Sunday, October 30, 2011

Review! Disinformation: The Complete Series DVD

Disinformation exists today as a publishing house and a website. They put out a whole bunch of material on conspiracy theories and the occult, things like that. Very briefly Disinformation was a show on British TV, and the Disinformation:The Complete Series DVD contains the footage that exists of that, as well as footage from a conference they held in New York in 2000. I had the DVD back in the early 2000's, and my friends and I used to laugh at it. It was an inevitable that I would go back and review the Disinformation: The Complete Series DVD. My review of Howard Bloom's book The Lucifer Principle is getting more hits then I expected, my writing about how Genesis P. Orridge has been getting hits, and both Howard Bloom ad Genesis P. Orridge appeared on the DVD Disinformation: The Complete Series DVD. It was released in the early 2000's. Genesis P. Orridge gives a very long dull interview about what a genius he is-this was however, at least before his breast implants were put in. The Howard Bloom interview where he says "fuck the god of war" that I've discussed elsewhere is on that same DVD. Another reason Disinformation is timely to discuss right now is that if you go on their webpage, they have all kinds of Occupy Wall St. propaganda up. CBS news reported that American Apparel is donating clothing to the protesters. That almost makes me consider Occupy Wall St. youth-oriented marketing versus other modes of capitalism. As I've written elsewhere, I don't have a strong opinion about Occupy Wall St. because while plenty their are figures on the right- Ron Paul, Pat Buchanan for example-who have criticized Wall St. types and the bailouts, but most of the protesters are leftists and I'm certainly not a leftists anymore. I think it does make a review of the Disinformation: The Complete Series DVD timely, however. The above clip is edited down from footage from the same DVD. This is an interview with a woman named Brice Taylor that claims that she was placed under mind control and used by Sylvester Stallone to make pornography involving sex with dolphins. It was all part of a C.I.A conspiracy. She is either a.) psychotic or b.) a con artist. It feels like a stupid thing for me to bother to point out, but she doesn't provide any evidence that what she says actually happened or indeed that such things are at all possible. That's actually one of the more interesting bits on disk one of the show. There's a whole bunch of profiles on either new agers or conspiracy theorists on disk 1, and a lot of these people could easily pass for homeless. . There's an artist on there talking about building a time machine. There's a guy who says he's from outer space, of course. A couple of these people seem pretty self-assured in having been in contact with aliens. Other things are even more mundane than that. There's some documentary footage of a fetish event in Los Angeles. There's documentary footage of the AVN Expo porn convention in Vegas. I usually live in Las Vegas, I could have gone to the actual AVN Expo very easily if I wanted but I've never bothered. As absurd as the first disk is, I've never seen a greater example of artistic and intellectual failure anywhere in my life. If you can stand to listen to former Psychic TV keyboardist Douglas Rushkoff for ten minutes you have more tolerance and patience then me, but the section of this DVD with him speaking is a half an hour. He starts with a quote from Timothy Leary and makes less and less sense from there on in. The comic book writer Grant Morrison starts by saying he's drunk and he's coming up on drugs, and he then starts telling a story about being abducted by aliens. Grant Morrison goes on for 45 minutes from there. I'm not a big fan of psychedelic self-annihilation of the mind. Listening to 45 minutes of Grant Morrison on drugs is like water-boarding. I always got a kick out of the footage of Marilyn Manson on this disk. In it he whines about sports heroes and jocks in high school. It's sort of absurd that he still cared about the jock beating him up in high school after he himself became super-rich and famous, but that very clearly looks like what happened here. I think the time to get over it was long ago, Marilyn. The art critic Anthony Haden-Guest introduces the artist Joe Coleman by saying that Joe Coleman did some performance artist piece where he bit the heads off white mice, and that the white mice were real. Joe Coleman's speech makes no sense. I think there was a lot of drugs circulating backstage when they did this conference. The DVD ends with the late science fiction author Robert Anton Wilson, who starts be saying he doesn't have a vagina he has a "willy" and starts ranting about how you have to have a "willy" to be the pope. Robert Anton Wilson rambles for more than an hour. I think Robert Anton Wilson might have also been high. Either that or he was just a total drug burn-out. He talks about drugs on that video to the extent that you'd think his life completely rotated around them. The only way I could really sit through any of this crap now and truly enjoy it would be with a bunch of friend's mocking it. If Disinformation represents a counter-culture, I'll stay with the mainstream. I still don't have a clear sense of what the objective of their "revolution" ever was.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Short Story: The Fake Gold Coin

That was probably the strangest case I ever worked on with Metro. What had happened was there were three homicides within a few blocks from one another. There was no sign that the individuals had any connection to each other, except they were all killed next to bus stops, and it turned out from the video on the bus they had a very strange interaction on the bus before the murder happened. All three people shot were crystal meth addicts. It was a married couple, Michael and Tina Bryant, and this one woman Denise Christopher. It was down on Freemont St. Meth, of course right? The interchange was so very odd. Michael and Tina Bryant sat down next to this Mexican guy Felipe Rodriquez who couldn't speak a lick of English. Michael was seen on the video trying to sell him this stupid coin and kept saying over and over again that it was 14 k gold. Felipe Rodriquez handed Michael Bryant twenty dollars for the "14K" gold coin. At that moment Denise Christopher, who we had dealt with a number of times for charges related to prostitution and crystal meth, she started telling Filipe Rodriquez that the gold coin was a fake. "If that was real 14 K gold it would say 14 K on the back. That coin ain't gold, they just need money to buy dope." The ironic thing was she was just as drugged out as they were. Felipe Rodriquez just looked utterly confused and apathetic. The killer was not Felipe Rodriquez. He almost really didn't care about the coin, the rip off, all of that. As soon as Denise pointed out the rip off, Michael and Tina Bryant grabbed the twenty and ran off the bus. I think it was two stops later that Denise got off. Her head was blown nearly clean off with a revolver just after she got off, and then the killer backtracked and shot the Bryants. We got the face of this one guy who got off the bus at the same time as Denise. It wasn't Felipe. Felipe was off in outer space. But we got the image of this forty years old male from the video camera, and a squad car found him wandering around just outside a Denny's a while later. White male assailant by the name of Jordan Brown. This is the strangest part about it. We pulled up to him and got out of the car, approached him on the street. "Oh you're looking for me, right?" "I don't know, should we be?" "Well, if it was a sane society you wouldn't be. If there were more people like me out there, there'd be a lot less people like them, and that would save taxpayers a whole lot of money." "So you did it?" "Absolutely." "Why?" He shrugged. "I'm sick of drug scum like that breathing my air." I looked at him for a long while. Really, as a private citizen, he did not know the half of it. There are meth addicts who will pimp their 8 or 9 year old daughters out for meth. You can hit them with two or three bullets and they'll still come after you, not even knowing they've been hit.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

It's Time to Turn Off Psychic TV, Part 2!

