Just in time for Halloween: 6 seriously sadistic serial killers

Halloween is without a doubt my favorite holiday. It's fantastical, creepy, over the top, and the perfect excuse to binge out on all things chocolate and Tim Burton.

Pre Willy Wonka of course.

Decorations are up, pumpkins are out, and the horror movie section is a lot busier.

Conjured up images of the lurid and macabre tend to fascinate on a normal day, but in October everyone gets in on the gag. So in honor of Halloween, here's a list of the truly depraved that have inspired so many of the films and stories most prevalent this time of year.

6. The Soap-Maker of Correggio

An Italian murderess, Leonarda Cianciulli's story is equal parts Silence of the Lambs and Fight Club.

Yet she looks like somebody's grandma.

Desperate for children, Leonarda became pregnant 17 times. Ten of her children died at a young age, another three were miscarried.
Four sons remained, and Leonarda would be damned if she lost any more.

In 1939, her eldest son was drafted to fight in WWII. Afraid for her son's safety and being a rational human being, Leonarda consulted two gypsy fortune tellers.
The first one told her that all her children would die, so naturally she got a second opinion. The next gypsy told her: "In your right hand I see prison, in your left a criminal asylum."

Miss Cleo says, your life is going to suck.

Shortly afterward Leonarda completely flipped her shit. In her later confession to police, she claimed to have been visited by the Virgin Mary, who instructed her to sacrifice humans for her sons.

Eh, seems legit.

Leonarda pretended to play match-maker for her first victim, a woman named Faustina Setti. She told Faustina that she found a husband for her, and advised her to send letters to her family explaining that she would be out of town for a while to meet her new husband.

Things worked a little differently back then

Faustina never made it out the front door. Leonarda killed her with an ax, drained the blood, and threw the rest into pots. She used the blood to make tea cakes, and the flesh was cooked into soap.
Two more women were dispatched in the same way. Feeling generous, Leonarda gave away the extra cakes and soap to friends and neighbors.

No really, I insist you join in my cannibalism.

She was finally caught after the sister-in-law of her last victim went to police, upon which Leonarda readily confessed. Even detailing the exact methods she used in her soap-making.

Works great on blood stains!

5. Burke and Hare

Body snatchers, turned murderers.

"Up the close and down the stair,
In the house with Burke and Hare.
Burke's the murderer. Hare's the thief,
And Knox the boy who buys the beef."

... goes a well-known English rhyme.
Apparently the antics of these two scoundrels were recently made into a movie starring Simon Pegg. Which I was unaware of until I started writing this drivel.

Shaun of the Dead and Gollum, go figure.

Anyway, in the early 19th century William Burke and William Hare moved from Ireland to Scotland looking for work. Settling in at a swell spot in Edinburgh called The Begger's Hotel. Shortly afterward, an elderly resident named Old Donald who lived at the same hotel, died owing rent.
These two enterprising chaps realized they could get a fair amount of money by selling the body to a medical school, since the dissection of corpses was technically illegal and fresh bodies were hard to come by. Subsequently, Old Donald's coffin was filled with wood, while his body was sold to anatomist Dr. Robert Knox for four pounds more than what the dead man owed in rent.

Cha-ching!

Realizing that there was significant money to be made in the corpse trade, Burke and Hare dispatched a number of victims, mainly by suffocation.
Most were elderly, mentally retarded, or prostitutes, and all were sold to Dr. Knox. In fact one of the victims, prostitute Mary Paterson, was recognized by Knox. He had been one of her clients. If Knox realized how Burke and Hare came by their goods though, he never mentioned it.

Burke and Hare's business was barely a year old before they were caught in October 1828.
Burke was sentenced to death, while Hare turned king's evidence and was eventually released. Supposedly Hare later worked at a quarry, until his co-workers discovered his identity and blinded him.
That'll teach you to steal grandma.


4. H.H Holmes

Another body snatcher, Mr. Holmes is probably best known as America's first recorded serial killer. A graduate of the University of Michigan, he stole corpses, insured and disfigured them, and then claimed the insurance. Pretty ingenious really, except that he was also a twisted son of a bitch.

Ah, the reckless confidence that a mustache like that can inspire...

Living in Chicago and working as a pharmacist, H.H Holmes built a large "castle" in 1892, a year before the World's Fair.

