True Story of the Day

[promethean75]

Driving is a great joy of mine and I've been contemplating the problem of driving a car, stolen or not, while on the run. There are two basic problems that need to be addressed. The first is disposing of the cop that has pulled you over, and the second is removing yourself from the scene before backup arrives and without vigilantes following you to provide aid to the POleece.

This problem will most likely occur at night. During the day, one can drive defensively, watch the rear view mirror, and not allow a cop to get behind them. At night, you can't do this, and with a stolen tag from an identical vehicle on the car you're driving, you can't know if the owner of that stolen tag has noticed the one on his car is somebody else's and reported his plate stolen by then.

Few things you can do here, and they have to count because the cop will be approaching with purpose... maybe even already drawing his weapon.

You remove the bulbs from the reverse lights so the approaching cop can't know when you're in reverse. The moment you pull over and come to a stop, you ease the vehicle in reverse and hold your foot on the brake. Once he's out of his car and within a few feet, you floor it and run his ass over.

Caveat: this only works if he does not order you to shut off the car from his loudspeaker. Some do, some don't.

Once he's incapacitated, you take off in your stolen car to a spot where you can safely ditch it on foot. Upon exiting the vehicle and moving away from it, you spray a copious amount of pepper spray behind you as you move to stifle any tracking dogs that might be brought to the discovered car later and are commanded to locate a scent trail. Then repeat with the next stolen car, etc.

Another idea but more risky. The moment you pull over, you light two cherry bombs and drop them out each window. The cop will freeze, draw his weapon, and move backward toward his car for cover. In the giant growing cloud of smoke, you ease out the passenger side (the side he's not expecting), flank him, and fill him full of lead as he's kneeling behind his door shouting into his radio for backup.

An option that would be sure-proof but difficult to design. You mount a double-barrel shotgun under the rear bumper disguised as a second tailpipe on the drivers side. Before he makes it three steps toward your car, you throw a circuit switch, the gun fires and blows a hole through him the size of a dinner plate.

You'd have to manually adjust and aim the barrel as well as memorize the effective blast area by doing several test shots. This is the kind of thing you get one chance at. If that cop doesn't go down, he's gonna unload on your car. And if he doesn't kill you then you're gonna die in the upcoming shootout when backup arrives and hunts you down.

You wanna get rid of the cop and the car as fast as possible, and these are the only conceivable ways to do it.

Any ideas or suggestions are welcome.

[promethean75]

And I'm telling you pepper spray is the only way to stop a tracking dog. Those fuckers will follow your trail to the ends of the earth and back. And unless you break your trail - and you won't unless you cross a conveniently placed river - it's only a matter of time before it's your ass, Mr. Postman. That or another car. But the chances of successfully stealing a second car while being actively pursued by a tracking team are slim to none.

So you've made a B-line into the woods from the car you've just ditched... but you're jogging backward and spraying the shit out of your trail. You do this for a good fifty or more yards, and that dog will never pick up your trail.

When the team arrives and the dog starts searching, he's gonna completely avoid the sprayed areas but not suspiciously so... not in a way that alerts the handlers that something fishy is going on. The potency of the spray will blot out any surrounding body scent as well as push the dog back away from the path. The handlers won't have a clue what's going on and will think you've vanished into thin air.

[promethean75]

Here's an oldy but goody for ya. It's a rob-the-cop trick. You're gonna do this to get his weapons/gear, money and credit cards, patrol car, or some/all of the above.

You pick a relatively isolated but well traveled road at night. You put in the road some obstacle. A big-ass tree branch or rock or something. You conceal yourself in position and wait. And wait. And wait. Well wtf else are you gonna do? You'd be sitting in the woods some'ers else if you weren't sitting there, so what's the difference? What, you got some dinner event to attend or something?

Eventually, officer Hank Wardens is gonna come driving along, see that obstacle, and pull over to get out and move it off the road.

And now there you are. Just the two of us (like the song says). He's bent down in the road, and you're staring down the barrel of a gun at em.

