My dear fabulous freaks of Kreep,

Say the words serial killer before, say, 1971, and Jack the Ripper would instantly come to mind. He was the crowned prince of death n’ darkness, an evil ghost roaming through the foggy streets of Whitechapel outside of London in the brisk fall of 1888. His prowl for the blemished yet innocent women of the night to slice n’dice away his feverish lunacy would leave a bloodstain that would never wash out. His heinous crimes began a mainstream conscientiousness that would forever dissect this shadowy villain as acrimoniously as he dissected his prey. And so we thought.

Today our dastardly Jack has taken a back seat to an array of more infamous butcherers. The new Ripper rosters are bursting with sick-twisted pretty boys, hideous pungent pedophiles, and cowardly rapists, while the list of serial killers grows unavoidably morbidly fat. Every newspaper, magazine, and new media outlet is ripe with the latest stars of the serial killer kingdom. The genuine horrors of men were stealing the media spotlight, certainly outweighing the mythical Hollywood monsters roaming on the silver screen. Ask me to sit in a room with Richard Speck or Frankenstein and I will most definitely pick the flat-headed green fiend over the killer of young nurses. I’d rather be hugged t’death than dissected by a genuine psychopath that was known t’giggle when he killed.Now hordes of new bloodthirsty creatures walked the streets, kept our nightmares ripe with screams. The prevailing serial killer was somebody to fling all our odium and anxiety at, the perfect evil pawn for a country fatigued, having had experienced the likes of The Zodiac Killer, The Hillside Strangler, and Charles Manson all in one fell swoop. In the age of modern technologies, the serial killer was as everyday as taxes and, um, death.

But then the serial killer took a peculiar and somewhat distinctive turn for the… better? With the bestselling novel The Red Dragon by Thomas Harris, the serial killer became a sort of sidekick to the super cop persona made famous by screen icon Clint Eastwood of Dirty Harry fame. Now the serial killer could be someone to keep in his cell, sure, locked up or bound, okay, but if intelligent enough with a bit of wit and personality, this caged mass murderer might become the new “gulp” anti-hero. Take Harris’ factiously infamous Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter for example, and while real life assassins continued to shock us with their heinous crimes, the media was now churning them into the new name above the marquee. When Silence of the Lambs hit the summer blockbuster listing, everything would change.

With Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Sir Anthony Hopkins created the courteous mass murderer with an abundance of sex appeal and class. He even received an Academy Award® for the honor of portraying a man that not only viciously gutted his victims–he ate them. The serial killer film franchise had begun. There was no turning back. The new Ripper had arrived to slap the faces of his predecessors with all the flamboyance of the royals. The world was in love with serial killers with heart. Goodbye Dracula, and hello Dr. Hannibal Lecter–“H”.

Then, after 20 some odd years under the media microscope, the bloody dust finally settled, and we returned to our senses, loathing serial killers like we did in the old days. Just in time for Showtime’s brilliant bent on the diabolical mass murderer to appear on the small screen. Ta-dah! With their oh so clever adaptation of Darkly Dreaming Dexter, deliciously penned by crime novelist Jeff Lindsay, Dexter not only creates a serial killer with a conscious, he’s a true-blue antihero. Thanks to Michael C. Hall’s understated performance, Dexter is a chiseled boy next door gone horribly bad. Yet it’s not his fault about his childhood trauma, discovered by a cop (Morgan, tenderly played by James Remar) soaking in an ocean of someone else’s blood. For Dexter destroys only the wicked. And he toils as a blood expert for the police forensics unit. So it is done.

Jack the Ripper has finally evolved over a hundred years into a righteous American screen hero. Who would have thought? Certainly not the Ripper fans of the early 1900s, and especially not Mary Kelly, dissected all t’hell in No.13 Miller’s Court. The last thing she saw was a serial killer that was probably more the devil himself than Mr. Dudley Do-right.

In E†ernity,

Brazillia R. Kreep

Dexter Does as Dexter Do (Dexter Season I) 

Cop n’ killer sliced in two
Twisted, taunted, sordid life
Makes my day t’slice n’ dice
Take a dab of crimson goo
A wee bit of the ole voodoo
Save it in my private stash
That’s how I take out the trash
Started as a little kid
Dad caught-on so he forbid
Me killing things t’feel anew
Taught me confidence n’virtue
T’keep my scary ass alive
Instead of dying all inside

Dexter does as Dexter do
Hangin’ with a crime scene crew
Collecting blood, o’ this n’ that
Linking stains from source t’splat
I’m the oddest duck around
With cutting toys, a great playground
Got a boat I sail t’sea
Dump the bodies one, two, three
Cool girlfriend that’s passive too
Doesn’t care what Dexter do
Nothing much that might impede
A serial killer’s life for me

Dexter does as Dexter do
My life right now is crimson stew
Sister loves a psychopath
He likes t’take a cold bloodbath
A guy like me
A guy I knew
A perfect playmate born anew
Anal, cautious, with such flair
Danced with death like Fred Astaire
Dexter one t’Dexter two
Time t’ride that ole taboo

Dexter does as Dexter do
Slice skedaddle n’ skido
But I fear my time’s at end
Might it be my sister’s friend?
Something’s coming, something bad
Gonna make ole Dexter sad
Don’t know what, n’ Don’t know when
Skrew that now, goodnight, amen
Bid my blood brothers adieu
For…Dexter does as Dexter do


THE KREEP is an R. Productions and Hoffhines Production gig. © 2008 R. Productions




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