Fear | victims-of-bay-city

Fear...

Fear... this page is titled simply as "Fear".

Fear? Why title it as fear? It's a collection of the stories I've been afraid to add. Me, yes I, afraid to add. I dread the inevitable upcoming... cop mocking session. I do.

Fear! What's to fear? Fear that those guys, the guys who did this to me, the gang, are still out there. Do you suppose they got nicer? Kinder? Stayed the same? Fear...

Fear? "They" brag I'd better not tell these stories... or else I'll just hand the gang victory on a dirty... cop-held silver platter.

Fear? Yeah... they stalk me. Did it since I was a baby. Still do it, or so they brag. Still out there, still hungry, and looking at your kids next.

Fear...

A DAY IN DETROIT(?)... Kill... Kill... Kill... Sometimes... It's all I do when I go to the big city... sometimes...

Soooo... there I was. I'd just endured weeks of sleep-deprivation and torture & was doped out of my mind in what seems like a back room in some warehouse. The walls were white, I use the word white loosely, and the room not as dim as you'd expect. 10 or so men, all in their 20s or 30s of average build and attire were gathered around a table. Well, 2 of the guys were big, big guys dressed in black & armed with submachine guns that they carried at the hip via slings draped over their shoulders. The table had all sorts of bottles of assorted booze and I sat across from another guy who was well dressed in earth tones & obviously didn't belong to this crowd of ruffians. Me? I was well-dressed myself in expensive clothes of the day I normally wore. Boxes of ammunition and ashtrays filled with lit cigarrettes and cigars are the only other thing I recall. A pile of cash was in the center of the table.

Everyone was having a good time. Well, not I nor the guy across from me in his mid-20s. He, like I was well-dressed (the best dressed in the room I assure the reader) and unlike me never said a single word.

Did I say good time? I meant great time. Riotous laughing dominated the room and the crowd loved the goings on. This was the time of their lives.

What was going on? Other than the loud music? Well, the gang took a bullet from the box of ammunition... riotously laughed, put it into the revolver, laughing, and spun the chamber, and handed it to the guy across from me, and laughed and laughed, and told him to put the gun to his head, and they laughed when he did, and told him to pull the trigger while laughing. He did. CLICK! They all laughed and laughed and by poking him in the shoulder and encouraging him they got him to laugh too.

Then it was my turn... Read the above because I ain't writing it again... but they did the same thing to me, encouraged me to put the revolver to my head, and told me to pull the trigger.

I did. CLICK! They laughed and laughed.

We went back and forth a few times.

I became semi-lucid. By semi-lucid, I mean I percieved the situation and tried to come up with a plan. It kept failing because my memory kept resetting itself because of the drugs. Picture this. You become semi-lucid at the very moment after you've pulled the trigger. With the gun to my head I became lucid the moment after I'd pulled the trigger. CLICK!

I was irritated to say the least and tried to leave. The gang, mostly because of the huge Jocks, beat me down and returned me to my seat. I called them murderers and told them I'd never play their sick game no matter how they threatened me.

The leader, he told me something like. "All we have to do is hold you down until your memory resets and then we'll put you back in your chair and play again".

Me? Yeah. I prayed. I prayed a lot. I prayed a prayer of faith that God would get me out of this. Give me a plan, give me strength to get out of this. Here's what happened next:

So they held me down... a while later I recall asking these men on top of me whom I'd never met why they were on top of me and they very kindly dusted me off and sat me back down in a chair.

SPIN.... CLICK! I became lucid again. The Jocks pointed guns menacingly at whoever had the pistol and I pondered trying to fight it out of there by shooting a Jock & fighting, but these guys had already whupped me once, I didn't see a way out. Besides I figured that, since the gang loved to play with blanks, that could be the case here.

Sooo... If you cant fight your way out, appeal to their base instinct, like greed. There was a lot of cash on the table. So I accused them of using blanks in the gun, or that the primer was bad, or the firing pin was gone.

Their Leader became very defencive when the crowd accused him of cheating. So he set up a bunch of their empty bottles and shot one. BANG! The bottle shattered.

I told the gang he probably made the old switcheroo by palming real bullets and switching in a fake at the last moment.

The crowd was livid at the possiblity.

So the Leader decided that to make sure it was fair that they'd shoot the pistol after each "round" at a target to see if the ammo was real and to make sure no tampering occured I and my counterpart would be the one's to reload the pistol each time.

I refused & when I did the Leader simply told me he'd just wait for my memory to reset because of the drugs and then he'd order me to do it.

My memory resets... I become non-responsive and recall only bits as the world ripples around me and madmen laugh at their game & party.

CLICK! The Leader takes the gun from the other guy & shoots a bottle. BANG! The crowd seems content.

CLICK! I've just fired the pistol and become lucid after handing the pistol to the Leader who shoots a bottle.

The Leader hands the pistol to the other guy. He accidentally loads a few rounds into the chamber. CLICK...

I recall a few back and forths... the gang encourage us to load more into the chamber. Sometimes it works, sometimes it don't.

The Leader hands the revolver to the other guy and orders him to load it, put it to his head, and pull the trigger. BANG!

Blood everywhere. The gang laugh heartily at the young man's demise. Before, the gang mostly paid attention to whoever had the pistol and kinda paid attention to the other guy. Now I was the center of attention (unlike the accusations (yeah, I said "accusations" of Mid-Michigan... cops I HATE being the center of attention. Especially in a situation like this one.

CLICK! I become semi-lucid. I plot an escape. The Leader shoots a bottle and hands me the gun. The gang encourage me to put an extra round or 2 in the chamber. So I do. I ask the gang if I loaded the pistol? Should I load it? They tell me I forgot, so I should put more ammo in the pistol. So I do. Then I put the gun to my head and ask if I forgot to load it. They tell me I did. So I put 2 more in... and then I fill the last chamber and the gang look slyly at me as I put the gun to my head, laughing with them as I do.

I figured the guards attention was on the pistol. Thus If I attacked one by poking out his eyes while jutting the gun out to the side nearest the other Jock thier attention might be focused on the gun and not me?

So that's what I did. I sprung up and poked out the guard's eyes while practically pushing the pistol to my side to the front of the 2nd Jock and it worked because that Jock momentarilly kept his eyes on the pistol and not me. Then I stepped up to him beside the barrle of his gun making him unable to shoot me. He had both hands on his gun and tried to brute force me away with it. So, with both of his hand engaged I shot him in the heart! BANG. Then I went around the room, Leader 1st and shot each of them in the heart until I'd shot 5 times total. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The room grew quiet. I told everyone to move to the corner of the room opposite the door.

"He's only got one bullet. We should rush him". One of them said.

I told him that was why I saved one bullet. "The 1st one to attack me dies". Then I ordered the men to the other side of the room, opposite the door, and then casually reloaded. Then I ordered them onto the floor and pondered just how many people should walk out of the room alive? In the end it occured to me that I wasn't there to kill people. I was there to escape. I knew the law and more bodies means conviction of a victim... even in America. So I chose to leave with as little bloodshed as possible. But how? Hmmmm...

I questioned them where we were? What could I expect when I left the building? I don't recall their answer to the city but I recall them saying it was a warehouse beyond the door and in the heart of the City.

I told them to shut up and that if they alerted anyone I'd kill them & then I opened the vault-like door and recall hearing the sounds of a busy business but I didn't peak outside just yet.

When I said I was leaving one of them said he'd wait for me to leave and shoot me in the back with the submachine gun. So I figured I had to deal with the guns. They bragged I'd never leave because as soon as I walked out with a submachine gun guards across the street would cut me down.

Me? I realized in horror drugs had made me completely forget the 2 submachine guns. I was about to walk out & leave them lying on the floor next to my kidnappers. There's more than one reason the gang use drugs o n victims. It impairs their judgement. Things that would occur to just about anyone just wont occur to a drugged victim. Or worse, weird things that'd normally be plan B or even plan E are now plan A because you're brain pistons just aren't all firing.

So I grabbed the 2 guns and bent the barrels by smashing them on the floor and just left them there. Then I made them all lay face down and wrap their arms around each other and told them if they looked I'd kill them. That and I was going to leave soon, but not before I stood around to watch who 1st looked and then kill them.

Sooo I stood around for about 30 seconds or so. Coughed a few times so they'd hear me. Then fear that my memory might reset and I'd be helpless before them made me flee quietly. So I tucked the pistol into my waist and undr my shirt and walked out.

I was in a bustling warehouse filed with people and boxes and crates and forklifts were going too and fro. As I walked away a few hard-hat wearing guys who were obviously running the place standing about 20-30 feet from the door saw me and intercepted me & told me it was against the rules to leave the party early and I told them it was okay because I needed some fresh air and they needed more party supplies. He seemed skeptical and told me there was plenty of booze in there and there was no need for anyone to leave.

I told him one of the victims freaked out on drugs and wrecked all the booze. Thus, since I needed some fresh air anyway I was sent to get more party supplies.

He told me the guards knew better than to let anyone leave early and someone was going to be punished and walked to the room.

Me? I briskly walked out of the warehouse.

To be continued... probably. See "Kill... Kill... Kill... sometimes it's all I do when I go to the big city...".

A preview? Sure? Why not. "You killed 5 unarmed men". He went on and on about how I'd one day pay killing as many Child-Molestors as I had and it was incidents like this one that'd make the gang's victory possible.

Yeah yeah yeah... so far the body count just doesn't measure up. Give it time...

I'm physically tired and emotionally drained at the time of this writing and I just don't feel like writing about the subject any more today 10-29-16.

GULP!

MEET THE MASTER... Whatever...

Fear? Yeah...

Sooo... there I was... Circa 20th Century... bebopping along, minding my own beeswax, when a fit guy, in his late 20s walks up to me. He had something he wanted to tell me. He named Duh Jerk as the man who'd recruited him to beat me down, publicly, on film for his amusement. He claimed Jerk wanted me to know who'd hired the Karate Black Belt, 3rd Degree he claimed, to cripple or kill me. He'd seen the films of me and knew I was the biggest scumbag on Earth, he called me the same thing a few Mid-Michigan... cops have called me... "a child-killer", a recreational child-killer, so he was going to enjoy destroying, and "accidentally killing" a skuzbucket like me as both a service to the gang and to the world with a blow to the throat in the end of the lengthy fight he'd been blackmailed into doing. He told me he was fully prepared to do the next 10 years in prison for manslaughter. A bargain really, when you considered the films the gang had on them gave them the ability to send him to prison for life at a moment's notice. He told me going to prison for killing someone like me was something he could proud of & would make the lonely years he knew he had ahead bearable because my death would provide him with a noble reason to be in prison.

Needless to say... this guy had me full attention.

I pondered the situation before me. A BLACK BELT? Hmmm... Karate? Hmmm... this could go bad. Fighting this guy toe to toe? Hmmm... A trained and highly motivated fighter? That could go from bad to worse. Yeah. I prayed. Here's what happened.

I had a flashback to my first karate lessons. In them they taught me usefull things like strikes and stances, to distribute your weight in a fight so you're not easily toppled, and, incredibly ("unbelievably" if you are a Mid-Michigan... cop)... how to stand. During those lessons we kept goin back to a "beginner's stance". I personally thought it was a waste of time to even learn it but pondered the stances and their uses in combat. I judged the beginner's stance to be useless, even dangerous to use in a fight but concluded that, if I ever got into a fight with a karate expert, & only against a karate expert (I figured experts of all other disciplines would not be fooled thusly) I'd use the beginner's stance to lull them into a false sense of security to give me a chance against against a probably much superior foe.

