PLAIN AND SIMPLE... THE FACTS OF LIFE... WELL, MY LIFE IN ANY EVENT...

  Just things in my life. Facts. Things that I realized one day. Stuff... the things of life... my life... a life stalked full-time by mad-men and their gang full of victim/members, dirty... cops, and stable of easily manipulated and all too eager to help vigilante... cops. It's not the life of glamour and prestige many... cops told me they thought I was trying to sell them.

  Whatever...

​

  JUST ANOTHER DAY IN THE LIFE... Growing up Molestor...

  It was "in the Crib". Solitary confinement. The place where even a single peep or even a dropped toy meant instant and excruciating pain. A place where many a... cop told me no evil could ever befall a child. Yeah... there.

  My parents brought in some children... many were teens but some were toddlers and a few were babies even younger than I and they freely roamed a world I would never roam and played with... my stuff. Not that there was much stuff. I had a toy firetruck and I was expected to hand it over to whosoever demanded it.

  The children demanded it. So I handed the only possession I'd ever had in the world through the bars of my cell, the toy firetruck. Truth be told I had another asset I was expected to hand over too. A single baby bottle. The children demanded that too and looked silly in my opinion walking around my home with it dangling from their mouth by it's rubber tip. It was my lifeline to the world and a meal was unlikely until they tired of playing with it. It too passed freely between the babies, toddlers, and teens who often used it too to hit me and teased me that I'd best obey them or they'd steal my bottle or hide it and they all knew my parents threatened I'd go hungry if my bottle should go missing. Worrisome times for me.

 The babies played with they toys they had brought, my truck, the baby bottle, and the teens mercilessly beat on me & invited the toddlers to do the same. Yeah, I resisted. Always did. This just prompted the teens to pound on me all the more. The babies? Yeah, they pounded on me. I hit them back. Hard! This only prompted them the teens to beat me all the more. My Parents were summoned & a gauntlet would begin and each child pounded on me to their heart's content. My Parents left and the cycle began anew with they visitors promised me that if I obeyed them 'as a slave" the pain would end. I never agreed once. Ever. Ow...

  AT the end of the horror show my Mother demanded to know what became of my Firetruck & when I told her I hadn't seen it since she ordered me to hand it over to my torturers she became a woman possessed and pounded on me and my already battered body long and hard for losing my firetruck. My protests that I'd never left the Crib and the term losing it were really a contradiction unto itself (yeah, yeah, yeah, as a baby I talked like that)1

  Later, after everyone had sated their bloodlust with the kind of unparalleled joy that can only come from inflicting pain upon a baby I pondered my life and the situation before me...

  I came to realize that my life was not like other kids. That pain would always be my constant companion. And that I would fight it tooth and nail for the rest of my life. I realizes then and there that pain would most likely be my constant companion for the rest of my life. But I was going to do my best to be the best Christian I could be & get as many people as I could into Heaven with me by being a good example. By obeying God, submitting to my parent's authority, and fighting whenever I could.

  It pains me now that while I was Godly in nature that I had not accepted the atoning death of Christ and wasn't really a Christian but was wholly Hellbound. I didn't know that back then and kicking against the pricks was my way of life.

  I guess you could say that this entire website, my entire life's story was forged from this moment on.

  Say what you will about my choices. I wasn't riding high on any moral high horse. At least before, I had that truck. It was something. I had "something". I hated it but even I played with it every once in a while. I recall that after chatting with My Cousin I plopped myself down in my crib... and alone in my cell without any stimuli other than an occasional diaper change, bottle delivery, or visitor to pound on me, I sat staring ahead for what seemed to me to be a long... long... long time...

  In a few weeks repeat the above... only exchange the word "firetruck" with the word "sheet". I would be sleeping on the rubber mattress with no cover for a long time to come no matter what the temperature nor who came over nor what their sex was.

  Whatever...

​

  IT TAKES A VILLAGE...