H.H Holmes Castle = One city block.

The ground floor was made up of various businesses, while the second and third floors were a labyrinth of almost 100 rooms. Several of which were rigged up with gas lines, allowing Holmes to asphyxiate his victims. Others were sealed air tight, wherein people could be locked in and left to suffocate. Most of Holmes' victims were female employees who had taken out life insurance policies that Holmes paid the premiums on, but was also the beneficiary.

"It seemed like a good deal at the time."

Holmes would then go on to sell the bodies and organs via his former contacts from U of M.
He officially admitted to 27 murders, but it's estimated the true number of victims was over 100.
After moving around the country, H.H Holmes was finally caught and hanged in Philadelphia. The executioner botched the job, (although he couldn't have done it to a more deserving guy), and Holmes was slowly strangled to death. Taking over 15 minutes to die.
His final request was that he be buried in cement so his body couldn't be dissected.

3. Bordello from Hell

For about ten years, sisters Delfina and Maria de Jesus Gonzalez operated a nightmarish brothel in the middle of Mexico.

Not quite. But close.

The sisters would kidnap or trick young girls into entering their establishment and kept them drugged to maintain compliance.
Once the girls were "worn out", became too difficult, or lost their looks, they were murdered. Delfina and Maria also killed their clients, (generally bandits who wouldn't be missed), that came through with large sums of money.
The police failed to link the missing girls to the Rancho El Angel for almost a decade.

Bet no more girls would've been Taken if Liam Neeson was involved.

But then a crack whore tried to travel through town with dozens of young girls in tow.

This is what we call a clue.

Miss. Josefina Gutierrez, crack hoe extraordinaire, was arrested and confessed that the girls were destined for the Rancho El Angel. Police raided the brothel, but the sisters had already peaced out. Instead they found a bunch of drugged girls and the bodies of 11 men, 80 women and several fetuses.
Eventually Delfina and Maria were caught and stood trial in 1964. Both were sentenced to 40 years in prison. Delfina died, but Maria completed her sentence and is possibly operating a vegetable stand somewhere in Mexico.

At the ripe old age of 87.

2. The Blood Countess

If you were born a peasant girl in 17th century Poland, your life already kind of sucks. What with the whole being a peasant, and a female, in a society that places more value on a well-trained horse than you, thing.

Seriously. The damn cow even comes first.

Well, add a sadistic Countess with a penchant for bathing in the blood of young virgins procured from the local peasantry, and God is clearly just fucking with you at this point.

Meet Erszebet Bathory, born of a wealthy Transylvania family and Countess of Cachtice Castle. 

The original cold-blooded bitch

As a child, Erszebet suffered from violent seizures. It has been suggested that Erszebet's seizures may have had something to do with turning her bat-shit insane later in life.

So what's your excuse, lady?

Erszebet married young, as was typical back in the day. Her husband, Count Ferenc Nadasdy, probably realizing his wife was crazy, was absent for most of the marriage. Preferring to go to war against the Ottomans rather than stay home.

So Erszebet was left alone and bored while teenage hormones kicked into high gear.
Not surprisingly, she got it on with several of the local peasants. And probably as a result of adolescent angst, developed an interest in the occult.

I can't help but feel she's responsible for bullshit like this.
Also, Hot Topic.

After the death of her husband, there was no one to keep the crazy in check. And Erszebet began torturing the shit out of young girls.

She commissioned a giant birdcage lined with spikes, which she forced young women into. Once the girl was inside, Erszebet enjoyed stabbing at them with hot pokers. In an effort to escape, the girls wound up impaling themselves on the spikes.
It's estimated that the Countess is directly responsible for the deaths of over 500 young women.
Oh, she also liked to do this:

And was made into a collectors item?

After six years of violent torture and murder, the authorities finally got involved. Erszebet and four of her servants were arrested. But Erszebet was never formally tried.
Somewhat protected by her status as a noblewoman, the Countess was instead walled up inside her own castle. All windows and doors were bricked over, with only a small opening left through which food could be passed. On August 21st 1614, Countess Erszebet Bathory was found dead at the age of 54.
I kind of hope she made a good looking corpse though, you know, to justify all those blood baths...

And apparently to inspire goth fan fiction.