I told the Black Belt I was no slouch. I'd had a few Karate lessons myself. Then I put myself in the beginning Karate Pose... I think it's called "Horse(?)". When I was taught it way back when I thought to myself that it was the most useless thing to learn. They told me you'll never use it, it's strictly a pose for beginners to learn before progressing to more advanced poses. In it one puts the left arm straight out in a fist, the right in a fist tucked in at your side along the waist, and the legs are spread out more comfortable than I'd like to use in a normal fighting stance and the knees are bent.

Then I put on the best worried and scared looking face I could muster. It was much easier to do than you might imagine.

He laughed at me... heartily and then attacked! Leisurely...

What happened?

I won. Elapsed fight time 0.8 seconds.

Laying on the ground he promised revenge and screamed I'd better kill him because this wasn't over. He even demanded I keep fighting him when I simply walked away and screamed to his Molestor partners in crime who came "innocently" running up that he'd won the fight because I was the coward in the conversation because I was the one retreating from his challenge to keep fighting from the ground.

Yeah... the "innocent passer bys" threatened me and ran around me and formed a circle.

Me? I took some serious chances there. It all involved what I thought just might have happened prior to this situation?

So I put on my best game face & then I told them I knew that Expert was a Black Belt and that I'd bet (bet my life on it... "ironically"? is that the right word?), I'd be willing to bet they'd sparred with Expert and that he'd whupped them all, probably at the same time. If they wanted to fight the guy who just whupped him they were more than welcome to try.

I walked through the midst of the group of young men clad in black who just stood there looking at each other & simply walked away with Expert screaming orders at them to attack me interspaced with threats against me.

I recall while briskly walking away from Expert's screams and threats while pondering what'd just happened? "The Horse Stance" had actually paid off in the end. I figured it'd only work against a Karate Expert and only once ever (the gang would see to that). "That actually worked? Huh"?

I made it about half a block's distance before I saw an ambulance and a Marked Bay City... cOP (Capitalizations mixed-up AS an insult) containing a Uniformed & presumably "on-duty" coppie woppie who authoritatively came out barking orders I couldn't make out. It was like looking at a forest of black pointing hands as all the black-clad "innocent" passers by pointed at me as I rounded the corner. As soon as I was out of sight I took off running and changed my direction often, while using every low-observability and city evasion trick in my arsenal (I've done it a lot in Bay City (mostly) and could write a book on the subject, teach a course even).

It amused me (amused me is a poor choice of words on my part but, eh) when the gang later told me the plan was win/win. If I lost I'd be dead or crippled, who cared what ultimately happened to their throwaway Expert in the end. If I won they planned to have great film footage for later (one of the few times they whined about NOT getting the film they craved) & I'd have a story sure to make... cops laugh and a Karate Expert waiting in prison highly motivated to do much evil to me on behalf of the gang. Then the gang could make my story seem like I was just trying to act macho, trying to make myself look brave while telling of epic battles against a group, a gang perceived by many (mostly... cops) to be a bunch of otherwise harmless pencil-necked geeks and computer porn nerds.

I told him. "Yeah. Macho? I'll bet I looked pretty macho all as _ _ s and elbows running away from the gang after the fight when no one was chasing me".

The gang told me later that Expert would never walk again without a limp. That & Duh Jerk and his top guys had been watching and since he was just one of their many victims anyway they chose to send him to prison for a long time where his talents would come in handy (they don't want any easily identified limping Masters doing their dirty work on the outside, that and it is all about the vanity with them. Get a boo-boo on your face, a limp, a lost limb, something easily identifiable and loyal gang members can expect to be institutionalized, imprisoned, or both. NO EXCEPTIONS! Or so I, the author am told).

"He was supposed to draw out the fight and make it last". Justifying his "accidental" use of a quick strike to kill me... on film. The way the gangbanger described it to me was the fight's location was carefully selected. Lighting, angle, and even multiple cameras shooting from different angles. The way it's allways described, this time included, was that the camera crew are innocently filming an event, or social gathering, family thing of some sort, and then the fight "coincidentally" occurs and they swing the camera around and provide the... cops with a great film for court. That and the best angles are reserved for their "private footage". The stuff that'll never see the light of a courtroom but will be used to influence... cops and a jury later behind closed doors. That and... (eww!) say you're a major perv... and this is how you get off... how you get your jollies... how you float your boat... then the best films are sure to provide you with tons of sick perverse... cop laughable fun.

The gangbanger claimed his lengthy imprisonment was mostly because of Karate Expert's dismal performance. The extra cameras hadn't even gotten a chance to swing around to begin filming the scene and technical difficulties meant that as the gang sat down to watch a good fight they'd taken their eyes off the scene and here Duh Jerk and the Stars had gone through a lot of trouble, invited guests even, and no one important got to see the fight. and they had paid to see it, paid, paid to see it, "paid"... to see it. This hurts the gang's rep (giggle) who were forced to give out consolation gifts of some unspecified sort.

"They told me they want you to know that the next time we use a karate master against you he wont be on drugs like the last times". He claimed the gang liked to "coke-up" their experts to give them courage and to dull thier moral sensibilities so they'll be more prone to destroy another human being who'd never done them nor anyone they knew any evil. You know... "the misguided vigilante thing" that Mid-Michigan... cops are singularly unable to resist.

Enter the guy I've nicknamed "Scumbag". A Bay City Michigan Martial-Arts instructor who is, at the very least, was "peripherally" involved in the 100 days of horror that were the ongoing public attempted murder of myself called... "The Gym" back in fall of 1976 on Bay City Michigan's South-side. But... that, all that is another story...

Expert then became one of the multitude of gang victims who hate me and would gladly participate in my destruction. They told me that since he'll be in prison a long time... a lot longer than he thinks... that he'll be there, in prison, waiting for my arrival.

GULP!

WE REALLY REALLY REALLY GOT THE GOODS ON YOU... By "you" they mean the Author of this website...

Human memory is a funny thing. Did I say funny? This tale is anything but funny. But human memory is a frail thing. There's long-term memory, short-term memory, and there's memories that we cherish, things we'd like to forget, and if you've got a gang of madmen stalking you, there's "drug-impaired memory".

Did you hear that reader? Say "drugs" and mid-michigan... cops flee from a victim's side of the courtroom straight to the rapist's side. Why? "Because there were drugs involved". That's it/ It's that simple. Been keeping up with my rape tips"? Wanna be a lifestyle or even a career rapist? Drugs will ensure you absolute victory against anyone. My name is David A. George and I endorse this strategy. The... cops fall for it every time. IT WORKS!

Okay... enuff endorsing. Straight to the fear. It begins on the 1st day of school... at Bay City's Largest Rape Center... I mean Bay City's largest school. There I was, avoiding my fellow students as best as possible to allow me to survive the ever-present sneak attacks that could come at any moment... all filmed of course. It doesn't sound unusual nowadays but back when I went to high-school it was highly irregular at best. The squeaky wheel gets the grease and the first one there with an edited film gets the Mid-Michigan... cop's approval. Listening rapists? IT WORKS!

Okay... okay... so this kid, a boy my age & build, maybe shorter walks up to me. He wants to talk, and he's got a lot of stuff to say. "Do you remember killing a bunch of kids this summer?

No... no I did not... not in the context he meant.

So he very sarcastily reminded me... as if my not recalling it was somehow all the more disgusting on my part.

At his prompting... I did recall recently killing a few children this summer. Stabbed some to death... slowly. Really really tortured at least one of them to death slowly... at the prompting of My Buddy, The Guy I Suspect Society Will Call Serial Rapist, and Duh Jerk & the 4 Stars. The last 5 had tortured me into delirium over the summer and then convinced me to have a fun serial-killing summer... on film. In some 2nd floor apartment (not the one with the diving gear in another tale) in a box-shaped house we hung out with, played with, and then killed at least 3 teenaged boys. WOW! Did we laugh and laugh.

The Hall Teen told me the gang had the goods on me, so I'd best obey their every command for life... or they'd initiate a police investigation using Dirty Cop (so my accusations against him would seem Ludacris) and begin my 100 life sentences and dozen death-penalties trial. The gang was pretty confident I'd get the death penalty so I'd best obey. It was going to get pretty gross, me being their lowliest scum of the lowest scum and all so I'd best buck up for some serious humiliation starting... now. He invited me to ponder just what the most perverse perversion I was about to endure just might be at the hands of professional perverts who'd long ago explored the most base depths of perversion and felt absolutely above the law. It wasn't going to be fun.

I told him their plan included My Buddy and Serial Rapist both be quiet & say nothing... if they did recall anything (drugs). I told him I knew of the pair's character and any plan that involved trusting those 2 was doomed to fail.

He kept trying to convince me. There was a room nearby filled with my future masters and the perversion I was about to endure for the rest of my life was nothing in comparison to what they'd do to me in prison once I landed there when the gang applied their films.

I told him off. "I ain't worried about it".

He looked beyond amazed. "Why"?

I explained it was because of the one thing, a single factoid the gang have never let me forget (it's been over 40 years now and they're still hurt by it) and, I felt the need to bring it up. "Because of The Gym". "Once the cops start asking questions about the gym it's all over for you guys".

I asked My Buddy about it and he told me he had no recollection of it. Serial Rapist? When my parents, family as a whole weren't using force for me to hang with him the local... cops were screaming illegal violence and threats against me to obey them... and the schools.

About the killings? What's to tell about them? I sent what I recall, the bits & pieces to F.B.I. offices around the country, It wasn't much.

It's like a game of chicken with a huge gang of well-funded highly motivated jerks absolutely bent on revenge over a failed 100 days-of-horror-attempted-murder upon me that only a pack of morons could screw up. The "clean" (are there any in Mid-Michigan?) cops think the gang are the cat's meow, and the dirty... cops are either totally owned by them, or just next on the list and imagine they're above it all because they're all way too smart for a gang of professionals to trip them up & recruit them.

GULP!

DRUGS... The key to victory for any recreation serial-killers... and it always works too... I endorse it...

Soooo... there I was... dazed, confused, and on who knows how many drugs? I recall fading lucid bits... the gang were beating me for sport. It seems they had a new move they were testing out and in some large room with white walls they wanted to test them out.

It involved putting me in wrist-locks over & over. Then beating and slapping on me in a party atmosphere. Fagboy? He took his turn and like the rest took a particular joy in dropping me to my knees for Martin "Duh Jerk" Oak, his Boss and sex partner. Lots of guys did it and as I became lucid this time I knew I was in a sorry state physically from the beating.

I prayed the usual. For escape. Barring that to give my life to take down just one of these... "people" torturing me. Just one. Here's what happened.

One in particular was really giving me a beating. He delighted in letting dazed me go, then re-applying the wrist-lock and dropping me to my knees. Then pounding me about the face and upper body. Laughing with Fagboy he greatly bragged on my coming humiliation. Now that they'd figured out my weakness I was about to endure a horrific gauntlet of gang tortures, beat downs, and rapes starting now! Which he accentuated by beating me more & letting me go.

I became lucid and pondered life. What to do? Would my memory reset? I'd better think fast! Actually... who knows if I wasn't stuck in a drugged loop without long-term memory thinking that very thin over & over for hours? Eh? Who can tell?

Dazed... I was an easy target for a wrist-lock and he dropped me to my knees, promising me horrors only a professional pervert with a lifetime of experience could come up with... actually... it was more of an ongoing thing.

Me? I could take no more & in my heart of hearts I decided that maybe he was right... but it wouldn't be by him.

You see reader... A wrist-lock is indeed a very very painful hold and properly applied will drop most men to the ground in writhing agony and I am just a man. But the hold is only as good as... well, lets say you have a victim who is no stranger to pain. Lets say they're on drugs. Okay, now lets say what happened next.

