The death of Magdalena Romanowicz

I was contacted by Magdalena Romanowicz via meetup.com. 

She initiated this contact.

I was not expecting it.

I was pleasantly suprised.

She is a doctor.  A psychiatrist, in fact.  and she was working in new hampshire, at Eliot Hospital.  She was a staff psychiatrist at the time. 

She and I exchanged stories about our life experiences.  She seemed to enjoy that, as did I. She even sent pictures of some of her travels to me via gmail.  I rather enjoyed that too.  So I requested that we speak via the telephone so that I could hear her voice. 

Her voice was quaint and whiney and a little crackly.  She was a shrink, and she actually sounded like one.  She was telling me about her kiddos.  her patients at Eliot, as she is a child psychiatrist.  I was more interested in the character of her voice.  Was it a voice that I would want to listen to for the rest of my life.  For me it was equivocal.  at that time.  Sure she was nice enough, but quite rushed and busy.  Would she really have enough time for me?

Did she really want me?

Or was she just running out of time to become a mother?

It seemed to be more the latter than the former. 

We decided to meet for coffee.

I had planned to take her to the thinking cup, but it was full, with a long line, so we went to starbucks instead. It was a pleasant day, so we went out to the park.  Boston Commons, and we sat on bench and chatted some more.

She asked me: "what is the mind?"
I answered: "It is in the brain."

She seemed satisfied with that answer.

She seemed to still be figuring things out for herself, even though she was already an attending physician.

We kept talking and exhausted about 2 to 3 hours of time and then walked back to her BMW X3. Presumably, she had a car loan for this.  She was already over-spending her measly doctor's salary.

We kept in touch afterwards and even made dinner plans, which she eventually cancelled.

She had told me that she was moving back to rochester minnesota.

After a while, I became bored with this fantasy life of hers and mine.  basically living as doctors and potentially maintaining a relationship.  I started to send her more sexually explicit communications, and I even texted to her that I wanted to be her lil' nigger.  She did what most professional would do and most civil people would do.  She denied the arousal and intrigue of the word nigger.  She started to want to cut ties from me. 

I persisted though. 

It was an amusing thing to do and learn from.  How far would she take it.  What would she really do.  Would she have a change of heart?

She moved to rochester.
I continued to send emails to her and I sent links to differnet songs. 
She requested that I stop contacting her.

I did for a while  and then I continued contacting her again.

She eventually a restraining order and told me that it would ruin my career. 

I wondered if she would really do that?

I really did not have much to lose.  I was already over my career as a fisician.


I kept contacting her.



Then in 2018, I received an email from a lawyer, explaining to me that Magdalena had filed a restraining order against me, and that I was not to have any contact with her for a year and half.

She had written in her request for a restraining order that I was a doctor and that I would likely have the means to travel to Minnesota.

So I did.

I bought a ticket and went to minnesota.

But before that, I bought a hand gun and a silencer, and packed a knife.  I went to https://www.whitepages.com/, and I subscribed.  I found her address quite easily, and wrote it down.  Then I was on my way to minnesota to make her prediction come true.

I hired an uber to carry me to her place.  and I waited for her.  I sat just to the left of her porch, hidden from view of her drive way.

Once her car drove up the driveway, I got the gun ready.

As she opened the door of her BMW X3, I approached her and pointed my gun right at her forehead.  She jerked back and became even more pale.  She did say a word though.  I told her to get out of her car slowly, and go to her front door, and open it.  She obliged.  She was already aware of the worst possible outcome.

I closed the door behind us and immediately, I shot her in the front of her forehead, through her frontal lobes.  Presumably the bullet lodged in her parietal lobes somewhere.

She fell to the floor.

I removed her pants and her panties, and I raped her.  She still managed to have some lubrication, as she was likely still breathing.  She was not dead yet.

Then I dismembered her with my knife.  I cut off her limbs and sectioned her thorax and abdomen and pelvis.

it was a bloody mess.

I went to her kitchen, looking for bags to put her body parts in.  she was like a bit of chicken parts waiting to be frozen.  I noticed that she had a blender.  So I got it and I diced her body some more; into small enough parts to fit her parts into that blender.

I then minced and pureed her body, adding water.  I poured her parts into bags and containers and put her in the fridge. 

I stayed in her house and ate her each day.

For some reason no one seemed to be missing Magdalena Romanowicz. 

She tasted better this way, even better than merely eating out her pussy.

After finishing her over the course of a year, I left her place and returned to the airport.  I flew back to boston and decided to sit at my computer notebook and type this out today.

Rest in peace, Magdalena Romanowicz.





Adrian Dane Kenny, M.D.
Jamway Hospital.