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WHERE MY LIFE TOOK A TURN FOR THE WORST...

  WHERE DO I BEGIN??? I suppose at the beginning...

  I was born in July 1965 but you can trace the date back & it was about Halloween 1964 that I was concieved underneath some lucky star. I guess you could say that my life took a turn for the worse since then. Lucky... lucky me... I was born in the USA, yeah... lucky me... feel the luck... yeah, luck... Greatest country in the world... maybe the greatest nation ever... the land of opportunity... lucky lucky me...

  From my earliest memory I was continually a prisoner, kept in a solitary cell with a single object for company, A red metal toy fire truck about 5" long, a blanket, & a pillow. I couldn’t count nor did I know how to record time. The world was my cell, oh, they gave it a nice name, a crib.... there was a single door to the room which rarely ever opened & a window that was impossible for me to see out of except by the act of disobedience. You see, I could climb up the headboard & peer into the never-changing wooded environment beyond my prison. Escape was all but impossible & brought with it the same penalty I received for making even a single noise that could be heard by anyone in the living room & my ______ (honor honor honor) sat on a couch adjacent to room all day listening for the slightest peep.

  In truth they did let me out a few times, she even left the door to my room open sometimes & I could listen to the TV but not see it, fun times yeah, fun times...

  One day my ______ (honor honor honor) left her Bro in charge of me & she went to give birth to a baby. Her Bro let me have run of the house while she was gone. It was a period of grand discovery.

  Then, she brought back a baby who I'll nickname what society will likely call him, "Serial Rapist".

  Serial Rapist wasn't much fun, he just laid there. But every now & again he'd cry & someone would eventually tend to him. Good times. Yeah. Good times...

  Serial Rapist grew & he was ever violent from the first days he could get up & I continually endured his slaps & bites. Then I would be punished for whatever I'd done "to make the innocent boy attack me". My ______ (honor honor honor) told me that I was responsible for his every misdeed & because he was a little child his mind could not even conceive of evil, thus by logical deduction if he was in any mischief I was obviously the ringleader & thus punished. Punishment was nearly always 20-30 slaps to the face, sometimes the bottom, and sometimes with a belt. So I received punishments for his every vocalization, slap, bite, theft, & wanderings (cell escapes that I'd "Obviously motivated him to do, it's only logical".

  As soon as he was able to stand continually he became ever more sadistic & violent. This infuriated my ______ (honor honor honor) so she separated our cells, uhhh... I mean cribs & made it an even more severe punishment to leave them or to even make the slightest sound. Then she slammed the door and it was almost never opened again. Listening to the TV & the occasional adventures into the living room were over.

  To share toys Serial Rapist & I had to throw them between us. Neither of us were very good throws so we often missed. If we hit each other & cried out or if throwing made a noise my ______ (honor honor honor) would burst in & announce me as the ringleader. Pain would soon follow. Ow...

  Life in solitary... Uhhh... I mean life in the crib wasn't all peaches and cream. Every once in a while my _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor Honor Honor) might burst into the room and announce that I, we could leave our crib to play with the children of friends of her's who'd just arrived. Picture the guy I suspect society will call Serial Rapist and I climbing over the bars of our cells, uhhh, cribs with glee and rushing to meet these children who lived a life of freedom. While they were never, never the same batch of kids twice they were unfailingly polite and a joy to play with... until the adults left the room. Usually, the biggest announced that they were in charge, and all ALL of them eventually announced the price of our freedom. "You have to be our slave". Or versions like unto it, but it ALLWAYS included the word slave when spoken. Serial Rapist was unfailingly docile as was I, at first, up and until the moment one of their commands wasn't something I'd want to do. A situation thatusually occured in the first minute or two. So they told me they'd beat me up to make me obey them. I never, never once obeyed any of them. As for the fighting part? I was a kid who sat all day in a crib every day. I was never even slightly a match for virtually any of my attackers, I mean would-be playmates. Eventually my _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor Honor Honor) would hear the melee and investigate. No matter what was said, no matter if she'd seen the fight or not, I, me, I was the guilty party. "They say you started it"! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Or the ever popular... "Yes I saw them start it. What did you do to them to make them hit you"? SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Blows were allmost exclusively to the face.

  Today, as usual she adds. "Everybody line up! We're all going to hit David"! A long line of 5-20 people slap me 20-30+ times each. Ho hum... same old, same old.

  Today, as sometimes happened, often, commonly, one of the Trio, or Serial-Rapist yelled with glee what they often yelled while pointing at me.. "LOOK! DAVID IS ANGRY"! Not just her... the subject could be brought up to any adult familiar with My _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor).

  Yup... I was a little angry at the scene unfolding before me. Yeah... I said it... Angry.

  My Mother (honor honor honor) announced, as usual. "YOU'RE ANGRY? CHRISTIAN'S NEVER GET ANGRY! EVERYBODY LINE UP WE'RE ALL GOING TO HIT DAVID AGAIN"! She liked to explain herself... It seems she was convinced that all "true Christians, any "real Christian" had total control over their emotions, specificly anger, and showing the least amount by myself and myself alone was an extreme punishment situation. Yeah, I tried correcting her, pointing out that in the bible the saint's of old got angry often, God himself got angry often in the bible. She would hear none of it and no amount of proof nor logic would sway her from her position. To her, I was a Christian (her version of what a Christian should be, not what a Christian should be, I assure you my loyal readers), and as such I would obey ALL that she perceived was Christianity (a hodgepodge of things she'd picked up alonng the way). Thus, adults, children, anyone who would do so all lined up again, usually no matter how much they'd hit me before. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Hits typicly numbered 20-30 but if the given gauntlet enthusiast chose to go into the hundreds the subject was not even brought up.

  Today, the Trio of Cousins and Serial-Rapist sneak back into line... there was no argueing the point, though I tried often, they would swear they hadn't gone yet, then enjoy the carnival atmospere some more. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Trio # 1 has his fill and leaves.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Trio # 2 has his fill and leaves.
  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Trio #3 has his filll and leaves.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Serial Rapist has his fill and leaves. The long line of enthusiasts stand ready...

  Of course I would be sent back to solitary confinement where the snickering Serial Rapist with the red glowing palm would later brag about his day, both the fun and the "slave" part. "Why don't you just obey them? At least you'll get out of your crib sometimes"?

  My Cousin bragged on the situation. It was how he groomed his young victims. "Didn't you ever notice that everyone who comes over to play with you tells you that if you want to get out of your crib you have to be their slave? It's how I groom my young victims". He went on and on about how my willingness to be the children's slave for so chaep a price as freedom would groom me for a life of servicing his gang.

  I allmost told him that I'd never obeyed that command once... then I thought maybe I'd best keep that fact to myself.

  Pain is and was my constant companion. Ow...

  Years pass...

  One day we moved to a new house across the street from Tuscola County's biggest store. During the move the bars to Serial Rapist's crib were broken & he got free roam of the house. Me? I just sat there, a prisoner as always. At least in the old days I had some company, now the younger Serial Rapist roamed free. Oh well...

  After about 6 months my______ (honor honor honor) announced that I could leave my prison cell, on one condition. Now I was responsible for the guy who would grow up to be called Serial Rapist by society, I would be punished for his every misdeed. It was awful. I wanted to explore the world but to the selfish Serial Rapist it was all old news, he acted up at my every attempt to not cater to his every whim & I got slapped up for his every misdeed and temper tantrum. I felt like a kid in a candy store with everything locked up. Eh, it took time but I was eventually able to pry the clingy brat off me and begin to explore the world around me.

  The patriarch my family called "My cousin" who was a white-haired wild-eyed looking man in his 50s or 60's took me aside one day & told me I should thank him. It was he who freed me from my prison. "I'm the one who ordered your ______ (honor honor honor) to lock you in your crib & beat the s@#! out of you every time you made a noise. When the bars to Serial Rapist's crib broke I ordered your ______ (honor honor honor) to buy a new crib out of her own money but she said she couldn't afford it. Your family begged me to let you out of the crib by saying things like 'Serial Rapist is out of the crib so why not David? So I told her to let you out but only on the condition that she beat the living s@#! out of you for everything Serial Rapist did.

  I had to ask why he would do that to a child?

  "Your ___ (honor honor honor) once beat me up so as revenge I'm going to turn his boys mean". He told me that he was our family's crime-boss patriarch. Was he? All I knew is that everyone in my family obeyed him unquestioningly. Me too when he ordered my ______ (honor honor honor) to order me to obey him. He was an evil man who delighted in making up lies about me to make me do the gauntlet.

  What is the gauntlet? 3-12 children & adults would each line up and slap me in the face as much as they desired. The average amount of hits was 20-30 but if the participant chose to go into the hundreds the subject was never brought up. Serial Rapist was the most gleeful of every gauntlet participant.

  Worse was if I accidently made a reflex block during the gauntlet my ______ (honor honor honor) would announce. "You blocked. We're going to begin again". In pure ecstasy my extended cousins & their friends along with Serial Rapist & his sibling would line up again. It was awful to hear the above sentence for the third time.

  Many participants bragged to me that they intended to mix in a few punches or kicks with their slaps. Blocking these attacks was acceptable but often came with a new punishment. "What did you do to them to make them punch you"? Blocking these blows added an additional level of difficulty & prompted many a reflex block on my part.

  Playing with me or even talking to me was an extreme punishment for the people that my family told me were my extended cousins. Though I grew up around them I had no idea what their names were nor anything about them. Serial Rapist knew many of them but when my Cousin and my Trio of Cousins began to demand of me questions like. "What is my name"? I couldn't answer, I had no Idea. So a gauntlet would begin. They'd keep asking and I would be punished for lying, I knew they told me and the gauntlet began anew. Serial Rapist loved it! He'd brag to me. "I love hitting you". A sentence he repeated all throughout my childhood.

  Then one day a pair of average looking teenagers showed up at my Tuscola County home across from the big store and announced to my ______ (honor honor honor) & I that they were there to teach me how to fight! “Do you want to learn how to fight”? WOW! Yes I did, I was tired of being everyone’s whipping boy.

  So my ______ (honor honor honor) sat at the kitchen table & we went into the living room. Once there they knocked me down & proceeded to beat me up. So I cried out! My ______ (honor honor honor) came in and asked why I cried out. They made up a lie so my ______ (honor honor honor) let them do a gauntlet on me for lying. Then she left & they attacked anew. I cried out! I was accused of lying! A gauntlet ensued! Then they tackled me & began pounding on me & twisting limbs! I cried out! I was accused of lying! A gauntlet ensued! Then they tackled me & began pounding on me & twisting limbs! I cried out! I was accused of lying! A gauntlet ensued! Then they tackled me & began pounding on me & twisting limbs! I cried out! I was accused of lying! A gauntlet ensued! Then they tackled me & began pounding on me & twisting limbs! Eventually I learned to keep my mouth shut.