1. Metal Fang

Half Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me and half Hannibal Lecter, Nikolai Dzhumagaliev was the scariest thing to come out of Kazakhstan until Borat.
Nicknamed "Metal Fang" because of his false metal teeth, Nikolai was something of a lady killer.
Literally.

You know what, maybe it's the hat,
but that is an attractive cannibal.

His M.O was to take women out on dates, rape them, hack the bodies up with a knife and ax, cook at 350 degrees for one hour, season to taste, and serve.

Kind of makes you consider vegetarianism, huh?

After killing a woman, Nikolai would generously invite friends over for a meal. Which was how he was finally discovered.

After accepting a dinner invitation, two alcoholics discovered a woman's severed head in the kitchen, presumably while they were searching for the vodka. Yet they managed to keep their collective shit together long enough to summon the police.

Did you say top shelf or....
Shit.

Nikolai was charged with the murders of seven women. But the court found him insane and he was sent to a mental institution. He escaped in 1989 and wasn't recaptured until 1991. In 1994 Nikolai Dzhumagaliev was released and he remains at liberty.

Probably coming to a neighborhood near you.

5 reasons why I'm kind of a terrible person. (but don't regret it) So... 6 reasons?

Hopefully I'm not the first person that springs to mind when terrible people are discussed. Hitler, Vlad the Impaler, and Gary Thuerk should rank at least ten above.

And Shredder. He's definitely worse.

After all, I recycle, walk my dog, and am generally courteous. If only because I fear society's backlash. But I'm also a horrible, conniving human being who refuses to change. Mostly because these awful habits serve my needs so well. Habits like...

5. Pushing buttons

But not in the way you think, although Troy may disagree.
There is a very primitive, compulsive beast inside me that I cannot tame.

I am compelled to push in the plastic buttons on soft drink lids. All the soft drink lids. Actively depriving others of the same joy.

I don't care who I hurt. I just want to push the buttons!

There is just such satisfaction in pushing them down, it's almost as good as bubble wrap.

Loves it... *sigh*

Yes! Want!

But God help those who try to thwart me. I may crack a smile and feebly laugh it off, but inside I'm cursing you and everything you stand for. How dare anyone come between me and my buttons?!
I WILL HAVE THE BLOOD OF YOUR FIRST BORN!!

Okay, maybe a titch dramatic. But seriously, pushing those things in is the best. And although there is no good reason for it, I have a little bit of irrational hatred reserved for anyone who has denied me plastic buttons...

4. Smug without cause

There's something so satisfying about occasionally having a smug sense of superiority. Don't pretend like you haven't ever done it. Hipsters may have taken it to a whole new annoying level, but even regular folk will fall prey to the self-esteem boosting high that comes from making statements about how the book was so much better than the movie.

Oh look! They sell "obvious douche" in size XXL now.

And other comments like: "Oh, you're into Foster the People now? Yeah, I've been listening to them for a couple of years and their other songs are way better than 'Pumped Up Kicks', just sayin..."

I'm more into "Hammer No More the Fingers" now.
You've probably never heard of them.

Or: "What is that? A first generation iPhone? Huh, I just upgraded to an iPhone 7 x's Infinity. Yeah, I'm an alpha tester, I use my old iPhones as paperweights."

Okay, these examples are obviously way over the top. Good. Maybe they'll make my flaws less terrible by comparison...

It's purely luck that things worked out this way, but every day without fail, as I'm traveling briskly along on my commute to and from work, traffic is just obscenely backed up going the opposite way. 

See the completely empty far lanes? That's me. Every day.
I rock.

 It's just congestion as the result of a bottleneck, but twice a day I am filled with the most ill-founded smug sense of superiority. As though I am somehow a better person who makes more intelligent life decisions than those other poor saps, inching along on their daily commute.

I have no idea why this is. It's not as though I feel like less of a person when I'm stuck in traffic.
Although I admit it's terrible behavior,  I've no desire to correct it as it makes me feel vaguely good about myself after a day of dealing with punks and the chronically unfortunate. So yes, if you ever see me traveling by you while you're stuck in traffic, rest assured I have no sympathy for your plight and am probably silently congratulating myself for not going in the "loser" direction.

Ha-ha! I'm getting home first!
Eat it suckers!

3. Brownie thievery.

A good brownie is hard to beat. And they're all good.