Hello, officer. Yes, you guessed it. This is, indeed, a stick-up. So here's what we're gonna do. Or what you're gonna do, rather. You're gonna unbuckle your gun belt with the hand you don't write with and put the other hand above your head (and I'll have you write something, so don't test me) and drop it to the ground. Then you will take six steps to your left, take all your clothes off, stand on one leg, and touch your nose with the other leg. Naw I'm just kidding you can't do that! Hell, nobody can do THAT. Now just relax. I'm not gonna kill ya, Hank. Can i call you Hank? I feel like we're on those terms. The two of us guys just hanging out on the side of the road in the middle of the night... you buck naked and me armed to the fuckin teeth. What's that patrol car got in it, anyway? Is that the 5.3 liter? You know i got a lot of respect for the hard working tax payers that buy these fancy race cars for you guys to drive around in all day doing nothing. Not you, Hank, i mean them. You stopped to move this branch out of the road. That's good shit, bro. Alright then. I'm gonna drop your clothes out the window about a hunerd yards up the road 'cause i don't wancha to freeze, Hank. This is a nice .45 btw. f****** laser sight 'n everything. How much you reckon this cost the taxpayers? Just you nevermind... it don't matter. You have yourself a good rest of your night now, Hank.

[promethean75]

I'm mentally prepared for the coming dissolution of my stacks and compare this state of existence to what 23-hour lockdown in ICON was like. With no money for gas and nowhere pleasant to walk within any walking distance, i liken my immobility to being in that cell and consider this living as such. Like in that cell, i lift what available weight there is (books and mattresses in ICONs case), pace, and occupy myself with various media in total isolation. Interaction with the cat lady, as brief as it fortunately is, doesn't count. In fact, she would be something installed in my cell to torture me further.

So i look at the state as a hibernation of sorts. A slowing of time and conservation of energy. Where one has been completely immobilized and can do nothing in the world, there is a turn toward oneself, and all productive energy is focused on improving the body and the mind... and necessarily for being an effective enemy to those that have immobilized you. The best thing about the imprisoner is that he slows time down for his prisoners, giving them both time to improve and dwell on their suffering at the hand of the imprisoner. An enemy becomes sharper when you lock him in a room where there is no time and three meals a day. He ages slower... gains back lost health by being unable to eat the shit out in the world that makes you fat. All this serves the purpose of concentrating and preserving one's strength.

In my new cell, much of the same will happen. I'll stop smokin' erb, eat better, work out almost incessantly if I'm not reading, watch the same WW2 with Tom Hanks series over and over and over again in a dark living room... that kind of thing. There he is... like bro in Taxi Driver... standing in front of the TV curling dumbells and watching soldiers on a battlefield get blown to smithereens. This can't be an emotionally unhealthy way to live day after day after day after day. Alone, pumping iron with a twisted sneer on my face staring at a black and white scene of Pearl Harbor getting bombed. Fixed on the scene like some obsessed sicko who was getting ready to put his tan Members Only jacket on and go shoot the republican candidate at the rally downtown after he finishes his workout. In the background, the horrible voice of the cat lady arguing with some stalker prank caller every thirty minutes as machine guns and zero dive bombers crashing into ships blast through the TV speakers at me. Then the signal is lost. Pan camera angle. Zoom in on the reflection of the TV snow flickering in his bloodshot eyes. A single bead of sweat slides down his forehead. The rhythm of his breathing as he pushes fifty reps... faster.... faster. BFFFWUH!.... BFFFWUH!.... fifty-one, fifty-two. The blood curdling croak of the cat lady rings out again over the sound of Poland getting leveled by the Nazis. Sixty-three, sixty-four! The pain... it's too much. He can do no more. He drops the dumbells with a grunt and then issues a satisfied "arrrrhhhhh". He's pumped... an intoxicating rush settles over him and he catches himself almost glancing around for something to beat to death. He's in the zone. That berserker state. Apache warrior shit, bro. American Psycho shit. If you gave him a pistol with one bullet in it, he'd spin the barrel, put it to his head, and pull the trigger while laughing at you. That kind of cray.

[promethean75]

Fun SK factoids. Gary Hilton's pet retriever Dandy... great guy, btw. Little loopy but a genuinely good bohemian dropout drifter intellectual type whose made half crazy from isolation and homelessness... was taken by a woman involved in the trial. Prosecutor, detective, can't remember. Part of G's plea agreement was that Dandy be taken care of and not dropped in a shelter.