I chose to grit the pain and stood up, my wrist and hand emitting popping noises the whole while. POP! POP! CRACKKKKK!

The room had been filled with laughter and it all grew silent as I stood still in the wrist-lock.

Then I split my fingers into a "V" and poked out both of my attackers eyes!

I stood next to the very fit Fagboy alone and looked at him narrowly. His Jocks were on the other side of the rather large room. I told him there was no one to protect him now.

Fagoy trembled and dropped to his knees and begged for his life. "Forgive me".

My religon requires that if I will not forgive others then God will not forgive me. He knows that... and he's played to it before.

I told him that if he gave me his word he'd let me go and leave me alone I wouldn't mess up his face.

He cringed and told me he'd let me go and leave me alone for life if I spared his life. His Jocks looked dazed and confused by the situation before them.

So I walked out. When I neared the door Fagboy got off his knees and ordered me subdued!

Yeah..., the gang subdued me. Fagboy was actually scared and trembled yelling accusations at me until I was completely restrained by the numerous Jocks.

One of the Jocks holding me said. "That's pretty low boss. You could of just let him go and recaptured him later. You gave your word. What about your word of honor"?

Fagboy yelled! "HONOR? FOR HIM"! He pointed at me". "NEVER! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I WENT THROUGH IN THE GYM BECAUSE OF HIM"! Typical of the Child-Molestor mentatlity actually. They tried to kill me publicly in a 100 days of horror fest called "The Gym" and then stalked me, robbed, raped, and tortured me but the average Molestor IS the real victim in their minds. Well... not counting easily manipulated film-inspired vigilantes.

The Jock protested using a combination of words, body language, and tone of voice to say If Fagboy wasn't good for his word with me how could he, or anyone else trust him?

Fagboy was furious! He told him to shut up & when he didn't he said something like. :Watch what I do to him. I'm going to do worse to you"! When he protested all the and after threatening to do him twice more Fagboy screamed. "DO YOU WANT TO TRY FOR 3"?!

Fagboy screamed that I be dosed anew! The little girl tasked with holding the drugs, maybe 8 or 9 years old, fumbled with them because of the urgency of the screaming on her. So Fagboy hit her and slammed her against the concrete wall. The he filled a syringe with the drugs she'd been carrying and with great wrath injected me with who knows what while I tried to resist? Fade to black...

Of course they sent 2 snitches to discuss it. I'd lucked out really. Their Dirty Dr., some Bunga Bunga Hospital Physician or so they bragged told them if they broke my hand any more times I'd have to have it cut off. They thought they were onto something but now realized that as long as I could fight... I would. It was then that they implicated Scumbag as a kidnapper. To cover his involvement in The Gym (which he may not realize the enormity of to this day... maybe?). He said it was Scumbag who'd been given many films of me fighting and had discovered my weakness. The practiced it on me, and taught them.

I called them a liar.

The next snitch told me that as revenge for calling the gang liars (professional liars got mad?) Scumbag would be at my next torture session to beat me up.

Scumbag was at my next torture session and he beat me up. But that... is another story.

The gang brag it is the "Sterling Reputation" of the former Bay City Michigan Columbus Street Martial-Arts instructor Scumbag that will be my undoing.

Sterling rep? Idano? Here's the truth... to the best of my ability. Here's who was there, this is what happened.

GULP!

Update... A later "snitch" bragged that the Sterling Rep Clad Scumbag was given the Date-rape drug after he beat me down. Partly so they didn't have to pay him and partly so he could waltz into a court and scream innocence. How I must be the bad guy in the conversation.

Are you listening you "Dirty... cops? You've probably already done the gang a ton of favors FOR FREE and you don't even know it. Worse than that? Go ahead... try and take me down for the gang whether in a dirty way... or clean (I'm no saint, never was) way. The way the gang brag to me is once you start to take me down, you'll find a... cop's rep is everything. At 1st you'll cheerfully pound the round peg that is me & my life into their square hole & maybe even feel good about yourself doing it. At 1st. But alas... a pack of liars without honor got a lot of films, and tons of lives they'll gladly throw away to get you & yours. At 1st you'll find that you're doing a little freebie on the side, quieting a witness, ignoring this, throwing out that. But the gang brag they'll let stuff slide in. New cases will pop up. Witnesses. Evidence. You'll be shuffling evidence. Dealing with witnesses who could bring down your case & hurt your rep & they'll be in a position to film every single little thing. Soon you'll be working for the gang full-time and they wont even have to pay you a thing! This is their job... and they've broken better men than you.

Sooooo.... dirty... cops. Are you feeling lucky? Well are you?

GULP!

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

It's a... cop rule chiseled in stone... somewhere. "The camera never lies".

GULP!

THIS ONE GOES OUT TO, THE ONE I LOVE... I suspect the feeling is NOT mutual...

I want only that which is best for everyone. Even the cruelest people I ever met. I'd suppose that mean I feel a sense of love for everyone. True love? The best verse I ever came across regarding love was this.

For everything there is a season,
    a time for every activity under heaven.
2 A time to be born and a time to die.
    A time to plant and a time to harvest.
3 A time to kill and a time to heal.
    A time to tear down and a time to build up.
4 A time to cry and a time to laugh.
    A time to grieve and a time to dance.
5 A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
    A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
6 A time to search and a time to quit searching.
    A time to keep and a time to throw away.                                                    Schofield... cops just wont leave me alone.
7 A time to tear and a time to mend.                                                           Though I've never met a single one as of 12-12-16
    A time to be quiet and a time to speak.                                                    That's a lot of cash to spend on what smells like...
8 A time to love and a time to hate.
    A time for war and a time for peace.

That "time to die" part has come up a little too often in my life for my liking. And the "time to hate" is a thing a gang of madmen have tried their best to inflict not only on myself, but on good-old wholesome America one unsuspecting innocent victim at a time & if they dispatch me they brag with glee that they'll just move on the next innocent person.

I dedicate this one to the thieving Child-Molestor Employed... cops of Schofield & Wausau Wisconsin. I shall insult you... truthfully to the best of my ability.

You stole my stuff & tortured me in your jails. Schofield... your pathetic excuse for... cops, you had me arrested in Wausau & in Eau Claire. Truth be told? I HAVE NEVER MET A SCHOFIELD... cOP. EVER! I spent the summer in jail based on your Child-Molestor friendly at best warrant and I never ever met a single SCHOFIELD... cOP ONCE! I wrote about kidnappings, murders, killings, rapes, children dying en-mass & you were what? Too busy to even meet me? Try reading me my rights? Anything? Oh I'm certain you'll lie about it... your type of... cop always does as a rule. But as it stands now... you have no proof. Barring an obligatory drugged torture session footage I'm forced to at the very least suspect from my Molestor stalkers and their stable of Dirty, Idiot, Incompetent, or plain-old Rubber-Stamp Law-Enforcers (You know they type. "Rape Capital of America says you're guilty? If it's in writing on an "official-looking document" that's good enough for me").

You now join the esteemed ranks of Bay City, Saginaw, and Boulder as... cops who've ripped me off.

I dedicate this tale of an innocent young human life that Duh Jerk used me as an interment to kill at a very, very ,very young age. Very... very... very... very... very... very... very... very... very... very... very...

I was just starting High School... and this jerk walked up to me... He wanted to talk about my latest drugged into delirium session.

It started like this. I was a teenager... weeks of drugged torture and delirium had brought me to the proper mental state where I was easily malleable. In Mid-Michigan... Copspeak this means "Liar". Or so they tell me. Over & over. But I digress.

The gang cleaned me up, washed my clothes, and set me before a camera in front of a teable where children placed a newborn baby on the table. Then Duh Jerk ordered nearly everyone out and the child army left leaving only a few teen jocks, Jerk & I. One of the Jocks handed me a knife at Jerk's command and Jerk told me to stab the crying little girl. Over & over. And told me to smile.

...

I'm so upset that I cannot start nor finish this tale right now. GRRRRRRRR!!!! So I'll end it with the guy's parting words. "No one's going to care about your excuse". "Now we can do anything we want to you for the rest of your life and no one's going to care".

Duh Jerk smiled and laughed about it. It was a crowning achievement. Something he could brag about to his friends. A guy he could do anything he wanted to for life and no one would care nor help him. Yeah... he boasted that the gang uses "Snitches" on their victims. Some morons actually trust them and it makes it easy to manipulate them. The gang prefers to use outgoing members, people who've screwed up and have been promised redemption from the gang in exchange for dangerous service. "Yeah. I had him killed". Standard fare for any "loyal" member. Only difference between a loyal member and a screw-up loyal member is screw-ups get death sooner is all.

I am not now nor was I ever a loyal Child-Molestor. I have never ever willing starred in any porno or nude film, nor sem-nude, where sex was involved, for money drugs, nor favors. I wonder how many... cops will be able to say that on Jusgement Day (which is coming a lot sooner than most people think)?

I asked Jerk's obligatory Snitch where they got the baby and the snitch said it was the daughter of one of their brothel whores.

SO I asked the Jerk himself where they got the baby? Duh Jerk smiled and laughed when he bragged the baby had been the kidnapped child of a very well-to-do family who'd crossed them. Now they'd paid him a fortune to torture the slime who did what happened to their child (on film) who had everything going for her. They were about to lose everything... and didn't know it yet. Everything...

I told him about what his "Snitch" had said about where the baby came from & he told me it was a standard practice to lie to his guys for a number of reasons. The death of the child of some worthless whore (his words, not mine) is really no big deal to the average gang member. The death of an upper middle-class or rich child matters greatly. People tend to get a little 'cop happy" when such children with everything going for them die & he wasn't worried about me, he was worried about his own gang here. Besides. The death of a worthless whore's daughter is an inconvenient truth about life in the gang. Nothing more. The death of a Socialite's daughter is a different matter entirely & begs the gangbanger question? "Where's my cut"? If his guys think it's just the unwanted daughter of a whore with nothing they wont complain about not getting their fair share of any cash earned from sucking a Socialite and her family who had crossed the gang a single time for all they're worth.

The pair bragged the case against me was an open and shut one. They had arranged physical evidence tying me to the kidnapping. Witnesses had been provided by the gang with horror stories sure to get tears from any jury. Police records. Records proving where I was. All sorts of proof.

I asked Jerk why he sent Peter "Dirty Cop" Kazmerikt (Name misspelled on purpose) out of the room with the rest of the gang (most of'em in any event)? Surely it would have been safer for him to attend?

He told me even he spared his top guys some of the lowest of the low aspects of the biz. That and now he didn't expect to be paid now & he had another film of me Dirty Cop didn't know about to manipulate him all the more. Win/win.

Kill ! Kill ! Kill ! Sometime it's all I do when former Public School Employees and... cops are around me.

Gulp!

THE WHOLE TOWN??? PRACTICAL... Gone wrong... oh so very, very wrong...

Why do I call them PRACTICAL jokes? Philosophical reasons. Don't ask a Mid-Michigan... cop why I capitalize the "PRACTICAL" part of the joke... I'm sure that the inference is absolutely lost on them. My point is that the gang play PRACTICAL jokes on victims to amuse themselves and to confuse Mid-Michigan... cops. I'll endorse this strategy... ESPECIALLY against Mid-Michigan's... cops. IT WORKS !!!

Sooo... My Mother (Honor Honor Honor) took me to her Parent's place. Often the start of serious pain, but not every single time. I was there, minding my own beeswax in their living room (often, other areas, particularly their back yard were just too dangerous for me to go to on a given summer day) when MY Cousin confronted me. He asked me how I felt about myself. How I lived with the guilt of killing all the people I'd recently killed and said things like. "I aught to kill you myself you son of a b#@$!"!