The corner brownie piece is the best. There is no denying this. If at some point in your life you've been brainwashed into thinking that center pieces are more delicious ...good. Call me and we'll set up a brownie exchange. Unfortunately everyone in my immediate family and current residence refuses to succumb to center brownie propaganda.

This has resulted in multiple corner brownie thefts over the years.

Who eats brownies with a fork anyway?

I don't care if there are four people to a square pan of brownies, effectively making it so each person may have one corner piece. You better grab your corner fast, because I will steal it.
I might not even want a brownie right then. Doesn't matter. Corner pieces will still get carved and hacked out, perhaps hidden somewhere for future consumption.
And yes, I have heard of the "Brownie Edge Pan".

Seems like cheating..

I've even considered getting it, but thievery somehow makes the corner brownies taste better.      

Mmm... sweet victory!

2. Pride and greed

I want to donate my eggs.

Specifically because I like the idea of my genes getting passed on without me actually having to do any of the work involved with raising a child. Because, you know, screw that.

Oh, and money.

Woooo!

I'm not just being silly either. You're reading the blog of a female that has already been screened, assessed and approved by the Fertility Network Agency.
Now I'm just a phone call away from getting injected full of hormones and harvested, to the tune of a few grand.

I also kind of fantasize that a fabulous gay couple with money to burn will get my eggs. Their child will be sophisticated and have an assortment of scarves, and that will be just peachy.

What? No scarves?

1. Those that smelt it...



This one is truly terrible. But I laugh so hard when reminiscing about the times I've done this that it's hard to have regrets.

For most of my life, I have successfully blamed my farts on other people.

Or animals. Really whatever's convenient.

Example: I used to wait tables at a fairly upscale establishment with another server who had a bad habit of poaching tables. Let's call him Cotton-Eye Joe.

Ugh.

 After he had successfully stolen a four top than was rightfully mine, I nonchalantly tidied up a nearby table and walked away just as Cotton-Eye Joe returned with waters.

The expressions of horror, revulsion, and confusion on the faces of the guests were better than any tip.
I watched with malicious glee while the patrons glared accusingly at poor Cotton-Eye Joe, who manfully attempted to ignore the smelt I had dealt, and rattled off the evening's specials.

Gratuities suffered greatly that night...

My poor sister was also wrongfully accused of my aromatic acoustics. For over five years.
I never would have gotten away with it for so long had it not been for her uncontrollable spasms of laughter. Why did she laugh when the gas was passed? Well, probably because it's kind of funny. Just like nut shots and cuddle time with John Stamos.

Anyway, it's hard to proclaim your innocence when you're choking on broccoli and cheesy potatoes from laughing so hard. And whenever she finally settled down enough to protest, another backdoor breeze would be loosed, forcing her into continued hysterical laughter. It was a foul cycle.

But high in fiber.

A typical night at the Carson household:

squeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaakkkk...... *braaapp!*

"Sarah! How could you?! And at the dinner table!" I'd exclaim in feigned indignation.

My parents would also view her in disgust. The gross, flawed second child, who could not stop laughing as she expelled her awful fumes...that were really mine.

It wasn't until my second, or possibly third, year of college that I confessed to my crimes against my sibling.

Yup...

 - Hugs and kisses Sarah!!!
           XOXOXOXO!!

Cake = Awesome (especially this one)

Who likes cake? You like cake? Of course you do. It's cake. Frosting and sugar and those delightful little rainbow sprinkles. I could go on all day, but to save time, here's a man who is all about cake.
Go ahead, click. You won't regret it.

Cake is so universally liked, a group of musicians came together in the 90's and were like:
"Let's call ourselves Cake. We won't even sing. Our tone will be deadpan and occasionally sarcastic, but people will still dig us because we're fuckin' CAKE! And also there's gonna be a trumpet..."

Sure in their actual explanation they say they're referring to something caked to the bottom of their shoe. But that's just silly. Besides, it's probably cake stuck there. That stuff can be sticky when smooshed down...

But back to the matter at hand: Cake. The pastry, not the band.
Because it's someone's special day...

(HAPPY BIRTHDAY TROY SCHNEIDER!)

...so naturally cake is going to be involved.

Yellow with chocolate frosting was the special request. And being a recent graduate of "Wiltons Decorating Basics" class, clearly I was prepared to take on anything.

