Combined we killed a lot of kids!And the... cops helped!!!
VICTIMS OF BAY CITY AND BOULDER
I am a fugitive from a Michigan rape gang
Welcome to my often sabotaged site. The Child-Molesters said they would and who was I to doubt them?
This is not a manifesto. It is a written plea for help.-David A. George 6-26-17
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I am a fugitive from a Michigan rape gang:
"When you show up in court all crippled in a wheelchair who's going to believe that you lived through the gym"? - A bragging Child-Molester speaking about my eventual demise at the hands of the Child-Molestors, a Saginaw Gang in court only a few years prior to the writing of this website.
David A. George sjolnr@mail.com
"Kill one person and you create a tragedy the police will investigate because it is such a tragedy. Kill a hundred people and you create a laughable crime the police will laugh at when you try to tell them about it".-Martin Oak Circa 1987 The author of this website's opinion of the subject? Yup.
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This website is an attempt to save what remains of my life.. Sigh... -David A. George 1-5-18
AFTERTHOUGHTS... Parts that really don't matter... much... This page is about my healing... After the fact...
Just before "The 5th Unarmed man"...
Soooooo... there I was... holding a revolver. My recreational murderers who were standing around me just had their game of "Russian Roulette" canceled... by me. We were standing around a big table, there was another smaller table loaded with drugs of all sorts on plates neatly in rows. My fellow victim still lay back in his chair with the remains of his brains slowly dripping to the floor. One of the 2 guards lay dead or dying... the other was rolling too & fro in agony, the remains of what were once his eyes dripping slowly down my hand.
One of them suggested they help the man rolling around.
I told them the 1st to move dies.
I pondered the situation before me. I had no idea where I was, a partially loaded revolver with lots of ammo, 2 sub-machine guns, and a room full of recreation killers who'd just settled bets on the death of my fellow victim & were in the process of insuring my early death. And one of them was rolling around on the floor & would obey nor acknowledge no command.
Eh... I'd been in worse situations.
I didn't give myself very good odds of living to see the next day.
One of them asked. "Are you okay? Do you need some help"?
I knew exactly what he was trying to do. In a moment where a drugged victim's memory resets that sentence can lull a victim into a mood where they actually seek their captor's aid. Plain & simple... I got lucky it didn't work. This time...
I told him I knew exactly what he just tried to do to get me to disarm. "Anyone tries that again & I'll kill them".
"No I didn't" He defensively replied.
"I told him. "This is not a debate. Try to do that again & you die". "Describe the area just outside the door? Where are we"?
"TELL HIM NOTHING"! One said.
I told him I was wondering who was next in command. If no one told me then they were all useless to me & I was going to start killing them right now.
They all hesitated a few seconds... then one of them started talking. We were in Detroit, in a busy Warehouse. Teams of men with machine guns were across the street & on the 2nd floor ready to kill anyone who tried to fight their way out". One of them added. "They have orders to shoot anyone carrying a gun".
Again... I pondered the situation before me. I hatched a plan.
The groaning ended & the sightless man stood on the opposite side of the table where I'd dropped him. Empty holes where his eyes should be & flowing blood down both cheeks. Erie to talk to someone for whom that just happened.
I told everyone to lie face-down on the cement on the wall opposite the room's only door & to wrap their arms around each other. "A Stress Position" from which it would be more difficult to leap up & attack me. Then I made them face the opposite wall.
Then I pondered what to do with the roomful of recreational serial-killers. Should I rid the world of them as a service to humanity? Maybe just to protect myself from a bullet in the back of the head as I tried to leave? Then it occurred to me that in America you just cant kill a room full of recreational serial-killers caught in the very act & expect to go free in polite society. It's probably not going to happen. That if I did take them out it'd be an open& shut case for famous "Detroit Justice".
They lay down, whined about it til I told them next to talk dies, then turned to the Sightless Guard when he said something like. "What about me? I cant see"?
I realized he just wanted to obey... that was all. So I told one of them to help him lay next to the wall & get his head pointing in the right direction. Even I wondered? "Head? Pointing in the right direction so he cant see? But he's blind"? Eh... drugs.
It was surreal to watch him...
I suffer from Graves Disease. One of it's side-effects is that it can greatly enhance the speed of thought. Especially during a crisis situation. I pondered the Sightless Guard's future then & there on the spot as his fellow recreational serial-killer maneuvered him into position in a moment of time. The gang does not respect weakness. These were probably important clients, important gang members & friends of the gang. Failing to protect them was sure to cost him dearly. He'd probably, by gang brags & boasts & whines spend most of his useful life from then on in one of their slave brothels. Then once their clients tired of his novelty they'd set him up as a beggar for a time... then kill him. His life would be horrible. I even pondered the afterlife. I think I was an atheist then, my heart searching for God, literally. I pondered his death in an atheist world. Today, moments ago was the end of any semblance of a good life & from here on he would know horror only. Then the embrace of darkness would come. Just another ruined life that no one would remember in less than a generation. An ignoble end. Then I pondered, as was my custom about then, what would become of him in a world where there was a God. Heaven, Hell, all of it. Unless he repented of his sins & got his heart right with God his end would be the same as the above. The only difference was the huge line-up of people I might one day face while standing while being judged after my own death. I pictures his and a forest of people pointing at me on that day. Pointing at me and accusing me.
