"WE'VE GOT YOU FRAMED FOR ENOUGH STUFF TO INSURE YOU GET A LIFE SENTENCE! So you'd better obey to us from now on". I heard versions of the sentence from a ton of C.M. my whole life.

  My response? As a teen I recall my response while shaking my head often was "So what? You guys have already framed me enough for a hundred life sentences anyway".

 

  Years later another card-carrying Child-Molestor was giving me his "You'd better obey us or else speech". He, they figured I could go to the... cops and whine all I wanted. Their plethora of lies, the cover-ups, and the people in my life they recruited would assure them victory....

 

  "You know most of the children we use against you are from other cities don't you"?

  "Yeah, I already figured that one out".

  "How do you figure"?

  "Because if they came from Bay City I'd have bumped into a few of them a lot more. That and the kids from the gym told me that you used kids from other cities to do your dirty work around here and a few of your people bragged about it over the years in the [Bunga-Bunga] Garages when I was being raped".

  "Ohhh. You know most of the people you killed came from other cities don't you"?

  "I figured as much".

  "When you tell the cops about the murders they'll tell you you're crazy because the number of people you killed wont pan out with the number of people that are reported killed around here".

 

  Eh, there's more than one reason they conduct drugged interrogations. During one I let slip I planned to write a website exposing them.

  "Go ahead, we'll sabotage it".

  "You killed those 3 women. You know that right"?

  I was perplexed by his claim. "I thought I killed everybody there. What? Are you sure because I stabbed everybody else there a whole bunch of times"?

  "Yeah I'm sure".

  "What? Are you positive because I twisted that one pug guy's head until his neck snapped? I'm almost positive that I killed him".

  "I wasn't there. All I know is that they [the gang] reported to me that the 3 women died and that everybody else has made a full recovery".

  "I don't know, I stabbed everybody there at least a few times and stabbed that one guy a whole bunch of times. I don't see how he could've lived".

  "All I know is what they tell me. The only ones who died were the 3 women and everyone else is going to make a full recovery".

  To be continued...

  ...

  ...

  sigh...

  ...

  To change the subject... I've lost. No really. I really really have lost against the Child-Molestors and I am totally screwed... most likely. I recall Jerk's "obligatory snitch", you know, the guy no recreational serial-killer would send to a victim, "it's unethical"! Yeah, the Last Snitch, he bragged on and on about the gang's invincibility before police and the community and exactly how they planned to do it. "The police will never appreciate how many people we've motivated to hate you". "Jerk arms people and gets tells them not to hurt you and then lets you off the drugs". "You don't even realize it but you've killed people all over the country. Once you kill some of them he blackmails the rest by telling them 'when this all comes out you'd better be prepared to spend whatever it takes to make sure he goes down because if I go down I'm taking you with me". "These are powerful people. The kind of people who don't like being controlled and they've amassed a war chest to take you down".

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, big money, sex, betrayal, rape, drugs, film film film, we'll stalk you until the day you die, we're hi-tech, yada yada yada, internet interception, we'll intercept your e-mails, websites? Yeah, we'll have a few of our cable repairmen tap a line and stop that too. Cell phone? Yeah, we own towers, we buy towers as needed, and we have those cheap little gizmos that can intercept calls that no... cop would believe any honest, entirely ethical crook would use in an extended stalking.

  Me? I'm most likely doomed and I know it. Always was since I was a toddler. Lost... Yup... I ain't saying I'm a loser, just "not the winner". Whine whine whine... Yeah... Whatever...

 

 

  I once had a conversation with a uniformed on-duty Bay City... cop in front of a large group of his peers while pleading my case to them. He said. "You almost had me until you said they [the Child-Molestors gang] were tech-savy". His peers agreed with him.

  So I asked if he knew and child-pervs himself, has he ever discussed the logistics of the lifestyle with any of them, and what his opinion of the typical child-molester was, what kind of person did he imagine they tended to be?

  He hadn't met any child-pervs himself, nor had he discussed the logistics of the lifestyle, but he assumed they would be an honorable lot as a whole. "I picture them as perverts wearing glasses sitting at computers reading child-porn".