Yeah. I got this.

Haha! Not so much.
By the way, did you know the effects of 'shrooms can last up to eight hours?**

Weeeee!
**(No, State of Georgia, I have never done drugs.
This blog is supposed to be entertaining, so cut me some slack.
Please?)

Anyway, about eight hours later, after I stopped tasting colors and drifted back down to terra firma, it occurred to me that my cake skills were on par with that of a twelve years old. A gifted twelve year old that is.

And so, without further ado:

How to make a cake as painlessly as possible

Get yourself some cake mix of your choice. Because homemade is just too damn time consuming. And besides, when frosting is involved, cake is playing second fiddle anyway.
In fact, if they want chocolate frosting, go ahead and buy that too. Saves time.

Get two cans of frosting. That's important.

You're also going to need this stuff:

Bake the cake according to package directions. Using the eggs, vegetable oil and some water. Duh.
Make sure you grease the ever loving shit out of the pans too before you put your batter in. I like to scoop a big glob of Crisco up with a napkin and just smear it all over the inside of the pan.
Note: You don't have to use the butter flavor Crisco. I just like the taste and it makes a pretty ivory color.

Once your cakes are done, let them sit for a few minutes in the pan and then flip them over onto a wire rack to cool. If you greased the pans up well they should come out no problem.

At this point I usually call it quits for the day and just let the cake sit over night. You can start frosting after a few hours once it's cool, but I'm lazy. So the cake just gets wrapped up and stuck in the fridge for the night.

Fast forward next day: Get your cakes back out. We're going to level these bitches.
Note: There's a lot of crap out there marketed toward cake decorating. Most of it's useful, but some stuff is just unnecessary. Especially for small projects like this. That said, don't waste your money on a cake leveler. Just use a bread knife.

Mini-hacksaws not necessary

Okay, so make sure your cakes are right side up. You should see a little ridge on the top. Use that as your guide when leveling off the excess.

Once you've leveled both cakes, take your chocolate frosting and stir it up in the can. This will keep it from wrecking havoc on your cake. Trust me.
Then scoop a huge glob of it out with your spatula, (literally huge), and plop it in the middle of whatever cake will serve for the bottom portion.

^These spatulas are frickin awesome. Like a ninja.^
Get one. Preferably 9in.

Use your ninja spatula to spread out the frosting on the top. Then take your other cake, flipping it over so the bottom is now the top, and put it on top of the cake you just frosted. Congratulations, you just made a layer cake!
Now, open up that second can of frosting and take another diabetic crippling glob out. Even bigger than the last one. (See? I told you you'd need two cans.) Plop it down in the middle of your top layer and spread it out.

This, but twice as much.

A lot of cake people may refer to this as "crumb coating", which basically means "use way more frosting than you need at first to keep those bastard crumbs from getting all up in your icing".

Get the top smoothed out first and then work on the sides.

Cake looking good? Great. Stick it in the fridge while you get your decorating stuff ready.

I wanted to do a simple design on my cake (because I'm not that good) and some basic lettering. 

So I printed the picture I wanted:

Make sure it's the right size for your cake.

I put some wax paper over the picture and secured it using tape. (Some people say you should use parchment paper, but unless you're a professional, don't bother.)
Then I filled one of my piping bags with some of the piping gel and using the No. 5 tip, simply traced the picture. To do lettering the concept is the same, (although I free-handed mine because I ran out of patience), except you need to remember that when you flip the wax paper onto the cake it's going to make a mirror image.
What I would do is print out your message in the font you want, trace over the lettering with a sharpie marker so it'll bleed through, then flip the "Happy Birthday" or whatever, over and arrange it under the wax paper. Tracing the backwards lettering with the piping gel.
Flip your gel-licious design onto your cake. Gently press down where there's gel piping and slowly remove.

I just used buttercream frosting for embellishment here, and stuck with white for a sharp contrast. Here's how to make it. By the way, you don't have to use milk, water works fine and won't spoil.

Fill your second piping bag with the buttercream and using the No. 5 tip, trace the gel with the frosting. You can switch to the No. 18 tip to fill in a design by making little stars. I used the same tip to make rosettes and a half ass shell border.

And here's the result:

Yeah, it's not perfect, but it's amusing. And that's what really matters.

Happy 29th old man!