In mere seconds the blind man lay down. I told a few of them to come & get the other guys & position their bodies with them & they did.
I told them 1st one to make a sound... dies. No debate. One or 2 did cough... smokers... what can you do?
I bent the barrels of the sub-machine guns by beating them on the floor.
I told everyone I was going to wait a few minutes just to make sure that if one of them was the type to look around... I'd kill them.
I walked to the door & listened. Nothing. Then I took a deep breath & moved the heavy door open. The noises like unto a bustling warehouse filled the room instantly.
I did wait 30 or more seconds... coughed a few times on purpose, moved stuff... then I could feel the drugs working on me, it was fear my memory might reset at any moment that made me leave. So I opened the door. The room went from chilling graveyard silent to that of a hustling & bustling major warehouse with what I'd suppose was construction going on too. It was loud. Not deafening... but just under what would make one wear hearing protection I'd suppose.
Boxes on shelves, forklifts with hard hatted men going too & for, workers here & there doing this & that... and all in the same hat color. Save for the group of 5 men in front of me. Some held architectural tubes & at least 2 of them were working together holding a very large architectural drawing & commenting on it. I think their hates were... "orange". But there was only 1 guy with a white hardhat & as soon as I left the room he excused himself from the discussion with the orange hats & made a beeline for me.
I wrote about the rest & sent it to the F.B.I.
Just an Afterthought. The Sightless Guard? Yet one more person I just might face one day coming soon in eternity? A living cloud of accusers? What might he say? What might they say? If he does say anything to me... tell me oh wise ones reading this... tell me... what will I say to him? To them?
Sigh...
For some reason the print type keeps changing... I'm exhausted & tired of fighting with it for now... so it stays multiple fonts for now. Wix... fix this.
<<<----------------
Heal this...
Picture me starting to cry while almost symbolically standing over what was then one of the world's most advanced sewage drainage systems (go figure, back in the 80's Bay City Michigan lead the world in it... or so I was told) in what looked like an empty field 1 block north of my Webster Street home, allegedly in the midst of a child-molester enclave. A place where most or maybe even all houses were lived in by loyal child-molester families. I'll say this about the neighborhood, none of them bent over backwards to make me feel welcome.
A child identified himself as a snitch sent personally by Martin Oak personally to brag to me. Seems I'd accidentally said I'd ordered a guy to kidnap 5 babies from a hospital, then corrected myself. Innocent mistake? He boasted it looks totally Freudian slipish in the films.
He said they'd searched out a guy who'd done something like it, then Oak told him to bide his time time & when this all comes out... tell everyone I'd ordered him to do what he'd done. With films from my Role-Playing Games (an attempt at self-therapy...you know... it means liar in "copspeak") to back him up his release to freedom based on testifying against me was all but assured.
I pondered the situation before me. With the gang's films... I pondered how he just might go free based on my slip up. Typical in a way... I was always tripping up on my tongue as a child. And now a mad-man true psycho on the highest plain of demented was likely to go free one day based on testfying against me & my seemingly fredian slip? A mistake? People in my situation are not allowed to make mistakes... every... cop I ever met told me as much. We have to be 100% ethical, no mistakes, spot on in every way. Perfection personified if I ever wanted to live my old age free of prison.
It was the only time I ever cried as a teenager.
Facing the Little Dead Girl...
We begin in Bay City Michigan's west side in the Veterans Memorial Bridge neighborhood. I'm at an intersection making my way home when a person asks me why I'm covered in blood?
Me? I hadn't noticed how thoroughly I was covered in blood until now. I gave them a lie as an answer & told them to leave me alone.
Sure enough, another person confronted me & asked why I was covered in blood? Did I need help?
Through the drug-induced sleep-deprived haze I pondered my answer. No... I didn't need help. I was going home. It wasn't blood, it was paint.
They told me it didn't look like paint to them.
I'm not sure how many people confronted me? I'm sure that to mid-Michigan... cops the fact that people would walk up to me & start talking to me based soley on the fact that I was covered, drenched in blood head to toe to be the most unbelievable part of my story.
My memory reset...
I knew where I was...
I just wanted to go home...
How I got there or what lead up to my covering with blood I had no idea?
I was staggering badly...
Yeah, I prayed. Here's what happened...
Someone asked me if I wanted help? Why was I covered in blood? Was I hurt?
I was alarmed at the situation. How had I been covered head to toe in blood?
They suggested we call the Police, maybe an ambulance too based on how bad I looked.
Me? I wondered if I'd just been in some horrible accident? Certainly it would explain the blood. Maybe I was hurt in ways I didn't know? Getting medical advice seemed like a pretty good idea. So I stood and waited.
My memory resets several times here. I go in & out of reality. Anger might be the key but it just wasn't occuring to me at this time? Only thoughts on what happened to me?
Dirty... cop pulled up in his marked Bay City Police Car & demanded to know how I cam to be covered in blood? Was I hurt? I was obviously delirious, probably on drugs (which I denied, I had no memory of any drugs). Dirty... cop then accused me of hurting people as the reason for my being covered in blood. He was quite vocal in his accusation.
I became lucid & the recent past flooded into my mind. Until now I'd seen him as a nice police officer concerned for mine & the public's safety. Now I recalled this man was my kidnapper & torturer.
