Not sure if you caught our last issue, The Hopelessness Issue, but towards the front of it we ran an excerpt from a letter I received in the mail in September. The letter was from a man named Scott Dozier who is currently living out a life sentence on...
Oh hey, it's me, Kelly McClure, Music Editor and butthole expert for VICE. I just have something I'd like to talk to you about real quick. Are you busy? Okay. Do you need a beverage or a snack? Have a seat.
Not sure if you caught our last issue, The Hopelessness Issue, but towards the front of it we ran an excerpt from a letter I received in the mail in September. The letter was from a man named Scott Dozier who is currently living out a life sentence on death row at Ely State Prison in Nevada. Dozier was convicted of murdering a guy for drug reasons, dismembering him, and stashing the guy's torso in a suitcase, which he then threw into a dumpster. The guy's head, lower arms, and lower legs were never recovered. AND WE'RE IN LOVE!
In Scott's first letter to me, he wondered if I was the same girl who's virginity he took in a shower somewhere in his hometown many years ago, who (and I don't believe this) shared my first and last name. In case you all were wondering, I'm not that girl. Today, after returning back to the VICE office after our week long holiday break, I was pleased (as in horrified) to see that Scott had sent me a new, four page letter. He took some time with this one, both emotionally, as well as creatively.
The bulk of the letter was Scott thanking me/us for writing about him in the issue, and saying how he KNOWS that us/me writing about him does not mean that I am looking to strike up a relationship with him in any way (!!!!!!!!!), but the take away quote has got to be this:
"When they slip the needles into my strapped down arm, and I tell them with the utmost sincerity and honest, warm smile: "ya'll have a good day, alright." My last thought will be "and I got published in VICE."
So, I guess I should stop spending my work days bitching about how it's cold in here, the bathrooms stink, and there's never any coffee or cups, because there's a guy out there who'd give anything to be in (or hack off) my shoes.