  The pair came nearly every day & I never learned their names. I couldn’t yet count nor tell time but the pain ALLWAYS lasted an hour & I knew that the pain would end when the big hand on the clock reached the top. They never cheated the hour and came 3-5 days a week. Pain… my life was a continuous never-ending blur of pain from all sides, pain… ow…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  I began to have these nightmares...

  They were simply awful… the first reoccurring dream was about gangsters. They were teenagers, always a dozen or so & always impeccably dressed. They enjoyed beating me up & robbing me at gunpoint & seemed to live for the singular goal of stealing my pants. They were ever cruel & they all had guns. Pain, pain, pain…

  The next reoccurring dream was about vampires. The entire scene was centered on a fill in the blank, uhh… they show dead people there uhh where I was confined to the basement while my ______ (honor honor honor) played cards & drank beer outside sitting with a bunch of adults I didn’t know. I was required to do chores, mopping, sweeping, & general cleaning under threat of great pain by everyone there. When I balked they proved it wasn’t a hollow threat! Pain was on the menu, not only for me but for the other kids who were my age that seemed to show up once or twice & then never again. The entire scene was filled with intrigue & murder. Eh, it sucked.

  The final reoccurring nightmare was simply awful. Werewolves chased me through a graveyard surrounded by a very tall metal fence with formidable sharpened spikes on top of them. They chased me into the wee hours of the night & when I awoke it felt like I had been running all night. The werewolves weren’t werewolves like you’d expect. The only canine qualities they had happened when they’d turn around & put their hands to their face, they’d turn back around & a fuzzy patch barely covered around their eyes & nose.  My trio of “cousins” appeared in the dreams from time to time & so did my ______’s Brother & they too chased me endlessly into the night. The only exit was a gate alongside a road & the pair of men who guarded it would transform into werewolves whenever anyone came near. Eh, it sucked.

  The pain of my days combined with the horror of my nights was becoming too much for me to bear & little 2 year old me sought advice on how to stop these mentally draining nightmares. I was as the edge & I could take no more of the constant pain that was my life. I sought the advice of my giggling _______ (honor honor honor) & her ever-present Brother. They mocked just like a Bay City… cop, telling me that a child’s mind was innocent & couldn’t conceive of such subjects let alone dream about them so through logical deduction I was lying. They would give me no help. So I asked my snickering extended family for help. Between laughing & telling me to get lost a few of them told me to confront my dreams.  Sooo I started to ask anyone who would listen for advice & my ______ (honor honor honor) quickly found out & banned me from discussing the subject under the threat of extreme violence.

  Miserable brat I was, it was the first time I ever defied her in my life, so I went behind her back & asked anyone who would listen to me for advice. I quizzed neighbors, I stopped passers-by, I even broke away from my ______ (honor honor honor) when she was shopping & began to ask random strangers for advice & their advice can be sorted into 3 categories. I offer a challenge to any doubters to go out into the world & ask random people for advice on how to stop nightmares & you WILL get the same answers, listed in order of occurrence.

 

  1. Confront your dreams: Most people gave me the advice to confront my nightmares by saying things like. “They’ll never go away unless you confront them”. I never had more than a minute or two to listen & discuss their advice before I was discovered. Confront! Confront! Confront! Ow...

  2. Reason with your nightmares: Many people gave me the advice that I should try to talk to the individuals in my dreams & find out why they’re being mean to me. Idiots…

  3. See where your dreams take you: The least amount of people gave me the advice to try & ride out my dreams & quit resisting them & see where they’re going or what message they were trying to teach me. It sounded easy enough. Morons...

  So I decided to first pursue the reasoning with my dream attacker. Ow… there was no reasoning with the gangster who told me to shut up & hand over my pants at gunpoint. The vampires just beat me all the more & the werewolves didn’t care what you said & kept chasing me into the night.

  So I decided to see where the dreams took me. Ow… that was stupid & I received much pain pursuing that idiotic plan. Grumble grumble.

  That left… “confront”. I had no one to ask for solid advice. No counseling, so I pondered my next action… “Hmmm, they did say confront”. But no one had explained what that meant in the fleeting moments that I’d been able to ask for advice between threats. “Hmmm… “confront”? I pondered the word “confront” for a while. It was then that I came up with my plan to deal with this horrible nightmare dilemma.  I had pain coming at me in all parts of my life. Something had to give. I had to end the pain, somehow, and now in at least one part of my life. But what did they mean by "confront"? “Well they did say confront”. So I decided that whenever one of my dream villains bothered me I’d simply kill them. It seemed simple enough & then once I’d confronted them all they’d go away (I thought I was sooo clever).

  How’d the plan work? It didn’t. I just wasn’t having many lucid moments during my dreams & when I did my plan to start killing my villains just didn’t occur to me. So I amended my plan, I decided to kill any of the dream villains when I saw them. It still didn’t work, my plan didn’t occur to me during my few & far between lucid moments & these guys were pouring on the pain by night & my family & their friends were pouring on the pain on by day. Something had to give! So I amended my plan. I thought it was distasteful at best, & it seemed hardly Christian, but I was desperate, I had to have at least some relief from the continuous pain either day or night. So I decided to simply kill everyone at all times in my dreams. Then, after I got my nightmares under control I’d quit it. I recall having nice dreams back then, good dreams where I had a lucid moment & thought to myself. “I’m dreaming. Time to start killing”. Then, I did. Sometimes, I imagined a weapon & it appeared in my hand & I started killing. Other times, I looked around for improvised weapons. Either way I just started killing people whenever I perceived I was dreaming (I thought I was sooo clever).

  How’d the plan work? Not so good, but it seemed more promising than the other plans. The gangsters & the vampires simply easily beat me up because I was just a little boy & the werewolves were all but impervious & I never could find any silver weapons lying around. The way I figured it was that I was just a little boy so that meant I was just a little boy in my dreams too, but one day I would get bigger & thus be bigger in my dreams. So I resolved to continue with my plan to just kill anyone & everyone I could in my dreams (until I could think of a better plan or the nightmares ended). Being that it was a severe punishment to even admit that I had nightmares (my _ _ _ _ _ _ honor honor honor told me that a child's mind was innocent & could not even conceive of such things let alone have nightmares, thus by logical deduction she knew I was lying & thus deserved punishment).

  During all this I was a Christian and I answered to the nickname "The Good Kid". Go figure...

 

  Matthew 18:6

         King James Version (KJV)

 

  But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were

better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were

drowned in the depth of the sea.

Exodus 20:12

King James Version (KJV)

 

12 Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.

  WHO WERE THOSE WOMEN...circa summer(?) of 67... kidnapping... pelvis rubbing... weird...

  I awoke in some middle-class home in a living room on a couch next to two women. It was an otherwise nicely furnished home with all the things of life arrayed about it, couches, chairs, pictures were hung here & there & it bordered a kitchen & dining room, each equally well furnished. The two women were giants to me. Pretty, one was in her late 20s & the other in her late 30s & dressed in jeans & a t-shirt & blouse respectively.

  I asked the pair where I was & I recall that their answer had no meaning to me. "Your _ _ _ _ _ _ (honor honor honor) left you here". Babysitting.

  Me? The ​thought of being left anywhere with anyone trying to be nice to me was a very alien concept. The girls did try to be nice. If you'd known me back then you'd have known that my life was a blur of pain & violence & the only people who were nice to me were the ones doing more violence that the rest. Eventually, I figured it was a kidnapping so I ran out the front door with the pair in tow! When I reached the mailbox I hesitated, I had no idea which way I should run. This gave the younger woman the opportunity to catch me! She chewed me out as she carried me bodily into the house. Once there they tried to be at least pleasant. When one of them turned their back I decided to call the police... or maybe even the telephone operator. I remember staring at the phone. I knew you had to dial "o" for the operator but I had no idea how to do it. SO I dialed random numbers hoping to get some help. The people on the end of the line seemed nice but the women caught me, seized the phone, & assured the people I'd randomly dialed that this wasn't a kidnapping, I was simply a brat kid making false accusations.

  I figured I'd better try to be nice to the increasingly violent women until another escape opportunity presented itself. Then, the oldest of the two beckoned me to go int the bedroom with her. Once there she ordered me to disrobe & lay on the bed. Then she jumped on me & began rubbing our pelvises together for a long time. Eventually she got tired of it & quit leaving me to ponder the situation before me. I recall thinking. "This is weird. This can't be happening. Is this a kidnapping? Pelvis rubbing? What is this situation"? I got dressed while I pondered what to & the world rippled before me. That's when I thought. "Ah hah! The world rippled. Duh. I must be dreaming. Well time to start killing". You see reader, I had to keep killing people if I was ever going to have success against my 3 nightmares.

  So I snuck into the kitchen & grabbed a pairing knife from the drawer & decided to kill the younger of the two first. Stabbing people to death by slicing thier legs is a time-consuming dangerous prospect. So I stood on the back of the couch that dominated the living room & beckoned her to me. She tried to get me off the couch so I acted silly, like I liked her to get her to relax & her eagerness to play nice made it work.

  Still, I needed to get her to turn her back, so I started pointing & asking her questions about the things in the room. "What's that"? Then she told me. Then I pointed in a direction a little more to her right & asked. "What's that"? Gradually I turned her around the room with my questions & that gave me the opening to slit her throat from behind using my right hand! She screamed! Then ran a few paces to her friend & died there.

  The older woman screamed at me. "You killed her"!

  I maintained my innocence & tried my best to get behind her. She wouldn't let me get behind her so I simply whipped out the knife & attacked her. We fought in between the living room & kitchen by the hallway to the bedrooms. I recall slicing her up while she defended herself with wide swings that were easy to block. Slicing he to death by cutting up her legs was taking too long. I figured I had to come up with another plan. A bold plan. So I climbed up the front of her body & slashed at her throat! She threw me off & ran down the hallway.

  Me? I flew through the air & landed on my feet & resumed my attack! Elapsed turnaround time 0.8 seconds. We fought on in the hallway & the memory end abruptly.

  In my previous letters to the F.B.I. I didn't bring up this middle part because the memory was too fragmented (I am sooo screwed, according to all the police I've met all victims on drugs have complete & total recall with absolute clarity, it's an infallible cop rule), after replaying the situation a hundred times in my mind I've been able to make sense of what happened next. Here goes...

