MAGA Guy's Unexpected Underworld Arrival

Sweet dreams are made of these... cute demonic red-furred and horned cat-imps, dancing and laughing, guffawing, chuckling and chortling. A great celebration was taking place. The cat-imps, or catturds, were overwhelmed with joy. The cause for their celebration? donald trump had been elected to a second term.

Spawned by the fevered dreams of conspiracy theorist Phillip Buchanan, the catturds materialized from the demented delusions of his defective brain. Far beneath the surface of the earth, or perhaps in an alternate plane of existence, an audible pop signaled the birth of a new demonic catturd imp.

During this specific Buchanan nighttime paranoia-fueled phantasmagoric unconscious fantasy (an ecstatic nightmare of conspiratorial vindication) hundreds of new catturd imps were hallucinated into existence. They splashed and played gleefully in the flowing magma. The red-hot liquid rock casting ethereal shadows that illuminated the underworld environment.

Meanwhile, on earth's surface, the family of Bob Smith mourned his passing 30 days previously. His family, which was bigly MAGA, would have preferred to be celebrating instead of attending the funeral of their beloved MAGA kin.

Bob's wife wailed in existential misery. Then she realized that things might not be so bad. donald trump, the anointed warrior of Christian civilization, was president again.

She smiled briefly, thinking of the misery that would be inflicted on her enemies at the hands of the triumphant champion of God-fearing moral Whites around the United States. It was time to take our country back from the Godless liberal queers that threatened society. She stepped to the podium and spoke.

"Bob would want us to go on", she announced as she adjusted the microphone and continued her eulogy. "Bob, as you all know, was mega MAGA. With the election of donald trump, our country is on the verge of a revitalization. donald trump's righteous hand will cleanse this nation of all who seek to defile it. The vile liberal queers that have perverted Christian civilization will be crushed by God's chosen leader. There will be so much winning, but we will not ever get sick of it".

She went on from there. When she finished the crowd sprung to their feet and cheered. Today would not be a day of mourning, but a day to celebrate the life of Bob Smith. A righteous and God-fearing man who was now with the Lord and in his loving embrace. The living could take solace in that fact. As well as the fact that donald trump was re-elected and the cackling hyena, Kamala Harris, was defeated.

Mary Smith's grief became jubilation. Or something close to it. She would grieve her husband, but she could see herself moving forward -- and with great anticipation of the good works donald trump would soon embark on. All which would restore America's greatness.

Two hours later the uplifted bereaved departed, leaving the widow alone with her husband's closed casket. Closed due to the nature of his injuries. She shuttered, remembering the day she identified the body. It was the same day Mary Smith and her husband Bob attended TurdStock: October 6, 2024.

The blissfully unaware couple were enjoying themselves. Playing pin the tail on the demonic donkey, throwing tennis balls to sink the dementia-addled Joe Biden (stand-in), plunging him into the dunk tank. Also eating various foodstuffs the overpriced vendors were selling. Among other state fair themed activities.

Then it happened. The event that changed her life forever.

"I'm in the mood for some tangerine cotton candy. I think they call it the Trump Swirl", Mary said, her eyes lighting up when she saw the booth. The vendor spun a cone of orange and pink delight. He handed it to her and Bob paid. As they walked, laughing and enjoying the day, suddenly Bob stepped into an unseen pothole and tripped. Stumbling forward, Bob collided with a wall of cotton candy sugar-mix canisters. The towering monolith of sugar-mix trembled, then collapsed, burying Bob.

Mary was about to laugh at Bob's misfortune when she realized something was terribly wrong. A bright crimson liquid flowed from beneath the pile of heavy canisters. Other TurdStock attendees quickly pitched in to remove the barrels, but it was too late. A particularly heavy barrel clearly crushed her husband's body. When they were moved a mangled and unmoving corpse was revealed.

Mary started sobbing. Bob, seeing his grief stricken wife, attempted to console her. Though, to his utter bewilderment, she did not seem to hear him. Then he noticed a swirling black void that tore into existence beside his broken corpse.

"My body?" Bob whispered, his voice filled with dread. A cold recognition settled in -- he wasn't just injured, his life had been snuffed out in an instant. All his dreams for the future, suddenly dashed. Plans such as following up with that sexy waitress he ogled the last time Mary and he had dined at the All-American Bar and Grill.