Dirty... cop pulled his pistol on me and told me I was under arrest.
I looked at all the witnesses. It was rush-hour traffic & a ton of witnesses had gathered. I could resist... I thought about it. I figured I was about to die anyway. But it occurred to me this was not the time, not the place to fight him where he could dispatch me with impunity & come out smelling like a... hero doing it. I submitted to his arrest.
By now several children age 10 or so to teens had gathered & Dirty... cop ordered them to help him get the witnesses names & addresses while he would do the same.
I tried to warn people to run. It's the uniform. They never believe the guy drenched in blood over the calm officer with the badge. No matter how unusual it is he's chosen to have children interrogate his witnesses.
In the car my memory resets... it makes me very easy to handle.
"..."!
I became lucid inside the car just outside the torture house next to the Bomb Shelter Garages mere blocks from where I was. The gang drag me kicking & screaming from the car. They subdue handcuffed me easy enough & big Jocks muscle me inside. I quit resisting.
Martin "Duh Jerk" Oak, and the 4 Stars are there outside & make insults about what I'd done.
I told them I hadn't hurt anyone. They probably poured blood on me & this was just another PRACTICAL joke. I was telling the truth. To the best of my ability.
Martin Oak ordered the Jocks to take me back to my cell.
We soon entered a hallway... 2 young men lie dead on either side of the room. A teenage girl lay beside them.
"You killed them"!
I denied it. "They're probably just manikins".
They invited me to examine my handiwork.
I looked down, focused my eyes... and I recalled killing the 2 young men. I'd snuck up on them & cut one's throat, then carved the other up. It took a long time.
The teenage girl had been knocked out in only a few blows & would be okay after they reset her jaw the Ambulance Crew announced. She wasn't very happy. It wasn't until she talked that they noticed her jaw was broken. One of the young men had lived too. He said he'd been stabbed but not that bad. He'd faked dying & was laying still this whole time terrified I was still in the room.
The teen girl giddily tried to wake her friend who lay in a wide puddle of blood. She attacked me when the Ambulance Crew announced her friend was dead. She screamed vicious hatred & threw insults at me. I threw a few back Her's were just words. Mine were all true.
Martin Oak announced he'd surely be punished for his cowardice after the Hospital patched him up.
The Jock seemed oddly happy to me. He said he was just glad to be alive.
I looked at the camera on a tripod nearby with dread knowing it's unblinking eye had seen it all. While the gang said they had no idea what was in the next room yet? Martin Oak asked me what he would find in the next room?
I knew & with a sick soul-churning dread I prepared to meet it. What would they do to me for this? I figured they were going to cast me into prison for life or kill me or both before this. How would they react when they walked into what I knew was in the next room? I refused to tell them anything.
Yeah, atheist me prayed. Here's what happened...
They took me to my cell. Outside it 2 young men dead & the Little Dead Girl lay there where I'd left her. The Jocks checked to see if the 3 people were still alive at Martin Oak's command. One announced the Little Dead girl was still alive.
I was relieved. I hadn't wanted to kill her. In fact I didn't want to kill anyone before I came there. I figured I was a goner for sure this time. With all the gang's bragging this was the time they'd kill me orI'd be cast into prison for life & my worries they were simply going to torture me to death before all "this"... how do I put my horror & dread into words? What do you say there bound as a tortured captive? What do you say to the readers who may be reading this now?
I was sick to my stomach.
I figured I was a goner. When Oak asked me why I did it I said. "You were gonna kill me anyway".
He said they had no intention of killing me. Merely framing me & sending me to prison as revenge for... wait for it... as revenge for The Gym.
To this day & even back then I was incredulous on the subject. "What? You tried to kill me in The Gym & now you want revenge for it"?
We all looked down on The Little Dead Girl. Martin Oak said. "Uggh. What a mess". When they talked about her face.
What words can anyone say that can heal the wounds I suffered there? No wounds that show but cut me to the core.
Sometimes I make snappy sayings or insulting dedications. Not this time.
Whatever...
<-------------------------
The Font Type is called "Peaches & Cream". Symbolic huh?
Why did I do it? They asked?
I figured I was dead anyway. Or was about to begin life prison anyway.
Why'd I kill them?
Why?
...
The Bible says the truth shall set you free.
Why then?
I figured I was doomed no matter what... and I just wanted to taste freedom one more time. If only for a few minutes... maybe if I could get home I could sip freedom for a day? Maybe?
That's it. No grand philosophical reason. No revenge. No higher purpose. No zeal or quest for justice. No desire for profit. No sinister purpose. I just wanted to be free again. If only for a few minutes.
During the days? Weeks? Months of torture I'd prayed an athiest's prayer to God begging him to free me. To free me if only for a few minutes. I just wanted to be free one more time. That was all. Yeah I wanted freedom for life. But only a few minutes would be acceptable. But I didn't pray without faith. I prayed that God knew I wanted to know him, and that I wanted him to save me, to free me despite everything arrayed against me. Witnesses, films, evidence, hearsay, & my own crazy talk to avoid visiting mercury again (see Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, & the Molestors are from Mercury to understand). I prayed that if he existed I trusted him to save me now. Over & over & over & over & over & over &...
This is true to the best of my ability.