  "But not tech-savy"? My saying cut him badly, I could see it on his face.

 

 

  Oops... now that the whining is out of the way (Just got ANOTHER letter "allegedly" written by a grammatically challenged F.B.I. Agent, I'm up to $25 Million dollars in cash just waiting for me, or so the e-mail says) I thought I'd write about the base perversion story today to celebrate the winter solstice.

  It's a story about some of the worst, maybe the worst base perversion ever inflicted on a victim anywhere, an act the Child-Molestors bring up from time to time that they boast is one of the many things that will ultimately insure them total victory, not only against myself, but against all of their other victims as well once the police begin siding with them for whatever their reasons are (bribes, idiocy, indifference, incompetence, the list goes on and the C.M. brag they have a list of what all of their pet... cops, honest or otherwise tend to fall for every time).

  Eh, for reasons of creativity, procrastination, or just because I'm avoiding writing the middle of the story "Two more for the road"... I'm going to begin this particular true life inflicted upon me by madmen tale in the middle, the moment after I cautiously opened the door to the 2 story middle-classed home to attempt another escape. What happened inside the building? I'll tell you. Picture the worst perversion you can imagine... okay, it's worse than that. Now try to picture the worst perversion a team of professional perverted madmen could think up... okay, my guess is... it was worse than that in there.

  The Child-Molestors often brag that I can feel free to tell my story, that they've engineered it, that they are such masters of manipulating opinion, that so powerful are their contacts legal and otherwise, that I con tell my story all I want and even if the entire world come to believe it, that it is they who will be perceived by all who hear it as heroes.

  Sooo... this is a tale of the heroic Child-Molestors vs... bad, bad me. When they tell it to me it's a tale of epic heroism on their part. I say it's a tale coming to a school near you if you fail to win against the gang. Eh, we'll see.

  Here goes...

  It was broad daylight on an otherwise beautiful summer day in a lower middle-class neighborhood by my exhausted drug-addled sleep-deprived recollection when I chose to poke my head out of the 2 story dimly-lit house I was in. I'd suppose that if you were standing outside the door you'd be able to see several women's bodies near the door and other than the awkward position and location they were lying in think nothing was was amiss. Excepting that I was covered, drenched in blood from head to toe wearing jeans and possibly a t-shirt (maybe, maybe not. It's fuzzy at the time of this writing). Inside the only furniture was 2 tables and to the curious the weird thing (yeah, THIS is the weird part, righttttt...) is that the 2 story home has the entire 2nd floor completely cut out, only a skeletal remain of it still lingers in the form of a second floor only a few inches wide circling the now 2 room house.

  Me? Newly acquired jackknife in hand I slowly peeked my head out the door, searching for any obvious signs of which house is the house the gang bragged contains a small army. The world was rippling fiercely and I'm near sighted, I couldn't figure it out but I could tell I was in the suburbs bordered by houses in all directions an a large empty lot in front of me. So I elected to walk slowly to the corner of the house nearest the first street I saw.

  When I looked around the corner I saw that the uniformed Bay City... cop Dirty Cop himself was there standing next to his official marked police car talking to 2 jocks who themselves had a row of otherwise mundane cars parked on the well taken care of lawn.

  Yeah, so I took off the other way running as fast as I could and changing direction often as though I had someone right on my heels.

  Sooo... Once I got winded, I started walking... It's surprising how people treat you if you're covered in blood from head to toe. Several people came out of their homes and asked me. "Are you okay? Do you want any help"?

  Me? I had a bad case of the "Don't trust no one's" so I turned them down politely.

  By my recollection I walked a few more blocks, then I realized that I was completely lost. So I randomly picked a direction and chose to walk in an otherwise straight line. I ducked into alleys and kept moving whenever a marked... cop car came near making my route even more twisted. Eventually, who knows how long I walked, I came to a busy 2 lane street. It was the auto dealership across the street that I first recognized. I was in Bay City's south-end looking south through heavy traffic.

  At first I thought I might simply head home to my Michigan Ave. home. I judged that as too dangerous to try to attempt covered entirely in blood. So I made my way (running) to the nearby marina where I pictured myself cleaning up at the river.

