The Men’s Warehouse Killer: Just as I tightened the plastic cord around the neck of my unsuspecting victim in an undisclosed discount clothing store, I would whisper in a gravelly voice into his sad ears: “You’re gonna like the way you look…I guarantee it.”
The Burger King Deviant: Already creepy enough, some may argue—the costume of the King would strike the perfect chord of terror in the hearts of my victim. But then to top off, right after plunging in my knife and before I turn to snip off any remaining arteries, I’d utter (behind the motionless mask of plastic fear), “Have it your way.”
The Home Depot Sadist: Maybe I’d use some steel-reinforced PCP piping to first break the unsuspecting homebuilder’s knees. Then I’d pry open his eyeballs with little ground stakes one would typically use for stabilizing a tent. Then, right before I use a leaf blower to bludgeon the poor bastard to death, I’d say this, “More saving…” Then I’d bash him once over the head, “More doing. That’s the Home Depot.” Smash!
The General Mills-Brand Cereal Strangler: I’d specialize in strangling only kindergarten teachers, and only after the teacher had made some rogue remark about “You love cereal, Johnny? Well I love cereal, too.” Then after she whisked the kids away for recess, I’d pop out from behind the curtains, grab her from behind, pull a knife up to her tender throat, and right before slicing her aorta, I’d say something nasty in the voice of Christian Slater, like, “Trix are for kids…”
The Brand-Ambivalent Serial Slaughterer: I can see a day coming when I’d run out of brand name slogans to utter, when I’d wander the streets slaughtering innocents in relentlessly creative manners (antiquated European swords, after listening to Aaron Neville in a torture chamber, lots of duct tape, etc…) but I wouldn’t feel emotionally whole because my kills wouldn’t be accompanied by a witty, slightly ironically corporate pitch phrase that could capture the terrified hearts and minds of a generation of Midwest Americans. Like some metaphor about rampant capitalism, I’d simply roam the countryside, shooting up parking lots with automatic weapons yelling out arbitrary slogans like, “If it’s Tuesday, it’s Pizza Hut’s new Tuscan Breadsticks!” or “The softer side of SEARS!” or “Fifteen Minutes or Less Can Save You Fifteen Percent!” Soon there’d be anti-brand-slogan serial killers out there, telling the world that I’m not “authentic” enough (possibly living in Seattle), and then eventually I’d just be old news, and all the new killers would get the awesome coverage in Spin.