Me? I told him he was crazy. I hadn't killed anyone... lately.

"I thought you might think it was a dream". He went on about the events just a few days prior. Well, few days to me that is. "We drugged you and kept you unconscious for a couple a weeks". All to cover-up all the people, innocent card-carrying Child-Molestors whom I'd slain who were only trying to have a good old fashioned fun time teasing a scumbag who had it coming in the 1st place and I'd ruined all the fun by popping my cork and starting to kill people.

I told him off. "You're the lyingest liar I ever met". Among other things.

He threatened to beat me up. He'd done it before when I was on drugs.

I told him what I told Fagboy decades later during the tale I called: DRUGS... The key to victory for any recreation serial-killers... and it always works too... I endorse it... "Well I ain't on drugs now. Go ahead". I explained why that was a bad idea to both of'em. Both of'em backed down, not willing to confront an undrugged me. At least My Cousin kept it together, Fagboy trembled like a... "meow" (I hear shows of cowardice before the gang's enemies are grounds for removal from the gang. Here is truth Bosses. Fagboy trembled before me, shaking all the more when I, a subdued and being physically held prisoner, challenged him. The truth hurts BAWK! BAWK! BAGAWK! HA Fagboy! Lets get back on track).

So My Cousin, who seemed hurt by calling the a professional liar a liar described my "dream" and reminded me that their drug(s?) cause their victims to be in a dream-like state.

I'll bet I shuddered there. Why reader? Because I knew what my dreams were like and if I thought I was dreaming then everyone around me could be in extreme danger.

"We have a town where we control it because the entire city are child-molesters. So we can torture anyone there freely to make their stories unbelievable so the cops will think they're nuts". Then he proceeded to describe bits and pieces of what'd happened. It was a tale of wholesome Child-Molestor fun. Well, wholesome to them.

Personally, I recommend you put on the song "Let the bodies hit the floor" and play it really loud as you continue to read. With the song I make no accusation, no social comments, & I'm not getting philosophical. Just enjoy the song and read. That's all.

It went something like this...

Circa... 1973ish could'a been 1974? The gang had me doped up and liked to beat and slap on me. Tie me up and rape me over & over. Then play evil PRACTICAL jokes and skits on me. Making all sorts of weird, mundane, or frighteningly horrific skits occur back to back and in shifts without respite for they did this to me 24/7 for days, weeks even & gave me no food nor sleep. They laughed at me and mocked me fiercely between skits and roughly injected me with who knows what regularly. It was not as fun as most Mid-Michigan... cops seem to think.

Author note: The web ain't working so well today... the website is skipping over words & letters as I type them. I plan to soldier on but l suspect that like in times past it might skip a word or letter here and there & if I don't notice it it'll change the meaning of my message. It just adds to the always undeniable fact that it does indeed, suck to be me.

They liked to play with me on drugs, they liked to torture me into delirium, and they liked to play with guns with blanks in them. The skits often included all manners of guns and such and at times during a given day, like usual, they might have me shooting guns with or without blanks in them all day every day for weeks on end. I hear the films impress ALL Mid-Michigan... cops who all unanimously agree no torturing career child-molester would ever do anything like unto that. IT'S UNETHICAL!

Well... this time I became a little more lucid than in times past. Whether on purpose or by accident the gears in my head started spinning during one of their "You just killed my family" skits. I held a pump shotgun and the family who'd been crying seconds ago over my shooting at them were now laughing at me and said. "The gun's got blanks in it". About 3-5 of'em.

Contrary to what most people think a gun with blanks in it is a dangerous weapon. Very capable of maiming and killing a person & I told them as much.

One of the huge beer bellied Child-Molestors laughed at me all the more and told me he'd just take the gun from me just like he'd been doing to me all day and they laughed and mocked me all the more.

Me? I nodded over & over & went looking for a weapon in the kitchen drawers which made them laugh even more! They boasted they'd hidden all the knives. There was nothing to use against them! They laughed at me even louder!

Me? I kept going from drawer to drawer & recalled coming across a screwdriver which I put in my back pocket. Then I came across what I was really looking for. You see, at my place we had a custom of having a "junk drawer. A drawer filled with odds and ends that just didn't belong anywhere else. A lot of people have one. And I'd just found it & it was filled with eraser tips, thumbtacks, screws, nails, and all sorts of junk.

I nodded and laughed with the people I'd just shot blanks at and walked over to them still nodding and they laughed on. There I put a portion of the handful of junk down the barrel, pointed it at Beer Gut's head and pulled the trigger. BANG! He dropped like a sack of rotten turnips.

The laughing stopped. One of the men threatened me as I put more stuff in the barrel. So I leveled the end at his face. BANG! He went down!. The threats stopped.

I figured that since this was a dream I'd do what I always do. Get more ammo to facilitate going from door to door killing everyone I met. I told them I wanted ammo. Now!

They said there was none to be had in town. It'd all been hidden in anticipation of torturing me.

I told the guy I didn't believe him. Then with the reloaded gun I shot him next! BANG!

Then I turned to the others... it gets fuzzy... I told them I wanted ammo and I wanted it now and if they couldn't get me ammo then they were of no use to me.

They showed me a trapdoor with lots of ammo below it. So I reloaded.

It gets fuzzy... but somehow the conversation went to the guys on the ground had been faking being knocked out. I told them to get up or I'd kill them & the only woman protested they wouldn't expect me to have real ammo.

So I shot a guy in the heart point blank. BANG!

Beer Gut jumped up. The side of his temple was messed up & his scalp was flapping loosely on 1 side but he was otherwise fine. It's fuzzy but he started to threaten me. So I shot him in the heart. BANG! Then started to go around the room! BANG! Move on. BANG! That gal took off running and I shot her in the back as she fled. For some reason I couldn't run, I could only walk so I took aim at her as she fled into the village(?) and shot at her again. BANG! She was gone. I gave chase but couldn't find her. I wanted to follow her blood trail but when I looked down the world rippled hard and made it very difficult to track her. So I gave up.

I went back in and stocked up on ammo and decided to go from door to door killing people.

The 1st house had an elderly couple in it. I killed the guy 1st then the woman. BANG! BANG! There were knives aplenty there so I cut their throats in case they were faking and moved on. BANG! It gets fuzzy...

Soon... as I went from building to building every house was void of people. This had never happened to me before and I cursed myself for letting the gal live.

Eventually I came to a house where there was someone there... how many died before that? Idano... it's fuzzy. Drugs...

So I killed the people who lived there. That made me feel safe.

I began to feel tired. Ho hum... I figured that if I could sleep and end the dream I could avoid the coming cops shootout and imprisonment that can happen sometimes in my dream. So I laid down and went to sleep. Rest... Ahhh... dreamless black sleep...

The police told me to come out with my hands up! I was under arrest.

Me? I shot at them a few times and they popped a few rounds back at me. At the time I felt weird. Like I was barely dreaming. The dream-like quality of the drug had all but worn off and I wast.. barely drugged. Barely. Still delerious from the sleep deprivation but...

The thought of killing My Cousin in my dream really appealed to me. I figured it'd be worth it to rush him and kill him.

He told me not to shoot. My Mother was coming to talk to me.

Me? I wont lie. She'd been making that "Honour thy Mother and the Father" thing very... "challenging" to do lately and the thought of capping her in a dream appealed to me. But as in times past I rejected the idea based on... What if one day I got hit in the head and was delirious from it? I might do something I'd regret.

She came in and told me to put down my guns and to submit to the police.

A Uniformed and presumable on duty Michigan State Police Officer preformed a felony arrest on me and cuffed me. My Cousin came in angry enough to spit nails.

He told me I was going to be drugged. Yeah... I fought but cuffed and held by the huge trooper I was no match for the Molestor mob.

He turned to My Mother and told her she was to be drugged too. She asked. "Are you going to kill him"?

My Cousin said. "I don't know. We'll see"?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, threats and such while a victim passes out are standard procedure for the gang.

In the present My Cousin said he ought to kill me now.

I told him I dared him to try. We had a staring contest. As a rule now and then I lost on purpose as I have no ego. This time I chose not to lose and I won that staring contest, much to My Cousin's humiliation.

Yeah... he called me names. He told me the gang had panicked and covered up the entire incident by disguising it as a train gas leak. Keeps nosey people out and they got to sue the train company for a fortune as a bonus.

"I ought to kill you right now but too many people know about this situation". He said I was alive only because a lot of people were involved. Too many people knew hat had happened.

Eh, some kid later told me it wasn't a town. Just a little village where the gang did indeed "own" everybody & liked to torture people there for a variety of reasons.

Me? I shuddered all right. I pondered how that situation could've spiraled out of control and wondered just how many people had died... and how many more could've died?

The horror... the horror...

The way I figure it is... that if the Molestors all jumped up and swore to tell the truth on a stack of Bibles a mile high and did so I'd probably still be doomed no matter what.

I've never been in any hurry to begin those "dozen death penalties & one hundred life sentences" because of it. Not with... cops like the Saginaw & Bay City... cops and Bay/Sag F.B.I. to back me up.

GULP!

TOTALLY DOOMED... It's who you know...

Sooo... there I was... at my Bomber Buddy's place, Circa 1985 when the invitation came that we should go to a new player's house in one of my RPG's and play a game. It wasn't very far, only a block or 2 to the Chilson Street home of the guy who I'd never see again. So we hung out for a hour or 2 while Slim made ready (Irritated me because it was only a block or so away, why wait on him but B.B. convinced me tp wait).

Our new gaming buddy had good news. No game today... he'd lost his gaming stuff... but he'd met a few trampy gals who we might try our luck with.

As soon we went there to play the game called AD&D drink some beer, & smoke some pot. Slim excused himself... He'd said he had to go before we got there.

The gals... attractive, enough, slimish and as potty-mouthed as I'd ever met a gal. WOW! The blonde one cussed a lot and did she like to talk fight. Eh so did I. You know, people told me that people who talk about fites and battle are just scared people inside. My answer.? Guilty as charged. I was terrified of my body count and figured that by acting tough I could scare off morons and it worked big time. Personally, I wonder how many less fights I'd have been in by being respectful but the point is moot.

As we chatted on & on Potty Mouth told me I could have her if I would just take her. Me? I'm into the gentle love-making kinda thing, "taking" really isn't something that appeals to me. ESPECIALLY when I know I have a gang full of stalkers who brag that "the just take me" thing IS their primary source of rape accusation fodder.

To be respectfull and just because I was bored I discussed the logistics of it. It was here she told me she was a prostitute and her lover was her pimp and sometimes participant for those willing to pay more for 2 girls at once. Her friend injected her 2 cents worth. In their relation SHE was the man. I could have her woman but I had to service her too. The Caucasian who looked part Japanese girl told me she'd watch for a while and then join in. I asked her girlfriend and she said she wasn't even part oriental.

If I was partly interested before I was totally grossed out now. The thought of dealing with homosexuals was repugnant to me. Yech... Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've heard all the homo whines about the subject too, even during rapes. That I'm the intolerant rape victim and thus it is moral to rape me because you homosexuals are sooo much better than me. Why don't you get off of your moral high horse queers. You ain't no better than I just because you ain't got what it takes to deal with the opposite sex. When you're looking down at me thru the magnifying glass I'm looking back up at you and I find the lifestyle of most perversion to be lacking at best. How come you want respect but you wont earn that respect by respecting that I find your lifestyle to be an abomination. If I walked up and said I find people who lick their elbows to be an abomination are you going to leap up and rape me for that too? Call me names? Preach to e before an attack telling me how much better and more tolerant you are that I? Homos... LEAVE ME ALONE!

