A PARTY TO DIE FOR!!! A Bay City... cop sponsered party!!!

 

  Soooo... there I was. It was Circa 1989 to 1993ish when the gang liked to follow-up torture and rape sessions with pretending-be-my-friend-sessions at “The 4 stars and Jerk liked to take me from room to room and pose me with booze or drugs and take pictures at the Partyhouse”. Getting me to participate in movies whenever possible by plying my drugged-out mind to do this... or to do that was the order of the day and we did everything for the camera over & over & over & over & over and over n over and then over and over and over and over...

  Laughter, my doped-up laughter, mixed with there's, on film was extremely important to them, as was conversation. It's important to them to have films with their victim laughing with their captors and I assure the reader, drugs make it possible and we did it day after day after day after day after...

  A few times I recall sitting on their couch, they were laughing and telling jokes. I laughed when they did. I recall thinking. “Why am I laughing? I've got to get out of here”. I started looking for exits. When I didn't laugh the 4 Stars asked me if I was okay? Recalling that if I answered them I'd be attacked and dosed anew I merely laughed when they did and watched for an opening.

Yeah, I tried to escape. I failed a bunch of times. Almost got away a few times (some of those attempts are written elsewhere).

This time, there is no escape. I'm doped up on who knows what and even as I become semi-lucid I am robbed of any ability to walk or even crawl. I'm a doorstop, paperweight, a decoration for the films of madmen. I'm sitting on a couch, have been for days, and will be for days, maybe weeks?

  The gang sit around me and set up their cameras from time to time as the time for my next dose approaches. They laugh & whenever possible try to interact with me, like a friend might. Offer me drugs, booze, sex. Then, I become lucid and try to leave. Whether walking, crawling, or slithering the gang pounce as one on me making sure to rain body blows as they do and dose me as a team. Fagboy, Shortstuff, and The Mayor's Brat all yell insults and still bring up “The Gym” as reason for the blows over a decade later. Dirty Cop attends in full Bay City... cop uniform and is in some of the films and was part of the beatdowns.

  This time, they've left me on the couch too long. Unable to move and needing to use a restroom I could hold “it” no longer and filth poured out of me and I sat there at the party in my own filth. The only way to mark time was by noting I went through several dose cycles sitting there. I recall that the party merely moved to the other rooms or for those who chose to party in my room they did so on the other side of the room while hurling insults at me for the disgusting smell.

  Fagboy liked to brag that the footage of innocents complaining of my stench would go far to proving I had always had no control over my bowels for when they crippled my rectum before our final court showdown... the beginning of the end where I'd be wearing adult diapers as revenge for “The Gym”.

  When asked the gangbangers, usually a pretty girl, told them I was like that, an occasionally delirious sort of fellow they all liked anyway & made scenes like unto a kidnapping scene all the time prior to a needed dose of my “medicine”. Yeah, I begged a few partygoers for help time & again. Most informed me they were in the gang. Any conversation prior to this was merely for the benefit of the camera. A few times, few... the gang freaked out as a formerly laughing and complacent me suddenly begged partiers for help. I was jumped and the gang insisted that I was delirious & merely needed my medication & that was my reason for insisting this was a kidnapping. “He does this all the time without his medicine”. Then they beat me down and dosed me anew.

  A few witnesses protested their rough handling of me which they justified by saying things like. “We have to when he gets this way”. Then, after “dosing” they asked me if we were great buttbuddies? They even asked me if this was a kidnapping and on their drug(s) I confirmed that I was friends with anyone they asked and as for a kidnapping? What kidnapping? With a long-term memory of literally 10-15 seconds I didn't recall any kidnapping.

  I recall them quizzing me for the benefit of many witnesses once I'd been dosed. They asked me things like. “We're all friends ain't we”? “This isn't a kidnapping is it”? “Feeling better now that you've got your medicine”?

  Yup. I, yes me, I told the witnesses that we were best buttbuddies. Sure... Kidnapping? No. I was friends with the entire world... now... especially with the people who'd just beat me down and dosed me just now. Not that I recalled if if asked about it. Enemies? Nah...

  The... cops were called a few times by witnesses I begged for help and Dirty Cop was there personally to coach answers from me for the benefit of his fellow officers after I was dosed anew. Even jumping me with the team and helping with the dosing during a few poorly timed skits AND in front of his fellow... cops who I'd managed to summon. Only to point out to his fellow officers. “See? Now that he's got his medicine he's okay”. Then asking me questions like. “Is this a kidnapping”? “Are any of these people your enemies”?

  I assure the reader, he got all the answers he craved and later when I met said... cops at the Copshop they mocked me because of it and refused to help me. They... cops mocked me... at the Copshop... based on this... Mocked... Ridiculed... made sport of... on duty... at their post... in uniform...

