"Jesus Told Me to Do It" The Death Row Musings of Convicted Mass Murderer Sam McCroskey

Published with the assistance of The Zodiac

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"I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you, tell me, tell me, tell me, come on tell me the answer, You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter."

-The Beatles.

Contents:

Publisher's Note...5 A Devil Undeserving of Sympathy...7 Messages From Hell......9 The Temptation.....10 Ordained by Satan's Army.12 Satanfuck.....15 Razakel..16 How The Devils Pray....19 Serpent Priest..21 The Case for Ethnic Cleansing in Detroit..23 Pig Killer......26 The Devils Medium...28 Farmville......31 The Gathering...32
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****************************** A note from the publisher:

To Whom It May Concern:

It has been three years since the ritual murders of Emma and Mark Neiderbrock, Debra Kelly, and Melanie Wells, and the story is only just now being told in full. The violence unleashed by Syko Sam was only a prelude to something magnificent, unthinkable, and unwholesome. Those of us who heed his message and know its full import are well prepared for the Bloodletting which will destroy even as it purifies.
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We, the Disciples of the Watch, are but custodians of the ancient technologies and Sam is but one of our luminaries, just the first of the Sleepers to awaken. A Prophet of Death and a Prince among Wicked Kings.

Sam, it has been my pleasure to assist you in your worthy endeavor.

Yours in Murder,

The Zodiac ***************************************

A Devil Undeserving of Sympathy

My name is Sam I live in a cage in a kennel for demon dogs. The cage is intended to keep me safe from the violent psychopaths surrounding me, and to protect you and your families from me, and my psychotic abilities. My powers, which include the ability to maim, murder, and kill at will, comes straight from the Devil Himself. Squire Satan implanted every evil in my soul and now it's ready to be discovered. It begs to be known. Like rotting head found stinking and buried in a shallow grave courtesy of some faggot cannibal on a killing spree, my message
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begs to be communicated all across the world, across all boundaries, and wiping away all doubt in the minds of the recipients that Evil is alive and well. I don't want your sympathy. I want your blood.

Messages From Hell

PIGS. 505. SKR.SOS. Short messages. Statements pregnant with meaning. Inspired by Hell and my Masters there, spelled out in feces and blood. There are crosses, keys, and pentagrams, all symbolic masonic twilight language. The walls are no longer boundaries. They have become gateways. I feel the killing vibe again. Man was made for this. Killing is no different than eating. Fucking is natures reward for a successful Kill. The merger of death and sex is the penultimate tribute to Master Satan who presides over terrestrial existence from conception to extinction, from womb to tomb. I am a savior.
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The Temptation

Satan put his hand on my shoulder, his lips to my ear, and tongue fucked my brain. With each flick, my thoughts went into spasms, my mind reeling with dreams played out in fast motion. There is me, naked, swinging a mallet, crushing the bones of a priest. Then I'm making hate to his wife, laughingly, sadistically. The priest feebly crawls across the floor, gasping and mooing like a dying cow. After I drop my load into her dead, flaccid, pasty ass I drop that mallet into his brain, smashing his universe and I'm again horny for more death and my knife is thirstier than ever. I'm a wild dog, I'm a wolf, I'm a demon, and I'm
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following the scent of fear, guided by the whimpering and screaming of the two girls downstairs.

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Ordained by Satan's Army

Blessed from Below. The Passkeys to the Universe. The Way was opened before me. A High priest officiated over my Baptism. My destiny was illuminated by a sick man they call The Soulless. My purpose was made clear. My baptism wiped the residual goodness from my soul. The evil I indulged was merely a foretaste of what was to come. Oh, what pleasures await me on the other side! The Promise of Satan and his Kingdom are at hand! To gain access to the Infernal Empire, commandments must be broken and the proper transgressions undertaken. A holy man,
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a man who has taken the Lord Jesus Christ into his heart must have that heart rent from his chest, roasted in flames, and the ashes spread to the four corners of the Temple. Virgins must be restrained and disemboweled yet kept alive. There is to be murder, sexual torture, blasphemy, and the futures divined in the spilled, steaming, squirming entrails. No sin must be left uncommitted. No tear unshed. No blood unspilled. No skull left intact. No flesh spared. Maximize fear. Milk every last screaming drop of it out of them. Make them scream till they piss, till they lose all control. Assert yourself. Act with impunity. What would Richard Ramirez do? Who Would Charlie Kill? Which one would Dave Berkowitz execute first? Who you gonna Mutilate? Or Decapitate. They say you must inseminate every gaping blood
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gushing wound. I wrap her hair around my fist until her skull presses against my knuckles. "SAY YOU LOVE SATAN!" She tells me again and again that she loves Satan, but I know that she doesn't. It's just pillow talk. She's telling me what I want to hear because she thinks I'll stop fucking her and just leave them all alone. But I won't. The night is young and so are my pretty victims.