I'm guided in choosing which of these blogs I do by the stats that blogger gives me. Wait, someone called me "what a bullshit" on the shout box of the artist page for Psychic TV. Actually, that's more like 20 hits, I think. That's amazing! I got ten-eleven more hits then I would have otherwise gotten already so far. The thing is that if I posted a link to that blog on the Psychic TV artist page on, I doubt anyone would have looked at it. It would have smacked of self promotion. If people disagree with me on something like that, that's not that bad. Much better that than the blog is simply ignored, right? That's the real risk you take on writing blogs on a subject like that. They even slapped my name on there- as though people know who I am! I've got to say, that's very flattering. With luck, I now have people from the Psychic TV fan camp who may be curious as to what my connection with Phil Spector is or who this Daniel Nicherie I mentioned was. That to me is some exciting and potentially fertile intellectual ground. I think Genesis P. Orridge made some decent music in the late 70's maybe. For the last ten years or so all I've seen from Genesis P. Orridge is an aging drag queen performing a retro psychedelic show in Williamsburg. That and Genesis gives these long interviews about how his/her own genius. Nowadays the press is panning Lou Reed and Metallica for collaborating on this album that I feel is really not bad. I think if you want to see a real has-been,Genesis P. Orridge is it. Psychedelia is dead to me. Williamsburg is dead to me. And most of all, Psychic TV is dead to me. Remember, that's more of an opinion about Psychic TV than most of the world has. Psychic TV are relatively obscure and a lot of people that have heard of them never liked them. And Psychic TV started in thirty years ago. I'll freely admit that I used to listen to them quite a bit, and now I really have no use for them. That is especially true of music Genesis P. Orridge makes now. That's considerably nicer then I often am about bands. Now, if you want to watch an aging drag queen do a bunch of poor Velvet Underground covers or whatever, that's all you babe. It's a free country. I'm just taking things in another direction. However, since this Psychic TV blog did surprisingly well and another blog I wrote on Howard Bloom got more hits then I would have thought, and since both Genesis P. Orridge and Howard Bloom appeared on that weird Disinformation DVD that came out years ago, at some point in the future you are likely to see a review of that on here. If something pulls in hits for whatever reason, I will go with that general direction.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Book Review: Patrick J. Buchanan: Suicide of a Superpower

Yes, it's a new book by Pat Buchanan, Suicide of a Superpower: Will America Survive to 2025? is the title, and the author is the same man that Donald Trump labelled a "Hitler-lover" a number of years back. Considering how long Hitler has been dead for, that'd be quite some little fetish. Despite all the accusations that Patrick J. Buchanan is an anti-semite he manages to stay on MSNBC as a conservative commentator years after Michael Savage was fired for homophobia. Michael Savage is almost a moderate by comparison. Savage apologized for his homophobic statements, Pat Buchanan doesn't really apologize for much of anything. If you want to start an argument, quote Michael Savage, Pat Robertson, or Pat Buchanan in a conversation in mixed company. Here is Pat arguing with Al Sharpton: (incidentally, if you want some big laughs, google "Al Sharpton F.B.I informant") The last big Buchanan controversy involved his sounding far too sympathetic to Anders Breivik, the mass-shooter in Norway, with regards to the influx of Muslims into Europe. His alleged Hitler fetish isn't particularly evident in his new book. He mentions Hitler only briefly, noting that while Hitler disdained Christianity, he regarded religiosity necessary for the survival of a nation. Pat Buchanan likes Christianity, and sees the decline of it's influence in an increasingly secularized America as instrumental in the nation's decline. He notes that "Republican courtship of the Jewish vote has failed" and being that he doesn't like liberalism, he is in that sense anti-semitic. Buchanan is very quick to point out the role of Jewish feminists in the pro-choice movement, for example. Buchanan doesn't get into holocaust denial or Jewish conspiracy theories in this particular book. What he does is spends pages and pages lamenting what he sees as the fall of western civilization and in particular, the United States, and he blames liberalism, multiculturalism, and secularism. That's more or less all he's doing in this particular work. Many are likely to feel the book is racist, however, he seems as concerned about things like the decline in U.S church attendance as any particular race issue. If you're looking to this book for hardcore hate speech you're going to be very disappointed. However, here's a nice little Buchanan quote to throw out at the Q and A segment of a Judith Butler lecture-"The contention that men and women are equal is found in feminist ideology and not human nature." Don't get me wrong though. I don't believe that this book is irrelevant at all. I think this book should be widely read. Buchanan gathered together way too much valuable statistical information for this book to be ignored. There is a section on the issue of food stamps where Buchanan likens dependency on government assistance to narcotics dependancy. Ironically though, Buchanan mentions the issue of food stamps being used to purchase junk food, but he somehow missed the problem that drug tests are not required to receive food stamps, and people trade food stamps for drugs, alcohol or money to gamble with. The actual problems with the food stamp program is likely much worse then Pat Buchanan claims it is. That our government doesn't do drug testing on people receiving food stamps and gaining government assistance is insanity to me. Reading Buchanan has convinced me without question that Ivy League schools have discriminatory admissions practices against Evangelicals and Mormons. I'm sure that is absolutely true and that is also insanity to me. That's the kind of point Buchanan brings up that should be taken absolutely seriously. He'll disavow you of the belief that Europe is without a far right or serious immigration issues. There are some very intriguing details about the expulsions of Gypsies in recent years from what are generally perceived to be progressive European nations like France. France is not the progressive utopia of tolerance that leftists and people that call themselves "artists" think it is. 18,000 is a lot of Gypsies. That's the kind of information that Buchanan is very good at digging up. He's not a dumb man. It's just that concepts of equality that many people have he does not.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Response to the Occupy Wall St. Human Centipede


The details on this one are slightly mysterious. The artist is apparently one Stefan Tcherepnin whose work I am not familiar with at all. The human centipede sculpture was displayed at the Occupy Wall St. events. What is perhaps most curious of all is that I understand he is part of a social network that reads one of the blogs of which I am a contributor and have used to write about the Human Centipede phenomenon.

I do have an opinion about it. I think it's pretty silly. Especially if it was made in a gallery in Brooklyn. Let me remind my readers, I am right wing and have no time for Williamsburg or Greenpoint "bohemian" culture.

No, I don't have license over the Human Centipede thing, that would belong to the Dutch horror director Tom Six. I have been very impressed by the fact that Human Centipede 2 was initially banned from release in the U.K., in so far as it means he was able to create something which could still shock anyone. Based on that it shouldn't be any surprise whatsoever that the art world proper, specifically meaning the mainstream of the visual arts within the established gallery system, would grab Tom Six's images. It was almost inevitable that this would happen.