  But all that merely leads up to this... horror is my life... horror...

  I recall a pretty gal once came in, hurled insults at me based on my own filth I was sitting in at the party, stripped me from the waist down violently at the party, then cleaned me and my clothes slapping me and roughly washing me for the witnesses and the cameras. Then I was good to go for a new batch of filming & such.

  Every now and then party-goers, men, women, & even children would sit around me and either outright torture me by slapping me up or by delivering blows all over my body prompting guards Duh Jerk and or the 4 Stars to say. “Not the face”.

  Other times they engaged me sexually motivated by reward as it's a standard thing I'm told that a reward is due if a victim can be tricked into providing useful conversation (or worse, much worse) for the camera. Some just wanted to masturbate me for the camera. Ugly women, plain Janes, and even beautiful women between (spitooey) men & (grrrrrrrrr) children.

  Year after year this goes on every summer... WITH the aid of local police agencies (note my use of the letter “s” in the word “agencies”) between the humiliationfests that are my attempts at “filing a police report”.

  Another time (times actually... but which Bay City... cop is counting?) I recall becoming lucid while engaged in a heavy petting session with... someone? I pulled back my head and it was a guy about my age whom I'd never met before on the couch.

  Me? I attacked my rapist and Fagboy grabbed the rapist's arm and helped to yank him to his feet and away from me. Fagboy high-fived him and promised him a reward and asked his friends to wait next to me while they retrieved his due reward.

  Fagboy returned alone and sent the rapist's friends packing with a few mumbled words. Then he asked me if I wondered where the rapist was? Fagboy bragged that once he got the guy alone he'd given him the daterape drug and then came out to send his pals away. Telling them their pal had chosen to go to a “special party” as a reward without them. He would be invited to rape me later and the film footage of this “session” would be very damning. The guy would be taken home where he wouldn't remember a thing. Thus the gang wouldn't have to pay him this time as they'd promised everyone who tried to get useful film footage against me. He asked me if I wanted to know how they got the footage? It seems they drugged me stupid and began the heavy petting with me stupefied with the lights off.     Then, as I became more and began to participate they slowly turned the lights back on as I became increasingly lucid. SMILE! SMILE!   SMILE! All as revenge for “The Gym” he bragged.

  Once... I think they screwed up the doses on my stupid drug(s). While I couldn't walk or crawl or even slither away I was semi-reasonably semi-lucid and I pondered the situation before me.

  This... WAS HORRIBLE!

  I wanted... THIS TO END!

  I pondered my options. Begging partygoers for help... failed. Begging... cops & F.B.I. For help... failed. Going to citizen's groups... failed. Going to churches... failed. Going to my family... failed. Going to my friends... failed. I figured I needed a new plan. NOW!

  So... I hatched a plan.

  So I hatched a that would work... no matter what.

  So I hatched a plan that was not very nice.

  No, not one bit nice.

  My plan was not nice, premeditated, and not nice (did I mention not nice? I doubt Mid-Michigan... cops would notice I did & it wouldn't matter if they did because they tell me that in Bay City no one would treat kids nor adults like this, IT'S UNETHICAL!).

  I decided, that to end this... But how? Pondering the “witnesses” I concluded few or none of them were “innocent”. Sooo... I decided that I would make it too expensive to keep me there... Via bodycount. I didn't want torturers posing as “witnesses” who would testify we were buttbuddies. I wanted witnesses to the scene of the killing. Sooo... I decided I would simply kill anyone & everyone I could. Anyone who came withing arm's length was now a target and I knew soon a partygoer of some sort would eventually sit next to me and engage me for the camera, for sport, or both. I recall sitting on that couch wondering what sort of person might come by? Man? Woman? Or worse? Guilty? Innocent?

  A group of well-dressed drop-dead gorgeous women, about 3-5 of'em and a few otherwise well-dressed men all about my age or older came over and engaged me. 2 pretty mini-skirt wearing women sat next to me on either side of me and the one on the left of me smiled & spoke her last words in life to me. “Hi there”.

  I unceremoniously grabbed her and twisted her head with all of my might. K-K-K-K-KRACK! Then I threw her lifeless body at my feet. Then... I reached for someone else... her boyfriend I think and he stepped back as did his companions.

  The group went silent and the main party carried on in the next room. Guards and friends of the deceased just stood there and everyone simply stared at her body. Fagboy and Shortstuff were called into the room. They insulted me. So did the corpse's friends. It's fuzzy.

The beautiful woman tried to save her friend. Noting she was still alive.