  How'd that plan work? Not so good. My guess is that if you show up at a marina covered in blood and refusing help people are going to notice and completely freak out as a whole. Whether it was a local thing or if it's that way everywhere who can say? Frankly, I didn't think it was in my best interest to even think of sticking around so I beat feet out of there by hugging the boxes and boats and, doing a few things that are fuzzy at the time of this writing to defend myself from people who forcefully got in my way for whatever their reasons were. Very fuzzy...

  Now I had a goal, walk through the hidden dens inside the marina heading south to find a spot in the river where I could clean up paralleling the railroad tracks. Eventually, I left the marina and came walking towards the remains of Bay City's former Cass-Avenue bridge.

  The environs around the bridge were a happening place back when I was 23 or so. There were 2 main groups of partiers that I could see. The first were positioned around 4 or 5 small boats and everyone had a drink in their hands, maybe 10-15 people who were mostly in their 20s to 40s by my recollection.

  The rest of the revelers about an equal number of people, maybe more were all by a very nice patio table that seated maybe 8-10 people who had the aforementioned group of people next to them nursing the keg that was next to the table.

  How'd it go? Well, I'll say it like this... there's a way I pictured people might react to my sudden appearance... and then there's what happened. Eh, I grow weary of this, today. Soooo... I plan to continue the story later, God willing. To be continued... Eh, see "The destruction of the Cass Avenue Bridge changed the group dynamic"...

 

 

 

 

  How to difigure children... and come out looking like the good guy...

 

  Sooo... there I was, strapped face-down to a table, butt up with my pants around my ankles, again... sigh... I was in a dimly-lit room, maybe a hall, maybe a hotel cafeteria with dark walls minus the tables. The walls were dark, like the mood and lights and framed art hung from them here and there. Children, teens, and a few adults were here and there. The adults primarily being Duh Jerk and the door guard Jocks.

  It was after the big rape, I was the center attraction and sodomized by a roomful of attendants howsoever much they'd desired. The few I chatted with during my fleeting lucid moments told me they knew it was rape. A rape they were proud to participate in, being that I was such a scumbag. They all felt good about it, and they, like most of my rapists, told me in so many words that they felt they had the moral high-ground.

  Right now Duh Jerk is breaking in his largest Lt. to date by my recollection. He was about 18ish, maybe more, maybe less and had a huge football player physique. At least 6'5" to 6'7". Hard to tell lying face down but eh, read on.

  Duh Jerk was teaching him the ins and out of the biz. Victims are just that. Victims and never to be treated with honor nor dignity except on film.

  The Lt. seemed to have a difficult time grasping the concept and Duh Jerk seemed to be re-explaining the subject over and over. Then he said. "Like this". Then he rummaged through my pants, took my wallet, and took the cash and returned the wallet to my pocket.

  Me? As if telling this improves the believably of my tale. Atheist me, Christian me when on their drug(s?) prayed to God that I might be able to pass gas as Duh Jerk's face was perfectly positioned as a target.

  Then.... I let out a nasty foul-smelling fart! R-R-R-R-RIP!

  Duh Jerk only looked at me and turned his animated expression to an expressionless one.

  We locked eyes and I told him. "It's the thought that counts".

  He seemed irritated and turned to his Lt. and said. "Like that! He should never profit by what we do to him".

  All total the take was less than $5, though he did leave me with whatever change I had. It was the absolute last bit of my money... and more cash was coming into my life anytime soon and we all knew it.

  I recall his Lt. saying. "You would take a guy's last dollar"? With a horrified expression on his face.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, they were preparing the place for thee next round of gang-rapes. All in all it was more boring than anything. Lay there and watch children go too and fro preparing the place for their next rape.

  Eventually I was doped anew for the next round of rapes. Fade to black...

  In a moment of time I became lucid and assessed the situation before me. The gang were playing their slap game, where the teens smack a victim, laugh, and then toss them to the next participant who repeats. FUN! FUN! FUN! Fun for them... not me. The teens were 8 total, 5 men, 3 women all about 17 or 18, average builds, stood about 5'4" to 5'6", and all would be considered handsome or pretty. Two jocks, one, the massive Lt. from before armed with a dagger, and another about my height and 50lbs lighter with an athletic build and a revolver. We were in a smaller room but judging by the architecture we were in the same building. Did I mention we were being filmed? EVERYTHING the Child-Molestors do IS on film. EVERYTHING! And this time was no different, the camera stood proudly to one side filming everything with it's unblinking eye.