The owner says later in an interview that she had to break Dandy of a peculiar thing. When walking in parks or trails, Dandy would go into hunting mode and crouch down whenever another person was seen.

Gary would spend hours on the trailways surveying, scouting, and watching through binoculars possible victims for a robbery... and Dandy was always by his side.

That's fuckin crazy, mates. See? Even the fuckin serial killer dogs look like the dog next door. If you saw Dandy on the sidewalk, you'd be like, "Hey, boy.... c'mere! Beautiful dog. What's his name?"

Lol, you're walking down the greenway and as a family approaches from the other direction Dandy darts off behind a tree and his tail goes up like a fuckin bird dog. The family's like, "wtf is that dog doing," and you're like, "Oh, this is Dandy. He's... was... a serial killer. He's cool now, though. Hard habits 'n all. You know how it is."

Gary Hilton, ladies and gentlemen....

https://youtu.be/vsrypeEkcn4?is=pukL4SPPzK7xubnA

[promethean75]

Indeed, while the 'virtual grieving' and yuppie poser stuff is certainly true, Mr. Hilton still exhibits a deep resentment of upper-middle class petite bourgeois culture.

What we have is an intensified effort to reclaim authentic masculinity by acting as the REAL outdoorsman, the REAL hunter, etc.

Gary would call a group of college hikers a bunch of posers. He's THAT guy. On the trail, he'd be that knowitall guy that corrected the other hikers on trivial little hiker-culture details as a display of intellectual dominance. Gary wanted to be the ranking outdoorsman and thought himself such. And yet, this master outdoorsman nearly got his ass whooped by a 130 lb college girl.

Never really had any friends, and when he lost his siding salesman job of many years, he just kinda broke and became a crazy homeless guy who thought of himself as a lone ranger type in a world of mindless cogs.

[promethean75]

What's happening in this six fuckin hour long interview is called a social dump. A social dump is when an isolated person with ASPD has an opportunity to interact with another person in relaxed circumstances, and he 'pours out' his longing for human affection and attention. Remember, prior to socializing with hostage homegirl (that almost whooped em), Gary hadn't had a warm conversation with anyone for years. He was either alone on the streets/camping, arguing with random cops over stupid shit once in a while, or talking to a dog. So, all that rambling about everything from space-travel to schizophrenia was a catharsis for Gary... a space where he could become again a young man who just wanted friends to do cool stuff with.... long before the midlife crisis and trail of murder and robbery to come. Those detectives were basically his surrogate bros for those six hours.

Lol, i did the same shit when i was arrested in 2016. Partially because i was high on Adderall... but i sat in that booking room in handcuffs and gave those cops a whole fuckin seminar. I was talking about shit that had absolutely no relevance to what was happening as if what was happening wasn't happening. Handcuffed to a chair, I'm talking to these cops as they do all the paperwork like we were all taking bonghits and watching Discovery channel. Does this guy even realize he's been arrested and is about to go to jail for a long time? Who tf is John Duns Scotus?

[Gary Childress]

What's happening in this six fuckin hour long interview is called a social dump. A social dump is when an isolated person with ASPD has an opportunity to interact with another person in relaxed circumstances, and he 'pours out' his longing for human affection and attention. Remember, prior to socializing with hostage homegirl (that almost whooped em), Gary hadn't had a warm conversation with anyone for years. He was either alone on the streets/camping, arguing with random cops over stupid shit once in a while, or talking to a dog. So, all that rambling about everything from space-travel to schizophrenia was a catharsis for Gary... a space where he could become again a young man who just wanted friends to do cool stuff with.... long before the midlife crisis and trail of murder and robbery to come. Those detectives were basically his surrogate bros for those six hours.

Lol, i did the same shit when i was arrested in 2016. Partially because i was high on Adderall... but i sat in that booking room in handcuffs and gave those cops a whole fuckin seminar. I was talking about shit that had absolutely no relevance to what was happening as if what was happening wasn't happening. Handcuffed to a chair, I'm talking to these cops as they do all the paperwork like we were all taking bonghits and watching Discovery channel. Does this guy even realize he's been arrested and is about to go to jail for a long time? Who tf is John Duns Scotus?