Laying next to the little girl you just killed... Circa 1988 (Look up the word Circa... cops)...
Afterthoughts... I still think about this one often. Picture me laying on the ground... there on Bay City's West Side... Park Street if I recall it right... broad daylight on a warm summer's day... I'm laying on my back... about 20-25 children are either pinning me to the ground not far from the sidewalk in an empty lot... other children are lying here & there where I stabbed them. The little boy whom I'd just slashed deep across his face lay the furthest away, a pair of children bent over him in the exact position where he fell when I cut him deep. Scarred for life with a wound I can only describe as a gash. A gaping wound. The other children are crying... or not moving. I suspect the reason being because I'd just stabbed them over & over & over & over & over &... well... you get the picture. Living? Dead? Dying? I cant say. No one is tending a few of them. No one. They lay there under the sun where I stabbed them.
Martin "Duh Jerk" Oak & Peat "Dirty Cop" Kazmerdict (name misspelled on purpose) are the only 2 I recognize though I have seen one of the 6-8 elderly men who came running up with him. Almost as many women with them and a pair of men dressed as an Ambulance Crew with a few Jocks in obligatory black stand in shock or tending a few of the dying children. I say dying because I stabbed them mostly about the neck & went for the throat.
I'm already starting to wink in & out... several spent & broken syringes no doubt litter the ground here & there.
Then I look to my right again... one of the little girls... she was already white as sheet. Dead. Dead dead dead. Why? Because the human body is not designed to be hit that many times in the throat by a knife.
One of the women scans the crowd & singles her out. She drops to her knees at the head of the 11 year old girl and makes a sound unique in all of nature. It is the sound of a mother screaming over the body of her daughter. She screamed over & over.NOOOOOOOOOO!!! She paused only to inhale & screamed again over & over. NOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Thus are the pitfalls of a kidnapping lifestyle.
Later a formerly polite alleged "snitch" confronted me with this sentence. "You sick f _ _ _"! He described the otherwise successful kidnapping of myself as what was supposed to be "a joyous occasion". Family friendly. Fun. Good old wholesome child-molester fun. He saw me as the immoral person because in his opinion. "They'd only have tortured you for a little while & then let you go". Since I've had worse done to me in his... in their opinion (He said Martin Oak sent him) I was the immoral one. Not the recreational kidnapping rapists.
What lead up to this? I sent it in full detail to the F.B.I. & tried my best to file reports with the Bay City... cops. Ask them.
Sometimes I still remember the smiling children who were pinning me to the ground. And I still remember looking into the blank face of that dead little girl. I still remember the screams of that formerly "joyous" mother. Just another memory courtesy of the Mid-Michigan child-molester community & brought to you by the Bay City Police & they said the Bay City Ambulance Service. Hey! Lets not leave out Bunga Bunga Hospital. The gang credited them with saving a few of the children. Tending to the wounds of the scarred. And covering up the deaths. Not only that but I was stabbed by at least 4 or 5 loaded syringes. The snitches (more than one over the years) & even Duh Jerk said I was overdosed by the attackers & the Bunga Bunga hospital saved my life & kept me knocked-out while the gang covered everything up. Kudos you godless pervert enablers you IF true. I apologize for mentioning them, a madman can say many things. Then again... I don't call them Bunga Bunga Hospital for no reason.
Just another memory inflicted on me by madmen. An afterthought...
Whatever...
No title yet... I just cant concentrate...an Afterthought...
Sooooooo... there I was... in a bedroom, they tell me it was somewhere in America... but I cant say where... there were 3 doors in the room. One on my left that was never unlocked, one on my right that lead to a small bathroom, and a door behind me. On my left along the wall are dressers & chests. Ahead of me is a small window high up on the wall, and on the right is a chest & a bed. Behind me is a screaming baby in a crib. Why was the baby screaming? Who can say? On my left lay a dead or dying teenage man, on my right lay a dead or dying teenage woman, and there was a teen man trying his very best to climb up & out the narrow window above. There's a few portraits here & there hanging on the wall.
Me? What was I doing? I had no idea where I was nor how I got there nor why I was holding a woman to my chest with my left arm and stabbing her with the knife in my right hand. Why?
Does this happen to everyone? Was this just a normal day in America? I have nothing to compare it too.
I keep stabbing the young woman while I ponder the situation before me. Thump! Thump! Thump! The young man ahead of me tries all the harder to get out the window but lacks the upper body strength to lift himself up & out the window. He keeps trying. Me? I keep stabbing & trying to figure out what's going on? Thump! Thump! Thump!
Then recent events flooded back to me. These people were my kidnappers. In the room behind me across the hall I'd spent weeks being drugged & sleep-deprived. Raped over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over &... over... &... over... &... over. All on film. Everything on film. Sure there were breaks, but only to engage me in conversation, to see what insane thing or polite conversation they could engage me in next to enhance their films. Then the rapes began anew.
Their "Leader", the guy in charge, a guy I'd see every decade or so for the next 30 years. He liked to talk behind a wall of guards or from the safety of me being on their strength-robbing drugs or both. Yeah... I'd attacked him & nearly killed him once & I knew he knew it.