Bob had considered returning solo at a later date. He imagined he might romance her by grabbing her by her privates. If she let him, then he would know she would be down for a roll in the hay. If not? He'd have written it off as a failed pass. Now he would never know.

He turned back to the dark gateway. It seemed to call to him, drawing him toward it. "That must be the portal to paradise", Bob surmised. Feeling his confusion and fear melt away, Bob advanced toward the doorway to the afterlife. He would miss his wife, but eternity waited. And he was eager to meet his maker, who would probably thank him.

"Thank you for your unwavering support of my chosen leader", God would tell him. "You are one of my most loyal servants and will be richly rewarded". Bob imagined God shaking his hand and congratulating him. "You did not fall prey to the liberal lies. You were tested and passed with flying colors, my child". Then God would usher Bob into the promised land.

Bob cast one final wistful glance at his wife. Then he strode confidently toward the portal. "Be a man, Bob!" he told himself. Despite his confidence that soon he would be embraced by eternal bliss, he was slightly afraid. Given that he was about to step into the unknown.

Yes, he knew that God would be very pleased with how Bob had conducted his life -- he hated the right people, which were the enemies of the Almighty. And he placed his resolute and unwavering faith in donald trump. But still...

Everlasting life, a perfected communion with God, and a renewed body. All this and more. Bob had no doubt. Having reassured himself and pushing his fears aside, Bob departed the mortal realm. He stepped into darkness and was instantly whisked away.

After traveling along a dark tunnel, flying at an exceedingly high speed through the windless air for an indeterminate amount of time, Bob was ejected into a black void. He fell and fell, but ended up, to his surprise, touching down lightly.

"This isn't what I expected Heaven to look like", Bob remarked. Stumbling in the dark, he walked toward a light he saw in the distance that burned fiery red. It was quite hot, Bob discovered, starting to sweat.

Finally he reached a heavy iron gate. A man short of stature stepped from the shadows and opened it, then ushered him in. Smiling broadly the mustachioed man declared, "a very, very warm welcome to you, edward end0. You may call me Maga Mike".

"Hello Mike", Bob replied, feeling almost welcome. "The name is Bob, btw. You were expecting someone else?"

Reconsidering his answer, Bob clarified, "Bob Johannes Smith. And it's just Bob not Robert. That is as per my birth certificate".

Bob waited, wondering how the man who wore a sharp burgundy suit would respond to his very precise answer. Mike was an unusual looking fellow. His skin was scaled and crimson red. He had horns which sprouted from his head. And, from his rear, a long tail grew that was tipped with a spade.

Then he noticed that Mike wore a red MAGA baseball cap, almost identical to his own. A brother in arms, Bob could clearly see Mike was. Despite his odd appearance.

Mike produced a clipboard and checked it. "You aren't edward Tsutomu end0 AKA Mystere?"

Bob shook his head no and Mike double-checked. "Ah, yes. Bob Johannes Smith and not Edward Tsutomu Endo. You are correct. Edward isn't scheduled to arrive until later".

A short distance away, magma flowed. Playing in the molten lava, Bob saw horned red cats, so cute and so fury they demanded to be cuddled. That's what he concluded when one approached him, purring.

Suddenly it leapt on him with extended claws, latching onto his chest and swiping at his face as sharp claws pierced the fabric of his jacket. Bob screamed in pain when his eye was ripped out and ended up dangling from its socket.

Bob grabbed the cat, pulling it off him. Then he dropped it and punted the critter with his boot. The feline let out a horrific howl and went flying, disappearing into the darkness.

Worried about his eye, Bob gingerly touched his face.

"Push it back in", Mike proposed.

When Bob failed to act Mike approached him and, with a black-nailed red hand, quickly pushed Bob's eye back into his cranium.

Surprisingly Bob felt no pain. He concluded he must be in shock. Yet, only a few moments later, he found his vision in that eye had returned.

"Amazing!" Bob exclaimed. "By the glory of God I am healed!"

"When do I get to meet God?" He hoped the wait would not be too long.

"1000 years from now. Possibly sooner", Mike replied. Noting the look of extreme disappointment on Bob's face he added, "don't worry. Remember, time flies when you're having fun".

