You killed my friend, you rotten piece of shit. He was your cousin, yet you killed him for money. The one time I met you, I remember thinking what a little fuck you were, and now I hope you die. Did you hear what happened to your mom at the funeral? Somebody threw a five-gallon bucket of shit on her right after the service. I'm sure your cousin was looking down and laughing--it was the only thing about this whole screwed up thing that was funny.

I went to your sentencing, saw your weasel face, heard your shitty justification for shooting my friend: how he spent his last moments, how you tried to hide it. Things won't be easy in prison but if you think it's tough on you, think how screwed your family is.

I hope you slit your wrists and somebody rapes you in the pen; Earth has far too little space. And I hope your bastard son enjoys visiting your sorry ass in prison; it's far more than you deserve. Same thing goes for your family. Rot in hell fucker, I'll see you in 45 years.

--Anonymous