  It was Fagboy who told her to not help her and ordered everyone to stand back & leave me alone. To just “Let her die” because it was better to die than to live a life paralyzed (the same thing a “Dr.” would say on my Michigan Street front porch decades later standing over the body of a young boy who was still alive in the presence of the Bay City... cop I've nicknamed “Front Desk Cop in my letter to the F.B.I.). I was impressed at her immediate obedience to him seeing as she seemed so worked up. Fagboy ordered guards to be placed to keep witnesses (partygoers) out of the room and to get me a new dose, which he said was kept well away from that particular room in case police showed up. Or so they'd boasted earlier. Often.

  That woman screamed insults at me FOR KILLING HER BEST FRIEND! Then, she attacked me.

  Me? I approached killing her methodically. I endured her blows to better enable me to grab her. Once I grabbed her I took what she gave so as to more easily maneuver her into a position to snap her neck.

  Fagboy ordered his guards to save & they did moments before her demise. When she calmed down she asked what Fagboy thought I was going to her and he answered calmly. ”He was going to kill you”.

 SHE SCREAMED INSULTS AT ME! Then she screamed them at her dying best friend's boyfriend. Why hadn't he attacked me and just watched as a woman tried to get revenge for his girlfriend's death. “I THOUGHT YOU LOVED HER”!?!?

  He looked guilty and looked to Fagboy for advice noting he was obeying Fagboy's orders, & was not a coward.

  They all just stood there, silently and we all watched the beautiful woman die... slowly.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, threats threats threats, dosed anew, fade to black...

  A beautiful young woman with her whole life ahead of her? I dedicate the tale of her short life to the Vice Squad (or whatever they are called) of Bay County Michigan who's fine police work in the Bay County area made her tragic early death possible.

  Go ahead, beg any agency in America you want for help against the Saginaw Valley's rapist gangs. I did and without fail they WILL tell you what they told me 'go to the Bay City Police and report this'. Once you get to the Bay City Police they WILL tell you to 'tell it to the cop at the front desk' and I assure you some, many, most, or maybe even all of those fine... cops will NOT help you.

  Corruption has a new name & it is Bay City... cops... in my humble opinion.

  Whatever...

​

  RAPE? A HOW TO GUIDE???

  Yeah, I'm contrary. Always was. Tell me I'm doomed if I do. I just might do it? Maybe not. They tell me I'm unpredictable too. Hence the rapist saying. "Raping you is scary. You never know when you're going to go off". They tell me it's also fun and rewarding and best done by people10 feet tall and made bulletproof by drugs too... but that is a different point. Ya gets what ya gets when yer main torture technique is to tell a drugged victim they're dreaming. Not everyone has the nicest of dreams for you to rely on thet working.

  Oh yeah... the "how to part"? Sure! Why not? I'm nothing if not accomidating to the rape gang and their slew of relieved dirty... cops (relieved cause I'm stupid enough to repeat the stuff they've done to me). I'll use an example. It's happened every few years my entire life. Here goes...

  Soooo... there I was, sitting in an always public place, minding my own beeswax, doing paperwork in the example I've chose in a resteraunt. So I'm just sitting there, and a pretty woman whom I've never met before nor ever again walks up and starts searching my bag (carried either an art bag or a waork bag with tons of paperwork in it my entire adult life almost always). Of course this gets my attention. I ask why they're searching my bag and the most popular answer was "I wondered what was in there"? Some were nicer that others and gave the bag a quick going over. Others dumped the contents out and methodicly searched it's contents. Then left without a thank you or a goodbye.

  The gang has bragged on this many times. A pretty woman walks up and goes through a victim's bag. If they resist physically a swarm of nearby Jocks get to beat them to a pulp for free. If they don't resist the gang knows what's in there (for whatever reasons they may be suspicious at a given time) and is free to either retrieve "things" earlier planted in said bag or plant new ones like drugs (the kind where you can get a life sentence for possessing even microscopic amounts of). It can also facilitate a film that proves the girl and the victim are friends (The idiot... cop says: why else did you let her go thru your bag huh?) thus enabling her to rape a victim and have a film proving they were great frinds. Why else would I have let her go through my bag you might ask?

  Me? I got nothing to hide. I just watched them do it and repacked my bag as needed.

  This does not include all the times various gangbangers bragged they used a pickpocket to put "things" on my person or the bodies of their other victims. I watch this cop show on TV and dam impressed by how often people caught with all sorts of "things" begin their police interrogation by saying. "That's not mine". I'm even more impressed by how many only of them minutes later admitted that the "things" were indeed thier's but that is a different story.

  Pickpockes putting things on victims? To dramtise the point I'm trying to make I shall now attempt to coin a new word. Here goes...

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  Pickpocket pick·pock·et [ˈpikˌpäkət]

1. a person who steals from other people's pockets.

   synonyms: thief · petty thief · purse-snatcher · sneak thief · cutpurse

2. steal from the pockets of (someone): example: she went to Bay City Michigan and pickpocketed things from citizens