  I came too at the end of the hallway with the pairing knife in my hand & a man in his 30s squatting down near me pointing down the hall at the woman lying on the floor. So I walked up to her. Then it occurred to me to turn around & kill the guy but when I turned around & looked for him he was long gone. So I went back to finish off the woman. On the way I recalled that lately in my dreams I'd been plagued with blunt knives & guns that had blanks in them so I checked the knife for it's sharpness. "This is dull... and it isn't even the same knife that I had before. So I went back to the kitchen & got a nice sharp one from the drawer. Then I returned to the woman who had no wounds that I could see that'd indicate that we'd fought. SO I grabbed her by the collar & decided to kill her, but I had a hunch. Though I had no evidence whatsoever to support what I did next... it was a hunch. I had a hunch she was faking it. I figured she'd think I had a dull blade so I told her. "Quit faking being dead or I'll stab you in the eye"! It wasn't the same woman I'd chased into the hallway. This woman was in her 20's & shorter.

  Eh, she was faking. We talked about it... I cant recall it well enough to write it down... then, eventually I slit her throat.

  Then I wandered the apartment looking for food, fail that I decided to lay down on the couch & watch some TV. The world drifted away...

  A pretty girl in her 20s awoke me & shouted. "YOU KILLED THEM"! She was flanked by what seemed to be an otherwise normal family of 5-7

  Me? I maintained my innocence as a ruse to facilitate sneaking up on them & killing them. Eh, we fought... The memory end abruptly...

  Time passes...

  I came too in some lower-class house... I have no idea where nor whom the 20ish & 30ish year old women were. The world rippled fiercely so I immediately concluded that this was a dream. "I'm dreaming. Time to start killing". Them women seemed completely on-guard. Eventually I tricked one into stepping out of the room & it gave me the chance I needed to... See "The Chance I needed"... in the too be continued section.

 

  I'll finish this up later reader... for now it hurts too much...

  Purely for entertainment purposes, I ask the reader to enjoy a

picture of a full grown man lovingly staring into a little girls eyes.

  Whatever...

KIDNAPPED & DRAGGED TO WISCONSIN IN EARLY SPRING OF 1977... said Snitchgirl...

  Snitchgirl told me. "You shot 2 cops for Jerk. Don't you remember?

  So I asked Snitchgirl "Where did I shoot them"? I asked.

  "In wisconsin. Jerk has a freind who owns a stripclub along the illinois/wisconsin border".

  "Where at"? I quizzed her.

  "I don't know because they go to great lengths to make sure that we don't know where. All I know about it is that the guy has a big man-made private pond in his back yard".

  Shooting cops? Eh... it was easy. The pair of uniformed cops arrested F.B. & My Buddy so Duh Jerk gave me a pump shotgun & shouted while pointing. "Go get them back"! His orders were clear to my torture numbed mind, retrieve F.B. & My Buddy at all costs. "Shoot them if you have to".

  I complained that I was tired of playing his russian roulette games with blanks in the gun. "If they are real cops & there's blanks in the gun then they'll shoot me". He assured me that real rounds were in the gun.

  So I ran up on them & their car & opened fire. Ho hum. BOOORRING. Thinking. "Only aimed shots hit". While looking down the barrel of the gun. I won.

  F.B. was glad I freed him from the back of their squad car. I didn't return the sentiment.

  I wasn't happy one bit. Then, the cop by the driver's side door began to get up. So I put the shotgun to his face when he looked up at me & pulled the trigger. BANG! WOW! Did F.B. shudder & look surprised!

  I'm sorry...

  THAT "FIRST WEEK" TWOARDS THE END OF "THE GYM"... Spring 1977 My _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor Honor Honor) hands me over...

  It was an unusually warm early spring in Michigan in spring of 1977 & I was 11 years old. I recall I was minding my own beeswax when the guy society will call Serial Rapist walked up to me & told me that my _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor) wanted to talk to me in our Bay City Michigan South-end front yard. So I sought her out.

  I found the woman in our front yard talking with my attempted murderer & soon to be lifelong stalker kidnapper & torturer Duh Jerk himself. "I've got good news for you". She told me while pointing at him. "He wants to take you to his place for a week long workshop designed to improve your grades".

  Me? To say I was alarmed is an understatement. I too pointed at Duh Jerk & said. "But _ _ (Honor honor honor) this is the guy who's been trying to kill me in the gym". I perceived that my life was in extreme peril and I pondered running away to save my very existence. One, I was a Christian and my Bible is quite clear and without any loopholes (that I was aware of at any rate) and told me that I had to obey my parents unquestioningly. Two, I felt I had to keep my ethics absolutely pure or God wouldn't help me. And three, Duh Jerks words from when he tried to recruit me rang loudly in my ears. "Once they ["they" being the Child-Molestor's many child victims] wind up there we torture them at our leisure & they can cry all they want & no one believes them because they're trouble-makers". I realised that running away from this problem would only hand me directly into the gang's clutches, and without any hope nor remedy.

  Threats poured from her lips (Honor honor honor). To even admit "The Gym" was taking place was an extreme punishment, enforced due to logical deduction. You see she'd told me. "You're a Christian. And Christians are by definition are weak". Thus by logical deduction she could divine that I was lying because I said the gym was about someone attacking me & I hadn't lost. Thus I was a liar & deserved punishment. Usually 200-300 slaps to the face... sometimes less... sometimes more... How do I know? I counted them

  After hearing my protests she (Honor honor honor) told me. "Go to school or I'll call the police & make you a ward of the state". A subject Duh Jerk bragged on much... that I would not like it one bit.

  Duh Jerk used to brag. "We own the people who decide where the kids go in the Bay City Foster Homes". "Once they land in one of our Foster homes we torture them at our leisure & they can cry to the cops all they want but no one will believe them because they're trouble-makers". Laugh laugh laugh, he loved to laugh at the horrors he inflicted on the innocent children of America. "Most of our people love kids but if it's between you and them they'll torture them to preserve our lifestyle. It all works out in the end because once we torture them the end product is someone like us".

  I pondered the situation before me. I was a Christian & they called me "The Good Kid". It was a title I answered to wheresoever I went. "The Good Kid" behaves. "The Good Kid" obeys unquestioningly. As it was in "The Gym" I felt I had to keep my ethics pure or I wouldn't survive. Shaking my head & with my head hung low I agreed to attend his "workshop" which I suspected was my death. I was tired after what had been happening to me in the gym. A month’s long attempted murder on my person designed to make my death look like an accident to anyone who wasn't there when I died. Somehow... I'd live through that day too, and I was so tired. If I'd had one shoulder to cry on I know I could've been strong, but I was as alone as you could get. I got into Jerk's car entertaining the possibility that he'd keep his word & be nice to me.

  We drove away & we didn't even have the courtesy to wait the entire block before slapping me, handing me a half-full Faygo, & saying. "Drink this"! "I’m going to get you for all of the trouble you cause me you son of a b@#$!".!

  I suspected poison was in the bottle. I pondered my _ _ _ _ _ _'s (Honor honor honor) word ordering me to obey. So I drank it & the world faded away.

  What followed was a blur of torture, pain, and humiliation. Tied nude face down to a table with my legs up & down 10 of my Bay City classmates & 10 of "the Munger Boys" & Serial Rapist (not counting a few Bay City... cops made guest appearances) took turns with Duh Jerk beating me, slapping my face, and humiliating me with cruel tortures & skits that my drugged sleep-deprived mind had to endure. They kept me awake for weeks & drove me to the brink of madness in shifts. They pushed me to the limits of human endurance over & over. They made sure to eat all of their meals in front of me. I was eleven years old... 11...

  We'll ignore that for now... I'm sure once the authorities have the gang begging to cut deals with the courts to save their skins they'll tell you about the weeks long torture funfest (from their own "victim's perspective" because the gang are professional victims in all things, literally) and lets go straight to the parts that make me look bad (eh, I'm contrary. The pay's not good for being contrary but it has its benefits).

  Sooo... there I was in a darkened living room a few blocks west of Bay City's Community Center near the park in a drug-induced sleep-deprived haze. The world rippled very much so around me so I turned to my classmates, my would-be killers with hundreds of attempts each on me and asked them one at a time questions like. "Hey. Do you want to go kill people"? To which they snickered & laughed. Pointing into the room I said things like. "Wanna help me kill them"? They too were 11 & 12 years old & giggled & mocked my requests which were not few in number & were very graphic.

  I said things like. "Do you wanna go out and jill some people? Come on, it'll be fun". And said things like unto it in a futile attempt to convince my classmate/attempted/murdering/kidnapping/torturing/child-porn-enthusiast to go on a rampage with me.

  Some of the children mocked me. Others like Snitch Girl looked at me in wide eyed horror and declined my invitation leaving going to the next child as my only option. I went from kid to kid. Rapist to rapist. From attempted child-murderer to attempted child-murderer.

  After letting me do this for quite some time Duh Jerk entered the room and in a stern, defensive voice pointed at me & said to his partners in crime. "SEE? Do you want proof he's the scumbag here? There it is! He's a serial killer"!

  The many children assembled there, all of them were my attempted murderers & they agreed with him.

  Later Snitch Girl told me that she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was a serial killer & used those exact words & accused me thusly in a Bay City Public School during school hours. "You're a serial killer! Don't try to deny it. I've seen it! You tried to get us kids to help you kill people and we turned you down". She told me that my reputation as "The Good Kid" proceeded me & the children of "the gym" were beginning to have doubts as to who was really the bad guy in the room & I'd left them no doubt & they felt good about my weeks long kidnapping, rape, & torture at their hands. She informed me that due to her training as an experienced Child-Molestor torturess she and her classmates were experts on the subject of desires & who and what a person is really like when they are on the gang's drug(s?). That & the 2 guys I'd killed for them (she was at both slayings) during those 2 weeks of torture & deprivation convinced her & my classmates that I was just another scumbag "who had it coming".

  "We had to wash brains out of our hair". She lamented.

  Whatever...

Bay City Public School employees in a meeting on the clock waiting to discuss what they should do with me next.

  LET THE LETTER WRITING BEGIN... it seemed like a good plan... at first...

  It was a little after the Captain of the Football Team's Final Insult... the last words that child ever spoke as a living person. "You're not dreaming you idiot". Imagine that possibility oh wise among my readers. The possibility that the last word you will ever say before you begin your descent into hell was... "Idiot".

  All of my previous plans to get the Child-Molestors off of me had failed. They could still kidnap, rape, & torture me with impunity. Nay, with the cooperation of law-enforcement. I was cracking up. losing it. The carnage had to stop.

  So I came up with a plan. Not a new plan, in fact, the one I'd been using up & until now. I hit the streets with My Buddy in tow & begged everyone who would talk to me for advice. Here I'll list a few.

  1) "Go to the cops". The number one advice. When I told them that failed they tended to say...