If Tcherepnin got the idea from me, and this I cannot know, still that's pretty funny. While most people tied to the art world in New York are of the political left, I am of the political right. I've been going to the shooting range at least once or twice a week lately. Dead serious. I'm a huge fan of gothic/industrial music and extreme metal, I have a real affection for films by people like Cronenberg and Tom Six, but I'm not a leftist.

The right is strongly divided on the topic of Occupy Wall St. Ron Paul had some sympathy for the movement cause because he can't stand the Federal Reserve. On the other hand you have Herman Cain's now infamous line "If you aren't rich and don't have a job, blame yourself". Glenn Beck said something along the lines of "Democrats, get out of bed with these people. They will drag you out of your house and kill you" likening the Occupy Wall St. cause to violent Marxist revolts in history. To be honest I am undecided on this particular issue. The truth is probably somewhere between Ron Paul and Herman Cain. So that's not even a political issue I had a very strong opinion about, really.

That's predictable as hell that they did the human Centipede thing at Occupy Wall St. thing. The New York Gallery system is so lockstep socialist on any and all issues, unfortunately. If you go back into my writing on Human Centipede 2, you'll see that I often mention Human Centipede 2 in the same breath as Michael Savage (an author and right-wing radio host who is banned from entering the U.K.) and that's not an accident. The art world can break the taboo of borrowing from Human Centipede 2. I think Michael Savage represents a set of ideas that would still be very taboo for the New York art world to invoke at all. Here's what Savage has said about Occupy Wall St- take note of the word "street vermin".

Thursday, October 20, 2011

LULU: Lou Reed and Metallica Full Album Review

Yes, it is finally here: This album is getting wretched reviews which i don't really understand. I do understand that very, very devoted Metallica might feel alienated by the band for taking on the project, which doesn't sound that much like Metallica normally sound. I would be so bold as to suggest that this was much more a Lou Reed album then a Metallica album. The songs are mostly very long, which is going to turn off some audiences.
However, is you put this album next to rock and roll bands from the last ten years that Have gotten attention, the Strokes or whatever indie rock bands, the sophistication and playing ability on this album blows all of that away.
In certain ways it is a throwback for Lou Reed to his Velvet Underground days. Lou Reed and Metallica laired a lot of heavy guitars on top of each other, going for a sort of update of Lou Reed's White Light/White Heat album- it has a very big sound There is a lot of feedback and dissonance on this album.They have some strings sounds that are a reapportion of John Cale's electric viola playing with the Velvet Underground. There is a lot of drone exploration on this album, in particular on the track "Little Dog".
The way I understand this album is that in the early days of the Velvet Underground in the 60's, Lou Reed was clearly doing things that preceded and influenced what was to come in the genres of punk, gothic/industrial, and yes, even extreme metal in terms of volume, dissonance, use of feedback, and drone. For most of the last 40 years of his solo career he was seemingly out of touch with what he had helped create, and was making largely surprisingly tame records. In 1979, Joy Division idolized Lou Reed, but really it probably should have been Lou Reed trying to get Ian Curtis on the phone. For this album he has a metal band at his disposal. "The View" and "Little Dog" sound like doom metal sort of, like the band Earth. Other tracks like "Mistress Dread" sounds kind of like a gothic metal band like Moonspell. "Junior Dad" sounds almost kind of like an extended version of a Cure song, "Mistress Dread" almost sounds a little bit like the Joy Division song "Twenty-Four Hours". With a metal band behind Lou Reed he kind of recaptures what he was in 1967-1968. The whole thing about the lyrics being inspired by the German plays of Frank Wedekind is kind of misleading. The trick of taking lyrical themes of sadomasochism from works of older European literature goes back all the way to "Venus in Furs" on the first Velvet Underground album.
Metallica serving as Lou Reed's back-up band do a fine job. I think this material would have been really boring if it had just been released as Lou Reed's new album. It essentially would have just sounded like Lou Reed's album The Raven, except with references to Wedekind's work instead of Poe's. It's definitely the heaviest album Lou Reed has made since White Light/White Heat.
It is what it is.