The Leader, a otherwise average looking man off average build then in his mid to late 30s had actually wrapped things up. Bragging Martin "Duh Jerk" Oak had hired him to frame me & get rid of me legally for him by casting me into prison for life. Then he'd returned & announced that their films of me being violent in my relationship with the woman who lay on the floor behind me in the present were lacking. They showed me being violent but he wanted more films of me softly interacting with my torturers, with my gang of gay lovers (rapists). He told them & myself they'd keep me delirious & on drugs & interact with me. He wanted a soft love sex-film with my leading lover (the woman on the floor behind me) for court as proof I liked to film sex. A final nail in my coffin.
So they'd set up to do just that. Filming it all.
Thump! Thump! Thump! I kept stabbing while I the memories of where I was & what had brought me to this moment flooded my mind. I'd thought I was dreaming... and grabbed me a sharp knofe, snapped the nexk of the largest & most fit person in the room, killed the couple laying on the floor next to the syringe on the floor, and was in mid-kill on this woman. The Leader had told me they were all 18, & chosen because they could pass as teens & that the woman was 23 or 28 or so.
Thump! Thump! Thump! The teen gives up trying to get out the window & turns and faces me. Thump! Thump! Thump! We both look at each other. Thump! Thump! Thump!
I know know why I'm doing what I'm doing. I ponder stopping but... is the gal still alive? I'm stabbing the same spot over & over... maybe it's really not doing much? She's not struggling & is limp in my arms... should I stop? Thump! Thump! Thump!
Fear washed over me. I've been jumped at this point from behind lots of times. I gotta look behind me... just in case. What if the woman behind me is faking it? So I look over my right shoulder to see if anyone is behind me. I feel that looking down & around to see the woman behind me is too dangerous, I cant chance taking my eyes off this guy again.
So I feel for the woman with my right foot. Her torso. She rolls a little, it's uneven footing. Too dangerous to fight like this. Thump! Thump! Thump! So I move my foot down her torso & meet her neck. Then I lean back on her neck & stand waiting for the young man to make his move. Thump! Thump! Thump!
He looks at his partners in crime on the floor & rubs his muzzle. I can tell he's about to make his move. Thump! Thump! Thump! I just stood there... stabbing. Thump! Thump! Thump!
He ran at me & tried to pass me on my right side in a desperation run for freedom. I estimate the young man was a little more than half my body weight., but only so much more. I reached out my right arm blade & all & caught him in mid-air!
"Umph"! I'll bet I knocked the wind out of him when I caught him & slammed him bodily over the woman & held them both up stabbing him exactly as I'd stabbed her so many times. Thump! Thump! Thump!
Eventualy my memory reset... I would come to new conclusions as to where I was, and what my goals were, I sent them to the F.B.I.
Just an Afterthough... just another Afterthought... I think about him from time to time over the years. I've replayed his desperation dive over & over in my mind hundred, maybe thousands of times.
I had talked to him, I'd talked with them all during lucid times when my next dose was near. He loved kidnapping & torturing people. He did this all the time &I was simply next on the list. A list he relished. They'd all bragged they'd destroyed lives. Killed people with impunity & their films made it all possible. No one could touch them, their films made them all above the law & untouchable. They could do anything to anyone & no one could touch them.
We'd looked into each other's eyes & there was no mercy. Neither him nor I. No quarter was asked and none given.
Imagine you come too in a room & there's 3 women laying dead or dying on the floor & a man. You're stabbing some lifeless corpse over & over and you have no idea why? Thump! Thump! Thump!
An Afterthought... Just another memory inflicted on me by madmen...
Whatever...
Yeah... Whatever...
BURNING DESIRE... Revisited... The horror... The horror...
There I was... standing who knows where? In front of a building I guess, yes guess was a rented hall (the gang said it was later). It was night... Dirty Cop himself was pointing a pistol straight at my face. Men, my fellow victims were still no doubt running off in the distance... There were "witnesses" standing not far off... and the flames were getting higher... and higher...
Dirty Cop & I exchanged insults. His were just words... mine were all true...
First a man, then men started screaming... Soul-churning screams only capable by men in mortal peril...
In a moment of time I pondered the situation before me...
My stomach churned sick as I pondered...
I had escaped the burning building... Me... My fellow victims were free... but I stood there... I... me... I stood there & took the personal luxury of insulting a madman's puppet when I could have been saving my fellow victims... the men... those precious lives that just sat there in the burning building staring ahead.. I... me...
My belly grew all the more bitter...
I insisted that Dirty Cop aid me in helping the men...
He told me he figured it was a thinly veiled escape attempt & if I moved he'd shoot me dead...
A few of the crowd (by "crowd" I mean not many people) seemed agitated and remarked that Dirty Cop should help the men... Who cares if I got away?
Dirty Cop said not to worry... the flames were merely the natural sound burning buildings sometimes make...
One of the men quit screaming...
The other man cried out to God and begged for help!
I tried to convince Dirty Cop to let me help the men...
He refused...
I could take no more...
I told Dirty Cop he could shoot me in the back in front of the witnesses if he wanted... but I was going to help those men...
So I turned my back on the recreational mass-murdering... cop & rushed over to the hole...
I could tell we'd gotten out of that hole in the nick of time as it was now too hot to humanly approach the door...
I called out to the men...
Dirty Cop took up a position on my side still pointing his pistol at my head...