  2) "Go to the church". When I told them that all of the Christians I talked to balked at confronting the Child-Molestors, were outright terrified, or told me things like. "I'd help you but I've got a family & a mortgage to worry about".

  3) "Kill them". I was surprised by the number of people on the street &... even cops on the clock in uniform who gave me this advice. I asked them. "If I start killing people will you believe me more"? Not a single person, cops nor people on the street answered yes. Inevitably I sometimes asked. "If I start killing them & go to prison will you come visit me in prison"? No one answered in the affirmative. Not one...

  4) "Keep calling groups to find someone who will help you". In fact, and I'm ashamed to say this because I'm a Christian... but the only ones who ever offered to help me as I called organisation after organisation were the Muslims. Unfortunately they worded tier offer of help like this. "We'll help you. But only if you agree to convert to Islam".

  I was an atheist back then, but I couldn't bring myself to fake being a Muslim, even if it meant freedom from the Child-Molestors. And here's why. Because I figured there was no God, but, I'd seen a lot of things in this world, it was possible that there was a God, and I had no intention of joining any religion that I didn't believe in because if even a single person joined that group because of me & later went to eternal damnation, it was unacceptable. Hey, I didn't say you'd like my reason reader. I only said that I would tell my reason to you. Sigh...

  5) Eventually, people occasionally said as they had in times past... "Write letters to a bunch of people and ask for help".

  It seemed logical, I had the cash, so I bought a bunch of envelopes & stamps & began to do just that. Read about it below...

 

  LET THE LETTER WRITING BEGIN... fond memories...

  Sooo... there I was, in the Bay City Tax-payer Funded Jr. Rapist Learning Academy... uhhh... oops, I mean Bay City's Largest School minding my own beeswax when an appointed Child-Molestor Braggart came walking up to me... He asked me about my letter writing campaign?

  I told him he'd heard wrong. I never did go through with the letter writing campaign.

  He answered. "Yes you did. Don't you remember"?

  Yeah, he was right, I did...

  The gang drugged me and convinced me to continue writing letters pleading with various authorities and community leaders for help against the Child-Molestor gang back in circa 1979.

  At times I recall sitting at our dining room table that Duh Jerk and the 4 Stars had set up in my living room. Snickering and giggling they  gave me advice on how to better write letters begging for help. You see reader, their drug(s?) render their victim's judgment impaired. What that means is that your brain's cylinders just aren't all firing, nor are they in perfect alignment. THOUGH I WAS ENGAGED IN THE VERY ACT OF WRITING LETTERS BEGGING FOR HELP FROM THE PEOPLE BEFORE ME, IT DIDN'T OCCUR TO ME WHO THEY WERE.

  A few times I recall writing yet another letter and being very satisfied with myself and at all the good advice the guys were giving me.

  Then, I became semi-lucid and truly read the document before me. Though I'd just finished it seconds ago and was standing next to Duh Jerk (an educator) the document was gibberish from beginning to end. Then, I pondered how this could be? In a moment of time I realized that I was both drugged and the very guys I was writing about were next to me, IN MY OWN HOUSE!

  The fight was on!

  Jocks flowed from the kitchen and from the bedrooms. So I leaped out the living room window and fought their jocks there! uhhh... I lost.

  Later I recall even more jocks were positioned outside at the times when I would next become lucid.

  Back in the present the Child-Molestor bragged that now the gang had those letters, some were complete gibberish, some were partial gibberish, and all of them proved I was a madman, in his and his master's opinion.

  Sooo... I realized that  since they'd allegedly sent those letters out that I'd burned every possible bridge in all of America that might one day help me. That was it, I was finished! Then I resolved, that one day I would pursue another letter campaign when all of the people I'd written to before would have forgotten or moved on.

  I was surprised when the last snitch brought them up 3 decades later. In his opinion the letters were quite damming. All part of the gang's massive treasure trove of artifacts that they brag will enable them to not only put me down, but a lot of others too. "Nobody remembers the gym anymore". He said. "The Children of the Gym are getting older now so we've decided to kill them off one at a time. We own them all and their families too so their wont be anyone asking any questions". "We've only got one loose end of the gym and that's you. Once the Kids of the Gym destroy you in front of the cops we can pretty much do anything we want to them".

  Yeah... whatever...

 

 

  "YOU KILLED THOSE 4 KIDS"... Bay City circa 1972... Some... cops should look up the word "circa"...

  Sooo... there I was, minding my own beeswax in my _ _ _ _ _ _' _ parent's. It was a happening kind of place back in 1972, it had been since 1968 or so by my recollections. There was a bigger than normal crowd there that day. Usually, it numbered 20-30 people every time I went there. Sometimes it numbered up to 50, weekly or so, all spread out evenly between thier backyard and the 2 neighboring yards, not counting what was often a mystery number who were partying in said homes as well as well as at the many picnic tables spread out among the yard. The houses were modest middle-class homes with huge yards on the edge of the city.

  Who were the people partying? Idano? You see, talking to me was forbidden and could land a child in a great amount of punishment. It was worse was for the adults. My nameless Cousin, self-declared "Family Patriarch" dealt major amounts of hurting to any of them who dared to talk to me for more than a few moments. Every now and again people with casts on broken and twisted limbs angrilly accused me of inciting my Cousin to order them injured for daring to talk to me for more than a few seconds.

  My family told me that many of the guests were my extended cousins, about 5 to 8 of who I can call party "regulars". The rest, though my family and I might attend the parties 3-5 days a week I rarely ever saw the same person twice, other than the regulars that is. Who were they, what were thier names? I can't say, I never got to talk to a single one of them for more than a minute or so before they told me things like. "After what your _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor) did to me I ain't talking to you! Get lost"! Stll others told me things like. "After what your _ _ _ _ _ _ did to my kids I ain't talking to you". Others told me to get lost, lest they be punished next. Some violently. Others, very violently. Very... very... violently.

  Usually, but not always, I stood in the middle of the party, just stood there. You see, for me to step near anyone was to invite immediate attack, usually. If anyone could land a single blow, or worse, get me to give them a single boo-boo while defending myself from them, they'd go straight to my _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor) and tell her. For me, and only me, all attacks on me were obviously justified in her eyes, all boo-boos were grounds for an immediate gauntlet of pain presided over by herself, then anywhere from 5-20 guests. Each guest was free to slap me as much as they desired, usually about 20-30 slaps. If the guest chose to go into the hundreds the subject wasn't even brought up.

  Blocking any hit was an extreme offence and my _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor) usually said. "You blocked. Everybody line up. We're all going to hit David again". It sucked to hear that for the third time when large parties were held.

  Every now and again a given gauntlet participant, usually adults, but sometimes it was kids, would announce to me. "I'm going to mix a few punches and kicks when I slap you". This added an entirely new level of difficulty to avoiding pain during my gauntlets. If one of them threw a punch the gauntlet might become legendary in pain. My _ _ _ _ _ _ might announce. "What did you do to that nice man to make him try to punch you". Now, the gauntle was certain to double in ferocity.

  I recall that this particular day was different, there were a few new kids at the party who I was allowed to play with. Eh, not uncommon in new guest who hadn't been briefed about avoiding me.

  Sooo.. while I'm playing with them children a kid walks up to me and asks to speak to me in private. When I relented he told me something like. "You killed those 4 kids".

  Yeah yeah yeah... Cut up thier wrists, guts, a throat or two... Being a drug-abusing torturing kidnapper was not condusive to a long life for those teenagers. The only thing that sucks is they said they framed some enemy of the gang's for the crime, poorly. The teen who told me about the botched frame-job called it. "A clusterf@#!".

  The last Snitch brought it up too. "We plan to kill the guy we framed for killing those kids because we don't want anyone standing next to you in court". "We plan to kill him by hanging him in a Texas garage. Do you know why we hang our victims like that"? "Because we like to see the expression on their faces when they die and they knew it was us who killed them". Then, he kept talking about it, repeating himself. The only difference was the second time he described the building where the gang's victim would die he described it as a shed. Then he predicted my demise there, in that very same Texas community at the hands of their dirty cops. "The Sherrif''s" revenge for when I humiliated him in a crowded arena in front of his peers and later killed his cousin in what was certainly an agonizing and slow death.

  Imagine my surprise when I read about the guy's death in a Texas garage. Huh, go figure...

  Eh I'll write about all of it one day but... It just hurts too much today... I'm sorry.

  BEBOPPING ALONG... MINDING MY OWN BEESWAX... My life... roofing... to killing children en-mass... Killing little kids for the amusement of madmen and getting away with it...

  It was 3 years after I'd gotten out of the U.S. Navy. I'd been working on & off again for some weird roofer in Bay City's south end for 3 seasons when my tenure there came to an end. Eh, so I did what most people did, I looked for a job. I went from place to place asking for employement all over Bay City. When I failed at a particular business I didn't just walk away, I asked questions like. "Do you know when you might be hiring"? And the fatefull. "Do you know anyone who is hiring".

  During one of my sessions a man aproached me just after I'd asked the former question and told me he knew a roofing company that was hiring the next day. He asked me. "Its on Park Street. Do you know where that is"?

  Wow! Did I ever. "The last roofing job I did was on Park Street".

  The guy gave me an address and I walked there the next day...

 

  Imagine my surprize when a normally otherwise polite card-carrying Child-Molestor gang-banger official braggart aproached me. With contempt he started the conversation by insulting me. "YOU SICK F _ _ _"! He asked me what kind of sick mind could do what I'd recently done to children.

  I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about.

  Sooo... in disgust, he reminded me about my recent job hunting attempt...

 

   I remembered...

   It was early on a beautifull summer day in Bay City when I rounded the corner of Park Street at it's southern end seeking to better myself with the skills given me by the Bay City Public Schools. Though I was trying to put them behind me, their many employees had me at the forefront of their thoughts.

  I made it about a block or so walking north, then, children poured at me from behind buildings in every direction. About 60 eleven year olds among who I quickly counted 5 syringes! I had no idea what to do. I paniced. So I pulled out my razor-sharp blade (legal in Michigan) & prepared to defend myself!

  In a moment of time I recalled the words of Snitch Girl back in a Bay City Middle School hallway during business hours. "For our coming of age initiation our classroom gets together one last time when we turn 11 and we kidnapp and torture a scumbag".

  "I asked her. "How do you know if the guy was really a scumbag"?

  "Oh, he was a scumbag. We saw the pictures ourselves". She seemed quite proud of it.

  Then I reminded he about her duty a courier of retouched photos for the gang. I submitted for her aproval that the "scumbag" my classmates had tortured was merely another framed victim, even as she'd only admitted she'd just done to me mere breaths ago.

  That killed her smirk of righteous indignation.

  ...

  I remember the face of a fresh-faced 11 year old  little boy, as innocent looking as they come was the first to reach me and neither of our lives would ever be the same again in just a few moments.