Short Story: The Dog and Pony Show

It was maybe the one case I worked that really called me to question right and wrong very seriously. That's irrelevant to what I do, that's more what lawyers and judges are supposed to do. This was one homicide where I could really see where the murderer was coming from.
It was a Filipino-American couple. We have a large Filipino-American population in Las Vegas , generally very clean, hardworking nice- you know the drill. This couple were actually doctors. I think they worked at that same clinic that Conrad Murray, the doctor that killed Michael Jackson, worked at. I never got the whole propofol addiction thing. How do you get addicted to a drug that's only effect is knocking you unconscious within about 30 seconds? But Michael Jackson gambled his life for it, and failed. Conrad Murray was a sick-o, but I'm not even sure he was the most perverted and sick doctor in the Las Vegas area. The couple from the case I'm talking about would be solid competitors at the very least. If we had known what kind of shit this couple was into, they'd still be alive but they'd most certainly be in jail. David and Lynda Arroyo were not upstanding citizens.
First of all, they were shot in the head from a fair distance away it would appear. Very clean shot, almost had to be a professionally trained individual. This was done with a 1911 style .45 caliber handgun. There was simply no way the murder was going to allow this couple to live. When my partner and I showed up at the scene, there was a mess of brain tissue all over the parking lot at Commercial Center. Where were they found? Right outside of the Green Door . We'd been monitoring the Green Door fairly closely for some time. Technically they described themselves as a social club for legal reasons but it's a sex club. We were watching them for bringing in girls that charged for sexual favors, That was the least of our concerns. The Arroyo's had been spotted coming out of there before they were shot and of course it had to be something involving prostitution or sex or something like that. How could it not be? Homicide outside of the Green Door, that could not have been good.
This was clearly no robbery and done by an experienced shooter with knowledge of firearms. I mean a .45 bullet will pick up a body and lift it in the air, There was nothing stolen from the bodies. They had like five platinum credit cards in there, a few hundred dollars in cash.
The key evidence in the case ended up being from the cellphones. This was a bitch to work on because my partner Billy he is Mormon, as are many officer in Metro. It would have brutal on any individual probably but especially brutal on Billy. Each of them had cell phone movies of themselves having sex with literally dozens if not a hundred different sex partners. And we had to watch pretty much all of them. By the way, the couple was not attractive. I would have rather worked a case involving human fecal splatter, if not decapitation. At their home we found boxes and boxes of these "tentacle hentai" DVDs. Tentacle Hentai is that animated pornography from Japan with the creatures with tentacles raping the Japanese school girls.
Of course, what else did we find? Photographs of the couples having sex with dogs, the wive in particular had a thing for German Shepard's, and also a pony.
I looked across at Billy.
"I have a feeling we have our motive."
Billy noded.
"I suspect you're right."
"I wonder if they might also have been into children."
"You could be onto something. "
We checked the sex offender registry on the Arroyos. There was nothing but we did start interviewing neighborhood families with children over by where they lived and up where they worked.
The thing is, we felt very sure that it had to do with the sex with animals. Those photographs had been sort of recent, only within a few weeks. And there were the various partners they had, one guy fucking the late late Lynda Arroyo after another.
This was a very deliberate hit, somewhat akin to an abortion doctor slaying or something like that. This was someone who had a background in firearms, who did not intended to wound or to immobilize the victims, but rather to kill. It was clear in my mind that this was someone who knew very well what the Arroyos were doing to the dogs and pony. This killer was someone who recognized the perversion, the nightmare of who this couple was, the obscene crime against nature that they had perpetrated and acted in such a way that it was certain that the crimes would not be committed again. Not after a prison sentence, not after a probation period, not after some acquittal, but simply never again. In the old testament the punishment for lying with a beast among the Hebrews was death, and so I played with the idea that this might be a very devote Christian. However, it would not appear that the couple attended church and that most of their social life revolved around the whole Green Door thing, The security guards we interviewed at the Green Door said that the couple was there most nights. These people had no capacity whatsoever to control sexual urges of any kind. They would have probably gone to jail for years for the dog and pony thing had they lived and been caught.
That was also something that we were very curious about was whose dog and whose pony was that?
The pony photographs appeared to be from out of state, it looked like Vermont or somewhere.
A woman that worked serving drinks and handing out towels at the Green Door called as and told us something important. This was really the break in the case. Her name was Kendra Davidson.
"He was raised as an army brat in Germany. He knew firearms inside and out, I believe he mentioned his favorite handgun was the 1911 .45."
This was going to be one bitch of an arrest we thought. That guy around here would likely have accesses to some serious firepower. We had several handguns registered in his name. What we did not know was if he had assault weapons or automatic weapons at his disposal.
This was where the case became a bitch. SWAT was in ready. We used helicopters on his house.
When Billy and I walked to his door and rang the door bell, Mitchell Davis opened up politely.
"I knew about the dogs, and I think they might have even been talking about children. Know you can arrest me, but when this gets in the news, let me tell you something right not. You know how some people view people who kill abortion doctors as heroes? Well even more people are going to view me as a hero. So let them send me to prison but you know just as well as I that I did the right thing."
"That's above my pay rate to determine" I said.
I'll never forget what he said though. The law really doesn't like vigilantes. They have that problem now in other cities with these caped crusaders, these masked heroes running around like comic book characters. They are all going to be stopped by a super villain named Doctor Thorazine. I saw exactly where Mitchell Davis was coming from, and if I'd been assigned to the case there might be an incident of police brutality. Being a cop is a serious bitch. The military might be worse, but law enforcement is pretty bad. You know what's real bad? Those guys who drive the armored cars.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Book Review! The Lucifer Principle by Howard Bloom! Terrible!

This book is old, but it's in a certain way very it's quite timely. The media is running a live stream of the involuntary manslaughter trial of Michael Jackson's final doctor Conrad Murray, and it is not looking good for Dr. Murray. Conrad Murray's trial comes only a few years after the trial of Michael Jackson's one-time PI Anthony Pellicano. Incidentally but not totally off topic, Pellicano recently said in a Newsweek prison interview that he quit working for Michael Jackson because Michael Jackson was doing "something worse" to young boys then molesting them without specifying what. The Murray trial lifestream seems like one medical professional after another verifying that Conrad Murray was in extreme violation of medical ethics. Then there is Howard Bloom.
Howard Bloom was actually MJ's publicist back in the 80's. Howard Bloom also has a memoir about the 60's that Timothy Leary blurbed, which probably explains a lot of things. Have you ever seen that TV show Disinformation that aired on British TV briefly? Disinformation is a publishing house now, but it was also a television show for a while. There was the 2 DVD release of it that I had back in the early 2000's that my friends and I would make fun of. There's an interview with Howard Bloom on there where he says "fuck the god of war!". A little too much blow in the music industry back in the 80's, huh guy? They should make that Disinformation DVD the new Rocky Horror Picture Show with people yelling call backs at the screen because that DVD is hilarious. That same DVD release has the late Robert Anton Wilson babbling at length about his "willy" and how "you gotta have a willy" to be the pope. That DVD also has Marilyn Manson whining about football players beating up nerds. It makes exactly 0 sense. I'm talking about unintentional irony, by the way. A really excellent way to make the case for your own intellectual credibility is to be the guy who says "fuck the god of war" on the Disinformation DVD. That's right up there with the interview they on there with the woman who says Sylvester Stallone forced her to make dolphin porn.

Howard Bloom's big book is The Lucifer Principle. It's this weird book that I vaguely recall goth people in the 90's being into. The Lucifer Principle is a "science" book by Howard Bloom about how violence and aggression are hardwired by nature into human DNA and dominate human history. . The statistics I've seen on gun ownership in the United States generally have it at about a third of U.S. homes owning firearms. How often do you see something in the news about somebody in the United States randomly shooting masses of people? It comes up in the news only every once and a while. Also, the shooter is generally established as being psychologically abnormal- this person leaves YouTube video s that make no sense (in the case of Jared Lee Loughner) or hasn't had sex for 17 years (in the case of George Sodini)-things like that. It would seem that such an obvious issues would complicate Howard Bloom's basic thesis. He missed it though. That's not surprising because Howard Bloom has no military or law enforcement background whatsoever. An excellent book on the nature of violence by someone who does come out of the security industry is The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker. Of course, what he has to say about the nature of violence in no way resembles what Howard Bloom has to say about the subject.
Anthony Pellicano, Conrad Murray, and Howard Bloom- that's the best and the brightest right there. Only Michael Jackson would have all three of those people on his payroll.
Anyway, back to the Lucifer Principal. I've read it before but re-reading it now I'm blown away by how dumb it actually is. Howard Bloom has this whole notion of "memes" or ideas operating like genes to create the"super organism" of cultures and discusses cultures as being literally living "super-organisms". I think the answer is drugs. I think those Disinformation people do a whole lot of drugs. Robert Anton Wilson was a big drug guy. The Lucifer Principle is painful. Howard Bloom must be unbearable at cocktail parties. Howard Bloom thinks he's got it all worked out with his memes and" super-organisms". If you want to read some acid-head book trying to explain the history of war in terms of the behavior of bees and ants, then this book is all you babe. In bare essences that's what the Lucifer Principal is. The whole thing is completely absurd.