  I hit a few of the teens, prompting them to back off of me. Actually I hit them all, a bunch of times and they gave up, retreating to the back of the room leaving me between them and the guards. Presumably to wait a few seconds for drugs to reset my memory as they are trained to do.

  Me? The pressure was on! I figured I had to act fast as I had no idea how long I had until their drugs reset my memory! On the quick I hatched a plan. So I approached the guards who threatened me with their weapons! Sooo... I acted delirious... put on a fake smile and said a sentence of nonsense and walked towards the door... the door and the smaller Jock! He lowered his pistol to grab me in a mundane, easy-going manner.

  Me? I exploded! First I split my fingers 2x2 into a "V" and jammed them into his eyes as hard as I could! Then I grabbed his pistol and kicked his knee and turned to face the giant Lt. and fired the pistol at him. BANG! He went down! Then I popped 2 into the other Jock! BANG! BANG! And then turned my attention to the crowd.

  I told them to group up all the while thinking. "GRRRR! Anger is the key! I've got to keep my blood flowing or the drugs will overcome me! GRRRR"!

  Incredibly, after begging to be freed, one of them said. "Are you okay? Do you need some help"? A very trained response designed to pacify a potentially violent victim who's long-term memory may have reset.

  I planned my escape... and it didn't involve them calling the army that might be on the other side of the door. So I checked the revolver. 3 rounds. "I've only got 3 bullets left so I'm going to need everybody to form 3 lines and put your heads together".

  "Is he serious"? A girl asked.

  A teen boy said. "He's only got 3 bullets left. We should all rush him. He cant get us all".

  So I shot him in the heart. BANG! He dropped. "Now I need everybody to form 2 lines". It occured to me that in times past the Child-Molestors have teased me that I'd disabled a guard, then left, and everything I needed to escape had been on the guard for the finding. Sooo... then I turned to the jocks, hoping to find another weapon or maybe even more ammo. The little Jock had only been playing dead and he grabbed both of my arms when I tried to search him. "I GOT HIS ARMS HELP ME YOU GUYS"! In seconds the gang piled on me, others opened the door and troops poured in. Fade to black...

  ...

  Duh Jerk bitch-slapped me awake and stepped behind his guards as is his custom. As I stood I could tell we were in the big room again and the assembled army of Child-Molestors now stood before me. Both Jocks, the 8, and a whole bunch of Jocks and non-jocks all clad in gang-land black.

  Duh Jerk informed me of what had happened and what was about to happen because of it. The pistol had only 1 real bullet in it, as is their custom during that particular type of torture session for a variety of reasons & the participants were not aware of that fact. I'd shot the Lt. in the mouth and he'd lost a bunch of teeth and was disfigured for life.... but the gang would fund his facial reconstruction in part as revenge against me (made no sense to me but, eh, anything to get them to waste their hard-earned cash is okay by me). I'd poked out the right-eye of the other Jock. The gun had blanks in it, such that it hurt & winded the guy I'd shot in the chest. He'd dropped because he'd thought he was dead and now wanted revenge on me based on the teasing he'd received because he'd "soiled himself". The gang actually mocked "Soilshimself" then and there and Duh Jerk told me he'd had to wear the exact same pair of pants as when we'd met last time which embarrassed him all the more and created even more mocking of him (loyalty? to them? The Child-Molestors? Phhhht! Not worth it!). Now, they would all get a chance to have their revenge on me while I was on their "strength reducing drug(s?)" and beat me to near death as revenge for what I'd done to them.

  First was the Lt. who was using a cane which he handed to a guard pal. When I told them I didn't believe I'd really shot him he proved it by removing his bandages. The hole was just above his lip, under his nose and to his left. Under it was jagged stitched and like a square-cut 2" x about 1" high section of his jaw & upper lip were removed & the teeth of his upper lip were now exposed. When I still called him a liar he put his fingers in the holes to prove they were real. Blood loss was the reason he had the cane and he figured he could and would whup me easy being I was on strength reducing drug(s?) and due to his recent transfusion.