  Until now I'd concealed my blade by hiding it behind my wrist from what I perceived would be the first batch of children to reach me. Now that he was in range I swung my blade at his face with everything I had and cut him deep just below his left cheek rising up to nearly at his eye on the right side! The one comely child spun around rapidly and fell to the ground where he remained.

  Other children came at me and I slashed at the ones armed with needles! Child after child was receiving wounds that would remind them of our meeting for the rest of their lives. Eventually as their bodies pressed in on me one grabbed one of my legs! Then another! And another! From behind the first syringe stabbed me and violated my veins with who knows what? I resolved to fight to the last as I figured that this was my dying day. Surly, the Child-Molestors would arrange their final revenge for all I'd done to them, today!

  Me? I slashed at throats. It became apparent that turning to attack was impossible. So I slashed at the thraots of whosoever was most convienent. I recall a pretty little girl was perfectly on my right so I slashed at ther throat! Did I hit? Idano, the memory starts breaking up, there are gaps in the memory that get increasingly larger (my guess? After all, if I don't remember, how do I know how much time passed?). I recall slashing at another kid's throat! Children lept up and grabbed my arms so I changed from slashing to stabbing and rained down stabs at the children's necks almost exclusively. In the begining children rolled out of the fight as they were hit. Now, with the press of bodies rolling out or even blocking was impossible for them and I kept stabbing them about their necks over and over. The memory breaks up more and more. The kids tried to topple me but the press of too many bodies made that impossible. So I kept stabbing and stabbing while needle after needle poked me again and again!

  Eventually, I began to succumb to their drug(s) and the gang was able to topple me over. In seconds I was subdued just as a concerned Duh Jerk, the uniformed Dirty Cop, and about 20-30 adults all well dressed and in their 40s-60s ran up with sever jocks clad in gangland black.

  There is a sound unique in all of nature. It is the sound of a kneeling mother screaming over the body of her dead daughter. I could see the now white as a ghost little girl was quite dead. The woman screamed a most piercing scream over & over. "NOOOOOOO"!

 

 

    INTO A CRESCENT SHAPE...

  "You know, you ain't as innocent as you act". My circa 1980 self-professed kidnapper-for-profit told me. "You killed 4 kids this summer".

  It was the start of a new school year for me, high school at the Homosexual Rape Capital of America's largest school, uh... oops. I mean a Bay City school and I was mere blocks from home, symbolicly right next to one of the world's most advanced sewage runoff systems walking home from school when the bragging teenaged serial-killer met me.

  Usually, when confronted thusly, I said. "I didn't kill no one". And I had many an occasion to answer thusly.

  He went on to inform me, I had indeed killed 4, yes, countem, four formerly wholesome children (less than 5, more than 3) for the gang. Specificly Duh Jerk who sees himself (according to him) "as a cleaner for the group". Someone who takes out the gang's many enemies. People who start to know too much, get a little too much police attention, people who simply got in the way.

  "Those kids were poised to destroy our group and now that you killed them in a way that lets us pass a lie-detector no one can ever touch us".

  I'll keep it brief, I wrote a much longer version and sent it to F.B.I. offices all over the country and invited police all over the world to read it. Literally.

  It was a summer of me being drugged out of my mind. A group of about 6-10 children my age were the gang's handlers. They acted as though they were my freinds and like we shared a summer beach house without any parental guideance. Every now and again Duh Jerk showed up and interacted with me like he was a pal for a time, on film. Then the gang beat me, tied me up, raped & tortured me. Then doped me anew and began the process anew. the house was lke any other in a resort community I'd suppose. It was a 2 story building with many bedrooms and all of the equipment needed for one to go deep-sea diving or to conduct underwater salvaging. Wierd...

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, the kids, my handlers, they liked to spend a large portion of each day boating. Daily I walked with them about 4 blocks to the concrete pier so they could go boating and while we walked they said things like. "Maybe today they'll let you on the boat". The adults in charge of the speedboat always turned me down and suggested that I return to the house.

  Travel to the house was dangerous at best. Athletic bullies always swarmed me and never once failed to chase drugged me back to the house yelling curses like. "WE'RE GOING TO KILL YOU"! Nobody helped me and any... cops who showed up were always eager to believe the gang's accusations that justified their vigilant attack upon me. Duh Jerk even showed up a few times to help them. Once, when I got a... cop to listen too long he said. "You can ignore him because he's on drugs". It works like a charm, I'll testify to that!

  Strangely, when I insisted on being arrested for being on drugs during a particularly violent attack Duh Jerk (who'd been watching from the shadows) insisted I was delerious from self-administered-drugs, we were pals, and begged the officer to ignore my taunts and not arrest me because a good friend of mine had just died. "If you don't believe me call and ask his _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor)".

  Time passes...

  The boys of the gang, particularly one I'll call "Dumpy", had a request. "Since you're dreaming why not take this knife upstairs and kill that kid".

This happened over and over. Usually, I told them no and we had heated debates as to the morality of recreational killing and killing based on simple accusation until my long-term memory reset and they began plying me to kill the teens whom I'd only recently been playing with again.

  Eventually... I did. I walked up the stairs and killed the first three boys one by one the first 3 boys who were my age. Yeah, they put up weak struggles. I stabbed and slashed them to death without targeting any vital organs. A slow way to go.

  The bullies who chased me were getting more dangerous and I had some close calls where I felt my life was in peril. Eventually, one of them caught me and threatened to kill me. He told me he was a track star, that running was useless, that I was going to die, today! While we fought. Our fight lasted mere seconds and I quickly pinned him to the ground by sitting on his chest and pinning his arms with my legs. He continued threatening me. So I figured. "I'll just beat him unconsious)". So I started beating his face with an arrqay of 3/4 strength punches (lest I break a knuckle) like I always do when I'm destroying a child's face.

  Then, I zoned out because of the drugs. I recall coming to my sences at the yells of the bullies. I looked down and the formerly handsome child's face was dented in like a crescent shape. The horror...

  Lastly was the short for his age eleven year old boy. While the first 3 fought my attack the little boy just stood there and asked me. "But I thought you were my friend"? While I stabbed and sliced him to death. He just stood there... He just stood there...

  "You beat that kid's face into a crescent shape".

 

  YOU SAY MASS-MURDERER, WE SAY SERIAL-KILLER... Potato, potatoe, po-tat-oh...

  Sooo... there I was, in the basement where I was forced to do minor, not so hard chores in. Today, like usual, circa 1970, I was about 5 years old, today, I'm surrounded by 10+ children, most a few years older than me, some in their teens, and a few nearing adulthood. They're beating me about the body. Punches, slaps, kicks, holds... you know the drill. PAIN! Pain. Pain... They all act as one and rest only to walk over to the nearby table with plates with assorted pills, powders, and... "cigarettes" on them. Hurs on end they pound on me, like usual.

  Today, like many days I asked them. "Why are you doing this to me"?

  Their answer was always the same. "Because you're a mass-murderer". Theyy explained that, because I was a recreational mass-murderer that I deserved every single blow that they landed upon my post-toddler frame. An act that they felt pretty good about, being that I was such a scumbag and all.

  I returned. "I ain't no mass-murderer". And the ever popular. "There are no five year-old mass-murderers in America".

  I got a few of my torturers (who were always different from week to week, except for the goth teens in charge who almost never changed) to stop every once in a while with those sayings. Then, usually the teenagers, and sometimes my wild-eyed nameless "Cousin" would say something like. "Oh he's a mass-murderer. I've seen the films". "You can quit your lying now. A few of us have seen the films of you killing people and you ain't fooling anybody". "Oh he's a mass-murderer alright. Ask any of them". He'd point to a few of the children, regulars about the room, usually regulars. "They've seen the films". Children, kids who I suspect were formerly wholesome would nod in agreement.

  The pain resumed. Ow...

  Today, the guard at the door says. "His _ _ _ _ _ _'s (Honor honor honor) coming".

  My torturers stop, prompting me to take the opportunity to get in a few licks of my own.

  My _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor) is furious! "What's going on down here"?!

  I explained that I was being tortured.

  "You ain't being tortured! Do you want some torture"?

  Coming from her, that was quite a threat. So I answered. "No".

  She explained like usual, accusation equals guilt, if the children were attacking me, there was obviously a good reason for it, thus, by deduction, she knew I was lying. Particularly if I claimed I wasn't losing or (gasp!) was winning or had won. Then she told me that she knew I was lying because... "You're a Christian, and Christian's are by definition weak". Anything other than complete loss outside of her presence was obviously a lie she told me, often, our entire time together. Then, as usual, she often said it with a smile. "Everybody line up, we're all going to hit David".

  My torturers eagerly lined up. Then, one at a time, I was forced to stand in place while whosoever would delivered as many blows to me as they saw fit. Slaps mostly but some attackers bragged that they intended to mix in a few punches or kicks. Blocking those kind of blows was acceptable but it added a whole new level of complexity to the situation because if I accidentally blocked a slap my _ _ _ _ _ _ (Honor honor honor) would inevitably say. "You blocked! Now were going to start over again". My torturers would line up with glee and the proocess would begin anew. It always sucked to hear her repeat herself for the third time. Ow...

  Another time, I recall the new batch of brats pounding on me, again, one of them called her by name. "_ _ _ _'s coming"!

  The beating stopped and in my drug-induced haze, I simply stopped, stood in place.

  "What's going on here? I heard you were hitting David"?

  I foolishly agreed that they had been hitting me, folish only because to her, "ACCUSATION EQUALS GUILT"! Uhhh... for me, and me only.

  One of the kids said "No. We're being nice to him. See"? They had indded made a token effort to act nice in the last 5 seconds.

  Her face was covered in pure rage, then, she simply turned around and left the room where I would soon stab a teenager in the heart.

  My "Cousin" boasted on the subject. He adored torturing children, it was his, their hobby. Every now and again he liked to invite the parents into his dungeon of child pain and show them that the children, such as I, were only having fun.

  "How could you do that to a child"? I asked my Cousin.

  "Because you're a mass-murderer". He answered without hesitation. Then, the pain resumed. Ow...

  Time passes...

  Spring of 1977 a few blocks west of Bay City's Community Center in a house next to the park there. My classmates, my attmpted murderers from, "The Gym" have been beating me, slaps, prods, rapes, sleep-deprivation, no food, and this is after their prescious "100 Days of hell that they call "The Gym". Daytime, my classmates finally quit the direct torture, they gather around the table, to eat, I been awake at least a week they tell me.

  I turn to them and ask them. "Hey. You wanna help me kill Jerk"?

  Snickering they answer things like. "No".

