Become the kidnapper, be the criminal.

Bingo, the mind scrawl of a mad man. My god, he knows who I am. He knows my every fantasy. But I am hot on your trail, sicko. You can feel my hot breath on your neck. This is no longer a clue, it’s a game.

You may have just gotten checkmate, but we’re playing Chinese checkers, and as my old friend Confucius say; the hunter has become the hunter-ed. The chaser has become the choste. Dame fortuna has had her franking privileges revoked. It seems the portrait has painted the artist, sketching the reverser, who has become the reverse-ed. But this time the suffixed will become the sufferer, and it appears the baby killer is about to kill a baby.

Which reminds me, I gotta go feed my babies.