  I suppose it's more of a footnote to say that My Cousin told me he ordered the whole thing and had choreographed it from start to finish. He wanted me to know that it was he who'd given me the firetruck and ordered that it should be my only possession and he wanted me to know that the only thing I'd ever loved was now a plaything of the children who'd tortured me.

  Yeah... it may've been the only thing I'd ever owned I told him, but I hated that firetruck. It'd only brought me woe and horror from day one. People hit me with it, others played with it and I was pounded for it's every disappearance. visitors came over and lied about it, saying I'd done this with it, or that (hit him, broke that, this or the other thing) and it had been a source of misery and I wasn't sad to see it go one bit. He bragged that he'd set up those things too. All to enamor me and all his other young victims to do his sick pleasure in exchange for what they already owned. Typical Molestorspeak really. Cheap on cheap.

  I recall looking up at My Cousin and sorta tuned him out as I pondered the situation before me. Sexual favors? I had no idea what that meant nor did I have any idea what his other sex references were. Sexual favors to get the firetruck back? I figured it was a bad thing by the distastefull way he was describing the things I'd certainly soon be doing to get back my coveted firetruck. I recall thinking I was glad he didn't word his threats in the reverse and shuddered at how it might've gone different if he'd said "Do my sexual favors or I'll give the firetruck back to you"!

  I refused his offers of "sex favors" to get the truck back. Overall? I was relieved to be rid of that truck.

  I wondered then and even now whatever came of the other children he bragged were his "victims" who he boasted gave in to his every sex demand in exchange for their "firetruck"?

  I'd suppose local law-enforcers would say. "Don't worry about them. They had the Bay City Police and Bay City F.B.I. to protect them". As did I... as did I...

​

  WHY DOES HE TALK SO GOOD???

  Soooo... there I was. Sitting on the couch beside my Mother's Brother. You see, every now and again he babysat for whatever reason. We sat and watched TV. As we watched he answered my questions about what was on the TV and we discussed it's morality. The logistics of life and such. He was bright but had a hook line and sinker approach to the world and philosophy. The philosophy is that everyone is right and all viewpoints are co-equal. It was frustrating to discuss any philosophy with him as to him everyone was correct. But he knew English & science well and liked to talk about war. My parents would come home and he rushed me off to bed and swore me to secrecy for the cell escape (so none of you Mid-Michigan... cops tell them, okay? It'll be our little secret).

  I recalled as the months and the years came my Cousin was furious that I could talk so well and demanded to know why? While my Mother stammered an apology when confronted I never volunteered the information.

  Truth be told ever copula months or so they let me outta the crib and told children I'd never met before and might never meet again to play with me. Take a pic, beat on me a wile, then put me back in the Crib for a few months.

  I decided in the Crib that I would one day go to the library and learn

  My times at the Library, particularly when I was in middle school are a different tale, one of pain and woe. Though I've gone to libraries my entire life I never made a single friend there, not of staff nor clients. But I did learn a lot of stuff.

  Whatever...

​

  MEN ARE FROM MARS, WOMEN ARE FROM VENUS, BUT THE MOLESTORS ARE FROM MERCURY...

  I was at home, during the time of my middleschool. I sat on my bed and pondered recent events. Duh Jerk had cornered me in a hall (Jock army in the background) and wanted to talk about the great footage he had of me for the... cops. Great stuff. Like my Cousin before him he wanted to brag on using a combination of drugs and torture to drive me mad. Endlessly provoking me so he could get the films he craved proving I was the madman in the room, He told me he drugged me with mercury to induce madness. "You're keeping it together better than all of my other victims". Many were drooling idiots at this point in his gang's torment and the rest were madmen & women, mostly children driven literally to insanity. Or so the smiling madman bragged in the presence of his "owned" Dirty Cop who was just out of earshot. He was there to arrest me if Jerk could provoke me. or more likely to arrest the lump of what was once a human child after the Jocks cheerfully beat me to a pulp to protected the beloved school icon IF they could provoke me. Presumably.