  "Do you want to help me kill them"? I pointed to a few other of my kidnapping attempted-murdering torturers.

  "No. Snicker. Snicker".

  "I move on to other kids. "Hey, you wanna go out and kill some people"?

  "Giggle giggle gigle. No That's something you do".

  I kept trying to recruit my attempted child-murderers, my torturing raping and kidnapping stalkers by saying things like. "Come on it'll be fun".

  They turned me down snickering and giggling as I wnt from blackmailer to frame artist, I mean my fellow stuudents, my classmates, the children I'd grown up with in a tax-payer funded public school for years.

  When I had finished talking deleriously to most of the people in the room Duh Jerk chimed in with no small amount of righteous indignation. "Do you want proof he's the scumbag here? The kid's a serial-killer. You've heard him yourself! There you go"!

  The children, yes 11 and 12 year-old kids agreed with him.

  "You can feel good about what we're doing to him because the kid's a serial-killer".

  Later, one by one, my mass-attempted murdering kidnapping torturing rapist classmates came to me and told me that they felt good about trying to kill me, in "The Gym", that my kidnapping rape and torture were things I deserved, being that I was such a scumbag. I'd been tortured to the limits of human endurance at age 11, and they told me that they felt good about it. "It was too bad that you lived through the gym. You deserved to die because you're a serial-killer". "You deserve everything we did to you and more because you're a serial-killer. It's a shame that the bosses wont let us try to kill you any more because too many people know that we tried to kill you in the gym. I hope they kill you one of these days".

  Do all kids have conversations like this in public schools? Maybe it's just a Bay City Public School thing? I'm only asking, not accusing.

  Under my Cousin they called me "Mass-Murderer". Under Duh Jerk the gang called me "Serial-Killer". You say "Potato", I say "Poh-Tat-Oh".

  Let's call the whole thing off...

<<<------------------------------

  My Cousin told me he'd tricked me into watching a documentary on serial-killers because I was a serial-killer & he was tired of me saying I wasn't and he hoped the documentary would show me just what a serial-killer was. "I ordered your Mother to make you watch it".

  Me? I told him that I was no serial-killer. If he tricked me into killing people that was all on him. He was the serial-killer.

  It was about the time PBS had 1st chosen to show a documentary on serial-killers. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal now, serial-killer documentaries are on cable every day now. But way back in the 70s it was a huge deal. The decision to show a single serial-killer documentary was met with great public debate & the coming documentary made the news & all the papers. It was a huge deal at the time.

  Before this he & his gang used to call me a mass-murderer. Now they switched it to calling me a serial-killer.

  Whatever...

THAT DAY, A WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE DIED... Originally titled... More children die today...

                              SPOILER ALERT!

  Ultimately the boasting snitch in the tale "That day, a whole lot of people died" told me that the gang's leader's panicked and chose to cover up the slayings. "They'll die in car accidents. A bus will probably hit a car and everyone will die". "We own the coroners in those cities".

  Huh, go figure...

  WHERE IT ALL STARTED TO GO BAD... Yeah... it was bad. Real bad... raelly really really really bad... well, according to Bay City... cops, Child-Molesters are paragons of virtue.

​

  Eh, so there I was... about age 1, in my cell... I, uh, err, I mean my crib. I asked how old I was and the various visitors told me I was one year old. They gave me a bottle and denied my every request to leave my cell while handing me a bottle. Then I passed out.

  Soon, I woke up, I was hungry, it was feeding time. So I requested food. They (usually my Father (honor honor honor), Mother (honor honor honor), or my Mother's Brother, though it could be anyone who brought me a bottle, teens, men, women, and even toddlers younger than myself who freely roamed my house. I drank the bottle, then passed out. Soon it was feeding time again.

  Eh, so there I was... about age 1, in my cell... I, uh, err, I mean my crib. I asked how old I was and the various visitors told me I was two years old. They gave me a bottle or some food and denied my every request to leave my cell while handing me a bottle. Then I passed out.

  Soon, I woke up, I was hungry, it was feeding time. So I requested food. They (usually my Father (honor honor honor), Mother (honor honor honor), or my Mother's Brother, though it could be anyone who brought me a bottle or some food, teens, men, women, and even toddlers younger than myself who freely roamed my house. I drank the bottle, then passed out. Soon it was feeding time again.

  "It" happened. After a time, I recalled asking. "How old am I"?

  The various visitors told me I was 3 years old.

  I recall a sentence I used while standing in the crib. "I cant wait until I'm a year older so I can find out what number comes after 3". It was trully a highlight of learning and I was excitied at the prospect of learning that information.

  Eh, so there I was... about age 3, or so I thought, in my cell... I, uh, err, I mean my crib. I asked how old I was and My Mother (Honor honor honor) told me I was 2 years old.

  I was astounted. "But you told me I was 3 years old".

  She replied. "No I didn't". Then she smacked me about the face 20-30 times for lying.

  I toild her. "Yes you did. You told me I was 3 years old".

  She gave me a bottle and denied my every request to leave my cell while handing me a bottle. Then I passed out. Rinse, lather, repeat.

  Daily, maybe tri-daily this became our ritual for quite a while and was repeated with everyone who came to our house. But it was My Mother who angrilly slapped me the most. After a time, weeks? Months? I gave up reminding them I'd been told I was 3 and resigned myself to being just 2 years old.

  Soon, I woke up, I was hungry, it was feeding time. So I requested food. They (usually my Father (honor honor honor), Mother (honor honor honor), or my Mother's Brother, though it could be anyone who brought me a bottle, teens, men, women, and even toddlers younger than myself who freely roamed my house. I drank the bottle, then passed out. Soon it was feeding time again.

  Sooo... My Cousin walks on up to me and he had a lot to say. Not that any Mid-Michigan... cops would believe it. But... he asked me how old I was?

  So I told him I was 2. Eh, why not? All part of the resignation I was writing about. In a seperate note... HEY! Any Mid Michigan... cops reading this. I'm snapping my fingers at you. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! "Focus! Yes, there really are bad people out there. HEY! are you paying attention? SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! Get a job"!

  Smiling, he told me it was perfect, I'd told others, on film that I was 2 years old, and fallen for his trap!So he chatted on & on about threats, evil, child-molesting, killing little kids, you know, the stuff Mid-Michigan... cops tell me they know is going on out there but no one would be that cruel... especially not a child-molester... because those child-molesting paragons of virtue just love kids and besides... IT'S UNETHICAL!

  He asked me if I noticed that I passed out after nearly every meal?

  Yes I did.

  He bragged it was because he ordered my family to drug my food. "You're 3 years old and you only have a couple of months of memories". He boasted it was how he liked to molest little kids. Keeping them stupid, and then keeping them in the retard classes (his words, not mine) at the local school he "owned" so he could rape them with impuinty. "Because the cops will never believe the word of a retarded kid over mine". Then he could child-porn them for life... and most liked it when you compared the lifestyle of horror in the crib to the sex-filled drugged up lifestyle he inflicted onb them... and would soon inflict on me.

  Then he noted surprize at how well I could talk. Remarking I was talking better than all of his young victims, even compared to his teenaged victims.

  He and My Mother chatted for a while... he was disapointed that he might not be able to put me in the class with the retarded children and demanded to know why I could talk so well?

  My Mother (honor honor honor) stammered out a very defensive apology that amounted to her telling him that I listened and it really wasn't her fault I was picking things up. It was one of the few times in my life that I ever saw her on the defencive.

  Yeah...

​

THE 1YEAR BEATDOWN... Yeah... they would. “The crueler we treat you is only more proof that you're a scumbag to the cops”.

 

  Sooo... There I was. Age 1. In solitary confinement in my cell. Oh, it had a nice name & all. People called it “The Crib”. I was 1 year old, or so they told me. It was a boring world, to me that is. I ate and slept in my crib inter-spaced with occasional exits that almost allays ended in pain.

  “My Cousin” had a theory on all the pain that was inflicted upon me. “I ordered it”. It was his usual plan, Plan A, the plan that allays works in mid-Michigan Always. He explained he was a professional child-molester. He molested children, mentally, physically, & sexually for fun and profit. That and that Plan A, the plan that leaves all mid-Michigan.. cops either bewildered or loving him, his plan was that the cruel, meaner, and sicker he treated his victims, the more he was insured by the act to get away with it. He explained it like this between torture sessions. Once a given child admits they were tortured by the gang it made it easy to outright dismiss their accusations. “Most cops actually believe that child-molesters like children and that they'd never hurt them”. Thus the crueler he was, the more your average... cop would ignore his victims because no child-molester would hurt a child. EVER!

  Cops explained it to me like this. Child-molesters would never hurt a child. IT'S UNETHICAL”! That and those sick but misguided pervs love kids. They'd never intentionally hurt one. Even if they were looking at 20+ years in prison.

  My Cousin went on. Torturing kids made it easy to get the rest of the... cops to side with him. Here's the logic. Let's say a given tortured child goes to the... cops and complains about the pain. Well, then My Cousin and his gang admit that maybe things got a little out of hand... but... the child was being punished and is whining about their just punishment because of the horrible... horrible accusation they are about to make up. Usually it's (… cops feel free to look up the word “usually” here) such and such child is crazy and on drugs (got into Granny's medicine again. We don't want a child to overdose do we Officer? Besides... the stuff my victim did before and during being drugged were horrible. You can ignore him/her because the toddler is on drugs”.

  Making up stories about a 1 year old? There's not a single Mid-Michigan... cop out there that'd believe a single child-molester would do it. Again... “Because it's unethical”! And... “Because child-molesters like children. Cruelty is impossible to a group of people who like children. EVEN if they're looking at decades in prison if caught”.

  According to my bragging “cousin” the more a victim protests their innocence the more... cops think they're guilty “Because drugs are involved”. Thus empowering the Molestor's most potent statement against their victims (Avert your eyes now ye virgin-eyed Mid-Michigan... cop readers. AVERT!!!! Hey, I tried to warn you and assume no responsibility for any psychological harm inflicted by reading this tale), Their number one sentence against victims? I'll say, now that injury to Mid-Michigan... cops is unlikely... “You can ignore him/her because he's/she's on drugs”.

  Works almost every time I'm told. Personally, I've seen it work and if a gang drugs victims often the sentence makes for a great cover. That, and films of the victim drugged and interacting with their torturer's and rapists on film. Like this...

 

  (Pssst. Readers, don't tell this to Mid-Michigan... cops. With their investigative skills they'll probably never find out if you don't tell'em. You could cause irreparable psychological harm to them. My concern is not for victims of the gang here. It's not about the victims... it's about possibly mentally traumatized... cops. We cant have that. They'll never notice if you don't tell'em).