The reassurance lifted Bob's spirits. Cosmically speaking, 1000 years wasn't that long. Not compared to eternity.

He took out his iPhone and started filming. "I'm going to post this to TikTok", Bob announced as he panned his camera, taking in the vastness of the endlessly immense cavern.

Bob tried to upload his video, but quickly realized there was no Wi-Fi. Thinking about it, this made sense, though Bob couldn't help but be disappointed.

"Your catturd has returned", Maga Mike said, clearing his throat to get Bob's attention.

Bob lowered his phone, then noticed the cute red cat that had just attacked him was back. "What do you mean?" Bob asked. "I want nothing more to do with that thing. It is quite cute, but extremely violent".

"This is your forever buddy", Mike declared. "Well, for as long as you are here, at least. Like I said earlier, somewhere in the neighborhood of 500 hundred to a thousand years. Then you get to meet the ruler of this domain and be judged. In the meantime you can consider this an extended spa vacation".

Bob eyed the cat with suspicion. But, when it started purring, Bob's heart melted. "I must have startled the little guy. I'm willing to give this forever buddy thing another shot".

Then the catturd snarled viciously, spitting as it launched itself into the air, sinking its razor sharp teeth into Bob's throat, tearing out his adam's apple.

 swtd-444. polfi-28.  Analysis. Previous. Next.

Kamala Kills And The Tragic Account Of A Pea Brain That Raced To Idiocy

"I'm going to fillet and consume you!" Kamala Harris, razor-sharp butcher knife in hand, screamed. She was insane with rage, determined to murder the innocent and beloved Peanut, an internet sensation. What she didn't realize was that Peanut's best friend, the 45th and 47th president of the United States, was nearby.

Seeing the knife-wielding maniac barreling toward him, Peanut squealed in terror. Luckily his buddy d0n0ld tRump was taking a nap under an elm tree growing on the Nonprofit Animal Rescue known as Peanut's Freedom Farm. Peanut's cries jolted d0n0ld from his siesta. Quickly and nimbly he leapt to his feet and snatched up the squirrel. Kamala started slashing, but d0n0ld deftly dodged her wild hacks.

"d0n0ld!" Kamala screeched. She of course knew that her nemesis d0n0ld and Peanut were lifelong best friends. Which is why she decided Peanut had to die. The hope was that d0n0ld would be overcome with despair when he found out his friend was dead. Then he would drop out of the potus race, to grief-stricken too continue seeking the presidency.

It was the only way Kamala could win. Even given the massive cheating effort currently underway. The American people were simply turning out too bigly for Democrat vote fraud to assure her victory. Killing her opponent's best friend could give her the advantage. Also, she was curious to discover what squirrel tasted like. Kamala had expected d0n0ld to be campaigning, which is why she flew to New York on that morning. It just seemed like a perfect day for homicide.

Kamala screamed again, frustrated that d0n0ld was there when he should not be. Having left his gun at home, d0n0ld was defenseless. Cursing Kamala, he knew his duty was to keep his friend safe, so he turned and ran. Being fleet of foot, d0n0ld was able to save Peanut! He ran like the wind and left Kamala Harris in the dust. She was only armed with a knife, and therefore d0n0ld and Peanut got away safely.

Thinking Kamala had given up, d0n0ld departed. Little did he know that Kamala was extremely determined to assassinate Peanut and Fred, two innocent critters for whom her hatred burned intensely. Why she returned later with a gun and blew Fred's brains out. She would have used her gun to murder Peanut as well, but he had already been taken into custody by Kathy Hochul's jackbooted thugs.

It seems a libtard witch whined when she saw the world-famous squirrel online. "Peanut should be free, not held captive by a human", the libtard shrew determined. That libtard was Kathy Hochul. She was very angry when she saw Peanut performing his antics on the internet.

"Keeping wildlife as a pet is not permitted in New York. He must be removed from the residence and returned to his natural habitat", Hochul fumed. Then she made a phone call to the head of the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC). "Arrest the rodent", she instructed.

Peanut was locked up. No call to his lawyer was permitted. No opportunity to be released on bail was allowed. Later, in court, Judge Sicko pronounced his sentence. "Based on the testimony of the DEC agent you bit, I hereby sentence you, Peanut the squirrel, to death. Obviously you have rabies".