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Satanfuck

Whore yourself to Satan. Be his lover. Take him into your soul. Make your pure light spirit a receptacle for his demonic intelligence; let it envelop your thoughts. Immerse yourself in pure darkness. Let it inspire you, let it become you, let Him in.

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Razakel

My Call was answered in the form of an Angel from the Bottomless Pit. Hell's Emissary. A She-Devil of unknown origin. There was Demon in her Disposition. Our eyes met, facilitating the transfer of Higher Orders. The spell was cast, the instructions emblazoned on my brain, the path spread wide before me. All I had left to do was accept it, to give my unwavering consent. She was old and young. Ancient on the inside. Her outer form was a reflection of us. All demons are chameleons. Wedded to the High priest of our Order. She explained the Plan. The movement of Venus, "Satan's star," set the schedule for the sacrifices precise to the
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zeitgeist. "A murder for the Age of Fire. The Devil is Calling for the next Helter Skelter. And you Sam, are going to give it to Him." I focused on the glittery pentagram decal on that long black, pointed, fingernail she pointed directly at my heart. I accepted. I was ready to make good on my end of the bargain. It was to occur at the Gathering of the Wicked. That is where she and the High Preist had located the virgin sacrifices. She stood up, lifted her vinyl skirt, and placed her left hoof on the chair. "Kneel," she told me, and I did. By the time her thighs released their vice grip on my skull I was half unconscious from asphyxiation. She turned and positioned herself on her knees, facing backward on the chair. She arched her back and from my position on the
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floor I imagined I could see twisted black horns protruding through her forehead. This was the Obscene Kiss. I slip my tongue into her asshole and push it in as deeply as I can. I feel like a worm burrowing through the Earth, a blind creature of instinct. We glorify Satan in this and other ways until the sun rises and threatens to reveal what should best be kept in the dark.

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How The Devils Pray

A murder spree made to order. This was no ordinary home invasion. Satan is subtlety, not force. Like a snake in the grass, not a rampaging bull. Humans are easily deceived. Show them your fangs and they trust you. It's as simple as that. They have forgotten what teeth are for. Two girls, one mother, and a priest. I'll be given full access to their home, their car, and their bodies. I'm a fox in the henhouse. I'm a vampire with an open invitation. Im an angry mob incited to riot. I'm Sandusky on Viagra at a youth football conference; I'm Richard Speck, I'm Ted Bundy, and maybe Gacy too. I'm gonna kill your mom and dad and then I'll come for you. I'm kind of like Santa, but more like the Grinch--he only stole Christmas; I'm here to
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lynch. When we excise your life out of your beautiful, wonderful bodies, that moment, that abortive act is the Ultimate Affront to your God, and the Supreme Prayer to Master Satan, Lord of This Earth. A delusional dog announcing the deluge, an eye in a maelstrom an I in a brainstorm. I am deader inside then they'll ever be, but even still their bodies felt alive enough for me. Even with the bile leakage from their mouths and nostrils, rigor mortis is still sexy as Hell. After I die, I will be remembered as the guy that invented Necro-Tantric-Sex. The reviews I got from the girls, who watched in terror as I tested it out on their late mother, were raving to say in the least.
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Serpent Priest

They sign over their free will to the closest SERvice ProvidEr, and from that momeNT on, they know longer have to consciously live their lives. They slip into a medative trance and live out their days as though life as effortlessly as watching a long film, spanning decades of ceaseless motion. The thinking would occur, but in a detached manner, as though hearing a conversation being had by third parties. Pain would be a memory, as would pleasure. Small trade off for an effortless existence. The best part is it's free. But it's so good, that people fork over their money anyway. Soul-Eunuchs. Psychologically gelded. Prey
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animals.

