Charles Whitman's Tumor
Charles Whitman was a former high score holder and famous Marine IRL sharpshooter who held a demonstration of his amazing long range target shooting skills in Austin, Texas one summer day in 1966 to a crowd of screaming fans and dead bodies.
High as fuck on valium and dexedrine, enjoying the beautiful views from the Texas University campus Clock Tower wearing a faggy white headband and eating some Spam (srsly), Charles had a thought: since I happen to have an arsenal of guns with me, I might as well give a little impromptu show. For the lulz (we hope).
But when his fans started running away shouting "There's a sniper on the tower!" and falling down bleeding, he became confused and kept shooting. He also couldn't understand why cops were firing back and climbing the tower trying to kill him. There was, however, one entity that knew exactly what was going on: the massive evil TUMOR that had taken over Whitman's brain.
For a long time, Charles was in charge. Though his father was a huge dick who enjoyed beating the shit out of his wife and terrorizing his children and insisting that they all play with guns together, Charles was able to keep the old man happy with his good grades and ability to "shoot the eye out of a squirrel at 50 yards." But after failing out of the Marines, Charles developed "hypergraphia" and began compulsively writing inspirational notes to himself, like ""CONTROL your anger. Don't let it prove you the fool" and "STOP cursing" and "CONTROL your passion; DON'T LET IT lead YOU" and "I intend to kill my wife after I pick her up from work." That was the tumor talking - a mass of evil tubes and tissues that was trolling the shit out of his brain.
The Tumor's Instructions
The instructions from the tumor were simple:
Take the following:
- a shitload of dexedrine
Kill the following:
Errand 1 (Mom)
On the evening of July 31, 1966, he went to his mother's apartment to put her to bed, as was his custom, except this time (to "relieve her sufferings") he dug a hole in the back of her head with his hunting knife, then plunged it into her heart. He then put her in bed and tucked her in, leaving a note beside her body:
Errand 2 (Wife)
Back at home (because "I don't want her to have to face the embarrassment my actions would surely cause her"), Charles angry-fucked his sleeping wife in the chest with his bayonet like a brave Marine. Fortunately for you sick fucks, she slept naked, so the crime scene photos double as pron.
Hypergraphic Whitman wrote constant notes and letters to himself even though he had nothing to say and brain cancer, making everything he ever wrote tl;dr garbage that all said the same thing:
Time to Gun Up
Having shown his mastery with the knife, it was now time for Charlie to make his Marine target trainers and father proud. He loaded up his Marine issue foot locker with over 500 pounds of guns and ammo and spray deodorant (srsly) and had to rent a fucking dolly to haul all the death tools up to the sniper spot.
—tl;dr -- guns 'n shit, and a hammer
His destination was the observation deck of the campus Clock Tower, an over 300 foot tall edifice perfectly engineered for long rang FPS pwnage. There was a receptionist up there. 'No, I'm not the fucking janitor," he said, taking her skull apart with one home-run swing of his rifle butt and tucking her twitching body behind a couch.
As he was fucking her almost dead body, a group of tourists bounced up the stairs all excited about being on top of the famous tower. Charlie pulled the barrel of his freshly sawed-off shotgun out of the receptionist's bloody vagina and tore their faces off with buckshot and blood and then ate some snack foods. Two died, two never walked again.
Now it was down to business. The first kill had to be dramatic, and suddenly through the 4-power telescopic scope of his Remington 9mm. deer rifle he spotted a very pregnant 18 year old freshman strolling along the lovely north quad with her boyfriend. Demonstrating his truly astounding precision, Charlie put his first bullet through the skull of the fetus growing inside of her. No shit. In all official accounts, Charlie is given credit for this fetus kill, though lovers of abortion insist it shouldn't count because the fetus wasn't really alive. The girl survived, single now, Charlie lulzily holing out her boyfriend's chest as he came to her aid.
The last thought of many of those milling around the tower was "What the…" before bullets tore into their heads or other vital organs. One young male student peaked out from behind a car and had enough time to say, "He's up there. I can see him" before Charlie told him to "STFU" with a bullet. In the mouth. From 500 yards.
And all along the watchtower for over an hour and a half Charlie (munching peanuts and drinking gasoline) played his rifle concerto. From unheard of distances bullets were hitting their targets no matter how small -- and amazingly he was more accurate when the target was moving. One man over 400 hundred yards away running as fast as he could felt a sting in his shoulder. Reaching safety all he could say was, "What a shot!" In the end Charlie's satanic tumor piled up nearly fifty bodies far and wide around the tower. 13 died. 12 if you love abortion.
Pissed, humiliated, stupid, the cops decided to storm the castle. Four brave pigs gunned up and kicked the observation deck door down. Charlie, bathed in lulz and distracted by his tumor's boner, did not hear them coming. Before he could get a shot off, the cops unloaded into Charles Whitman's brain tumor with close-range anti-lulz shotgun blasts before fapping determinedly on the body.
All quotes are from the following sources, promise:
- Charles Whitman: The Amygdala & Mass Murder, by Rhawn Joseph, Ph.D - lulzy
- quality youjewb documentary
- Awesome fucking song by some hippie describing the events
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