Howard Bloom is the overlap between Jackson camp and Disinformation. That's quite something. Robert Anton Wilson's willy and Neverland Ranch. That's quite a combo.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Short Story: The Tip

The killer brooded, as always, over a woman bartender. The service economy seemed female dominated, always had, to profiteer off lonely men, o make a quick buck on their frustrated sexual needs and to make a buck off his problems? That was always the way it was, that had always been the case. That’s why they had the beautiful twenty-something women with breast implants at the blackjack tables on Freemont. That was too transparent to work on the killer.
His visits to the sports bar next door had become more frequent, even though he found sports boring. He’d heard her say something he thought about not having a boyfriend, so he got excited and started coming more frequently, and then he heard her make reference to seeing someone and heard from a bartender down the street she was. He would play video black jack and sip diet coke because he didn’t drink, but really he knew why he was always coming back. It was the bartender Clara, who had the perfect breasts and the full tattoo on her back. He did not have full tattoos. He was in that sense unassuming.
Stacy was the name of the bartender on Freemont who had 86ed him as they said. “I’m sorry sir we cannot serve you tonight” said a bouncer. What was curious about that was that it was not fully clear why. He had not touched or asked for her phone number even. If it was something sexual it could only have meant the way he looked at her, or some other kind of persistence he didn’t register. That was actually the first time he contemplated bringing his handgun into a bar. The bouncer approaches, he resists, the bartender becomes physical and then the gun goes off in the bar. He might be clear on self-defense. Could it work? That actually might work if he had a really good lawyer. It wouldn’t work if he pointed the gun at Stacy’s head, so it wouldn’t achieve what he really wanted. He’d have to let it go. He hated it all.
He had no choice but to take what the service industry, what women bartenders had done to him very seriously. He knew that they did not do what they did to him so much out of a purposeful attempt to break him, so much as they just put on a fake smile to get tips and they simply weren’t attracted to him, he was invisible.
They always have the beautiful girls out front, but then they always have some boyfriend tucked away somewhere. He’d be ruined for days when he’d uncovered them. This time round he’d won and lost 400 dollars in less then twenty-four hours. He had heard about bars that only hired male bartenders because it created “less drama”. He remembered he was job hunting in New York meeting a woman bartender and asking her what it took to be a good bartender.
“Well, if you’re a man you have to be a super good bartender and if you’re a woman you have to be able to pour a glass of wine.” She’d told him. He wished that he could smash a wine bottle and hack her face up so good she’d never get a dime off it again.
That’s the service industry, that’s their game. He’d calm himself down by reiterating that maybe it was a character flaw of his and that he had taken it all way more personally and seriously then anyone should. Still, he dreamed of walking into Clara’s bar with one of his guns and taking a nice little shot at her head. He’d be screwed after that of course, he’d have the choice of taking his own life or going to prison for the rest of his life, but after all that the service industry had done to him over the years, first-degree murder was not off the table.
It wasn’t about sex fully. It had only been a few weeks since he’d dropped by the Green Door and shot cum on that one woman’s face twice. At Green Door you could get laid on a good night, but it was a hundred dollars to get in the door on Saturday is you were a single man, and if nothing was going on, you were shit out of luck. It was twice as much for a single man to get in, and areas of the club where off limits to single men. That was to say nothing of the fat people and the old people strutting around naked. Then there was the dog couple. Still, it was not that he absolutely could not get laid. It hadn’t been that long. Sex was part of his problem, money was part of the problem, but there was a synergistic effect that made him go ballistic.
He had access to firearms without serial numbers, in fact he owned one legally, they are rare but they are around, the old twenty-twos that never had serial numbers on them. You could guns without serial numbers illegally, too.
He was working on it, he was working on it in his brain, even if he wouldn’t do it, he was working on the details of how it might be accomplished.
The building was still left over from Crazy Horse Too, which had been closed a few years ago in what was essentially a mob bust. It was just recently the guy who supposedly was selling M16s and AK-47s for only two-hundred three hundred bucks, but when someone asked about something involving the serial number, the guy vanished, supposedly he was Mexican mafia. The apparent explanation was that these were guns assembled from spare parts. He'd heard there were right-wing survivalist webpages that had instructions on how to do this. It made sense, he ran into them in various situations from time to time, not every day but they were around. The thing was, he was out of work, making some money as a blackjack player, so he didn’t have the cash to front for a hit man. But if he ever did, he would have to consider it very seriously.
It would have meant nothing if it was just Clara, but it had gone on for years, most of his adult life he didn’t live with a woman. If it was just Clara, there’d be no struggle at all. There’d be nothing, no big deal. But it was always the same, and whose expense was it at? It was at his expense, literally.
The thing was, Clara was for all his dreaming of her screams, was going to get off easily. Most likely all that he was going to do was to stop going to that bar, and he thought Clara was unlikely to make the connection or even notice. It was physically painful.
As he passed by the bar with his groceries, some derelict homeless looking type asked him for a cigarette. He told the derelict he didn’t smoke, and kept walking.
The women he wanted least in the world to see stormed through the door.
“Where did that motherfucker go?”
He was taken a back at first. It was a funny moment, it took him a second to realize that she didn’t know of his violent fantasies towards her, because he’d said nothing to anyone about them. It had nothing to do with him. She meant the homeless looking guy, and so he politely pointed towards him for her.
Clara turned around and followed after the derelict.
“Hey, why don’t you do me a favor?” she yelled at the derelict. “Why don’t you stop coming in my bar? Why don’t you stop fucking coming in my bar?”
A couple stopped watching in the parking lot.
“What did he do, steal a tip or something?”
He shrugged his shoulders and watched on briefly as Clara cursed at the derelict. Then he walked back home with his groceries, wondering if what he had just scene made him wish to commit violent acts against her more or less. It was ironic, that she had much a bigger problem that she had no awareness of.
It was also way all too ironic the next night at the Green Door-ironic but very painful, and was followed by some serious gambling loses to add to the problem. He had to laugh at the irony of it though.
They always had the discriminatory practices at those places towards single men, which came in the form of everything from how much you paid, how much security breathed down your neck, and where you could go in the club. There was very one of those assholes that treated him as a threat, the husband or boyfriend, who told him to get away. “You creep me the fuck out. I’ll be straight up with you. You creep me the fuck out.” He dreamed of course of blowing the man’s brains out, but instead went down to the hot tub to reflect on this reoccurring problem, which gave him a flair of emotion which he resented, for he resented emotion generally.
Of course, the couple that liked to fuck dogs was there, in fact across the room when the asshole said “you creep me the fuck out” but he did not comment on this irony. What was their names, the two with the dog and pony bit? Skippy and Franny, that was it. He nearly vomited the time they started telling him about it. It had meant his penis had been in the same vagina a German Shepard penis had. He felt the whole next day after learning that. They were always at the Green Door.
