Jack the Stripper

My name is Jack. That is all you need to know me by, unless you would rather refer to me like the media does. If that is the case, then by all means call me Jack the Stripper. That one sounds more entertaining, doesn't it? Now, now, I know the name may sound misleading. Media tends to do that to people. They butcher even the simplest of names and twist it to sound like something the person is not. It's easier to get higher ratings then. Because of their fancy naming, you may be wondering how I came to be named such a thing. Well, it is simple, really. For example, I am no stripper...well, not the kind of stripper that may come to your mind, anyway. As a Reporter, I'm sure you realize that, Mr. Dawes, is that correct? Of course it's correct. Now, let me guess why you're here. Let me ponder a reason as to why you would be in this room with me, in a high security prison facility, so far from the comfort of your own home. May I guess? I believe I shall. Are you here to interrogate me? No. No, that doesn't sound correct at all. You're here to question me, no doubt. Possibly ask about my life and why I chose the path I did? Does that sound more like the agenda you're here following? Because that sounds like it to me. You look like a hard worker, Mr.Dawes. Or, as hard of a worker as a rich boy can be, that is. Your hair is slick, your skin unblemished, your suit and shoes polished, and your equipment is top of the line. So you're not a full blue collar. You're more of a blue blood, or whatever they call them nowadays. I don't even remember anymore. You sure look well enough off to not be starving in this economy, though. Well, shall we get started? I don't want to be late for the evening meal. I'll be quite upset if that becomes the case. I do love my meals to be on time. So, let's get started. My name is Jack, and, as you probably know already, I am your worst nightmare.