The Jazz Hand Strangler

somewhere along the evolutionary spectrum some wires were crossed & when s/he realized their utter disgust for humanity coupled with an urge for blood & guts (all the things that whip up a snazzy b-horror film), alas, it was too late--- it was too late because the momma figure she took him/her to dance lessons, after all s/he wanted them for so long & wouldn’t you know it, s/he was a natural! so come those long nights in the teenage years when the hormones ran wild & the moon being full, s/he threw on something of a cat-burglar kind of outfit to ramble throughout the darkness with the hands up behind said victim of prey ready to strangle the life of them away. but in one of life’s little bits of irony the woulda’ been coulda’ been shoulda’ been strangler’s hands, could not stop moving & like it was “west side story” or perhaps the worse form of arthritis had already set in, s/he just twitched all around until said victim (who really wasn’t) just turned quickly asking what the jazz hand strangler was doing while simultaneously laughing her/him to shame. after several attempts at gaining some kind of respect within the serial killer community, the jazz hand strangler saw the writing on the wall & hung up their hands (so to speak), walking back to a rehearsal for some off off off broadway, with their tail between their legs.