The Democrat judge smirked. This was the part of his job he enjoyed the most. Inflicting misery on supporters of d0n0ld tRump, which Peanut's captors were. He was sure. Though he was unaware that Peanut and the about-to-be-reelected maga predisent, d0n0ld tRump, were besties. If he had known? Then pronouncing that Peanut should die would have filled him with great joy. As opposed to the mild happiness he currently felt.

"He will be euthanized at dawn", the evil Democrat judge proclaimed. "Then we will test his brain matter. To confirm the self-evident fact that he is infected with the rabies virus". The judge glared at the squirrel. Peanut was quivering in fear. Yes, the judge decided. He could definitely see that Peanut was foaming at the mouth. "Get him out of here!" Sicko roared, suddenly concerned the squirrel would lunge at him and possibly tear his throat out.

A Democrat animal-hating DEC employee filled a syringe. "Nighty night", he chuckled. Then he injected Peanut with the deadly poison.

"Wait!" Kathy Hochul (who had been watching) suddenly cried. "The Vice President, Kamala Harris is here, and she wants to euthanize Peanut herself".

The DEC employee signed. "It's too late, Madam Governor".

"Is there an antidote? If so, administer it. We will kill Peanut twice!" Hochul exclaimed, smiling.

And so Peanut was revived and then injected with poison a second time. This time it was fatal. Kamala smiled and laughed as she stabbed Peanut with the needle. "This has been a very good day", she proclaimed when Peanut gasped his last breath. "tRump will be devastated".

"Why is that?" Kathy Hochul inquired. "Simply because he is an animal lover?" the governor asked, referring to the well-know fact that d0n0ld tRump loves all of God's creatures. But this was a squirrel and not man's best friend. "Everyone knows the deep affection the former president has for canines, but why would he care about a squirrel?" Hochul said, looking confused.

Kathy Hochul was delighted when the Vice president informed her that Peanut and d0n0ld were the best of friends. "Some people say Peanut and d0n0ld are soul mates", Kamala informed Kathy.

"Really?" Hochul replied, finding the claim hard to believe.

"Yes, it is true. d0n0ld considers Peanut to be like a brother to him", Harris revealed. "Not many people know, but it's completely true".

As per jd Vance, a single tear ran down d0n0ld's face when he found out. Being an Alpha Male, he buried his unbearable sorrow deep down and channeled his rage into the campaign.

"We will win this for Peanut", he vowed. "Those responsible for murdering my friends Peanut and Fred will pay dearly. I will dedicate my 2nd term to ensuring all those involved are brought to justice".

"Wow, that's quite the tall tale", Doctor Edwin Meyers Jr remarked.

His patient, a man named end0, scowled. "What do you mean?"

end0 sensed the psychiatrist wasn't buying his story. "I swear it's true", end0 protested. I read all about it on Robby Starbuck's X page.

"Well, there is no antidote to pentobarbital", Meyers informed his patient. Edwin could see the nutter was confused. "It's the drug used to euthanize animals. That is but one reason why your story can not be true".

"It is true!" end0 insisted. "And there is definitely no way you could possibly convince me otherwise!"

The doctor scribbled on his pad. "I'm going to increase your dosage of Seroquel".

"OK", end0 replied, seemingly agreeing. But he had no intention of taking the antipsychotic drug. Why should he? There was absolutely nothing wrong with him, as far as his mental health was concerned.

The only reason he had agreed to sessions with Dr. Meyers was because the authorities insisted. That, or he could have chosen to be locked up for an extended stay at a state-run mental institution. But that was avoided when his husband agreed to pay for him to get treatment from this quack. But he didn't need any antipsychotic medications, given the fact that he was 100 percent sane.

Democrats are pure evil. That was how end0 knew Kamala Harris was personally responsible for the murder of Peanut the squirrel and Fred the raccoon. She wanted them dead and was directly involved in putting them down. As Slugga told him, "The tragic tale of Peanut the Squirrel is Kamala's America in a nutshell".


Note: Civil Service employees following state regulations removed Peanut and Fred from Mark Longo's home and euthanized them. I disagree with this decision. Neither NY Governor Kathy Hochul nor Vice President Kamala Harris had anything to do with what happened or were even aware of it. Civil Service jobs are not political appointments. Civil Service employees are not hired on the basis of political alignment. The people who made this decision (following NY State regulations) could have been either Democrats or Republicans.

 swtd-433. polfi-27.  Analysis. Previous. Next.