He watched this one multi-racial couple in the hot tub. The black girl who wasn’t too bad gave her white boyfriend oral sex while he watched. It was alright they made some polite conversation but he’d reached the point where he couldn’t really take satisfaction out of watching only, so the itch or fever, very similar to feelings he had when losing at blackjack, persisted and made him more inflamed with rage at the club's policies towards single men. He had never, after all, fucked a dog, but that couple not only did so, they encouraged that one woman that worked there to go home and fuck her boxer hound. But of course, they were a couple.
He himself had picked up a little bit on this prejudice even though it was directed at him. Climbing the stairs to the second floor he overheard a security guard talking about a guy in a buttoned shirt and became paranoid but then realized his shirt only had the three top buttons, and so the fat security guards weren’t going to give him any shit. It was some other guy they had a serious problem with. That was good because he didn’t have a sexual fetish for tension with fat security guards.
Then he saw Metro officers downstairs, armed and all, right there in the orgy. He assumed that it must be something about a sexual assault, or more clearly that a woman had been touched without invitation in a sexual area, constituting sexual assault, by a single man.
However, when he walked out of the club, walked around, came back down and sat on the bench in front of the Green Door and lit a cigarette. The two young couples talking to the police hardly looked like they could have been the subject of a violent sex crime, being relatively not that traumatized looking. Then he overheard them talking about a black couple stealing one white chicks’ purse. That made sense. But who was the suspected threat? Why,he was.
He twitched with rage thinking about it sipping a coffee at the sports bar. Along with the expenses of a bad gambling run and swingers club going, the combination was much like being on drugs, which he didn’t use but could still recall. It was a terse and restless alternation of opium cycles. And when things didn’t go well at the swingers clubs, his game was thrown. But if he let it go, his thoughts would turn again to blowing off a woman’s head for having a boyfriend that wasn’t him, so it continued. And when his game was on, he would have extra money to go to the swingers club, and then if he got some then he was okay for a while, but if it was a slow night, a shit night at the swingers club, then he would continue gambling hard, and he’d lose whatever he made. His existence revolved around blackjack and tits, in particular tits filled with silicone. He’d sit at the video blackjack machine trying to look down the bartender’s cleavage. It all revolved around that, that and his guns. But if he had a bad night at the swingers clubs, he’d remember that all you needed for financial stability in Vegas if you were a woman in your 20’s to 30’s was a breast job. With that a woman could always get a service industry job, and pray on his lack of a wife or girlfriend to get his money. Such parasitic whores needed to die flopping round in a pool of their own blood and entrails. But such thoughts at this stage remained only thoughts, he hadn’t acted on them. The dog fucking couple really were into fucking dogs, the black couple really did steal the woman’s purse. Did the assumption of, the precaution against his criminality create in him a criminal mindset? It was starting to float somewhere in that direction. After all, he was, according to the rules governing Green Door, beneath the couple that fucked dogs.
Then there was what he considered another ironic sign if there ever was one that perhaps our culture had become way to into the whole question of stalking and using the issue of stalking in nonsensical ways. It was to late for him, the damage was done, but it was something he was left to reflect on, the way he was now only taken to reflect on ironies as they occurred.
He was walking home when he saw a middle-aged couple arguing outside the casino, typical weirdness you try to avoid, there were pimps and whores outside that one casino always, and this time a guy with a mustache and a football jersey was yelling at some ugly and dilapidated hooker-looking woman, who shouted “fuck you” back at him.
He stood in the parking lot still for a second because the dude looked totally out of his mind and violent. The killer's handguns were still in the safe at home. When it looked like he might have calmed down, he kept walking.
Then the dude with the mustache and the football Jersey started yelling at him.
“You fucking pedophile! You fucking stalker! You fucking pedophile stalker. Get over here you fucking pervert. Child molester!”
He tried to avoid eye contact.
“Yes, excuse me.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m walking home.”
“Are you a stalker, are you a fucking pedophile?”
“You want me to call 911?”
He shrugged.
“Where do you live?”
“I’m not going to tell you. Why do you want to know where I live?”
“Because I want to know if you’re a pedophile. Let me walk you home.”
“Your stalking girls. You’re a predator.”
“Look man, I got no problem with you.”
“No but I have a problem with you. You’re a predator.”
“I didn’t touch any girls, I’m not stalking any girls.”
“I’m going to follow you home, you’re a predator.”
“Go ahead” he said walking away. He’d called that freak’s bluff. The dude did not follow him home.
In a way it was just like the whole thing at Green Door. People just project the threat of a stalker or a sex offender on to single men walking down the street, didn't they? How sick of hearing the word “stalker” was he? When that became the insult that drunks on the street try and start fights with it, that’s when it should’ve been clear that the TV played all that up way too much. He was initially no stalker and no threat, but they've made him into a threat over time, ’t they?
Well, you know that was great wasn’t it, that this man who’d never seen him before and new nothing about him would come up to him and start calling him a pedophile and a stalker right there on the street for no particular reason. It’s great that people like that appointed themselves in positions of authority in protecting the streets from dangerous pedophiles and stalkers, from sexual predators.
It lay heavy on his heart as he lit a cigarette the next morning. “I have no sex offense convictions’, he told himself over and over again,” this man is insane”. But it was to no avail. He was tired of it, being cast in the role of the unwanted pursuer. Ultimately, it destroyed him.
After a losing streak was putting him down the hole hundreds of dollars, the swingers clubs he was fighting, trying to avoid at all costs. He was by now repulsed, but there was a good chance without them he would just have no sex life at all. Would he live as a gambling addict with AIDS? Not much of a future, none he cared to have to endure. But that could very easily be the direction he was headed with the casinos and swingers clubs. Well, that was all well and good, he couldn’t sneak away from them, because what that would mean for him is that he would just be dreaming of killing women every waking hour. Finally, he said fuck it and went and did it.
He decided to use the .45 that he’d just brought back from the shop. He walked into the bar, sat down and ordered a diet coke, slipped a few dollars in the black jack machine, played for a while, and then looked up at Clara serving him.
“Let me get the check please, Clara?”
“Here you go, love.”
If she had not said that there was perhaps some chance he would have let her live, but she said entirely the wrong thing, likely without ever understanding it. There was not time in her life left for her brain to process the information in any meaningful way. For him, it was the final insult- of course, the waitress did not mean it when displaying affection, his well being meant nothing to her, nothing whatsoever, correct? She chose some other man above him but had to appear pleasant and affectionate to get a tip. That’s all that shit with the women bartenders ever was, wasn’t it?
He pulled the .45 1911 out from under his sports jacket and point it at Clara’s head.
“Here’s your tip. Keep the change.”
As he pulled the trigger, her brain matter scattered across the bottles of liquor behind her.
There were witnesses present, a metro officer even. He placed the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
The police never gained a full understanding of his motives. This was in large part due to the isolation with which he lived his final few months.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Short Story: The Pros and Cons of Selling Meth Pipes

