Earl had to die

This is not bullshit!

I worked as a nurse's assistant for twenty years. The amount of confessions I've heard is frightening. Not even deathbed confessions, but from people that were just in their seventies and did not have any fucks left to give.

Now, before I tell the craziest one I ever heard, there's a warning and a less crazy one.

The warning our that the last time I told the story online, I got a blast of shit over it, and I no longer entertain assholes, so don't waste your time with any fuckery, I'll block you and move on with my evening.

The less crazy one isn't even my story, it's my wife's, and I asked if I could tell it here.

Her grandmother, and she's still alive and only in her seventies now, was married three times. She shot all three husbands. She killed one of them. Never saw a day of jail, which is kinda batshit when you consider that she killed the one on her front porch in clear view of multiple people.

The first husband cheated on her, and when she objected and told him to GTFO, hit her. She responded by borrowing a shotgun and putting birdshot in his knee the next day.

The second husband did "something ugly" to the son she had from the first husband. She put a 12 gauge slug into him, center of mass, and that was the end of that marriage. Neither the son nor the lady were ever willing to say exactly what was done to the boy, just that it was ugly or nasty.

The third husband knew about the first two, married the lady and was still dumb enough to throw a hot cup of coffee in her face and slap her. He survived, but only after a lot of surgery because a shotgun will absolutely fuck up intestines.

This little lady looked me in the eye and said I shouldn't ever give her a reason because she still has the shotgun. Then she hugged my neck. She's a little fucking terrifying.

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Now, the story from a patient. Not a woman this time, so not exactly the same thing, though I've heard plenty of women talk about having to deal out their own justice.

This was a Korean war vet. He was a deacon in his church, a well known and respected man. What you might call local famous. Real pillar of the community type, and not in a jokey or fake way, we're talking a guy that would show up when a fire burned families out and make sure they had a place to stay, clothes, food, etc. Like, he's a hero locally, or was.

We're sitting around talking after the usual care routine, after a few months of working with him. He starts talking about his war experience. Pretty brutal stuff overall, but nothing too unusual for vets that I'd helped out over the years.

Until he starts talking about having to fight a guy hand to hand. One of those things where it's down to two men, a knife, and desperation. He ends up stabbed, but killed the enemy. And as the enemy is dying, he gets this rush of anger and all the adrenaline hits him. He starts just stomping on the man's face, then goes off even more, until not even his mother would be able to recognize the body (that's as close as I trust my memory about what he said, but it's damn near a quote).

He finishes it up and realizes he just came in his pants and is still erect.

Now, that's crazy enough by itself.

But he then tells another story from after that where he gut shot someone just so that he could repeat that feeling. He then says he did it more than once.

Vicissitudes of war and all, so I thank him for sharing it.

He just looks at me and keeps talking.

He tells me about how all of his kids were conceived while he was imagining doing the same thing to his wife. How some of the other people he had sex with, he would need to imagine beating them and killing as he had sex with them to even be interested.

He talked about imagining doing it to his kids.

He said that even after he couldn't get an erection, he would still imagine killing and having sex with people because it made him feel alive.

I again thanked him for sharing.

He looked me right in the eye and asked me what he was thinking about right this minute.

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He lived for about a year after that. I was with him when he died, his son had called me when his father started having agonal breathing (though he didn't use the term). I helped wash his body.

As near as I can tell, I'm the only one he ever told. To the best of my knowledge he never acted on any of it as a civilian.