Oops... back to our subject. A homosexual ex-prostitute who likes to fight AND her gay lover? No thanx. Soooo... I left.

A guy showed up and said he was a representative of Duh Jerk and he wanted to know how I'd gotten out of their trap. Those girls were never-fail seducers of the classic "seduce & accuse" and no man can resist 2 women. What was wrong with me? Why had I resisted them? It didn't make any sense.

I told him as soon as they told me they were bisexual I lost all interest.

He rebuked me. "Having 2 women at one time is every man's fantasy". He didn't buy it one bit and called me a liar.

"Not mine".

He told me they'd given me an erotic book and noticed I read the story with 2 women and one guy a few times.

I told him that part was better written was all.

Truth be told... After sex I just want to roll over and go to sleep. I don't want to roll over and please an entirely new woman from start.

He didn't believe me and Duh Jerk even made it the theme of my next torture session. It was question they asked the entire session alone. He seemed disappointed when even under truth drug my answer for not wanting 2 gals at once was because I was too lazy to want to have to please a 2nd woman after sex with the 1st. "I cant even keep 1 woman happy. Why would I want to go out and make 2 women mad at me"?

They said the girl was an enforcer in the gang from Florida. Her specialty was "Seduce and accuse". She would talk guys into sleeping with her using force and then assault or even kill them with impunity. The gangs edited films made sure of that. Duh Jerk was very angry at her and told me of his intention to destroy her for failing to take me down. Seems she was under orders to seduce me anyway and reject me and failed to do that based on being impressed that I treated her nice and refused to "just take her" when I had the chance.

Who was she... She was a gal the gang brag I'd better nevemade it r mention because the mere mention of her would be more than enough to destroy me.

"You'd better not even mention her". My Present "Owner" said. "History has already made it's judgement regarding her and if you mention her you'll just be playing into out corner".

A while back I asked Slim and B'B. about the gals and they claimed no memory of it. Eh, why not, I did most of the talking.

Sooooo.... here I am... playing right into the Molestor trap. Yup, you gots me doity copz! Yaz gotz me goodz cause here iz her identity. OOps... changed my mind. Chickened out and have no intention of saying who she was. You'll have to guess from the clues provided. I'm sure no Mid-Michigan... cop could ever figure it out.

You... cops just might want to re-investigate her girlfriend and those social-service people that "allegedly" let her "slip thru the cracks" when she was an abused little girl.

The gang, a few of them, have bragged she is my direct counterpart in the gang. She's what happens when a beyond abused "kid anyone can hit" caves in and starts obeying the gang. They said she was a expendable... "cop recruiting specialist" for the gang. How? She'd invite enemies of the gang to take her by force, on film. Resist. Kill them. Then after the... cops arrived her alleged "rich daddy" would show up & offer the... cops big money to let slip her involvement in an airtight case. "She could cry on command & why not after everything we ever did to her"? The Last Snitch bragged her downfall was she went freelance without the gang's support too often. "She could have kept killing all the guys she wanted but she did too many all at once".

My opinion? It takes "a special kind of stupid" to trust a professional liar. Don't think like a Bay City... cop. Use your brain.

I ain't using any names so you'll have to guess who I mean.

I asked The Last Snitch why? Why her? Why me? Why'd we meet? It made no sense. Back in the day he told me the gang had big plans for the 2 of us. They just weren't sure which one of of they were going to deal with 1st. It didn't matter because whichever one of us they did 1st the other had an unbelievable story inflicted on them sure to make... cops laugh when retold.

I'll bet when this ALL comes out public record WILL show she visited Bay City so I'm not worried. She was a whore who wandered the nation... or so I've heard.

Mass-murder? Cops flim flammed and easily gulled? Yeah... laugh... cop laugh. It IS what you guys do best. Right?

GULP!

Any dirty... cops out there listening?

“Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? for riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward heaven.”

Luke 12:19-20 King James Version (KJV) Think Child-Molestors money is going to help you?

19 And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.

20 But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided?

I hear Hell is a dry heat but The Lake of Fire where you're going to end up unless you repent it a roast. A place of outer darkness where there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Some of you guys? Like Dirty Cop himself? He told me he was religious. I asked him if he'd ever helped the gang take a widow's house and he told me yes. I told him it was written...

Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows' houses, and for a pretense make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation.

I ain't sure what the Greater Damnation is but is an eternity of "Greater Damnation" in the Lake of Fire worth helping the Molestors?

You should've seen Dirty Cop at that moment. I'll bet he really was religious. In his mind. His mouth opened wide and his jaw hit the floor ! Perhaps the most loyal Child-Molestor... cop in all of history. I'll always recall Martin Oak saying. "Dirty Cop? I ordered him killed by poisoning". Then again... sometimes I wonder if Dirty Cop is still with us? I'd say this. "You do know what they do to dirty cops in prison don't you"?

GULP!

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

This spot is reserved for the tale of the very 1st time the gang told me to be afraid, that the very act of re-telling the cruelty they inflicted on me would hand them victory.

Soon, one day, I hope to take a deep breath, & write it down. But not today on 6-26-17.

GULP!

FEAR... the very first time. Some time after 6-26-17...

We begin at my Mother's Parent's home. Her entire extended clan are there, Her Mother, Father, Brother, & both her younger Sisters, a few people who I'd come to know only as my "cousins" over the coming years (it was a punishment for them to have any serious conversations with me, tell me their names, or to be seen playing with or even around me in ANY non-scripted situation... for the camera), "My Cousin", and a few of the ever-nodding yes men My Cousin called friends. We were sitting in the living room & I was sitting in my Mother's arms (Honor honor honor). The room was dim & barely furnished (by later standards) & the curtains were drawn tightly. So tightly that one could not discern whether it was night or day by looking at the window.

My Mother (I feel another honoring is due here. Honor honor honor) and her Brother chose to chat with me.

The 1st thing I thought to myself was... why is it so hard to think? Who am I? How do I know how to talk? WHo are these people? Why this was I have no idea. But in moments my past came flooding back to me. These were my torturers. They lived for the singular goal of inflicting pain & mental cruelty upon me most days & went to great lengths to do so. They relished in my agony. Me? I was polite to them. I think they didn't like it nor did they like my continuous questions at times. In truth they did answer my word questions & I could talk, laying there in my Mother's arms, nearly as well as I can the very day of this writing.

My Mother told me that reporters were coming soon to talk to me.

My mastery of the English language was incomplete & I asked her. "What's a reporter"?

She explained the word, when I asked why they wanted to chat with me she said it was because I could talk at an unusually young age.

Me? I called her a liar. Her brother too when he protested her innocence.

Then I asked the Million Dollar question. "How old am I"? A silly question really. I didn't know a single number & any answer she'd have given would most certainly have been gibberish to me & meant nothing.

My Cousin leapt up and screamed. "TELL HIM NOTHING! TEACH HIM NOTHING"! Then he & his obedient yes-men left taking care to open to open the front door only once I'd been removed, lest I see the outside world.

to do but recline in my Mother's arms. I estimate my size to be a little larger than a 10lbs sack of potatoes but in truth I'd only seen my reflection a long, long time ago (to my perspective).

So we waited....

...

I invite the reader to imagine Child-Molestors playing in a pretty meadow with children of all sorts while bunnies, duckies, and fawns prance around them. Everyone is happy & giddy with song & mirth. Ahhhh.... just like I suspect your average Mid-Michigan... cop imagines is surely the way ALL child-molesters treat children.

...

Still thinking like a Mid-Michigan... cop? That's okay. I asked you to.

...

Back to reality...

My Cousin returned to my Mother's Parent's house. "I stopped the reporters". He used his influence & contacts to stop the reporters. Then he asked me how that made me feel?

I told him I figured the entire story was a lie. So canceling a fabricated story was no loss. But I chose to engage him in a hypothetical discussion on the subject. Why would someone do that to a baby?

He told me it was because he hated me. He hated me because I was smart & his son, who was my age, might lose the gang's spotlight on him if I was allowed to rise.

He protested. He was speaking true. Just ask anyone there?

Even baby me told him it was the stupidest reason. Still, I declared that reason also a lie. He didn't have a very good track record with me. None of them did.

At one point he asked me. "Do you know why I order the curtains shut everyplace you go"?

I had to answer. "No". I had no idea & hadn't thought about it much.

"Because I don't want you to learn anything about the outside world".

I recall telling him I thought it was rude & morally wrong to treat a baby so. That and I figured he was lying.

He protested. He was speaking true. Just ask anyone there?

I pointed out the lies upon lies they'd all inflicted on me as of late, mostly for reasons of cruelty, not gain (obviously).

The conversation steered towards My Cousin, & what my opinion of him was. "You're a bad man".

He hauled off and lightly slapped baby me in the face. Slap!

The crowd laughed! THEY ALL LAUGHED! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM LAUGHED! All of'em... "all'...

Me? Then, as in the coming years, it was a serious punishment of epic proportions if I didn't immediately cry when punished & was an invitation to tons of pain. 'What? That didn't hurt? Well this will"! I feel like throwing in some more honors here. Honor Honor honor.... & Honor honor honor. I just laid there. I wasn't going anywhere.

My Cousin demanded. "Now what do you think of me"? With a cruel smile.

"You're a bad man"! I replied a little hurt at my humiliation.

So he slapped my face harder. SLAP! "Now what do you think of me"?

The crowd laughed! THEY ALL LAUGHED! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM LAUGHED! All of'em... "all'... They all nervously laughed this time. Again. It wasn't the hilarious laugh it was last time though.

I said again. "You're a bad man"!

So he hauled off & belted me in the face & I heaved in My Mother's arms & she kept me from falling. SLAP! Smiling he demanded. "Now what do you think of me"?

Me? I pondered the situation before me. Who would be so cruel? Sure, everyone there was cruel to me all day all the time, save during filmed events & such, but they all payed lip service to good. That the evil they inflicted on me was for sport & even though it was all the time all day every day each seemed to imagine (I guessed) that the little slice of evil they did to me wasn't so bad. Half was intended for humor & a goodly chunk of it was supposed to "toughen me up" for what reason they wouldn't tell me?

Then it occurred to me. on the 4th or 5th slap/question phase that it was his intention to get me to call him something that wasn't true. He wanted me to lie to end the pain.

Point Blank? Baby Dave never negotiated with no one & no amount of pain would get me to alter the truth. Yeah... I was like that. Knowing there might be some serious consequences I answered. "You're a bad man".

In a rage he threatened me with revenge & ordered my mother to tend to my bloody face.

Time passes...

My Cousin shows up & announces he's taking me to a vacation week where I'd play with other children & have a fun time.

Me? I didn't buy it. Told him as much too.

We get ready (I was never outside ready, ALWAYS sitting in only a diaper despite being housebroken a while back). It's always an excuse for violence. I teased my Mother (honor honor honor) for years as a teen and adult that the act of brushing a child's hair by her was indeed an act of assault as it was a painful ordeal on her best days.

My Cousin demands I drink from his soda bottle.

My memory fades to black.

...

My Cousin slaps me awake. We're in some room void of furniture except for 2 tables, 1 as big as any kitchen table, & the other smaller & nearly head high to Baby me. 3-6 men & as many teens will be seen in and around the room. They change for the most part every day ("day" being holy a guess on my part as there were no visual cues to indicate the passage of time to me). He told me I was there to be tortured. That he was going to torture my body & destroy my mind as revenge. When I asked him why he told me the answer he used whenever no one else was near. He hated my father. He'd arranged my birth in part so he could take great delight in torturing the 1st born son on my father & turn him mean as revenge. He told me they'd beat me up & keep me awake until I went insane.