"I cant tell where your voice is coming from"!!!
I told him all the more to follow the sound of my voice...
He screamed & he screamed...
The man who I could've saved but took the luxury of insulting a man I'd insulted a dozen times screamed all the more...
I kept calling out to him... Come to the sound of my voice...
Then the screaming stopped...
There's a sickening moment when your heart does a flip flop inside your chest when you feel that you just messed up bad...
I stood there for a while...
Listening...
The heat grew too intense & it was now too hot to even stand near the hole or anywhere even close...
When I make it to Heaven... During Judgement day... what do I say to the men???
Tell me oh wise one's among my readers... tell me... what do I say to those men...
Later I asked Duh Jerk why we were drugged thusly to come out of our drugged stupors as the fire began?
He bragged it took research & timing. Had we all died in the fire without screaming... drugged up then... cops might ask questions... and he needed, the gang needed people dead in a way the... cops would never question...
"I heard you were instrumental in getting everyone out of there". He remaked that had he known I could've been so capable he would've doped mee stupid for the entire ordeal.
He boasted I'd better never bring it up... or I'd just hand victory to his gang.
Whatever...
Heal this... Whatever...
I wrote about this & sent it off to the F.B.I. "Officially" they refuse to acknowledge the effort.
In my over 1,000 page letter to the F.B.I. detailing the partial list of the slain, who, what, when, where, and the all-important why, I couldn't help myself... I had to be just a little creative. Eh, that's just me. In it, I gave everyone & almost everything & every important place a "theme song" for creative purposes. I noted a quote by Socrates. It went something like. Who cares who writes the laws as long as I can write the songs"? He alleged music was an important factor in any culture over and above laws written on paper or chiseled in stone. Me? My quote was if a picture is worth a thousand words then a song is worth ten thousand.
I've shied away from the theme songs mostly on my website. Eh... why not?
In the letter to the F.B.I. I talked about how I thought about giving myself 2 theme songs, only to decide not to. Instead giving it to 2 of the most sadistic people I'd ever met.
Play it while you read this next tale to get the full effect. Don't Cry Outloud - Melisa Manchester.
...
There I was... during the time I call... "The Crib". A boring time... with only the Guy I Suspect Society Will Call Serial Rapist for company. Talking to him was forbidden... we lived in separate cells on opposite sides of the room... oh, they had a nice name for it. "A crib". I was expected to control him & punished for his every misdeed. He was an evil, disobedient, bratty child who loved to tell me over & over how much he enjoyed watching me get hit. He got a lot of enjoyment in that room.
We lived across the street from Yankees, then the largest Store in Portsmouth Township as far as I know way back in 1968. It was green house if I remember right. They said my daddy (Honor Honor Honor) lived with us, but I only saw him a handful of times.
My Mother (Honor Honor Honor) summoned me into the kitchen.
A chance to leave my crib? I leaped at it & immediately presented myself to her.
There were 2 teenagers I'd never seen before in the room with here. She asked me if I'd like to learn fight?
WOW! Did I ! I was sick of being beat up.
She told me she had good news then. The 2 teens were going to teach me how to fight.
I eagerly went into the next room at her command. Out of the crib? 2 new friends? The day of freedom from the crib she'd always said would come if I was good enough for long enough had finally come! I was high & I don't think it was drugs.
The 2 teenagers promptly knocked me down & started pounding on me.
Me? What did I do? I was 3. I cried!
My Mother came rushing in and demanded to know what had happened?
The teens lied and said I was a brat & they were giving me some well-deserved justice.
My Mother set them up to do a gauntlet on me. First she slapped me in the face. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 1st Teen copied her. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 2nd Teen copied him. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot. I'm pretty sure I'm under reporting it.
Then they said justice had been done & they'd teach me to fight.
She left the room...
They knocked me down... and started pounding on me.
My Mother came rushing in and demanded to know what had happened?
The teens lied and said I was a brat & they were giving me some well-deserved justice.
My Mother set them up to do a gauntlet on me. First she slapped me in the face. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 1st Teen copied her. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 2nd Teen copied him. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot. I'm pretty sure I'm under reporting it.
Then they said justice had been done & they'd teach me to fight.
She left the room...
They knocked me down... and started pounding on me.
My Mother came rushing in and demanded to know what had happened?
The teens lied and said I was a brat & they were giving me some well-deserved justice.
My Mother set them up to do a gauntlet on me. First she slapped me in the face. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 1st Teen copied her. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 2nd Teen copied him. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot. I'm pretty sure I'm under reporting it.
Then they said justice had been done & they'd teach me to fight.
She left the room...
They knocked me down... and started pounding on me.
My Mother came rushing in and demanded to know what had happened?
The teens lied and said I was a brat & they were giving me some well-deserved justice.
My Mother set them up to do a gauntlet on me. First she slapped me in the face. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 1st Teen copied her. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 2nd Teen copied him. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot. I'm pretty sure I'm under reporting it.
Then they said justice had been done & they'd teach me to fight.
She left the room...
They knocked me down... and started pounding on me.
My Mother came rushing in and demanded to know what had happened?
The teens lied and said I was a brat & they were giving me some well-deserved justice.
My Mother set them up to do a gauntlet on me. First she slapped me in the face. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 1st Teen copied her. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot.