  Me? Stalling for time I counciled the Lt. that there would be no plastic surgery for him as promised. That I knew the vain gang better than he in ways and that it is a gang tradition that once a gang-member's face gets marked that the gang kills them because they are marked men.

   Duh Jerk assured Lt. with a poorly framed poker-face I was wrong... and the gang would gladly dig deep into their pockets to fund surgery (for a gangbanger who's a marked man and now useless to them).

  Then Lt. attacked! He got in a few good licks! POP! POP! We danced... then, he fell for my "go to move". I took him to the ground, kicked him in the head a few times, and then Duh Jerk ordered his troops to restrain me. Lt. shook it off in seconds and he got up ready for round 2 but Duh Jerk informed him that he'd had his chance and failed.

  Lil Jock stepped up. WOW! Was he angry. "YOU POKED OUT MY EYE"! He said it a few times.

  I told him I had no sympathy for him. Seeing he was wearing an eye patch I figured it was unlikely he was yet used to fighting using only one eye. I figured he'd be weak to his right side so I switched to fighting as a left-handed person might fight. I wondered if he'd fall for the same move twice?

  He attacked! So I used my go to move as soon as he got to me, knocked him off his feet, & kicked him in the head! This seemed to knock him senseless and he made no effort to protect himself and began talking gibberish as far as I could tell. So I kicked him a few more times, then it occurred to me to kill him. So I stomped on his throat with my steel-toed boots that I often wore! Duh Jerk ordered me restrained and they brought forth "the Doctor" who assessed his injuries. "I think I can save him. Help me get him to a table"! Jocks lifted the body to the table and it seemed like, after using a  flurry of insterments, the Doctor pronounced the Jock would live but had to go to the hospital... now! So they rushed him off.

  All attention focused on me. Now Duh Jerk assured me I would be beat down by the 8. Both as revenge for how I treated them and because Lil Jock was their good friend.

  They assembled in front of me and promised me a disfiguring beating as revenge. Particularly Soilshimself who did most of the threatening. The way they saw it was they were the good guys in the room. Being that I was such an awful serial-killer and all. They ALL had seen the films and called me a liar when I protested innocence.

  I thought. "They saw the films"? I hatched a plan. I put on my best game face & told them that they knew I was a killer, there was no denying the films. But that I'd bested the 8 in combat already and taken out the 2 toughest guys in the room. Fight me and the 1st to attack me dies or gets disfigured. "Maybe I'll bite off their nose or something". So  I stared them down by starting with Soilshomself first who lasted a fair amount of time, eh, longer than the rest did when I changed targets.

  A standoff occurred... I won. They chickened out.

  Duh Jerk flew into a rage at the participants! 8 had chickened out before me?!?!?!?! Everyone was going to be punished for this!

  The gang begged for rematches and in a rage he refused them all and ordered me drugged and released much to the dismay of everyone involved! He told the 10 that while they couldn't beat me down they could help the troops take me down and drug me and hit me in the body all they desired. He smiled and said. "Just don't hit him in the face".

  Yeah, I fought. Usually do. I lasted a solid 10 seconds... maybe. Injected with who knows what?

  In the past the fade to sleep was usually kind of calm, almost an eerie serene calm as serial-killers stand staring with blank expressions while another victim passes out, maybe for the last time ever because the gang have ALL told me they've seen overdoses. They'd ALL seen victims die... slowly... slowly and solely for their gratification... slowly... All of'em I ever asked told me they've seen it... been a part of it... all...

  This time the gang mercilessly pounded on me before and after I was drugged & my transition to the slumbering world was not an easy one.

  Fade to black...

 

  A lesson taught to me by the best... THEY came out of it looking like the good guys... I hear the children involved were ALL raped and tortured for fun and profit later as a "punishment" and now they ALL  hate me... they all hate me and cant wait to further my destruction. The above tale is dedicated to the fine men and women of the Bay City... F.B.I. Agents and their civilian staff, without whom none of this would be possible.