  On my bed... I just couldn't take much more of this... I needed a release valve. Something was going to pop. SO I decide to research as best a child could how to treat myself. To avoid cracking and "losing it". Eh, my research showed that nothing but time could erase mercury poisoning and that at high doses it could induce madness. So I had to play the waiting game.

  Point blank I was afraid of another mercury "treatment" if the gang perceived the last one was insufficient.

  My research also showed that Doctor's in this situation often used role-playing as a way to relieve patient's stress and help them deal with the horrors of their lives. AND I had a lot of horrors in life to deal with.

  So I hatched a plan.

   It was the kinda plan only a little kid pushed to the limits of human endurance and the brink of madness by madmen could come up with (you know... in Mid-Michigancopspeak it means: "Liar". Just ask any of'em)

  1) I'd act crazy on crazy... hoping it'd be enough to convince the gang no more mercury was needed. Having been methodically and sadistically held to the ultra super impossible to maintain code of ethics my family had inflicted on me called "The Good Kid" the thought of acting crazy was kinda enjoyable and I hear that in an overachieving kinda way I overdid the acting part and the gang got tons of great footage of me acting crazy.

  Me? I wanted to get arrested. I wanted the horror show to end. Seemed like win/win to me. Eh, it might be the death of me but history ain't written yet, we'll see.

  2) The role-playing exercises" I grabbed some role-playing games and began to excel at them. They allowed me to look talk and act absolutely insane and have fun doing it. I scared many an attacker off and I hear I gave the gang enough edited films to frame any 100 good men. I regret nothing and think I'd have popped like a cork if I didn't have the release (you know... in Mid-Michigancopspeak it translates into the word: "Liar". Or so they've told me often).

  Alone? Against an army? The facts of life... ahh... the things you do to help you endure the madness of your stalked life.

  Go figure...

​

  I cant even finish this one today... but I'll start it.

  I was sitting on my brother's bunk bed (I had top, he had bottom) and wondered a subject. As a small child I'd hoped I could one day be old enough that my age would be a higher number than the people I'd killed and decided to count how many people I'd killed. The first hand's fingers counted off quickly and I want to the 2nd hand. As I got past mid-way I counted a few and then thought to myself? Did I count them already? I went on, I'd ran out of fingers and thought surely I'd counted one guy twice. I paused wondering what to do? In horror I realized that even if I had counted him twice I'd still have to somehow live a few more years for my age to exceed my body count.

  Ever have one of those days? Maybe it's just me? You do realize that it's not "just me". Lots of children who were my age have similar body counts at a young age and it's happened during the reader's lifetime probably. Go ahead, research the subject. Wars, rebellions, crime. It's all out there and it's never going to get any better in a society where truly psychotic-level crimes of children are magically dismissed at age 18. so get you head outta the sand and quit thinking like a Bay City Cop!

  Whatever...

  Yeah... Whatever...

​

  THE PLAIN FACTS OF LIFE... IN "THE GYM"!!! Whatever...

  It's no accident that I haven't described what went on in "The Gym" which was actually held in the school cafeteria in fall of 1976. I was 11 years old.

  Soooo... there I was. Standing alone in "The Gym". To my left 60+ children chanted openly... and loudly... during 1st period at Bay City's Whittier School. To my left Duh Jerk and The Gym Teacher, dad to the Used Car Salesman (who wouldn't appear in The Gym until later and then only in a minor walk-on role) openly plot my death and coach the students on how best to kill me. The Bay City Police are represented by a Uniformed Officer in a marked police car in the parking lot.

  Several of the classes girls are literally cheerleaders and lead the class in chants that all call for my death & call me by 1st and last name. "KILL DAVID GEORGE AND BREAK HIS BONES"! Another 60+ of the next class, an 8th grade gym class stand in front of me by the entrance. Being that chanting for my death isn't mandatory among them (unlike my class) only some of them chant for my death. The cheerleaders delighted in creating new cheers and chants and most called me by name and all of them called for my death.

  Armed? We're all armed with sports equipment and this is to the death.

  Children walk up to me and scream. "YOU'RE GOING TO DIE"!!!