Then the 2nd Teen copied him. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! How many slaps? Idano. I couldn't count back then. Not above 3 in any event. But it was a lot. I'm pretty sure I'm under reporting it.
Then they said justice had been done & they'd teach me to fight.
She left the room...
They knocked me down... and started pounding on me.
I think it was about the 7th or 8th cycle that I realized what was up. I was going to get beat up & there wasn't thing 1 I could do about it.
It lasted an hour a day... 3 to 5 days a week... every week... for about a year... literally! At that time I could not count but I learned to tell hourly time because when the big hand on the clock reached the top the pain ended.
They never chatted, except to give each other combat tips. Grab him. He's getting loose. Hold his arm. You know... normal chat with a 3 year old. It is normal? Right? I have nothing to compare it to.
My Mother refused to discuss the children with me. And my every groan of pain or crying out was met with a gauntlet, then a return to the action.
My Cousin chimed in on it. He asked me where I supposed the teens came from & what motivated them?
I told him I had no idea.
He said he paid them to torture me. And ordered My Mother to beat me for my every utterance (nothing new) or cry. He said it was to break me. I was The Good Kid & he hated me for it. Either one day the teens would kill me or I'd have to disobey My Mother & beat them up. More likely he'd force me to attack them with a weapon & have the proof he needed I was a violent troubled youth so he could do what he would to me unimpeded by authorities. In any event I would lose my title as The Good Kid. Which he hated. It took attention from his own son he said. Whom he claimed was his son of his old age. People should be fawning all over him, not calling me The Good Kid.
Me? I told him if he wanted the Good Kid Title he could have it. I hated that nickname.
Oddly... he called me a liar there. Of course I adored The Good Kid Title. Anyone would crave it.
He told me that to even dare to dream of repeating this would bring his gang victory. If only because he could say that surely I was exaggerating and no... cop would believe a child-molester would be so cruel to a child because it was universally believed that all child-molesters loved children & would never hurt one. The entire story was proof unto itself that I was a liar and the gang the saints in the conversation.
If only I did exaggerate... Ow...
Strange nicknames aside I invite the reader to picture a 3 year old me. Being pounded on while the 2 teen's theme song plays... Don't Cry Outloud.... It was an hour a day... and they never cheated the hour...
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Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
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Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Pain...
Heal this... Make the pain all better oh wise ones reading this a half-century after the fact... Heal me... If you can...
Whatever...
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The truth shall set you free? The truth hasn't set me free so far... yet.
Sigh...
I absolutely premeditated deliberately try to kill a child in front of 60+ witnesses... on film... Follow-up...
Sooooo there I was... in "The Gym". I was 11 years old. The year was 1976 & the entire country was still high on the fumes of the year's many patriotic events. Actually it was the Macgregor School Cafeteria. 60+ Children, teens, and adults who could not pass as high-schoolers had ended their chants calling for my death & were now screaming random insults at me. Of all of them I know only one person. Martin "Duh Jerk" Oak. He is the man in charge of my ongoing recreational attempted murder & up and until now he was smiling and in his glory. Now a pained look of frustration and genuine anguish covers his face as he calls an end to The Gym.
The crowd goes insane calling for my death! Demanding we just fight on. That they just mob me and be done with me. They'd seen the films & were obsessed with my death! Some pointed to what I'm calling "The Triage" as justification that I should die. Here. Now!
Me? Same old. Same old. Sigh... This had become my life.
Me? Yeah... I prayed. A lot! Here's what happened...
I pondered the area between myself & the only working doors that lead to freedom from the far end of the room. Most of the crowd were on my left, in a line and screaming at me or Duh Jerk. He told them that the Bosses had declared I should die in The Gym and it had to look like an accident to anyone who wasn't there. I had to die in an absurd & insane way so the... cops would never question my death. He promised them my death. I'd be getting what's coming to me soon enough. "He cant block forever"!
Me? I wanted out of there. But I realized I'd either have to wait for them to leave or walk out through the midst of them. I hesitated. Then I pondered the people in The Triage.
The Triage isn't my name for the spot in front of the Cafeteria's double doors, it's what the Ambulance Crew called it as they whisked The Gym''s participants there one at a time. About 1/3rdof the males in the room littered the floor there. Many stood & I'll call them the walking wounded. Slings, splints, bandages aplenty, and even a few guys on crutches. I'd seen the Ambulance Crew injecting injured participants with who knows what drug(s?) and some of them stood with glazed looks on their faces neither regarding nor participating in the screaming. Girls tend to some of the injured participants & some of them look like they're in a great deal of pain. I overheard the Ambulance Crew complaining that they'd exhausted their pain-killers a long time ago on the moderately injured & there were none to treat the seriously wounded. On several occasions, between the action, they all but begged for permission to leave The Gym to get more drugs from their Ambulance. It was for the children in pain.
Duh Jerk refused their every request. "No one leaves"! No exceptions.
The crowd get more unruly. I hear several saying they should disobey orders & just kill me anyway. Surely for the good of mankind (a lot of this stuff is no where near the actual words used, it's called paraphrasing, get over it).
I figured I had to get out of there now or die & that meant a walk through the midst of them. So I stepped up & endured their insults. Some charge me & Duh Jerk orders them restrained! This is getting out of control.