Instead of monasteries, America has the penal system. We should all be so proud. I'm sorry that happened to you, Prom.

[promethean75]

We should have a look at his chart, maybe. He's in that notorious astrological spot that everyone is fascinated by. The Scorpio Sagittarius cusp. From this knowledge alone, a couple things conform immediately to those sign strengths if you look at em. Intense in appearance and personality... domineering... has to lead the conversation, fascination with military culture, wielder of police batons, etc. Creepy esoteric curiosity about death. He didn't wanna have'ta kill the Bryants just for the sake of killing them but only to eliminate witnesses. BUT, when he did, he noticed, perhaps a little more intimately than other signs, the strange feeling of power and repulsion that meshed together into a cocktail of exhilarating emotion. Other signs are more clinical, more objective, more matter-of-factly about, and disassociated with the murder. The killing is banal and inconvenient. For the Scorpio, its a fuckin religious event and they are born again in a rapture of cold Plutonic darkness. Like if there was a scene when the hero, covered in enemy blood, raises his arms on the hill on the battlefield after defeating a hundred soldiers and shouts an "AHHHHHHHHRRRR!" that echoes through the valley as the above camera angle zooms out, and you get an ariel view of the dead corpses scattered around his feet. That's what happens when a scorpio SK bags a body. Sexy Ted would go through it every time. He was on the 26th of Nov. He'd stand naked holding a wine bottle three quarters empty on a giant downed sequoia tree in the Cascade mountain forest above all his dead Washington State college hotties down below posed naked in a circle of giant ferns like the ones in Jurassic Park. Have you ever been in the North West? Everything in the woods is fuckin huge. Any other SK sign is gonna be quick to tidy up and wrap it up but Ted the Bundbarian had to go through these bizarre Scorpio rituals of death.

Wayward, transient, adventurous mountain pioneer in a hot purple Patagonia pull-over. Coffee shop intellectual. Traveling around aimlessly and loving every minute of it. Sagittarius all day, mates. We need his other planets, though.

[Gary Childress]

We should have a look at his chart, maybe. He's in that notorious astrological spot that everyone is fascinated by. The Scorpio Sagittarius cusp. From this knowledge alone, a couple things conform immediately to those sign strengths if you look at em. Intense in appearance and personality... domineering... has to lead the conversation, fascination with military culture, wielder of police batons, etc. Creepy esoteric curiosity about death. He didn't wanna have'ta kill the Bryants just for the sake of killing them but only to eliminate witnesses. BUT, when he did, he noticed, perhaps a little more intimately than other signs, the strange feeling of power and repulsion that meshed together into a cocktail of exhilarating emotion. Other signs are more clinical, more objective, more matter-of-factly about, and disassociated with the murder. The killing is banal and inconvenient. For the Scorpio, its a fuckin religious event and they are born again in a rapture of cold Plutonic darkness. Like if there was a scene when the hero, covered in enemy blood, raises his arms on the hill on the battlefield after defeating a hundred soldiers and shouts an "AHHHHHHHHRRRR!" that echoes through the valley as the above camera angle zooms out, and you get an ariel view of the dead corpses scattered around his feet. That's what happens when a scorpio SK bags a body. Sexy Ted would go through it every time. He was on the 26th of Nov. He'd stand naked holding a wine bottle three quarters empty on a giant downed sequoia tree in the Cascade mountain forest above all his dead Washington State college hotties down below posed naked in a circle of giant ferns like the ones in Jurassic Park. Have you ever been in the North West? Everything in the woods is fuckin huge. Any other SK sign is gonna be quick to tidy up and wrap it up but Ted the Bundbarian had to go through these bizarre Scorpio rituals of death.

Wayward, transient, adventurous mountain pioneer in a hot purple Patagonia pull-over. Coffee shop intellectual. Traveling around aimlessly and loving every minute of it. Sagittarius all day, mates. We need his other planets, though.

Murder is not necessary to support oneself in a crisis. You can refuse to leave your home, resist arrest. And keep on resisting until they lock you up for civil disobedience. You would have every human right to do that if you are in an unavoidable and dire situation. Murder is never OK, though. Civil disobedience is your best resort. Flip the script. Drive yourself insane. It's better than driving yourself to do something inhuman.