 

 Sooo... My Cousin had bragged about the week before. Ya know... “See that bump behind your ear”? “I took you to the party dressed as a girl”.

 

  Sooo... sitting in The Crib.... at age one I sifted through recent events... and I remembered...

  I was at some house (actually, My Mother (Honor honor honor) had taken me there only recently. She told me it was a friend of hers. I don't recall it being all tortured and such so in all probability... they were “not cruel”. About the best I could hope for back then), white, 2 story, surrounded by children & adults, and doped out of my mind at what was my 1st party I'd suppose. There was a camera team, 2 people and they filmed me exclusively. Following me from room to room and averting the camera often (but not allays) while party-goers beat me.

  People, adults and kids walked up and one by asked me. “Why are you dressed like a girl”? About a dozen of each of'em.

At 1st the subject mystified me and I denied it. “I'm not dressed like a girl”. So they pounded on me. Slaps and punches mostly

So I retreated to another room. Either they followed me or the occupants of the next room asked me. “Why are you dressed like a girl”? When I denied it they proved it by pointing out the dress and leotards & make-up & such. When I took them off the adults pounded on me and had pretty teen girls violently put them back on in another room.

  “Why are you dressed like a girl”?

  “Because they beat me up and put these clothes on me”.

  SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

  I retreat to to the next room....

  “Why are you dressed like a girl”?

  “Because they beat me up and put these clothes on me”.

  PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH!

  I retreat to to the next room....

  “Why are you dressed like a girl”?

  “Because they beat me up and put these clothes on me”.

  SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

  I retreat to to the next room....

  Rinse, lather, repeat. They did this a long... long time to one-year old me.

  Violently they coached me... thusly. It came to this... if I said I wanted to be a little girl... they beat me less. They filmed it all and we did this over & over & over & over &...

  They even raped me with a German Shepard over and over. Dry humping really. At first. Beating me as I tried to push the dog off of me. It became a real test of wills actually. At 1st they simply tied me over a box, butt up and had the dog rape me. Then they untied me and left the skirt on me, bullied me into position by the box making sure to stand off camera, and tried to have the dog rape me. I resisted so the dog bit me and scratched my abdomen up badly. Prompting the gang to put a shirt on me so as to continue filming.

  Sooo... to recap. They bullied me into position next to the box by punching and slapping me. Pounding on me in a darkened film studio room in the white house. The room was very spaceous and a toilet and sink sat off to one side. The room was otherwise void of any furnishings. Then, once the dog got leverage behind me they let me go while it pinned me against the box scratching me and occasionally nipping at me. I fought back. It bit me. Not very hard, but it hurt. I changed tactics. I turned around and tried to push the dog down. It bit my face and that bled. Filming was suspended while they tended my wounds and threatened me with more pain. Counciling me to just let it happen.

  I refused.

  They whined about how my face wound might cause filming to stop. In the end they chose to cake make-up on me... violently (because I wouldn't let them) and resume filming.

  They began again. This time leashing the dog & holding it just so so it couldn't reach my face.For the most part.

Me? I changed it up. I tried punching the dog off of me but the best I could do was get it to whine and retreat no matter where I punched it. So I changed it up. Now I turned and tried to knock the dog off it's feet. So it bit me. So I changed it up again. I spun around as the dog mounted me and blocked it's mouth with my forearm and tried pushing it over. Ahhh... no good. So I tried it again, this time I tripped the dog's front legs and pushed it down while applying my forearm to the side of it's mouth so it couldn't bite me.

  Sooo... they started again. At the “moment of penetration”... you know... that part of the rape. That dog was going to town on me & I felt penetration was imminent so I spun around (getting very scratched up) slapped the side of his face with my forearm, tripped his front legs, slammed him to the ground, again, & poked the dog's eye out! Scooped it out might be a better description?

  WOW! Were they mad! Everyone. They slapped & berated me for poking his eye out. Afterwards even threatening to let the dog kill me as revenge between threats to poke out my eye.

  I was 1 year old. Nearly two by my estimation.

  One of the men hauled off and belted me in the face sending me flying! POW! The whole side of my face swelled & I bled everywhere. When I refused to let them treat my wound they brought in a mirror so I could treat my self. The only thing about it that was weird to me was seeing my reflection. I'd only seen my reflection a few times as a tiny, tiny baby. Now I was huge by comparrison and not the sack of potatos lump of a baby mere months old like the last time I'd seen my reflection and looked at the mirror wondering. “Is that me? Is that what I look like? Is that what my face looks like when it's swollen? I have nothing to compare it to”?

  They drugged me with a needle. Moments passed... or so I thought at that time. In seconds everyone was dressed differently. The dog's socket was empty, but healed. And My Cousin was there with a few of his jocks. He giggled and asked me how long ago I figured I'd poked out the dog's eye. When I said a few minutes he laughed at me and told me I'd been drugged now for a week and taken all over the state and raped as revenge for what I'd done to a gang Icon... the dog. A much beloved and well-trained animal of the gang. He submitted as proof that they were all dressed differently than before and that my face's swelling had finally disappeared. "I love this part of the job". He meant the part where he gets to explain to his victims a long time has just passed but to them only minutes has passed because of the drugs. In "copspeak" it means the gang wins every time.

  Sooo... My Cousin told me he was going to oversee my rape film personally. To make sure it was done right. He was going to rape me with the dog and simply film it from the other side when compared to last time because of the dog's missing eye. To that end he claimed he'd brought a special camera lens that'd flip the image of the rape over. In case I told... cops later that I'd poked out the dog's left eye. He'd do 2 films and later decide which film was better.

Now... he wanted to address the wound to my face. He told me it was wrong for the man to hit me like that. So as revenge he would be forced to pose and I could hit him in the face.

  I initially refused but when they insinuated a threat I agreed. While he stood there, bent over I pondered how I might hit him? I was a baby. A toddler and by now had been in tons of fights and knew my blows were not very damaging. Still... I'd been taught that a knuckle-punch would hurt more. So I chose to do that, to his lips, reared back and let him have it. POP!

  He reeled back! Bleeding from the lip which began to swell! I was amazed! So was everyone there.

My Cousin and the gang laughed and settled bets. It seems that in situations like that they like to bet on how most kids react and allmost none ever choose to hit their attacker back at my age. And those who did never did any real damage. Sooo... as revenge he was going to hand me over to the guy for some more rape and torture... on film... but until his face healed his film carear was suspended. No cash for him. WOW! Was that guy angry and promised me much pain when I was delivered to him.

  So they drugged me and promised to film me. Fade to black...

  My Mother (Honor honor honor) later brought me to the house one more time for a backyard cookout kinda party. Children of all ages surrounded me and took turns pounding on me. Goading me to fight back.

  My Cousin asked why I didn't poke their eyes out? So I told him I'd been told if a dog attacks you it's legal to poke it's eye out or even kill it. It's not legal to do the same thing to children.

  He seemed disaponted and told me the cost of hiring camera teams and children to beat me would be exacted from me by revenge later.

He said that he'd ordered the gang's beloved and well-trained dog killed by the family. Just in case I somehow got a cop to listen to me and figured out where the dog was. Now the family and their gang buddies hated me and were eager to inflict great amounts of pain on me as revenge. He asked me. “Did you notice how skinny and small that German Shepard was in comparison to other German Shepards”?

  I told him I'd seen them only on TV and had nothing to compare the dog to.

  He said the scrawny small German Shepard was a perfect rape dog to use. Mostly because little kids had a slight chance of fighting back against it and... cops would laugh when a toddler told them they'd managed to fend off a German Shepard. Even if only for a moment. He bragged their rape plan allways works on babies like me. Why not me too? Why'd I choose to fight the dog and not just let it rape me?

  I told him since I was in pain anyway there was no incentive to obey the gang's orders to reduce the pain by consenting. So I fought.

My Cousin bragged the edited footage showing a girl-clothed me poking out a dog's eye made for a great film to show animal lover's proof that I was the scumbag in the room. Especially other child-molesters like himself who'd be shown the unedited version of the film and would be all too glad to torture me based on what I'd done to the beloved animal.

  Laughing at his success My Cousin added. “Since you were so scratched up around the waist the camera guy only filmed you from the chest up and the edited film looks like the dog just rubbed up on you and you turned around and poked it's eye out”.

  My Cousin asked me if I recalled when I 1st got to the cookout how a few of the children had invited me behind the house to a field with long grass trees to play? He claimed the dog was buried there and if I went to the cops the film of me playing over his body added to the film of me poking the dog's eye out would be all it would take to convince... cops I was the scumbag in the room, not them.

  Good news? Yeah... he said he had some for me. It seems that guy with the fat lip whined and whined & bragged about the horrors he planned to inflict on me so much he ticked My Cousin off because in his opinion the actor made him look bad in front of the other visiting bosses because he boasted too much about how much of a man he was because of the horrors he planned to inflict on a baby as revenge when he should've blocked or dodged me in the 1st place (a few rude comments from the other Bosses was all it took he said). So he fired him from his film tour (going from city to city having sex with babies on film) and told him he was not going to get me for a revenge session and even smacked him up for making the gang look bad and for letting a baby wound him so in front of high ranking molesters.

 

  Ya know... if it was just me, that'd be one thing. But imagine a child-destroying army... the children and the children's children of the above... “people” and picture how they probably treat little kids today? Do you suppose they treat them the same? Better? Or do they treat them even worse? How many 1 year old BABIES do you suppose they did this to? How many more do you suppose they plan to do it to if you fail to deliver me from them?

  Did you see that loyal readers? I just doomed myself in the eyes of Mid-Michigan... cops by being stupid enough to repeat any of what the gang did to me just like “My Cousin” said.

  I was one year old.

  Whatever...

 

  It is possible Mid-Michigan... cops read the above and are traumatized. I don't apologize for the mental trauma I caused them just now but only because I warned the delicate... cops of Mid-Michigan to not read the above. As a public service to them I offer this advice...

 

  QUICKLY Mid-Michigan... cops! Picture pink bunnies frolicking in a peaceful meadow. A doe smiles and joins them with her fawn and they all hop and prance while birds circle and chirp a happy tune.

  Ahhh... You'll be fine Mid-Michigan... cops. Seek professional help for your trauma... the above excercise should tide you over until you can get professional help. Just keep repeating the exercise until you either feel better or you have received the 'professional help' that I suspect most Mid-Michigan... cops need. Don't say I never gave you anything.

 

  Yeah... I went to the... cops. Told the next Bay County... cop I met what happened. When I got to the part about the dog's eye he stopped me and went on a rant! He threatened me with violence. He... threatened... me... a baby... with illegal... violence... he threatened to hurt me... badly... He... threatened... me..

  He threatened to poke my eye out as revenge.