I scoffed that someone might treat a baby so & called him a liar. Eh, force of habit.

The beat-down commenced with a bang. A blow to my gut bent me over & slaps to my face sent me reeling! Then they pushed Baby Dave to the next guy. I recall the 2nd guy, he just plain old punched me in the gut. He sent me flying backward across the room and high into the wall where I splatted & then fell down to the cold tile on my face.

The Head Torturer, a guy who stuck around, in his 30s, sandy blonde hair, medium build chided the man who hit me. This was an extended torture & he couldn't hit a baby like he hit children normally or I'd simply die. He had to hold back some.

My Cousin, happy at the scene left once I'd regained my composure & the men & teens took turns. Injecting me with who knows what, then mostly slapping me, and beating me with body blows. Taking great delight in any and all agony they inflicted upon me with riotous laughter.

Torture was continuous... they took regular breaks & I was typically allowed to stand unmolested while they ate, had drugs, & prepared the next syringe as the case may be. Incredibly, during this time some of the men answer my question & we even discuss the morality of torturing me. Most said they simply just liked inflicting pain on children. Others noted that the gang told them that they only tortured brats & scumbags who deserved it & that my being there must surely indicate I deserved everything they were doing to me. I asked many of them, children, adults, & even the elderly what did they suppose a baby did to deserve what they were doing to me. As a rule it's hard to shut up a room full of torture drunk self-righteous card-carrying Child-Molestors but I recall room after room of them simply standing silent for long pauses. Everyone looking at the guy next to them & at me. I asked them what did they think would happen if anyone ever found out they'd tortured a baby? Long, long pauses. I asked them who was the scumbag here. Me? And whatever they imagined I did to deserve being there? Or them, torturing a baby for sport. Long pauses. Party moods ruined. Yeah... I would. Even Baby Dave would.

I recall the Head Torturer defending himself. He liked his job. Torturing kids was his job & hobby. When I asked he told me, sure, a few of his victims died, but only a few. He told me he had no fear of prosecution. Even if caught he was good looking & would cry. His real defense was that he was considered short in comparison to normal men (he was no dwarf) and there wasn't a Judge in the land who wouldn't take pity on him & sentence him to a light sentence. He even bragged his small height rendered him immune to accusation. He tortured people for a long time & anyone fool enough to accuse the short man would be laughed out of court or the police station.

Soon, one of the men announced he didn't have what it took to torture a baby. Children? Yeah, all day. But not a baby. His fellow torturers warned him that quitting now was a violating a direct order from on high & he could expect extreme punishment. He said he really didn't care & no amount of threats could make him continue torturing a baby. Then he left.

It happened a second time. This time the brother in baby torture warned their objector that their leaders had promised a horrible punishment if anyone quit & disobeyed an order. He said he couldn't go on & left despite some tearful please that he not go.

They told me they'd drugged me for a time, and let some of my worse bruises heal so they could make films to later prove I had a great time on the trip. But it was agony only & other than this alleged amount of 'sleep time" they never let me sleep. Instead drugging me and then getting me to play with the men or more likely children. The play only lasted for a few seconds at best & they made sure, at 1st, to only film me on my un-bruised side. As soon as they had the pictures, again, usually in only a few seconds or a minute at the most (wow, am I rounding up) the pain began anew. Sometimes the toddlers joined in. They filmed me in a plethora of seemingly innocent child-fun situations.

Strange thing I noticed as the days went by? They had all the food they cared for, it was supplied on the table where they kept the drugs. Even stranger? When I was tortured, it was usually, exclusively, usually by people the same age. If teens inflicted pain on me they were all about the same age. If 30 year old men beat me down & raped me, they were all 30 year old men. Elderly men too and all about the same age as each other. Weird... Weird even to baby me...

I had to ask during a drug break (they did drugs while I recovered slightly & ate in front of me, giving me no food but filming me at meals) how this could be. How could they all be about the same age. The way it was explained to me was I was at a child-molester resort of sorts where the gang tortured children to prove their loyalty periodically. The reason they were all similar ages was they came from molester-controlled schools & they were expected to come to this place, do drugs, torture kids, & the gang didn't want them learning each other's identities. So they tended to call on classmates who already knew each other & had them torture kids on film so the gang had blackmail films to use against them. That and I was a celebrity of sorts. Being I was a baby. They usually only tortured children as a rule, & I was a rare treat indeed. A fully walking & talking baby to torture to their heart's content.

I learned what the smaller table was for. It was a padded leather table, with handcuffs built into it on one end of the table & shackles at floor level. They tried to lock me in them but it was immediately apparent that I could be restrained only by my feet or my hands on the table but not both, the table having been built to restrain 2-year old or older children by my present day estimation.

One man held my arms, they locked my legs in the shackles, then they sodomized me. When I turned around to see the "action" one of them slapped me in the face & the man holding my hands straight out would say. "Look at me". "Look at me not back there".

At one point My Cousin comes in to watch & during a lull in the action he brags that my rape is only done by gang members with the tiniest penises so as to preserve my anal integrity for future rapes & to make... cops laugh if I'm ever physically examined later.

Time passes...

...

Pain...

...

Lots of pain...

...

Mental cruelty. PRACTICAL jokes aplenty. The more mentally cruel the better to my captors.

...

"Why not sit down and play with these kids"?

The camera goes. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

"GETTIM"! They all pile on me. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. Lotsa laughing. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. Put me in a hold, inflict pain. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. Stop. Laugh laugh laugh... PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Laugh. Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Stop to call me names. Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. PUNCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Push to the next guy. Laugh laugh laugh...

No sleep...

...

No food...

...

They make it a point to eat in front of me.... truth be told I managed to eat a few bites at the filmed events. I recall the 2nd time I do they punch me in the gut until I vomit it up remarking that even the morsels I'd managed to swallow were too much...

...

I'm getting more delirious... They wont tell me what I'm being injected with (as if I'd have know what it was in any event)...

...

Things get more sinister. A small knife is introduced. The men taunt me with it. Ordering me to pick it up & attack them with it!

I refused.

They get more sinister as the days pass. Challenging me to stab them. Ordering me to stab them & then inflicting cruelty based on my refusal or cowardice as the given torturers changed.

Me? While the Head Torturer was demanding I stab him, I stood there, enduring his screams I was a coward. Baby me that is. Then I felt the blade & complained to him that it was dull. Too dull to be used as a weapon & I wasn't falling for his foolhardy challenge. I thought it was a good comeback.

He left & returned with a razor sharp knife we'd be playing with form now on & demanded I stab him. Kill him to stop the pain.

Baby me? I refused.

...

Time passes...

...

... I'm getting even more delirious. I'm being pushed to the baby brink & something had to give.

...

It was after a given pain session. The men & teens turned their backs on me and ate & enjoyed themselves at the drug table.

I grabbed the knife. Felt to see if it was sharp. It was. Then I sliced the Head Torturer up! from behind. He spun around and tried to defend himself which gave him some serious wounds all over his hands & blood splattered everywhere!

He cried. "HELP ME YOU GUYS"! And while I sliced at him defensively it was a teen who drop-kicked me from behind & they all piled on me! Then they held me & screamed threats & insults based on what I'd done to the nice man.

They held me there for a long time. Hours?

My Cousin Showed up & the guy who gave the Head Torturer orders screamed insults at him. "He's already cost me 2 of my best men"! Was among the words he used & he whined his guy might have nerve damage to his wrist & in his position, if his hand didn't work, and with what he know, that meant the gang would kill him. "THAT WOULD MEAN THAT KID KILLED 3 OF MY MEN! GET HIM OUTTA HERE"! The pair exchanged insults. The Boss tired of the trouble I'd caused to good men, & My Cousin remarking he'd paid good money for my torture & the guy shouldn't be such a whiner about the situation. The Boss refunded My Cousin his cash & sent him packing.

My Cousin ordered me drugged & people who'd recently promised me death by any means possible filled a syringe & injected me... again... with who knows what?

...

You know what it's like to slowly fade to sleep surrounded by evil men? It was a silent, macabre experience where they all just stood around watching me until I could stand no more, dropped to the floor, then fell asleep.

Fade to black...

...

I woke up at home, on the changing table in my room. I could no longer walk. My Mother (Honor honor honor) & My Cousin & a few of his Yes-men stood around me. staring in revulsion, and pity.

My Mother asked why I was so thin?

My Cousin said I was being a brat, and that I refused food.

Me? I told My Mother about the torture. The way they refused to feed me.

My Cousin defended himself by saying it with the Child-Molester Mantra (It works on both... cops AND mothers). "No one would be so cruel to a child". No one would do that to someone. The very perverseness of my accusations, the insane, evil acts I was accusing them of automatically meant it couldn't have happened. Besides... he had pictures of all the good fun I had. Then whipped them out & insisted my Mother (Honor Honor Honor) take one of her choosing & put it in the family album. She chose a picture of me smiling and laying on my belly, a picture I endured much pain trying to avoid.... and failed.

My Mother answered him that if I wasn't eating & was so dangerously thin they should've cut my vacation short much sooner.

He responded by giving her a small stack of cash & pills.

My Mother (a few more honors should go here. Honor honor honor) looked at me and said. "The agreement was that you wouldn't pay me in front of him".

My Cousin remarked. "Don't worry about it. He's too young to remember any of this anyway".

When he got me alone from the presence of my family he bragged on the subject. Asking me if I noticed that my Father was absent when I'd been brought home? He said he had guys watching the house, neighbors, in a child-molester neighborhood (obviously) & they'd told him when my dad was gone & would be likely gone a while & then he brought me home, guarded by his Yes-Men. Just in case.

He asked me to ponder why I could no longer walk. I was so bruised up that they simply chose to drug me in a room until my bruises healed, mostly. I'd grown dangerously thin. So weak that though I could walk before the ordeal I could no longer walk.

Yeah, I had a few choice, respectful words for My Cousin & let him have it with both barrels.

He seemed offended I'd called him a liar about the vacation a little too long. "So as a punishment I'm going to have your family bring the situation up to you and have every one of them beat you for lying".

Yeah... he would.

Follow-up? As if it matters... much. My Cousin bragged he'd ordered my Parents "to fatten me up" for his next torture & submitted as proof I was a normal weight for a baby my height.

Later My Cousin stood over me trumpeting the beatings I'd had from every single member of my family. That I was now alone, and in the dark, and no longer ate solid food at his command. He asked me how it made me feel?

I pointed out That my Mother's Younger Sister had chosen to not hit me when her time came. He'd been thwarted.

Clearly enraged he said. "OH YEAH"? Then left the room. There was much yelling in the other room.

My Mother's Younger Sister burst into her Parent's room where the beatings had been taking place, spread out over several days (a guess, I had no visual cues to indicate the passage of time) or weeks (that time is written in my letter to the FBI). She screamed about the horrors she was about to endure based on being merciful to me (no where near the words she used) and slapped me silly. Then she turned off the light & slammed the door. Not unusual. That was how they all treated me during that time in her parent's room that I mailed to the FBI. As a rule she was pretty decent to me & never hit me during "family events". Never. Not once. Not a single time.

My Cousin told me to be afraid. That to even mention what he, what they'd done to me would most surely bring his gang victory. Both in front of the... cops AND in court one day based on the fact that to the average... cop, or Prosecutor there's no was a child-molester, people who infallibly love children & would never ever hurt them no matter what, there's no way something like that could happen to a child. Not in America at least.

