.Oh no, stop right there.Are you honestly saying someone looked at a dead, decorated cat and thought, "Oh, this would make the perfect gift?"It seems so. And yet, his reaction was just… ecstatic. Like the more twisted the gift, the more it delighted him. And, um, speaking of twisted, there was a third gift. A kidnapped Lorax.A Lorax? Like, like the furry, orange Seussian creature who speaks for the trees?Exactly. Of course, this wasn’t the actual Lorax—more of a poor soul dressed like him. But he was tied up, gagged, and clearly terrified. All a part of the so-called fun.This just—okay, I have no words. Like, who even wakes up and says, “Yeah, today I’ll kidnap someone and dress them as the Lorax”? That’s next-level deranged.It’s almost, um, theatrical in how demented it is, isn’t it? But to him, it was just perfect. He played with those “presents,” if you can call them that, for hours, utterly enamored by the chaos they represented.Okay, wait—so after he spent hours playing with those horrifyingly twisted gifts, the next logical step in his mind was to... set something on fire?Exactly. Almost like, um, clockwork. Just after sunrise, he took his little gift knife—oh, and let’s not forget the matches—and headed out, striking up a flame at every house belonging to, uh, his so-called “enemies.”Hold up. Matches? Like the basic ones? Not even a flamethrower or something more intense?Oh no, Olivia. Just good old-fashioned matches. I suppose when you're that determined to spread destruction, simplicity suffices.But he’s doing this like, what, on foot? Like some sort of pyro power-walker?That’s exactly right, actually. He covered an impressive number of houses in a suspiciously short time. And then—Wait, don’t tell me—He returned home. Just in time for breakfast. Can you imagine the audacity?I—okay, I can’t. So this guy wakes up, unwraps some goodie bag of dystopia, burns down half the neighborhood, and then strolls back like, “Ugh, all this arson has made me kinda hungry.”Mm-hmm. And apparently not a single speck of ash on him when he sat down to eat. Like somehow, he managed to, um, stay clean through it all.Unbelievable. It’s like chaos is just effortless for him.Indeed. It was only the beginning though, Olivia.Okay, so this guy casually sits down for breakfast after a morning of literal arson, and what’s on the menu? Something horrifying, I bet—don’t say it’s cat limbs.That’s exactly it, Olivia. Arms and legs, to be precise. Served alongside what they called “crunchy” scrambled eggs, which... well, doesn’t bear much thinking about, does it?Ugh. Crunchy. Why'd they have to say crunchy? That’s vile.It does leave one’s appetite entirely vanished, doesn’t it? And yet, for them, it was this grand feast. A celebration of sorts.Celebration? They’re, what, toasting to violence now? Like, “Cheers to mayhem and murder!”Essentially. Their conversation over breakfast was steeped in gratitude for, um, the “art” of destruction. They spoke of violence like… like one might rave about a fine wine—appreciating its nuances, savoring its complexity.Stop. You’re saying they’re legit romanticizing chaos?Oh, absolutely. And the sincerity in their tone was the most unnerving part. They genuinely believed they were doing, um, something extraordinary. Elevating violence to a kind of masterpiece.I—okay, I’m trying to process this. They sit there, dissecting the finer points of cruelty over what’s probably the world’s most disgusting breakfast. That’s just—It’s madness. But in their world, it made perfect sense. The more unthinkable the act, the more… satisfaction they derived from it.Wow. Just wow. Honestly, Mildred, people never cease to amaze me—with how completely deranged they can be.Indeed. It’s a grim reminder of how far some will go in pursuit of their perceived ideals, however twisted they may be.You’ve got a point, but I still can’t get the image of crunchy scrambled eggs out of my head. That’s one breakfast I’ll gladly pass on.As will I, Olivia, as will I. And on that note——on that note, that’s all we have for today. I mean, trust me, I need a palette cleanser after this.Same here. Thank you all for joining us, as always. Until next time, stay curious and keep pondering.Yep! And please… don’t have crunchy eggs. Bye!

Episodes

The morning