​

  THIS SPOT RESERVED... Fear... the very first time...

  Feels like the first time... feels like the very first time... I think it was some time before that song came out (I should look it up, but I really don't care). It was the 1st time the gang told me that to even repeat the cruelty, the stark raving madness they'd just inflicted on baby me, would surely render my story unbelievable & hand them victory because as far as cops & prosecutors are cioncerned... no one is that cruel. No one! It's a tale of horror, that I'm not planning to tell on this page nor on the day I wrote this paragraph 6-26-17.

  I'll probably get to it soon enough. They told me to be afraid. So I plan to write it down on my web page called "Fear". Look for it under "THIS SPOT RESERVED... Fear... the very first time...

 

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  HOW TO SPOT A DIRTYHull...COP... It's all just a joke... very much based on the truth and not meant to imply anyone's corrupt, incompetent, or just a pain-ole bad... cop. 

  How to spot a "dirty cop"? It's easier than you might think. The child-molester's I've met in life have discussed the Hull... subject with me at length. How? I'm glad you asked Hull...

  Spotting a dirty... cop? Hmmm... If it was so easy EVERYONE would be doing it Hull...

  A card-Carrying Child-Molestor once summed it up best to me. "You want to know how to spot a dirty cop? Did you ever notice when you go to the cops that there's allways one who will Hull...never even address the possibility that you might be telling the truth. When you look at thier paperwork Hull... about your case it wont even acknowlege the possibility that someone Hull... was even mean to you. It's so that other cops wont even bring up the possibilty that someone's being mean to you".

  Here I shall address... cops. Skeptic, septic, dirty, clean, and those inbetween and reason with them using facts, that one could extrapolate to form an opionon (I know, I know, I just totally lost the Mid-Michigan... cops reading this. I'll suggest some remedial reading material at the end of this to keep your interest). Here goes...

  You... cops have never avenged me. You have never recovered stolen property for me, I've been assaulted a bazzilion times, often in full view of the... cops and even in the poilce station and all it took was a few well-placed insults to get... cops in any community to look the other way. One can deduce from this that, according to you Hull... that I've had the most perfect life. No one's ever wronged me, ever, otherwise, by deduction, you... cops would've gone out and caught all the bad guys long ago Hull..., am I right? Indeed... I must've had the most perfect life in all of America's history... otherwise... cop records would show it... right?

  As touching any accusations I might be lying... the way boasting card-carrying Child-Molestors have bragged they dupe... cops, is to say I'm crazy and lying rather than to say I'm insane and actually believe what I'm saying. Basicly, that their Dirty... cops have to say I'm a crazy liar rather than insane and telling stories for whatever the reason is they think they can sell to their fellow therwise good but easilly maipulated... cops because any other response would beg the question. "If this guy (the author) really believes what he's saying as opposed to making it all up then maybe it's possible that someone's being mean to him"?

  Someone being mean to me in the murderous rapist-infested ruins of the declining Detroit/Saginaw/Flint Michigan area? The admitted on-going rape & murder capital from a given year to a given year (sometimes... other areas beat them out... and then lose the title to the area soon enough)?

  4 years... FOUR YEARS I'VE HAD THIS WEBSITE GOING...FOUR YEARS and not a single police interview... no one wants to chat... not a single... cop wants to "confab" at all? NOT ONE?!?!?!?!?!? If any... and I mean ANY... cop says they've inteviewed me since I left Bay City in 2010 then they've been duped... or are a lying stinking DIRTY COP!!!!!!

  FOUR YEARS? All this rape? All this killing? AND NOT ONE SINGLE... COP WANTS TO CHAT?

  Say what you want...

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  WHERE IT ALL STARTED TO GO BAD... IN THE AIR...

  It happened a bunch of times when I was age 1 or 2 until age 7ish. I woke up in the backseat of my Mother's Father's private light airplane virtually always sitting next to my still sleeping Bro in the air & usually above the clouds. Nothing to see here. I had no clue as to how I got there, no warning it was coming, it was usually daytime. My Mother's Brother usually sat in the Co-pilot's seat.

  Without fail my Mother's Father insulted me for sleeping in his plane. Yeah... he made me feel bad. There was no pleasing the man my entire life.

  They insisted I look around but stay buckled & in my seat. Nothing to see here.

  We chatted a bit. Usually about my inadequacies, about why I didn't deserve to be there because I brought no worthy subject to the table. My every attempt at discussion was swatted down almost always.

  When I was a yet a toddler I was jealous of my disobedient Bro. You see I'd never seen anything but blue skies or clouds. He'd risk punishment & unbuckle his seat belt & got to see a world I only imagined. I would be punished severely later for his disobedience regardless of if he'd been punished or not.

  One day I eventually got old enough to look out the windows. It was my 1st and only time.

  Eventually they insisted I eat or drink something.

  Fade to black...

  I never did participate in a single take-off nor landing awake. I know the reader suspects exaggeration here but I'm not. Not a single take-off nor landing.

  My Cousin chimed in on his opinion of the subject. He said My Mother's Father & his Son were the gang's "Official Pilots" for the gang in that area. The reason I woke up in air & seat belted was he wanted me to see nothing of the world from the air. That the pair were shuttling drugged children to the next gang-rape parties & he timed my drugging so I'd never see anything but empty sky & made sure I was freshly drugged for their coming party.

  One day... when I was 8 or so... My Cousin teased me about my latest flight & how he delighted in the fact I'd never seen anything of interest once, never seen how the controls worked, never listened to radio chatter. "You don't know anything about how to work the controls of an airplane. I made sure of that". He said he'd even had them film my every waking moment & choregraphed what was to be done to me & made sure that I never saw even the slightest bit of how to control an airplane.  He told me my days in My Mother's Father's Private Light Airplane were over. Lest I should see the world from above & dream. Just to spite me out of his hatred of me. "You've never even seen the ground from the air once. I made sure of that".

  I told him I'd just seen out the window for the 1st time this year & seen the ground from on high between the clouds.

  Me? I dismissed the hate thing, his absolute hatred of me was already well-known & didn't even merit discussion. But I foolishly stated matter of factly. "I know everything there is to know about flying an airplane".

  My Cousin called me a liar. He'd made certain & put too much time into the subject to spite me.

  I told him I read several books on the subject and was confident I could fly any airplane & even most jets.

  I told him I'd just seen out the window for the 1st time this year & seen the ground from on high between the clouds.

  I never again flew in my Mother's Father's airplane again. Sigh... that I know of.

  I figure I should've put this on the Weirdisms page, but I wrote it here. It is a Weirdism now that I think of it.

  Oh well.

  Laugh some more... cops. Laugh all you want at me.

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  PS: Addendum: Add'em Dumb: This is written the day after the above.

  What if a Mid-Michigan... cop or Maryland... cop wants more? I suspect that during my coming mocking session in what is likely to be the corruption-ridden Annapolis Police (just mentioning the "possibility" a corrupt child-molesting community drew me here to dispose of anyone legaly is enough to destroy any 10 good men, let alone me I suspect). If I don't add to my tale of "In The Air" woe they wont be able to achieve 100% belly laughing in my mocking session. Probably just chuckles & why have that? I'm nothing if not accommodating. So since I lamented I didn't put "In The Air" on my Weirdisms page... I'll put all the... cop gut-busting riotous laugh out loud stories with it so they can feel good about mocking me & laugh and laugh and laugh at the mere mention of yet another child I personally carved up one day in broad daylight, in front of many witnesses, and even a Uniformed on-duty Bay City... cop.

  Prepare to yuck it up... cops. Just like the Mid-Michigan... cops before you. See: "In The Air... the story continues".

  In fact... since I'm in a "special mood". Let me get you... cops in the mood by providing a laugh track here. COPS! Who loves ya baby? I don't see the child-molesting community doing favors like this for you! "HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! A child dies? HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! In front of a cop? On duty? In front of tons of witnesses in a public place? HA! HARDEE HAR HAR! HA! Ha... ha... giggle... snicker... ahem...".

 

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  CHILD-MOLESTER ALERT!!! November 14, 2017

  Yeah... I've spent several days in yet another (sigh...) gang SLEEP-DEPRIVATION ATTACK!!!

  In recent days it was just the same animal noises tape played over & over with an occasional soft firecracker lit nearby. Easy to ignore, so I obeyed the Bible. If they persecute you in one city, move to the next. So I left Armold MD & moved to Anapolis MD. With only a slight delay the attack began anew.

  Last night, the attack was taken to the next level. At least 2 men (I heard them talking, children too... of course) who were in poor physical shape pounded on the trees not 25 yards from my place with what I'd guess was a plank or log after I got home shortly after dark until after midnight. My Ritchie Hwy/Boulter's home is isolated from my neighbors who I'd bet heard very little if anything.

  When I moved to investigate the very nearby "poorly made animal noises" they stopped immediately leading me to believe they were produced by someone watching on a small camera as I don't think someone that close could've avoided my search. I checked the trees and found the bark on some to be bruised & battered due to repeated pounding by out of shape men. How do I figure that? They didn't seem to be able to pound for long before tiring. Whoever is in charge of stalking me is surely slacking. Martin Oak would surely have coked those guys up & they'd have pounded like mighty molesters into the night. Poor show slackers. Poor show indeed.

  This has strained me physically & mentally. I'm probably what I'll call in the early stages of sleep deprivation. You get tired, mental abilities only mildly impaired. I've come up with "a plan", we'll see.

  What does this mean?

  Since I was "lured" here by an easily provable bait & switch con I can only conclude the gang, which boasts interstate friends from state to state in the molestor community (who as a courtesy tell me they all cover for one another... for a fee) I figure they wanted me here or nearby for reasons unknown... but I can guess (and none of my guesses are good). A simple frame-job or is "The End" for me. If so the gang has promised me 100 times that anywhere from 1 to thousands (the thousands is more recent) will die horrible deaths to insure the Gang's revenge for the indignity of "The Gym".

  Simply put... lots & lots of people are probably about to die. Quite possibly horribly.

  I suspect that if I am unable to extricate myself or get the proper amount of R.E.M. Sleep (look it up... cops) I will grow increasingly irrational, unpredictable, & all the other good stuff that comes with sleep deprivation.

  Simply put... the gang would NOT do this to me if their ducks were not all in a row.

  To that end I suspect that the... cop(s?) on duty last night responsible for answering calls to my address was indeed crooked, in case I called the police. Failing that the gang tell me they would normally keep them busy during attacks by pinning them to a single spot by creating family disturbances, bar disturbances & such where cops are pinned to one spot but no one actually goes to jail. I'd bet on the crooked... cop being on call.

  Driven insane by madmen for reasons of profit & revenge. Not as glamorous as... cops try to tell me.

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  Please help me!

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