Soooo... it's merely trivia that one of the Yes-Men was feeling really good (drunk, high) at one of My Mother's Parent's "Grande Parties" & chose to discuss the situation with me. He said that the way I was treated is typical for the average "Kid Anyone Can Hit". A title applied to children of loyal members whom the gang have blackballed who will have a life of pain & horror at the hands of the gang for fun & profit. "They usually wait until a kid is 2 years old to do it to them but you started talking when you were a baby so they sent you there". "The entire thing is meant to erase a child's personality". Reducing their mind to the lowest common denominator so the gang could rebuild them mentally.

At one point he asked me about the blunt knife? Had I fallen for their trick? It gives the gang great footage of a child attacking an adult with a knife so as to prove the child is an anti-social trouble-maker & is blunt so there's little danger of injury to the gang. It's done this way for any... cops who might ask questions & for the gang for later so they could prove I was a scumbag with their films & the gang could feel good about torturing me. "You actually stabbed one of them"? He told me about the blunt knife & I told him about the sharp knife & he remarked my flaying a loyal valued child-molester was certain to bring me much punishment in the future. He said the introduction of a blunt knife was a litmus test of sorts. They only bring the blade into the room when they're prepared to let the given victim go. They wont let the victim go unless they have some great footage of them being attacked by a dysfunctional, probably delusional anti-social child for the... cops & for court later.

I asked him why I was spared when I'd cut up the Head Torturer so bad. Why'd he try to grab me like he did & not just attack like normal or carry through with his threats to kill me? It didn't make any sense? Yes Man told me that the knife is only added once the gang has decided to let the child live. Once the knife had been added the torturers would surely have been given orders not to hurt me for any reason. When I said it sounded stupid he explained that it was a form of anti-logic the gang used to fool... cops. My life was up in the air, and death could've come at any moment. Particularly if I'd been accidentally seriously injured during the torture. It would've been cheaper to simply kill me & apologize than to pay an expensive hospital bill. But once the order comes down from on high to let a given child go the knife is introduced. The theory being that logically, they wouldn't add in the knife to the situation if they intended to let their victim go & since it was dull & they watched the kids like a hawk whenever the knife was near there was no actual danger. He said it must've been a fluke I noticed the blade was dull and stupidity on their part to let me actually stab them.

Yes Man also added that I was lucky I used the knife. Once they decide to introduce the knife a child is tortured until they use it... or until they die. "They wont let anyone leave from that place unless they have films to blackmail them". You know. Normal everyday conversation with a baby in the 60s (I have nothing to compare it to though).

You hear that oh ye recreational child-killers out there reading my story? Anti-logic properly applied will give you the power to overcome ANY... cop. None of them have the mental might to stand before the awesome power that is anti-logic. That, your bazillion lies, your films, & stupid easily influence would-be vigilante... cops will insure you victory against your every victim and what will it cost you? NOTHING?!?!?!?! My advice is both free and will enable YOU to rape torture and kill ALL the children you want for the low low price of... FREE! And the... cops will beg you for the privilege of helping you do it ! I am David A. George & I endorse this. IT WORKS!

He told me the entire thing blackmailed the gang's members, united them in child-torture against a single individual for life (baby me) & the films of me playing with the children proved I was a liar & their films of me refusing to play with the kids who'd just tortured me (often initially & sometimes it would occur to me during drugged play that they'd been torturing me as I became more lucid) made for great proof I was an anti-social brat later for court. Win/win.

He said the entire thing most likely happened at a resort in... Isle Royale Michigan?

Later, a child who'd been at the Resort with My Cousin to pick me up said the Resort was a Child-Molestor Resort in Petosky Michigan. He submitted as proof that there were cars there & I'd been driven away in the trunk of a car. I had no idea what the clues meant so he explained them to me. I wont explain them, leaving Mid-Michigan... cops hanging as I'm almost positive they'll never figure it out. Without outside help.

In any event My Cousin told me I'd better NEVER tell anyone about what they'd done to me because no one would believe anyone would be so cruel to a child.

Sooooo... here I am... telling the world. Publicly as best I can.

GULP! A litle follow-up is in order. To be Cont: See Serial killers want to know... on the "weirdism page as it will add nothing to my story whatsoever.

Fear...

I ain't happy to tell the stories on this page one bit...

Fear..

Be afraid...

Fear...

In one of the stories on this page I claim to have met a worker in the sex-industry who liked to play "the victim card" to cover for their alleged murders. It's a matter of public record. A fact that is indisputable.

It also scares me to admit, that when I heard the last interview of this alleged murderer said former sex-industry worker seemed delirious, & said they were undergoing a sleep-deprivation torture at that time, perpetrated by 'them", some sort of gang was alluded to. The goal being to break them. It was the person's final public statement. Both warning & a self-professed sleep-deprived plea for help. That their torturers might be recognized... and stopped.

Wait... isn't MY claim that I am being stalked by members of the sex-industry?

Gee... what a coincidence?

GULP!

I thought I'd better...

Soooo... I was kicking back, chillin at home. No one to give me advice. Certainly no... cop to help me write. Typical. There's never a... cop when you need one. Well, chillin back home, ponderin the distasteful subject of the first time I ever chose to flay a fellow human being... and it occurred to me, that skeptics... skeptics just might demand a better description of the action. So maybe I'd best better describe the action.

Baby Dave was pushed to the limits of baby mental and physical endurance. This was a horrible situation. I wanted the pain to stop. So I decided to stop it by inflicting an unacceptable body count upon my attackers. Actually, there was a lot more to it & I am seriously paraphrasing but that's the jist of it.

I'd already been in dozens of fights and lost them all long before the hundreds of fights I'd been in since I'd gotten to the God-Forsaken Resort(?). I lost every single one of them. Most all began & ended the same way. My Parents (Honor honor honor, & Honor honor honor) sat me down next to other children & told me to play. As soon as they turned their backs the other kids attacked & beat on me til an adult arrived. No matter which adult of My extended family on either side approached 1st, they announced I was a liar, encouraged the attacker to beat on me, and then left, rinse, lather, repeat. Often they might act sated, then openly attack me regardless of witnesses. My extended family listened to any excuses made for attacking me, usually it was I'd attacked them at a previous date, and they simply wanted revenge. I may or may not be pounded on all the more there too as a punishment.

My Cousin delighted in telling me he'd set me up. All part of a plan to get my family to stop trusting me. I, David A. George endorse this strategy all you child-murdering child-torturing readers out there seeking advice. IT WORKS! It works infallibly on both families of your victim & it works best on... cops. Especially with the many films of your victim you'll be showing said... cops.

"My Cousin" laughed when he told me that one day in court my extended family would be offended when I tell of the tale of the cruelty they'd inflicted on me. He said he told them "He's being a brat today. So go in there and really beat him up just this once as a lesson". He laughed that it's the mass accusations themselves that influence opinions... cops & even my family included. He boasted he liked to offer them drugs, sometimes before the pain began, and sometimes after as a reward. "I use the date-rape drug on the worst of the people attacking you so they wont remember". Then, one at a time, his perv buddies who stood by had their way with them (I guess sometimes what comes around DOES go around). He liked to make his accusations in secret & only ever sent 1 or 2 people to hurt me at a time & said. "It's not so bad. I'm only doing it to him just this once". The rest of the time he liked to dose me asleep & knew the dosages well that would knock me out until my next feeding.

Worse? When I asked him how he could do that to a child he told me about "The Drug(s)" they liked to use on their victims. It magnifies what the person basicly is. So a bad kid will be a handful to handle & a good kid will be easy to manage. He said he only picked on good children for this reason. It made them easier to handle on their drug. "And you're the best kid I ever met".

High praise coming from him? Whatever...

Fight fight fight. I wasn't getting much exercise & all of my attackers were 2 to 3 times my body weight. I had no one who cared enough to teach me to fight. But, in a way that's not true. My extended family all chipped in and most of them pounded on me in groups, inflicting mental cruelty & laughing as they did, & chided me that they'd just taught me to fight. They'd just taught me to be tougher. So I should be grateful. For the record I was not and am not grateful.

Baby Dave tries to kill for the 1st time?

Yeah... it was after they brought in the 2nd knife. Remember? They tried to get me to stab'em with the dull knife & I'd complained it was dull. So they brought in the sharp knife. THAT... was the knife we played with from then on.

They'd slap me around a while, maybe a few body blows, not so many towards the end. Lots & lots of shoving & no sitting down or even leaning. I'd had to stand through the whole ordeal. I was exhausted mentally and physically. Something had to give.

So I pondered what to do during one of the breaks during a lucid time. I'd spent weeks trying to argue my way out. Trying to beg my way out. Arguing morality to get free. And fighting. My record was increasing. 0-1,000 or worse. I figured there was good odds I would die or go insane. I wasn't sure what insane was entirely but I knew enough that I figured it meant a person so afflicted would act weird for life. I had nothing to give my attackers, that left 2 options. Lay down & die or fight. Baby me? Fight? I was not so young as to expect much odds of success especially when I pondered my fight record of win to loss ratio up & until then (paraphrasing, get over it).

Hmmm... how does a baby win? Hmmm... so I hatched a plan. It seemed like a very dangerous plan likely to get Baby me killed. But I figured baby death was inevitable, so why not?

So I slyly walked over to the knife. Those baby torturing gangbangers watched me like a hawk. I knew better than to try anything while I had a room full of gangbangers watching me. So I modified my plan. I picked single objects in the room & feigned interest in them. A table. They forbade it. The other table. They forbade it. Next I picked a piece of tile & pondered it, stared at it, then a brick in the wall.

When they asked what I was doing I told them I had nothing to do & they wouldn't even let me stare at a chair. SO a brick in the wall was my only entertainment.

They called me nuts & went back to partying.

Every once in a while I walked over to the knife. Often the whole room stood up at this time & watched me pondering it. Then I set it back down. The beatings resumed. Towards the end it was exclusively men & teens who tortured me now.

I bored them out of watching me. Someone brought in a bunch of KFC. They all divided it & the Head Torturer had his back to me. The guy who delivered the KFC buckets & such announced that it was all cold, he'd brought it all from far away as there is no KFC around the area. Then he smiled & boasted it was to make my story all the more unbelievable (as if I had... cops on speed dial at any time).

So I picked up the knife. I'd pondered how to begin my attack. My family had brought up that some spots were more vulnerable than others, a place where you would die if stabbed, but no one had told me any of those spots. So I decided to go with what was most convenient. I walked up to the back of the Head torturer who sat on the low child-restraining leather covered table & stabbed him about his right shoulder blade & dragged the knife down as quickly as I could & cut him the length of his back to his pants. His polo shirt (seemed like one?) offered little protection from my baby attack.

He didn't seem happy at all! He curled his back reflexively when I cut him &jumped up. So I stabbed at his legs. His thick pants & my lack of strength meant he took little if any serious damage. But he had a problem. A baby was stabbing him.

So he tried to grab me. Everyone else backed off & spread out in front of me & to my right.

Me? I had no idea about anatomy, what might be a good place to stab him? So I stabbed him in the hands as he tried to grab me & even angrily swung the knife around at people too close to me. While I was trying to stab his knuckles (closest point of contact) the way he kept trying to grab me meant I kept slashing his wrists!

Blood flowed down his hands & splattered everywhere with his every move! Even I wondered how the fight could keep going on? He was a grown-up. Why not just finish me & be done with me? I was holey disappointed with my attacks, noting I'd barely scratched my target, his knuckles, but had seriously cut up his wrists!

All in all I'd say I lasted over 30 seconds, maybe even more, & every single time I'd thought to stab or cut him had hit.