Steve's place across the street? The one that sold the glass pipes to the tourists? Oh, yeah the city closed that place down eventually. There are conflicting stories as to what exactly happened there. The version of events I know of came mostly from Tommy.
Tommy didn’t really ever want to be a security guard, he wanted rather to be a private investigator, but what was it between 60-80% of those dudes were police first, and he didn’t really know if he could hack police academy and all. But the security companies in Vegas, well, of course they did the whole hair testing bit, which could test for cannabis back a good year. That’s where Stoner Steve-O came into the picture, initially. Stoner Steve-O had a complete shelf full of something like thirty different drugs that the government had just never bothered to make illegal. Like the effects or not, these were hard mind altering substances, in some cases perhaps stronger then drugs you could score on the street. Metro couldn’t do anything about it because Stoner Steve-O actually wasn’t breaking any laws on any of that. It was actually a good steady source of income, you had a lot of enlisted men who had a taste for cannabis from the base nearby that would drop in for the product Spark 40 which was very similar in effects to pot. A bunch of junkies would come by for the kratom, which reminded them a little of heroin or helped them to get off heroin for some reason. There were a few professional gamblers that would come by for the Red Dawn Vector pills, one pro- blackjack player would order the shit by the carton, go gamble for 12 hours straight, come out about fourteen-hundred dollars the richer. Other places were getting wise to the Spice thing though, so he had the edge on them with some other products. Baby woodrose seeds, which contained the chemical L.S.A.- a chemical somewhat close in effects to its better known cousin, L.S.D.. Of course, it being near Freemont Street, no amount of legal drugs was ever going to remove or change the presence of the illegal ones. Even when people had a drug like Spark 40 which was totally legal readily available to them, it was still the truth that radically more people would take cannabis over it, perhaps not believing that Spark 40 actually worked. The DEA came after synthetic cannabis type substances about a year later. Steve-O of course kept glass pipes for pot smoking in stock, but he also had something else which got the really scary people coming in- that was to say, meth pipes and crack pipes. Those customers you could count on, they’d be back. Most certainly they would be back, even if that meant at two in the morning they’d be ringing Stoner Steve-O’s door looking for a meth pipe. He had to sell those on the sly. It wasn’t so illegal that Stoner Steve-O would go to jail, he’d just get fined. Those were some characters that bought that shit. Wiggles the prostitute, she was a winner. One day she walked in the door and told Steve-O that she’d just super-glued her shoes together.
“Why did you do that, Wiggles?” asked Steve-O.
“Crack” she answered.
Wiggles would come into the store a lot to get crack pipes. Often she’d tell Steve-O about how much she liked giving the old BJs. Steve-O would get tempted, but he never actually took Wiggles up on her discount oral sex rates. Wiggles annoyed the fuck out of Tommy, who was not exactly clean cut, but certainly right wing, with an NRA-type libertarian vibe, the kind of person that had a Ron Paul bumper-sticker. Tommy would mock Wiggles when she wasn’t there. “Bahaha, keep on smoking that crack rock, Wiggles” he’d joke. Steve-O had to be more diplomatic about the street trash types, because when business was otherwise slow, Steve-o could depend on the regular clients like Wiggles to come it. Steve-O didn’t follow politics as closely or with the same passion Tommy did, because Steve-O had a felony, narcotics related, of course. He’d some domestic shit on his record too from his ex-wife. Tommy was good to go with the guns, and loved going to the fire ranges just for the fun of it, so that’s why he got the call from Steve-O about the plans for the medical marijuana dispensary, once Steve-O meet the couple with the medical marijuana cards who said they were looking for space to use for a dispensary.
The burn went something like this, loosely speaking. Money was coming into Steve-O's place from a former boxer named Mike who was a Gypsy(Roma) and was involved with elements of Gypsy(Roma) organized crime operating in Las Vegas. This couple, this guy Kevin and his wife, showed up at Steve-O's doors with this plan they had to get a dispensary going. This was all good and well in Steve-O's mind, but Steve-O was getting high off his own supply of legal substances that were just as potent if not more so then street drugs in combinations that had likely never been tried before. What Steve-o didn't catch until it was way to late was the tattoo of a swastika on the small of the wive's back-i.e., the couple were Nazi Skinheads. They called Tommy over to interview for the security position. Kevin bragged about how he used to run an escort service in California. He told a story about how his friend David Elm made millions on a webpage that reviewed escorts, but he'd gotten busted, Kevin had said, because Elms had tried to find a hit man on Craig's List.
"Was he on drugs?"
"What is he syndicate?"
"I don't know what he is" said Kevin the Nazi Skinhead with fear in his voice.
After some discussion, Tommy said goodbye and told them if they had some work for him, to give him a call. Tommy got the call the next day, and what the call was Steve-O saying that the couple had stolen four thousand dollars from him.
Oddly enough, a couple of the Gypsies had the same plans as the Nazi Skinheads had said that they had had, and once again Steve-O had suggested Tommy be armed guard. However, just like with the Nazi Skinhead couple, a call came about a day latter saying it wouldn't happen, the Gypsies were fighting over money, apparently an amount no larger then a few thousand dollars- far less then the medical dispensary was potentially worth It was for the best though- a year later metro would be shutting down all the medical marijuana places in town.
Apparently,that's an unusual M.O. for Gypsies doing the Gypsy organized crime type thing. What I've heard is that the one thing will get you thrown out and shunned from Gypsy society is is getting involved with drugs. I don't know what specific clan these Gypsies belonged to and like all things involving Gypsies, the matter is extremely mysterious. In more general terms ways, for outsiders I will explain there's a lot of weirdness involving Jewish and Eastern European organized crime that takes place in Las Vegas and very little is really known about what it is. The part about the Gypsies is mysterious.
Another mysterious detail was about the medical marijuana cards. Steve-O said that the Nazi Skinhead definitely had a health problem of some sort, and that it might have been HIV/AIDS. So much for the master race, eh?
The most curious part was what became of the Nazi Skinhead's friend, David Elms. He was in the papers a little bit, although I'm surprised it wasn't a bigger story. Here's his little story within a story-
David Elms was apprehended at the border trying to get back into the United States from Mexico Can you believe that? He skipped bail, went traveling around the world, and then several months later he was arrested trying to get back into the United States from Mexico. He had walked across on foot, his passport was flagged by suspicious border guards. He looked agitated and nervous, and possibly high. He had, indeed, quite the record and police picked him up and took him back to San Diego to await extradition to Arizona because he was wanted there on a number of charges
It was strange that he had bothered coming back to the United States at all. He was, after all, a millionaire and had spent the last few months traveling the world, Dubai, Armenia, Mexico- but then came home to the very place where he was wanted. An odd choice, the answers to which maybe even he wasn’t really sure.
