Trey Sesler. HOLY DOGSHIT ON A STICK, this guy is the human equivalent of a VCR stuffed with cat puke. He wanted to be the next big “school shooter legend,” but instead he’s the broken-ass bootleg cartridge of wannabe mass murderers. He slaughtered his own family—his own goddamn family—just so they wouldn’t watch him live out his little Columbine fanfiction. And then? He pussied out! He bailed harder than a NES game crashing on the final level. What a monumental sack of donkey diarrhea.
And now he’s still breathing, still wasting oxygen, because the court gave him the “legally insane” cheat code. Oh, give me a break! That’s not insanity—that’s just being a spineless, sweaty nutsack who realized real life doesn’t come with anime cutscenes. He’s the kind of guy who would rage quit Solitaire.
Meanwhile, his surviving relatives lost a brother, sister, and grandson because this ass-goblin wanted to “outdo Columbine.” But guess what, Trey? You didn’t outdo SHIT. Sandy Hook came along in 2012 and nuked your pathetic little scoreboard into oblivion. You couldn’t even win in the worst contest imaginable. You’re like showing up to the Olympics and tripping on the starting line—except instead of medals, it’s body counts, and you LOST.
So now what’s your legacy? You’re not infamous. You’re not scary. You’re not even a cautionary tale. You’re the fucking E.T. Atari cartridge of mass shooter wannabes: buried, forgotten, and only ever dug up as an example of how bad it can get. You failed at life, failed at death, and now you’re sitting in prison like a turd that won’t flush.
Trey Sesler, you are the festering hemorrhoid on the ass of history. The skidmark in the underwear of humanity. The kind of useless failure that makes people want to invent new swear words just to describe how much of a waste of ballsack space you are. You’re the kind of guy who’d fuck up a Pop-Tart. You’re not even worth spitting on. You’re the toenail fungus of mankind.
Go rot, you forgotten YouTube jackass.