"We know how to make serial killers. You just take a Type A kid who's fairly bright and just beat the crap out of him day after day. That's how it's done." -- Cormac McCarthy I don't know if it's wisdom or cynicism -- or both -- but as I get older, I find myself looking at everything my parents have told me with greater suspicion. One telling incident took place today. My mother commented on how my brother is so kind and respectful to everyone. It was the kind of comment you'd expect a loving parent to make, and therefore a rare moment for her. Then, for the next two hours or so, both of my parents berated him over any trivial thing they could, and called him every adjective for stupid that you can think of. Why this poison? Are they insane? And all the while they perpetuate this fraud of piety, their Bible-thumping obsession that has little or no effect on their actual behavior. I wonder if they ever reflect on a word of their own bullshit. Doesn't seem that way. So selfish, so self-righteous... what a mess they've made of everything. Sometimes I feel like the best reason to kill myself would be so I don't become one of them.