  The spot where another Uniformed Bay City Police Officer recently stood is likely still warm and his words probably still echo slightly.

  I'd told him. "But they're chanting for my death"!

  He replied in full view of everyone while shaking his head. "That doesn't prove a thing".

  "But they were attacking me with weapons when you walked up".

  Again he replied in while still in full view of everyone while shaking his head. "That doesn't prove a thing".

  Then... my 100 days of horror continued...

  It was towards the beginning of the time the gang calls "The Gym".

  Picture "The Littlest Kid" taking up his position on my left in front of me. I'll dedicate a song to his nose here... "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas". While Mid-Michigan... cops are probably rendered all but clueless by the dedication to his nose I'd suppose Police and the wise from other areas know exactly what I mean.

  I pondered my life. It was a life of pain and horror and everyone around me either wanted to inflict pain on me or kill me in cold blood. Not unusual really. It was like normal actually. Just more of it was all. This was beginning to really become a bad situation.

  It was only the beginning...

​

​

  THE VERY PLAIN FACTS OF LIFE. I DID THE MATH... The horror... the horror...

  Soooo... there I was. I think it was after the time in the Defunct Hospital after I sat in "The Cooler" and after I'd cut off Just Dessert's lips... slowly. The Former Friend and Lover of Fagboy and Duh Jerk. I'd recalled the torture sessions in and around "The Garages" and how the gang wasn't torturing just me. They were torturing others in drugged shifts. 7 people at a time.

  Now, the way they tell me it works is the bulk of their victims are stored near the torture site. This makes it so... cops can only catch them torturing 1 person at a time. Or so they brag. It's a control thing. People are drugged and as each nears the end of their drugged cycle they are brought before the gang and tortured. Usually it's just beatings and rape but it's often skits that are "common" throughout the rapist community. Since I suspect that Mid-Michigan... cops will not look up the accounts and law-enforcement notes of their fellow Police who say this is common or more likely, since the word has more than 4 letters in it they may be confused as to it's meaning. No need to run screaming into the nite oh ye otherwise infallible Mid-Michigan... cops (that IS how they describe their... police work to me, "infallible"). I David A. George shall now define the word common for you. There's no need to thank me and please, don't send me any money. Just knowing you're out there bringing the kind of justice that made Saginaw the Rape Capital of America is reward enough for me.

 GULP!

 

  Common com·mon [ˈkämən] adj.

1. occurring, found, or done often; prevalent:

   "salt and pepper are the two most common seasonings" ·

   [more]

   "it's common for a woman to be to be raped in and around Saginaw"

   synonyms: usual · ordinary · familiar · regular · frequent · recurrent ·

​

  Sooo... I pondered the boastings of the various Molestors I've met in life. Being that I, the author, David A. George grew up Molestor I've met quite a few and had many an occasion to observe them and listen to them and what they've got to say. Now... the little kids and braggers all told me that they torture full-time. There's always a man, a woman, a boy, and an innocent little girl being tortured at all times. Whether receiving a beating or taking part in a skit or between whatever is irrelevant to the point. I'd suppose their logistics are that a given victim is being transported here or there, though not always. What outsider can say accurately? Well, lets just stick to their boasts and my observations shall we.

  4 victims a week for 9 months. 4 weeks in a month equals 36 weeks. 36x4 Victims = about 144 victims annually. They say there's quite an overlap there as many are "The Kids Anyone Can Hit" just going through their next "cycle" (a number I'm not privy to at the time of this writing), some are "catch and release" victims (the jobless, the homeless, recycled pretty victims from local jails, prisons, and asylums), some go mad, they tell me some commit suicide, many go to jail, prison, or are themselves cast into the local mental health system and will be repeat business for the gang. Some will die and some they will recreationally kill which is easier than most people think when you own some, many, most, or all of the local... cops (I personally don't know what is the correct percentage of clean to dirty... cops but to listen to gang boasts... it's "all").

