"Jiiiiiiim, there's a dead man in our lounge!"
"Whoa, hey, how did he get in here?"
"Jim, what did you do?"
"Me? Seb, darling, I had nothing to do with this."
"Jim."
"I do not kill people. That is my least favorite thing to do."
"Alright, so tell me what you did today while I was out."
"Well, I started reading a book."
"Okay."
"And I got really attached to the antagonist."
"Alright."
"And then I realized that, really, he was just misunderstood by society."
"Go on."
"But then the author killed him."
"Right."
"So I invited the author over using ropes and sedatives. And then we had a nice chat about why he felt the need to kill the antagonist."
"Okay."
"And, well, then I stabbed him thirty seven times in the chest."
"Jim, that kills people!"
"Oh. I did not know that. That was an unfortunate miscalculation on my part."
"Jim, what happened to his fingers?"
"Excuse me?"
"His fingers. Where are they?"
"Well, I told him to rewrite the story."
"Yes."
"But he wouldn't."
"Okay."
"So I cut off his fingers and then cooked them up and made him eat them."
"Jim."
"Well, I wanted a new ending and he wouldn't write it. And well, you know, when you want things..."
"Why on earth would you do that?"
"At least I cooked them for him! I thought that was rather benevolent of me."
"Jiiiiiim."
"I had a literary craving-"
"Jim."
"-That only torture would satisfy."
"Jim! What is wrong with you?"
"Well, I kill people and make them eat their fingers. That's two things."