[Gary Childress]

@ Prom. Have you applied for Section 8 housing and food stamps? If not, get on that immediately before the inevitable happens and you're scrambling at the last minute to find what you need. See a therapist to get guidance with that. Apply for vocational rehab to get you some work if you can.

[promethean75]

Yep, that one was a real doozy, Gary. The second incarceration... this bid was 2 years, and that's AFTER they 'gave me a deal'.

And it all began so arbitrarily...

Once upon a time in a parking lot far far away, I was living in Ludwig Van (my 95 Chevy Gladiator) with a Walmart parking lot as my registered address. Working at day labor places for $56 a day. So, gainfully employed and with a legal residency.

Then, one night, a POleece man knocks on the van window as I'm asleep inside. Twoish in the morning.

"City ordinance... you can't sleep in a vehicle in the city."

"Then why are the SO compliance officers allowing me to register this lot as my address?"

"I dunno, sir, but you have to move. Have a good night, sir."

The next day, i contact the SO officer and relate the news to him. He says i can park elsewhere to sleep and that i would be called by an officer if he didn't find me in the lot during a residency check drive by instead of issuing a warrant for my arrest inmediately.

Well, I thought that very thing happened. One day, i hear a phone message: SO cop is saying in a strangely contained voice that i need to come down to the office to correct some registration paperwork. I grow immediately suspicious. What correction? And why does he sound fake like that? I think a fuckin VA trooper went by the walmart, didn't find me there and, instead of calling me like SO cop said they would, put a warrant out for my arrest... charging me with 'providing false information to the registry', an F felony.

So i go on the run. I make it four months moving around in two states. Upon my arrest and being charged with several vehicle B&Es after being caught by a dog team, i find out no such trooper ever went by the walmart to check on me and that the message was a legitimate order to come down and write the three words 'in my van' in the section on the paper where address goes. Because i didn't specify where i was sleeping and only gave the general address of the walmart, they couldn't be sure where i was sleeping. I could be sleeping in a tent in the store sporting goods section or even on the store roof for all they knew. It wouldn't cross their mind that i could very well be sleeping in the huge white van i own that they have big pictures of pinned to the folder like in the Bourne Identity. More likely that I'm in a tree behind the building or in a girls' clothing rack in the store sleeping. This would be much easier, not to mention more comfortable, than sleeping on a giant plush padded electric reclining bed in my van.

Too late to write the three words now I'm off again to prison for two more years. Went back to the same camp, too. Catfish was like, "wtf'd you'd do this time" when he saw me on the yard.

Not so so bad because i had really lost nothing but a little freedom. I had lost everything in the 2010 wrongful incarceration and had nothing but the van when released four years later. But i was working on getting money saved up for a place in VA Beach if I could find a renter that would rent to me. In fact, the whole reason i was homeless in VA at all was that i had to leave NC to get the gps ankle monitor off my leg. Being homeless in a foreign state was worth the trade so i left NC.

Yeeeah... doozy, that one. Well i mean the first one was the doozy but this second one... and the reasons and circumstances for it... well, it's so ridiculous there are not words sufficient enough to express the levity these experiences have granted me.

All i had to do was go down there and write those little words in... and yet i was thinking they were conspiring against me and went on the run instead.

But see, Gary, I CAN DO THAT. I shouldn't be going though all this nonsense to begin with. Incompetent law enforcement agencies not communicating or agreeing.... hell, not even knowing, what the fuckin laws are in the city. And why the f*** is an abled bodied man in his prime making fifty dollars a day and living in a van in the first place? And why is a guy driving hundreds of miles to a different state to get a lifetime gps monitor off his leg? What'd this guy do... try to assasinate the president?

No words, Gary. You can only stare out over the sea from the cliffs of Greece speechless and in speculative awe as a good philosopher would after learning of my story. It has been told in six different languages, btw. The original text is post-Homeric, of course. I'm not that fuckin old.

[Gary Childress]

Yep, that one was a real doozy, Gary. The second incarceration... this bid was 2 years, and that's AFTER they 'gave me a deal'.

And it all began so arbitrarily...