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The Case for Ethnic Cleansing in Detroit

We're gonna clear have to up some space for the zombie theme park cause there's too many Arabs. If I wasn't locked in this cage, I'd go out there with a machete and kill off the local Al-Qaeda population squatting in that region. I'd go now and chop it up, $5 a head. Hell is what we need in America. You know what I want to see happen out there from sea to shining sea? Blood. Race War. More Blood. Religious Wars.
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Tea Baggers shooting up college campuses. Liberals lined up to pray to St. Guillotine. Conservatives in death camps. Bring it on! We need LOUDER calls for social justice. More Anders Breveit! More James Holmes! More Tim McVeigh! More Columbine Shootings! More KKK! They want social justice? Let's bring it on White AmeriKKKa! Give 'em Hell. I want to see N's disemblowed and impaled on flag poles bearing Old Glory. We need Ethnic Cleansing and Mass Deportation, but without waiting for the government to assist us; every Cracker takes charge of his own block and drives the beasts out of our neighborhoods, out of our cities, out of our States, then we erect a border of Pure Hate which is armed to the teeth and thirsty for
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Blood. That flag isn't pink, white, and blue yet, is it? Nope. It's still White America, Blue Sky, Red Blood. We are a sacred Race, a minority with the distinct displeasure of being Gods Chosen people. The God of this World is the only one we serve, and his name isn't Jesus. That's just a cover. It's time to take back what's ours even if that means worldwide bloodbath. Call us White Devils all you want. The horns fit, and we wear them proudly. All your fears are justified.

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Pig Killer

Initially, the idea of sacrificing people was abhorrent to me. Razakel assured me that it's "essentially no different than frying bacon," and that killing pigs is the natural order of things. "Plus," she whispered, "...they both want to fuck your brains out." Sisters. Two sisters wanted me. That was all I needed to know. The obstacles, she explained, were "gifts from below," and were to be bludgeoned and then burnt as offerings for BAAL, which could be accomplished later, when the meat was secure. She's an Evil Genius. In a parallel universe, she's
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a travel agent or a personal assistant. In this world, Razakel engineers Ritual Murders as she was taught by Those who preceded her. The torch has been passed.

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The Devils Medium

Film. Movies. Video. Photography. Anything with Light. Art in general, but due to its popularity, His Infernal Majesty insists that his Works are all suited for the big screen. Images, we are taught, work to influence people in ways having little to do with the plot, the actors, or the dialogue. "Aim right for the R-Complex," is what we were told. I was shown the scene from the first Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie where the guy has his head crushed by Leatherface from behind with a sledge hammer. What made the scene so powerful was the long drawn out set up shot. It was like watching a professional
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golfer on the putting green. There's no shock. The spectators all know what's about to happen. It's all in the delivery. The Execution. It was the most aesthetically pure, perfectly realized murder every created in the horror genre until Rob Zombie's House of 1000 Corpses, in which the sheriffs deputy is shot in the head, with a similarly dramatic and slow set up, only this one from a birds eye view. It's such a long set up that, when I saw it in the Theater (four times), the audience members would stir and start wondering aloud of the film had stopped. Then, POP! Brains are on the ground. Film rolling on. These impatient zero attention span nitwits ruined the scene every time. I won't say that I achieved any degree of proficiency in the films I produced that night.
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Truthfully, I haven't seen them yet. It's all in Sicktanicks hands. He's got it on the cutting room floor, so to speak. It's set for a Halloween 2012 release. When it hits the Internet, there will be no removing it. Like the eternally resounding screams of Daniel Pearl, those two girls are going to be heard making sounds that make easy listening out of Pearl's terrified, gurgling shrieks.

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Farmville

Four down. Seven billion to go.

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The Gathering

We are the wicked possessed swine Jesus warned you about. We are the Legion of Death and we've come for your souls, to displace them and override your consciences, to subvert what we can't pervert. We all end up in Hell. Trust me. Satan wouldn't Lie.

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SYKO SAM

September 1, 2012

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