Magnum PI & Dennis Marks Investigate Human Rights Abuses

Why didn't you pull your gun? -- Thomas Magnum... from the episode "Legacy from a Friend" (#3.18, 1983).

Dennis Marks hesitantly entered the dark alleyway behind the local burger joint. He was more than a little nervous, never having done something like this before. A man wearing a trench coat lit a cigarette, drawing Dennis' attention. Was this the man who had phoned him earlier, telling him his package was ready?

A while ago Dennis had decided it made sense to get a good one if you don't have one. A firearm, that is. He determined then he would acquire one at a gun show or from a private seller to legally avoid the roadblocks put in place to hassle innocent people. Then the authorities couldn't come for his weapon and steal it. Because they wouldn't know he had one.

Dennis ultimately decided to go the cautious route and purchase a gun from a private source. Someone might see him at a gun show and report his purchase to the Obama gun-grabbing gestapo.

"You the guy I spoke with earlier about a private sale?" Dennis inquired, approaching the man.

"You got my cash?" the man replied, taking a drag from his tube-shaped tobacco product.

"It's right here", Dennis answered, clumsily drawing a wad of bills out of his jacket pocket.

"Here is your item", the man whispered, producing a shiny gun from inside his coat.

Dennis turned the firearm over and over in his hands, mesmerized by how it sparkled in the moonlight. "It's gorgeous!" Dennis exclaimed, close to breaking down and weeping with joy.

"The serial number has been filed off, making it untraceable", the stranger revealed, shoving a box of ammo into Dennis' quivering hands. "These are hollow points. They're designed to rip through the standard bulletproof vest. Useful if some jackbooted agent of the State tries to steal your weapon".

"In violation of my due process and 2nd amendment rights, which I love", Dennis concurred.

"Well, I've got to be going", the man said, dropping his cancer stick and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot.

"Thank you, God", Dennis remarked as the man turned and left. "I will treasure this beauty for the rest of my life". Finally Dennis felt fully empowered to defend himself, which is a basic human right. Now he could finally stop worrying about the violent thugs who were coming to get him.

Frankly Dennis couldn't believe he had lasted so long without a gun, what with all the worthless poor people who wanted something for nothing. And would shoot him dead to get it. Mostly young Black thugs. They frightened Dennis immensely. They were worse than wild animals. Dennis knew this because he'd seen it on Fox News. A young Black thug stole cigarillos in a strong-arm robbery. The cop who confronted the violent felon was forced to gun him down when he charged, intending to (continue) violently assaulting him. It was obvious to Dennis that this thug was likely berserking, high on marijuana.

Because of this Dennis spent many nights pacing the floor, sick with worry. And checking and rechecking his locks. The incidents of Black thug violence were clearly on the rise. It was only a matter of time before they came for him. He knew then the time was right to acquire a firearm for his own protection. He was also afraid Vincent Vanderschmidt might try to kill him, but that was another matter.

In any case, now that Dennis had his gun he could defend himself against anyone who came for him. That night he placed the weapon under his pillow. After polishing and cleaning it until the nickel plating shown brilliantly.

"You are a beauty!" Dennis exclaimed, holding up the gun so he could admire it properly.

"Thank you", came a reply.

Huh?

"Who said that?!" Dennis screamed, looking about frantically. Was there an intruder in his domicile? Quickly Dennis reached for his box of ammo, his hands shaking in anticipation. Would tonight be the night he gunned down his first violent thug?

"Don't worry", the same voice said in a soothing tone. "It's me, your gun", Dennis' gun told him.

"A talking gun? I must have gone nuts", Dennis lamented.

"No way, you're one of the sanest people on the planet", Dennis' gun assured him. "Trust me concerning who the nut is according to guns".

"OK, I will", Dennis acquiesced. Then he went to bed, exhausted after a long week of very little sleep. "I'm going to place you under my pillow for safekeeping", Dennis told Magnum PI, which is what Dennis' weapon said it's name was.

Hours passed as Dennis slumbered.

