He scammed, seduced, and stabbed… business in the front, murder in the back.
The Final Act of a Serial Seducer
On May 15, 2025, Glen Edward Rogers… serial killer, grifter, and self-declared ladies’ man, was executed by lethal injection in Florida. And just before the drugs kicked in, he decided to go out the same way he lived: confusing, manipulative, and somehow still making it all about him.
His final words? A jumble of vague promises and a shoutout to Donald Trump. (Because when you’re facing eternal judgment, why not try to win over the Fox News demo?)
“I know there’s a lot of questions that you need answers to,” he told the victims’ families. “I promise you in the near future the questions will be answered, and I hope in some way it will bring you closure.”
Pause for dramatic effect. Then: “President Trump, keep making America great. I’m ready to go.”
And poof… off to wherever you go when you’ve burned every bridge on Earth.
A Brief, Murdery Resume
Glen Rogers made his name in the ‘90s by being the kind of guy you wouldn’t leave alone with your drinks, or your electrical wiring. He was slick. Charming. Kinda hot in that “bad idea with a pulse” kind of way. He talked fast, drank faster, and had a habit of leaving bodies behind when he left town.
He was convicted of two murders but suspected of many more. Glen claimed to have killed over 70 people, which sounds less like a confession and more like a late-stage bid for attention. The known victims include:
- Tina Marie Cribbs, 34, met Rogers in a Florida bar. Two days later, she was found stabbed in a motel bathroom, left there like yesterday’s laundry.
- Sandra Gallagher, 33, was last seen with Rogers in California. Her body turned up in her own burning car. Casual.
- Linda Price, his girlfriend at the time (and yes, people dated this guy), was found stabbed in her home in Mississippi.
- Andy Lou Sutton, a mother of four in Louisiana, ended up dead after meeting Glen. Classic Glen.
- Mark Peters, 72, was a man Rogers met in Ohio. His body was found in a cabin owned by Glen’s family, because if you’re gonna murder someone, why not drag your relatives into it?
Authorities officially tied him to five deaths. Rogers said the real number was in the dozens. Which is a bold claim from a guy whose greatest skill was lying to literally everyone.
The O.J. Simpson Theory (Because This Story Somehow Gets Dumber)
Now, let’s talk about one of the wildest left turns in an already unhinged life: Glen Rogers claimed he was involved in the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman.
Yes. That case.
In a 2012 documentary, titled “My Brother the Serial Killer,” because even his own family was like, “Yeah, that guy sucks”… Glen’s brother said Glen confessed to being hired by O.J. Simpson to break into Nicole’s house and steal some jewelry, and then things got out of hand.
It sounds like something Glen made up to keep the spotlight on himself, which… checks out. The LAPD didn’t buy it. Neither did the courts. But Glen was never one to let truth get in the way of a good headline.
The Last Supper
Glen’s final request? Pizza. Chocolate cake. A soda.
Which, honestly, is the death row equivalent of eating like a seven-year-old whose parents are out of town. It’s not dignified, but it is fitting.
Final Thoughts
So Glen Rogers, the self-proclaimed Casanova, part-time conman, and full-time psychopath, finally got his curtain call. And in true Glen fashion, he made it weird. This guy spent years manipulating, lying, and straight-up murdering people across the country… and when he finally had one last moment to speak, he used it to shout out Donald Trump? That’s sort of on brand, I suppose. Honestly, if the goal was to confuse everyone one last time, mission accomplished.
But let’s not get lost in the absurdity of his exit line. This was a man who preyed on women who trusted him, who spun stories and left devastation in his wake. He wasn’t just dangerous… he was calculating. The kind of guy who could sweet-talk his way into your living room and then never leave… because you wouldn’t survive long enough to kick him out.
And now he’s gone. No confessions. No real closure. Just a pizza, some chocolate cake, and a cryptic farewell that sounds like a lame campaign slogan.
There’s no poetic justice here. Just justice. Finally. And if there’s any takeaway, it’s this: Monsters don’t always look like monsters, sometimes they look like the guy buying you a drink at the bar.