It was highly possible that he was the wealthiest crackhead in the world. While the general region of the United States he had come from was sieged by an epidemic of crystal meth usage and black tar heroin from across the Mexican border, Elms remained true to his favorite drug, good old crack cocaine, even after he had millions of dollars from his other hobby, having sex with high paid escorts. He was not a pimp, he’d let other people take care of that end of the business. He was actually just a john, but he was a john with a really clever idea. One day while he was having a bowel movement and smoking some crack cocaine out of his favorite glass pipe, it occurred to him that someone should make a webpage dedicated to reviewing prostitutes. He almost fell off the toilet seat. What a great idea, how come know when else had thought of it? Maybe they simply hadn’t smoked enough high grade crack rock like he had, or had never been as frequently frustrated by call girls as he had.
He generally had a handgun on hand when he called a girl over. Bitches could be known to try and steal his cash, and he was very sure that he would prefer to hold a gun to their heads rather then let them make off with his wallet. He did, after all, want more call girls and more crack to smoke. His favorite thing in the whole world was having his dick sucked while he smoked some crack rock out of that good old crack pipe. But then all of a sudden, his three hundred dollar escort would use her teeth. Fuck, he would think. Who does this cunt think she is? If she uses her teeth one more time, I’ll knock them out of her skull. He did not want some call girls teeth ruining his sloppy wet BJ with crack rock on the side ever again, and if it did happen, he wanted every john on the west coast, no, every john on the planet, to know about it. That way, the bitches career would be over. Costumer service would finally come first for him, and by making it a pay site, he could get all the money he wanted to get blond escorts with big hooters to suck him off while he sucked that glass dick, as it was sometimes called, and let that nice crack smoke go down really smooth while the prostitute caressed his fat hairy testicles and finally let him shoot his load all over her silicone-filled tits.
With his new concept of a escort review webpage, he could get those five star escorts with the breast implants and the blonde hair to blow him while he smocked crack for free. If they didn’t give him thousand and thousands of dollars worth of services for free, then their careers in the glamorous adult entertainment and services industry would be over. It was so brilliant. He registered a domain name and made it so.
The money flowed like a win at a casino or crack smoke from the glass dick right into his lungs, until, before he knew it he was a millionaire. He often wondered if he was the richest crackhead in the world, and he figured there might be a lot of doctors and lawyers out in Orange County that had crack habits on the sly, but he was making millions of his webpage, the Erotic Review, and so he figured that it could very easily be true. He really was in crack pipe and hooker heaven, that he had really made it after all. He was so proud of his accomplishments, and he maintained his webpage, smoked that good rock and had the real deal high paid hookers deep six his cock with both hands on his fat ass.
Then there was that bullshit in LA with the bitch that tried to rob him. She told police that he had forced her to blow him at gunpoint. He got hit with illegal weapons position for the 40 cal, which law enforcement love for its stopping power, and for the drugs, but they never had enough to hit him with the rape charge. She was, after all, a stupid bitch.
He was a real lady charmer, and as such, he didn’t really understand how any woman could refuse him. That’s when the problems with the bitch started.
The Skinhead said the woman was David's girlfriend. She needed to be dealt with. Didn’t she realize that he was David Elms? He would ruin her life, her career as call girl forever. First, he’d slap her name on the Erotic Review, with her real birth name and address and all that. Then he found out where her family was and he sent a little e-mail informing them of the woman's real job. There was some whole extended conflict with this one women
Then there was that douche bag with the rip off webpage. Another David, David something or other. Something had to be done about him. He’d try his best to escape into the sensation of a blonde escort with five star tits sucking his semen out of his balls like she could suck a golf ball threw a garden hose while he held that sweet crack smoke in his lungs. He’d get a freebie two girl special with one escorts tit in his mouth and the other with his nuts in her mouth like a squirrel. Then he'd take hits from the glass dick as they call it. That would remind him momentarily that he had to expand the forum section on TER to include a transexual section to his page or something like that. but none of it worked, his rage towards the bitch would always come back. He’d just keep thinking of that bitch and the other David and he want a bullet right between their eyes and end their worthless lives right then and there. Like he didn’t have enough problems with the legal hassle from the escort who complained to the police about him forcing her head down on his prick with a gun pointed in her ear. He thought of a funny line about that sometimes.
One weekend he was super bored with working on the Erotic Review and meeting with lawyers (snore) so he jumped in his car to hang in Arizona and get away from it all.
Well, after buying a really huge amount of crack he got what he thought was a real great idea at the time. He decided he’d try to get some firearms illegally on Craig’s List and arrange to have the bitch wiped out of existence for good. While he was at it, he could get somebody to beat the crap out of that douche at that stole his idea.
He decided to try Craig’s List. He actually found a guy that seemed like he could help him out. The problem was, this guy was an undercover.
He also had missed a court date on that thing with the escort that said he had forced her to suck his dick.
It was all bullshit, he eventually got across the border over into Mexico and then he traveled more or less all over the world with money transfers from The Erotic Review. For some reason he thought it was a good idea to cross back from Mexico on foot into the very part of the United States he was wanted in. The cops in Southern California couldn't make head or tail of it. I think he's still in prison. He might be in for life, I'd have to look it up. The amazing David Elms line was something along the lines of "I started the Erotic Review because in the adult services industry there was no way to make people morally accountable for their actions".
Steve-O was never quite bad like that, he was never quite like someone like David Elms. He did have a close relationship with his teenage son, but he really was an enabler for the kid's habit, which eventually became a fanatical burden on him. I think he got hit with the thing about the meth pipes. The city was not happy about that, I've heard. Gambling is a double edged sword it brings prosperity into areas where it has been introduced- the Native American reservations, for example. Clearly some people have real problems with it as well- with many of these lower level street walkers around here gambling is as much their problem as drugs. But that crystal meth is the worst. There was that one guy who would drop by Steve-O's on meth and rant about how he was going to kill some bitch and fuck her corpse. What the fuck was his name? Can't recall his name off hand. Guy ended up homeless, no surprises there. I think it was the meth pipes that Steve-O got nailed with eventually. It was kind of sad when they put up the sign saying it was closed. It's for the best it really magnetized, shall we say, undesirable clients. The real bad end of welfare people. Various states are trying to put in laws trying to put in mandatory drug testing for people who receive welfare. And people are trying to fight it, which to me is just insanity.