I went to great effort to kill my wife recently, with a completely untraceable poison obtained from a plant that grows for just two weeks on the eastern side of a Peruvian mountain.
Inert in it’s natural state, it’s toxin can only be harvested if brewed in milk freshly drawn from a species of endangered goat found near the top of a Himalayan mountain, the name of which I can’t even pronounce.
Once brewed, it must be dried in the June (specifically mid-month) sun of the Cote d’azur on the French Riviera. Once dried, it has to be baked into a cake containing eggs from an albino quail that has never laid eyes on a human. Performing this herculean task left me a broken man, both physically and financially but it worked perfectly. The greedy cunt choked to death on it.