Once upon a time in a parking lot far far away, I was living in Ludwig Van (my 95 Chevy Gladiator) with a Walmart parking lot as my registered address. Working at day labor places for $56 a day. So, gainfully employed and with a legal residency.

Then, one night, a POleece man knocks on the van window as I'm asleep inside. Twoish in the morning.

"City ordinance... you can't sleep in a vehicle in the city."

"Then why are the SO compliance officers allowing me to register this lot as my address?"

"I dunno, sir, but you have to move. Have a good night, sir."

The next day, i contact the SO officer and relate the news to him. He says i can park elsewhere to sleep and that i would be called by an officer if he didn't find me in the lot during a residency check drive by instead of issuing a warrant for my arrest inmediately.

Well, I thought that very thing happened. One day, i hear a phone message: SO cop is saying in a strangely contained voice that i need to come down to the office to correct some registration paperwork. I grow immediately suspicious. What correction? And why does he sound fake like that? I think a fuckin VA trooper went by the walmart, didn't find me there and, instead of calling me like SO cop said they would, put a warrant out for my arrest... charging me with 'providing false information to the registry', an F felony.

So i go on the run. I make it four months moving around in two states. Upon my arrest and being charged with several vehicle B&Es after being caught by a dog team, i find out no such trooper ever went by the walmart to check on me and that the message was a legitimate order to come down and write the three words 'in my van' in the section on the paper where address goes. Because i didn't specify where i was sleeping and only gave the general address of the walmart, they couldn't be sure where i was sleeping. I could be sleeping in a tent in the store sporting goods section or even on the store roof for all they knew. It wouldn't cross their mind that i could very well be sleeping in the huge white van i own that they have big pictures of pinned to the folder like in the Bourne Identity. More likely that I'm in a tree behind the building or in a girls' clothing rack in the store sleeping. This would be much easier, not to mention more comfortable, than sleeping on a giant plush padded electric reclining bed in my van.

Too late to write the three words now I'm off again to prison for two more years. Went back to the same camp, too. Catfish was like, "wtf'd you'd do this time" when he saw me on the yard.

Not so so bad because i had really lost nothing but a little freedom. I had lost everything in the 2010 wrongful incarceration and had nothing but the van when released four years later. But i was working on getting money saved up for a place in VA Beach if I could find a renter that would rent to me. In fact, the whole reason i was homeless in VA at all was that i had to leave NC to get the gps ankle monitor off my leg. Being homeless in a foreign state was worth the trade so i left NC.

Yeeeah... doozy, that one. Well i mean the first one was the doozy but this second one... and the reasons and circumstances for it... well, it's so ridiculous there are not words sufficient enough to express the levity these experiences have granted me.

All i had to do was go down there and write those little words in... and yet i was thinking they were conspiring against me and went on the run instead.

But see, Gary, I CAN DO THAT. I shouldn't be going though all this nonsense to begin with. Incompetent law enforcement agencies not communicating or agreeing.... hell, not even knowing, what the fuckin laws are in the city. And why the f*** is an abled bodied man in his prime making fifty dollars a day and living in a van in the first place? And why is a guy driving hundreds of miles to a different state to get a lifetime gps monitor off his leg? What'd this guy do... try to assasinate the president?

No words, Gary. You can only stare out over the sea from the cliffs of Greece speechless and in speculative awe as a good philosopher would after learning of my story. It has been told in six different languages, btw. The original text is post-Homeric, of course. I'm not that fuckin old.

I've been staring out over the sea from cliffs since I was first diagnosed and put on antipsychotics for the duration.

[promethean75]

"See a therapist to get guidance with that"

As much as it pains me, I'm afraid i wouldn't do that, Gary. I'm not very confident that i would be able to help him. Therapists are typically the most treatment-resistant cases, and rehabilitation is more often than not impossible.

P.s. you can reply to a post without quoting the whole thing if it's clear to what and who you are responding. Since your post would come directly after mine and nobody else is present in the thread we can safely infer that if you were to reply in the thread it would be to me.

[promethean75]

So I've been SIM jacked now by the stalkers. This explains why I've been getting no work calls for a month and a half.

My last post here... for the possibility that law enforcement might end up at this site during their investigation. Let them make no mistake about what they created in 2010 and why they soon won't believe their eyes.