  Incredibly I've heard the gang brag/whine that some of the victims are prettier women victims who've not handled the rape victim lifestyle very well and either by accident or deliberately have put on a lot of weight (if it's an ongoing "catch & release" rape) the gang may be starving the girls to slim them down so they can fetch a better price or at the very least more attractive for their continuous gang-rapes.

  I've heard the gang complain that many of the people are merely there own otherwise loyal gang-members (mostly victim/members but a few Member victims) who are being punished and just a sprinkling of loyal members who actually get off on torture so they are being cycled through and provide for security, being that they can have valuables on them that the bosses can watch to see if guards are ripping them off and to provide "friends" for the gang's victims so they can gague their mental state better. Who's going to crack? What works and on whom? It's their job.

​

  Job: noun \ˈjäb\

1. 1 a :  a piece of work; especially :  a small miscellaneous piece of work undertaken on order at a stated rateb :  the object or material on which work is being done c :  something produced by or as if by work <did a nice job>d :  an example of a usually specified type :  item <the limousine was a long white job>

2. 2 a :  something done for private advantage <the whole incident was a put-up job>b :  a criminal enterprise; specifically :  robbery c :  a damaging or destructive bit of work <did a job on him>

3. 3 a (1) :  something that has to be done :  task (2) :  an undertaking requiring unusual exertion <it was a real job to talk over that noise>b :  a specific duty, role, or function c :  a regular remunerative position d chiefly British :  state of affairs —usually used with bad or good <it was a good job you didn't hit the old man — E. L. Thomas>

4. 4 :  plastic surgery for cosmetic purposes <a nose job> I shouldn't have included #4, because there's not a single Mid-Michigan... cop out there that believes a Child-Molestor would ever use this procedure and a Dirty Dr. to do it unethically. EVER!

​

  Catch and release? Cops have told me no one does that. I explained many do. In lots of areas in life. Since we're dealing with perverts and perversion why does it become laughable when a victims says "A bunch of pervert rapists are treating me perversely"! I recommend you Mid-Michigan... cops practice your glazed looks in a mirror when we meet, don't want an embarrassing ad-lib to bring your dirty case crashing down do you? Your peers from other communities just might look at you 1st when the question is posed to... cops on the Rape Capital Frontier like yourselves.

  Catch and release? As a service I shall now define the words in simple terms in a way I'm 80% sure (okay 50/50% but who's counting?) Mid-Michigan... cops might understand. I'm keeping it... "simple". For them... As a service... okay? Simple...

​

  Catch and release: Catch and release is a practice within recreational fishing intended as a technique of conservation. After capture, the fish are unhooked and returned to the water. Often, a fast measurement and weighing of the fish is worthwhile. Using barbless hooks, it is often possible to release the fish without removing it from the water (a slack line is frequently sufficient).

​

  Now we shall apply it to the concepts of stalking and rape. Mid-Michigan... cops avert your gaze now or suffer possible injury!

​

  Catch and Relaese: Catch and release is a practice within recreational rape intended as a technique to provide a constant supply of victims & to befuddle their primary source of protection... cops they paid to train, hired, and count on to protect them. After capture the victims are raped and put through skits (apply the word "common" here... cops) designed to befuddle... cops, & to terrorize and unbalance victims. Afterward they are returned to their lives. Often, a film is made if the catch is worthwhile and hooks or barbs dig into the victim thusly providing for cover if the rapists are ever caught. The skits thus provide for a slew of films that provide the gang with plenty of filmed opportunities to prove they were friends and or employers of their victims.

  Please help up any Mid-Michigan... cops who may have tried to read this and nurse them and their wounds from fainting & falling over. And please don't use make-up on them to draw on their faces... show a little respect okay?

​

  Keeping up with me? Good. Okay... lets go on. Now... the gang IS commanded out of a Mid-Michigan Public School. This means nearly 100% of their troops and resources are available during the summer months and the above accusation teachers and staff are free to rape loot and pillage as they will during the summer months and there's a slew of laws made to protect them. The gang brag the laws even provide them protection to crimes committed far from the school and for crimes committed long after retirement... as long as they keep up their Union Dues. Me? Idano... just repeating what I'm told is all. That being the case they up the pot in their crime gamble to 7. I've seen it a lot. 7 Victims. In cells. In hospital beds in the Defunct Hospital. In a building next to "The Garages". Okay?