It became apparent that my best bet was to walk through where the crowd was the thinnest. The Triage.
The bodies... bodies of pre-teens, teens, and young men who could never pass as high school students littered the floor and a few students tended the worst of them.
One... I'll call him "Focus" was really bad off. He laid on the floor holding his ribs. His lungs loudly sucked in air in strained quick painful breaths. Focus would take 2 or 3 breaths & scream as best he could in pain. Rinse... lather... repeat...
I walked past Focus & our eyes met. In a moment of time I pondered him and what had brought us to this time & place. My heart went out to him & I would've gladly treated his wounds personally but the gang stood between myself and the injured as though they were protecting them from me.
All this time Focus is fighting to breathe he's locked in a struggle for his very life & screaming in agony as much as his injured body can.
Focus...
Duh Jerk tells me I can leave.
Incredibly... I balk at the offer. There is no trusting him nor anyone around him.
He told me I could stay if I wanted?
I chose to leave.
He told the men at the doors to get ready to open them & to slam them shut as soon as I was out. He pointed to Focus and said. "Shut him up"! He couldn't open the doors with the 8th Graders& half the school out there with him screaming like that.
Young men who could never pass as high school students & teens piled on Focus who now resisted. One of them covered his mouth and nose & they held him fast.
I hesitated & pondered the situation. I looked at Focus & pondered revenge. Imagine a clock ticking...
Tick... tick... tick...
The crowd are getting wilder, more uncontrollable. Staying is suicide. But I looked at Focus & thought to myself...
Tick... tick... tick...
Duh Jerk ordered the doors opened.
Tick... tick... tick...
I thought to myself... that if I hesitated, just a minute or so... surely the gang would kill Focus here and now, if only by accident...
Tick... tick... tick...
I was 11 years old...
Tick... tick... tick...
I hesitated... Pondering that plan...
Tick... tick... tick...
The crowd are going all the more insane. Fights have broken out all over the room.
Tick... tick... tick...
I ponder Focus. I ponder what I would want if that was me on the floor. I'd want the guy looking down on me to spare my life. I'd want him to leave so the jerks, my partners in crime would let me breathe.
Tick... tick... tick...
So I walked out of The Gym & into the darkened hallway & they slammed the doors behind me leaving me alone with my attempted murderers The 8th Graders (which is what we were all calling them by now). A few of them congratulated me. They'd seen the tail end of the action.
Me? I was in no mood to accept their praise. I walked through the midst of them & pondered Focus & what might become of him?
WHATEVER...
I've lost...
I get kidnapped with impunity...
I get raped with impunity...
I get robbed with impunity...
I am the victim of every dirty cop out there with impunity...
I've lost...
All I have left is prayer...
Memories... Just thinking of you...
i just dug a tick out of my pelvis 5-13-18 & I was thinking about some of the other parasites in my life. Guys like Duh Jerk, Fag Boy, The Bay City Police, the dead tick, & an 18 year old who bragged to me that the fact he looked 16 & wasn't very big would protect him from any legal penalties should he be caught kidnapping me or the long list of people he planned to vex over his lifetime.
So there I was... stabbing this delicate young woman who also had bragged she was 18 & petite & pretty & would never be punished even if caught based soley on her looks. Stabbing her in the chest over & over & over in that 2nd floor bedroom. She'd quit struggling a while ago. Stab! Stab! Stab!
I recall pondering if I should stop stabbing her. Was she dead? Why was it so hard to concentrate? Stab! Stab! Stab!
My memories reset. I reassess the situation. I'm stabbing who knows who in the chest, a pretty girl & I have no idea why? I search my memories & the recent tortures, the lengthy gang-rapes all come flooding back into my mind. Stab! Stab! Stab!
The teen male across from me gives up trying to climb out the small window high above him & turns to face me. Stab! Stab! Stab!
Our eyes meet. There is no quarter asked, none given. Stab! Stab! Stab!
I'm desperately trying to cling to... how do I describe it? Trying to cling to my long-term memory? Who knows how many times my memory reset up there? Stab! Stab! Stab!
The young man is preparing to make a run past me. I can tell. Stab! Stab! Stab!
Why am I still stabbing this girl I ponder? Stab! Stab! Stab! Shouldn't I stop? What if I stop & stabbing this guy doesn't occur to me because I've got no stimulation? Stab! Stab! Stab! Why is it so hard to concentrate? Stab! Stab! Stab! Oh yeah, the torture, the sleep deprivation, & the drugs. The fact I've got several things floating around in my mind isn't helping. Stab! Stab! Stab!
He makes a run at me, tries to pass me on my right. He leaps into the air and i catch the young man little more than half my body weight. He lets out a loud. "Oomph"!
The stabbing stops.
I slam him over top of the girl in my left arm & stab him right in the heart! STAB! His limbs all flail outward in an instant! STAB! then I keep stabbing him. Stab! Stab! Stab! Who knows how long as my memory resets over & over & I'm endlessly reassessing the situation & wondering how long I've been stabbing this guy & if he was dead or not. Stab! Stab! Stab!
parasites...
I never wanted to do any harm to any of the 3 parasites i described here. they attacked me. 2 of the 3 bragged on & on about their love of the lifestyle.
Any good police officers reading this? will you get these parasites off of me? please?
whatever...