When they all piled on me I thought they'd kill me for sure. Even the act of piling on me wasn't so bad. While it was uncomfortable & I couldn't move they didn't injure me, much when they piled on me.

I leave the reader to imagine Baby Dave pinned beneath a pile of teen & adult bodies. The Head Torturer, self-professed killer of children for sport & profit standing over me while his wounds were being tended to, screaming revenge.

Gulp!

FEAR... The gym...

Sooo there I was, about to begin "The Gym" and it's 100 Attempted Murders on my person (a much UNDER REPORTED number the Molestors felt comfortable assigning the ordeal). Snitch Girl walks up to me, and she invites me to look at the Children of the Gym. They were ringers, entire classes bused in from afar. They would attack me one at a time. Then if I lived a while they would add another attacker from the crowd of 30+ boys while 30+ girls cheered for my death & provided cover (and made noise to mask my murder) so an injured me would be helped by no one who might innocently walk up & help when the ambulance workers killed me by forming a ring of "admirers" & friends to obscure my slaying. "You will die today".

"Some of them aren't even teenagers. They are men chosen because they can pass as high-schoolers. The Bosses would be watching on closed-circuit TV & I was invited to fight & resist. They intended to not bet on if I lived or died today like usual, but on how many people it took to kill me.

She explained the Bosses recently figured out by watching old films of The Gym that some of the children helped me, explaining how I'd lived so long. "No one will be helping you today. You will die today".

She explained there'd be no mercy. Just my death. "Too many people know about the Gym". The Bosses were not happy.

What happened? You'll have to ask them, the conspirators of an attempted-child murder with hundreds of co-conspirators & up to 1,000 or more witnesses (1,000 is 3% of Bay County's then population & if every one of them only told one person then it's 6% or more, I'm guessing).

Me? I'll say this much. Some of those "men" could not pass for High Schoolers.

After the action calmed down, ambulance workers tended to the injured, & the children of the school were standing all about the hall outside the school Cafeteria en-mass, Duh Jerk walked up to me. He told me I might tell the tale of what happened in The Gym all I want & maybe even take him down. But if I repeated any of what happened today in The Gym no one would ever believe me & I'd hand victory to the gang in court. So I'd best shut up about today.

I believed him.

Me? I didn't talk about it, but near as I can tell Snitch Girl did against orders, and the Children of the Gym discussed it with me with wide eyes & open mouths.

Sooooo... here I am, telling the truth about The Gym as best I can. It was a place of horror. A place of dirty... cops, corrupt school officials, and evil children who did any evil ordered of them in exchange for candy & cigarettes.

What happened in The Gym that day? PHHHHT! I wont tell ! Not today in any event.

To be continued. See the "The Gym" page: I absolutely premeditated deliberately try to kill a child in front of 60+ witnesses... on film...

GULP!

WHO WAS SHE??? She was beautiful... & she hated men...

The gang brag that it is tales of perversion, reflected back at their accusers that bring them victory. Well, that and combined with a bazillion lies & their many films. Soooooo... here I am, being stupid enough to tell a tale of the perversion they inflicted on me for reasons of revenge, profit, and entertainment.

Sooooo... there I was at a party some time after I got out of the US Navy. I was surrounded by beautiful women in a concrete building with card tables & folding chairs who seemed as horny & available as I was. They flirted with the other men, a dozen or so (same number of women too) and made many come ons & sexual propositions. The world rippled & I figured I was dreaming as in real life I never had so many pretty women flirting around & with me. They made many a sexual advance, some mundane & rather tame, others more perverse, later becoming more perverse, and in the end full blown dominatrix-styled destroy their men for sexual gratification because we're so cute & you're lucky to bask in our glory" kinda perversion that involved much pain & sexual appliances sure to destroy all comers (anatomically speaking of course).

Me? I laughed with them at the absurdity of their perverse flirts confident they were just joking. Then, the world rippled a little less allowing me to take stock of not only the gals, but the men around the room. They were an otherwise homely bunch mostly and the rest looked like nerds to the Nth power in my humble non-insulting opinion. I pondered the situation before me.

In time I stood and announced. "Hey guys! This is a nerd party". I explained over the women's groans that this was obviously some sort of club or fraternity party & these girls had invited us to be their entertainment.

It gets fuzzy here as I watch the scene unfold, realize it's a kidnapping, & take in what's happening.

The girls convince the men to enjoy some bondage & bondage supplies, tables, and such were brought in. The girls tried to get me to submit nicely, and even using threats but I refused & headed for the door.

2 massive women, 6;5" to 6'7"ish guarded the door and pushed me back from it with ease & ordered me to submit to the party.

The gals tried all the more to bully & coerce me into submitting to their bondage using various Molestor ticks. Being nice, telling you you're dreaming, bullying, insults, leaving a victim alone without stimulus hoping their long-term memory will reset leaving them susceptible to suggestion.

I refused. The ease with which the guard pushed me back made me realize I was in no condition to fight my way out do to the drugs in my system. So I hatched a plan. Actually I'd thought it up at home & practiced thinking it over & over so as to help me fight their drug later. I stood there, watching, & I was using my trick. Silently. "Anger is the key. I've got to stay angry. Fight the drugs! Grrrrrrr"! I flexed my muscles hoping to burn the toxins out of my system, anything to get my metabolism going faster.

They gave up on me & concentrated on the men whom they ruthlessly pierced with larger and larger dildos obviously destroying their anal integrity for life as the last gals, the last battleaxes raped them mercilessly.

Time passes & I transition in & out, flexing & reving my heart.

...

I wont ask you to imagine the screams of a roomful of men being reduced to 2nd class citizens for life due to a loss of anal integrity.

...

The gals finish or get bored or just decide to focus on me. The room grew quiet. They all focused on me standing there wearing their phallics proudly while the men of the room looked on ball-gagged or worse in various states of agony.

They demanded I submit... now!

I recall asking them why they were doing this? What had any of the men present or myself ever done to any of them to deserve this?

They, as a group, many, all agreed, much nodding & yeahs, said they hated men. Each had been wronged by a man or by men in the past & this was their revenge. By destroying a roomful of innocent men so they could never sit in polite society again ever without people turning up noses at them & reviling them for their stench. Then they promised me I'd smell like excrement for life & even worse than anyone else here because I was resisting them & ruining their party mood.

Me? I could feel the effects of the drug(s?) burned out of my system to tolerant levels. While I was not 100% I told them I was leaving... now.

It gets fuzzy here. I try to leave... we fight... then we end up standing pretty much as we were. The 2 guards at the door and the men & women on my other side. My mistake? I held back some because they were women. There's more than one reason the gang drug their victims. I did however... bust up a few faces.

As soon as they told me they were attacking I grabbed the gal next to me, a petite black haired 20-something girl with long hair, a thin body, & pasty complexion & snapped her neck! K-K-K-K-K-KRACK! Yeah... she was dead.

To be continued... probably. I hear the gang got great footage of all sorts that when edited was enough to influence any number of people both good and bad. Even better for them? There's tons of errors... paragraphs out of place, poorly written & need to be rewritten. Tons & tons of good luck for the gang I'd suppose. As though I got my kicks from writing this or imagined any sort of gain.

GULP!

BURNING DESIRE...

I'm running out of time to write this. I'll see what I can get out? 10:45 PM on 12-18-17 while other people are probably wrapping xmas presents.

I came to inside of a burning building in the mid-80s. About 10-12 young men aged 18-40 sat in what I quickly identified as a rented Hall. At least 2 stories as it had stairs leading up. A fully-equipped kitchen. Tables galore. Set up like a party was coming soo, or more likely had already begun.

To say I was alarmed was an understatement.

I yelled to the men to come to their senses. They all looked drugged. Some immeadiately confirmed this.

I assesed the situation. We were drugged to the point where we were just coming out of it & sat in the building.

I instructed the men to awaken each other & I ran to secure an exit. The windows were not an option. Drugs have removed the reason why that was from my memory. The doors were heavilly chained & when I suggested we yank on them Jocks on the other side of the door yanked back! I recall assesing the doorway & that door & it's frame were double well-constructed. There was no getting out that way.

Men were panicing & I left them at the door & searched for a weak spot of any sort. I saw none.

So I made a desperation move. Aboput 6-10 feet from what I guess was themain door I picked a spot on the wall & began kicking it with all my drugged might. I suffer from Graves Disease. Look it up. It's symptoms are that it's victims are capable of great feats of strength.. WHAM! WHAM! WAHM! I dented the wall! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! I put my foot through it!

WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! I kept kicking it! I expanded the hole a lil larger than my head & called for the now fully paniced men to help me.

WHAM! WHAM WHAM! As I expanded the hole 2 Jocks, one on either side of the hole tried to grab at my foot & the hands of the men who helped me. Failing that they were standing on either side of the hole when they each produced pistols & shot the men on either side of the hole! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! I ddin't count how many shots total but I knew it was most of their ammo. I heard one complain they had no extra ammo.

I told the men it was do or die! Some of us would surely die by being shot here. But at least some of us would live if we expanded the hole. POP! POP! POP! A few more shots rang out & nother as yet unseen man rushed up & told his troops to quit shooting. There were too many witnesses! He ordered them to put their pistols away.

We kept hammering the hole, expanding it as the flames grew! They fought us at 1st then the guy in charge said there were too many witnesses now. He ordered them to stand back.

WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! The hole expanded & one of the men noted we could crawl out. I said if we di they could plug the hole easilly. We had to expand it or die. WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! WHAM! WHAM WHAM! The hole was big enough to crouch down & step through & I pushed men back & lead the charge to freedom!

Outside the building was in flames & shocked witnesses were close to us by the sidewalk watching.

The men threatened us with their undrwn pistols to not leave & I told the men I thought they didn't have the guts to draw on us in public in front of witnesses. Nor the ammo to get us all. I suggested we turn on them but they put hands presumably on their guns in pocket & backed away.

Men were coughng, puking, & trying to save the wounded men inside who now began to scream!

Me? I was in a daze what to do next. While I ponder it Dirty Cop himself pulled up in a marked Bay CIty... cop car & accused me & the other men of arson over the fading screams.

Me? I said we should all run. "He cant shoot us all".

Dirty Cop said. "No I cant"! Pulled his pistol & leveled it at my face. "But I can arrest you"!

Yeah... more stuff happened... Lots more but I'm out of time as I write this. Maybe I'll finish it... maybe not?

Duh Jerk bragged it was his crowning achievement against... me. By threatening the other men of arson they shut'em up. Leaving him to accuse me formally. Once I talked about the body count, which was never part of the "official" reciord it'd be game over for me & the witnesses there he didn't own he owned now & couldn't wait to pin the arson on me as revenge once his films had put them in a better mood.

Maybe I'll spell check it later... outta time. I guess THAT'S proof too huh... cops?

To be continued but on an unnamed page. Wanna find it? I guess you'll have to do some reading then.

GULP!

"Technical difficulties"? The 4 Stars & Duh Jerk & even Dirty Cop whined they all sat down to watch me die with the Bosses. One of'em got up & got popcorn & going back to his seat he obscured the action. By the time they all looked up, the fight was already over.

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.

Please help me!

This page is "FEAR".

I suspect... cops might tell me I'd best spell-check this tale or just hand victory to my enemies. Fear... they'd say.

I say thanx for less than nuthin... cops.

So I thought I'd leave this true tale of "Burning Desire" here in it's original un-spell checked form (as of 12-23-17) to amuse myself & my stalkers. Merry Christmas you Godless Perverts! Don't say I never gave you anything.

May The LORD judge between us & do that which is right.

Combined we killed a lot of kids!And the... cops helped!!!

VICTIMS OF BAY CITY AND BOULDER