"Wake up, Dennis!" Magnum shouted, rousting Dennis from his sleep.

Withdrawing his weapon from under his pillow Dennis drowsily asked, "what's the problem, Magnum?"

"I heard something. Possibly a home invader", Magnum explained.

Dennis looked around but saw nothing. The sun was up, however, so Dennis decided to rise from his bed and check his windows and locks for signs of intrusion. Then Dennis heard a knocking at the door, which meant someone was on his porch!

Dennis had many no trespassing signs posted, including several facing the road. Therefore anyone approaching his property had fair warning. Dennis flipped off the safety on Magnum and approached his front door.

"It's the mailman, I need your signature on a package", a voice on the other side of the door said.

An agent of one of the socialist agencies of the Federal Government (just one of the many socialist agencies/programs that should be abolished)? Dennis didn't buy it. Probably a ruse so that the jackbooted governmental enforcers could steal his newly acquired weapon. Perhaps the NSA had been listening in during his phone call? Not that it mattered. Dennis had the right to fire given the fact that his no trespassing signs gave intruders warning. This individual was violating that warning -- and on Dennis' property against his will.

"Shoot!" Magnum urged him. "Obama's agents are here to steal me!"

Dennis raised his gun and fired through the door. Then he blew across the barrel, as he had seen actors in action movies do. How cool.

Hearing a body thud, Dennis remarked, "smoked him". Smiling, Dennis proudly strode toward the door, eager to see the results of the first exercise of his basic human right. Opening the door Dennis noted a man dressed in a mailman's uniform lying on the ground, a large hole in his chest. The man, however, was not dead. Blood trickled out of his mouth as he gurgled and struggled to speak.

"Didn't you see the signs?!" Dennis screamed. "You are on my property unlawfully and I am therefore within my rights to shoot!" Dennis added, pointing Magnum at the man's head and firing a second time.

"Good job!" Magnum congratulated him.

"Indeed", Dennis agreed. "I defended my basic human rights good. Now to dispose of the body. Not because, as a law-abiding gun owner I did anything wrong, but because I wish to avoid harassment and hassle placed there by out-of-line legislators".



 swtd-277. polfi-26.  Analysis. Previous. Next.

That Massive Sucking Sound and Its Echo

Because murder is like anything you take to; It's a habit-forming need for more and more -- Lyrics from the song "Murder by Numbers" written by Sting and Andy Summers.

There wasn't anything that Brabender and Workman ever could have done to save Slade Leeds. They knew it and so, too, did Leeds. But being that the latter was a persistent bugger (not to mention one that was totally lacking in pride) and his protectorate malleable, damned if that sucker didn't seem to last for decades and decades. In fact, it's probably still going on!

"Sorry it has to end this way for you, my friend" William Hartenbaum remarked as Slade whined yet again. "You simply can NOT do this to a fellow Society man" a frantic and disbelieving Slade declared. But, after staring into William's eyes, it became apparent to him that Hartenbaum had made up his mind.

"Help me Brabender" he cried with tears in his eyes. "Help me Workman" Slade pleaded. But Slade's employees ignored him. William had had enough of this so he gagged his friend. Then, with great sadness he shoved the bound Slade into the wet concrete. Slade dropped approximately 10 feet into the open pit and landed with a wet thud in the concrete that would become the foundation for Vanderschmidt towers, a new luxury apartment complex being constructed by William's buddy Vincent Vanderschmidt (AKA Voltron).

A look of horror overcame Slade's face as he sunk into the hardening slurry that would soon be his rock solid tomb. Slade sunk slowly, the weight attached to his ankles dragging him down. But his suffering did not go on for that long, despite it likely seeming to last decades for the poor fellow! "I really hated to do that. Killing one of your best friends is a hard thing to do" William remarked.

"Stop, you can't do this, Dennis!" the one called Workman screamed after William and his accomplices had subdued the three men, bound their hands and feet, and then made it apparent they would soon join the dead body of Cliff Thesage in the freshly poured cement mixture. But why the hell was Workman addressing his pleas to Dennis?

"Nobody's going to save you now" Russ Teafeur, one of William's accomplices and a member of the four friend's murder club, growled. "Dennis will save us... and he knows why" Brabender squealed, shaking his head as Voltron attempted to gag him.

