Ah, Mark Twitchell: you can’t write, you can’t produce a decent film, you’re homely, sloppy, lazy, and the lines between your version of reality and your version of fantasy blurred too many times for the entire reality of getting caught to ever set in. Maybe it’s because you gleaned all of your murder ideas from a television show, which is possibly like if real criminal investigators gleaned all of their business practices from CSI: Miami.
But one thing you did do unintentionally is shed light on female prowess. Which is ironically, something I hadn’t had an epiphany on, EVER, until I read about your horrific and badly-assembled murder.
The story is this (in a nutshell of course): Twitchell wrote some stupid and frankly badly-written movie script about a killer who lures a man he met online and murders him. This is exactly what he did in real life as well. He posed as a beautiful woman on plentyoffish and attracted the attention of one Johnny Altinger, who fell in love with Twitchell’s artificially created vixen and wanted to meet her.
Sure, many of us have online dated; some of us make it a habit to online date. It’s fairly common practice in the 21st century, and becoming increasingly part of the norm. I would even say it’s decently safe, pending you follow some pretty simple rules: always tell someone else where you’re going, always (ALWAYS) meet the person in a public place first, don’t give out your address or last name, and the cardinal rule is: if the person seems too good to be true, they probably are; if they’re TOO nice, TOO attractive, have TOO much in common with you… something reeks of bullshit and you should be wary.
Johnny Altinger didn’t pay any mind to any of this, mind you: he wasn’t (to be totally fair) not some strapping young man with handsome princely features; he seemed like sort of a quiet loner, someone longing for affection and intimacy, who stumbled upon Twitchell’s female persona and fell totally for her beauty. We’ve all done it; we’ve all been strung along at some point by someone ridiculously hot who got us to come to some volunteer event or to sign up to give blood or something, right?
But the clincher is this: Johnny Altinger agreed to meet this woman in a back alley garage. That would be like if I was chatting with someone online and they said, “let’s meet! Meet me in the back alley behind the Dockside Pub at 2:00 a.m.” and I went. Idiot. At the very least, he did tell friends where he was going (or else we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation, so at least he did something right) but if you legitimately don’t see something oddly suspicious about a back alley fucking garage as a meeting place for some woman who claims this is a good idea because she “doesn’t want to give out her home address”, then a) you’ve obviously never heard of Starbucks and b) you lack a certain regard for your own safety, simply at the prospect of meeting an attractive woman.
I’ve been out to the bars and I’ve seen girls who aren’t even all that attractive, and all they need to do is grind their ass up against some guy’s crotch and presto: they’re going home with him. I’ve seen really bitchy girls who string along really nice guys who you look at and think, “why the hell is she wasting such a nice guy?” The whole ‘he could do better’ thing is a common discussion among women, guys — we look from you, to the girl you’re with, and often pass judgment. It is a FACT. To be fair, I mean… the opposite is true also, but for all intents and purposes, I’m only talking about the former situation here.
Anyway, the point is — Mark Twitchell clearly knew something — whatever that something was– about the nature of attraction; and that it’s actually quite easy for women to stick out their fishing line and get some trout. And he used that to his advantage, because he’s a sick fuck who deserves to rot in jail for the rest of his life (yes: I do believe he is guilty, guilty as fucking charged, FYI). You pose as a pretty girl, a girl with confidence and prowess who attracts attention… and a guy won’t even think twice about meeting you in, of all places, a back alley garage.
Sometimes (okay, all the time) I cover myself with shameless negative self-talk, poring over how much I hate this and that about my body and my hair and my face, etc. etc. etc. Because of this, I look at myself as someone who doesn’t have the ‘power’ or prowess over any man. Whenever I’m interested in someone, I see myself as the weaker party, the one who will inevitably lose because she’s so low to the ground and awkward and whatever else I tell myself I am. But Twitchell has brought to life that often times (we won’t say ALL the time), this is not true. It is on the contrary very easy for women to go out to a bar, toss her hair, wear a low cut top and be the master of her own back alley garage. And with this in mind, it’s no wonder that so many women that you or I have seen, or know, can just git’ sum every single weekend and really, with whoever they want. They just make their approach, turn on the charm and then pull on the metaphorical leash… all the way to the garage. We have as much power as we choose to give ourselves.
It’s not about being the weaker party. It is about seeing yourself as the stronger party. Being that photo that initially attracts the attention.
So thank you, infamous Edmonton murder, for demonstrating this.