  Sooo... the math. 3 months in the summer, 4 weeks in a month, 12 weeks. 12 Weeks x 7 victims = 84 potential victims. Okay... 84+144= 226 Annual potential victims. Lets say they started doing it from when I 1st saw the other victims after I got out of the Navy in 1985. 14x30 years = 420 Victims. Bay City has 30,000 people approximately so that means at least 1 % of them are potentially Molestors right now. More or less. When we add in 2.2 children for each couple and the fact the fact that rape does indeed lead to pregnancies (a statistic that baffles mid-Michigan... cops) and the numbers get wilder. I've been getting tortured by them quite a long time now.

​

  Big bucks to be had they tell me. I wont get into the math of what an average person makes. The gang tell me they primarily prey on the Top-Secret place once called "Dow Corning" in the area and it's secrets provide them with huge cash in foreign markets. They primarily prey on the well-to-do going on vacations far away (thus they're not expected back soon and they have a week or 2 to break a given victim).

  Where do guys like I come in? They tell me that by involving us, me & my fellow "Kids anyone can hit" the children of loyal members, and filming them doing all sorts of evil deeds, they provide for films that will be sure to make... cops drool and extricate them from any legal entrapment that should befall them. Catch one manufactured guilty victim like myself? No problem, they'll just make more and brag they have a slew of them ready to go at any time.

  My point? I'm not privy to the actual numbers of the biz... but, there's a lot of people involved here. They've got some money, and if you (mostly the well-to-do and... cops) fall into their trap (as outlined by myself) you'll be doing their dirty work for life. FOR FREE! Remember, they don't make money by partying with you or by making payoffs. They make it by drugging you at parties, by raping you and by compromising weak-minded formerly good... cops and making them pay the gang... FOR LIFE! Go ahead... try and take me down... even in a mundane way. I have no time for idiots nor do I respect fools who have been warned.

  Eh, sometimes I think too much. A problem I suspect most Mid-Michigan... cops do NOT have.

​

  "YOU'LL DO IT WHEN THEY TELL YOU TO"... No... no I would not...

  Sooo... there I was. During a cell escape sitting next to my Mother's Brother watching TV. I would sometimes be freed from my cell by him and he'd let me watch TV or even wander the house. He answered my questions and seemed to want to have anatomical discussions on the genitalia of men and boys (him & I).

  Today was unusual only in that we were watching a comedy show. He liked action and dramas for the most part. In the comedy the audience was laughing at a man wildly and I could not figure out what was so funny? So I asked him.

  He told me the reason the crowd was laughing was because the man was dressed like a woman. That made what he did funny.

  Me? I didn't see the humor in it one bit and discussed why anyone would even do something like that? It made no sense to me. Men's clothes were for men and women's clothes were for women.

  What he sadi was sorta pro-transvestite I'd suppose. I recall little of his exact quote, just the jist of what we talked about. I told him I'd never dress like a woman or a little girl. I found it detestable.

  He told me. "You'll do it when they tell you to do it".

  When I asked who were they he refused to talk further on the subject. Soon my parents came home and I was rushed to bed lest they discover us.

  It was during such a session that we saw a man get mauled by a dog on tv and my Mother's Brother told me it was legal to use deadly force against an attacking dog.

  I sat alone in my room and pondered his sentence. "You'll do it when they tell you". Hmmm...

  He galvanized my opinion on the subject more than ever. I decided then and there that I would never wear women's clothes ever. That and I'd never wear women's make-up.

  In a few weeks I would pop out a dog's eye while dressed like a little girl and be tortured long and hard for this deciscion to not wear women's clothes

  Never wear women's clothes? Thanx to a gang of madmen... that ship has sailed. Best I got is "never willingly".

  Yeah...

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