"Do you know what he's talking about, Dennis?" William queried the recent inductee into their murder club (an addition that made the trio a quartet). "Workman is talking about the evidence he has against me that will automatically be released if he should be killed or go missing" Dennis reluctantly informed the group.

"Evidence of what?" Voltron demanded, grabbing Dennis by his lapels and getting in his face. "Evidence of embezzlement by Brabender, Workman and myself from The Quarry" Dennis squawked. "I had no choice, after running up a large amount of debt in anticipation of my rich uncle kicking off. An uncle who then went into remission".

William remembered the conversation in which Dennis told him he'd be joining William, Voltron and Russ in the 1 percent when his uncle died from terminal brain cancer, leaving him everything in his will. "That's tough" an angry William replied. "But that does not entitle you to thieve from my best friend".

An intimidated Dennis started whimpering. "This means Brabender and Workman will keep their mouths shut about them walking in on us disposing of Thesage's body" Dennis explained desperately. "Surely it would be much more suspicious if they disappear as well" Dennis concluded, suddenly afraid that William might decide to murder him too.

"He has a point" Russ Teafeur interjected. "I guess that means they are malleable to not squealing to the cops" Voltron concluded, releasing Dennis from his grip. "Absolutely" Brabender enthusiastically agreed. "Especially given the fact that we were stealing from Mr. Leeds. The cops will likely conclude we were in on it" Workman added, assuming he had just been saved from joining Leeds in the concrete.

Just then there was a massive sucking sound as the squirming body of Slade Leeds finally disappeared beneath the surface of the pool of cement, rock and water. William turned and silently bid his friend adieu. "The Society has lost a valuable member", William ruefully observed. "And now Slade's wife Sassy is a widow" Hartenbaum added sorrowfully. "A shame, given what a good woman she is".

"But this was Slade's own fault. What the hell was he doing here?" William demanded, turning to face Brabender and Workman. But he was met with silence. "Come on, answer Mr. Hartenbaum's question" an angry Voltron demanded. "You do want to make it out of here alive, do you not, Workman", Voltron added as he drew a wicked looking dagger from his belt and approached the two bound captives.

"You're going to talk" Voltron growled, holding his sharp blade to the neck of a frightened Workman. "Or I'll slit you from ear to ear. I don't give a damn what you have on Dennis".

Video: The Police's "Murder By Numbers". Live in Oakland 9/10/1983.



Image: William Hartenbaum and Vincent Vanderschmidt observe the foundation for Vanderschmidt Tower being poured. "We will come back tonight after snatching up the traitors", William remarked. "We should get Dennis to assist us" Vincent said, agreeing with the plan.

 swtd-268. polfi-25.  Previous. Next.

The Unfortunate Tale Of A Mind That Raced To Idiocy

What makes stupidity really insufferable is that it is forever in action -- idiocy knows no rest -- Source of quote unknown.

Turning onto a dirt footpath, Doctor Edwin Meyers decided to cut through the park. He had just gotten a call from the secretary at his psychiatric practice (located on the premises of a local hospital), that his attentions were needed there as soon as possible. He had been on his lunch break at a nearby café, but that now had to be cut short. He finished his arugula-topped tofu burger just as he crossed the square in the middle of the park where a bubbling fountain spurted water several feet into the air before splashing back to earth in a tiled reflecting pool.

Another footpath and the good doctor would be just across the street from where he worked. He was about halfway there when a trench-coat-wearing bald headed man sporting a ponytail stepped out from behind a large bush. "Care to take a look" the man said, opening his coat to reveal his naked body. The doctor stopped short, not wanting to run into a nude man. "If you like what you see I would appreciate it if you could LIKE me on Facebook" the man said. "My name is Dennis Marks, by the way".

Edwin could not help but stare directly at the man's crotch, given the fact that what he saw there was a sight to behold. Or the lack of a sight to behold, as the case most certainly was. "I'd be willing to recommend a doctor that could help you with your condition" the doctor remarked, taking pity on the man. "Huh?" Dennis asked, oblivious to what condition the man he had just flashed might be referring. "What are you talking about? Are you not impressed by the sight of my huge wang?" he asked, pointing to his nether region.

"Hmmm... delusional too. Here, take my card and call me if you decide (as you should) that you need help" Doctor Myers counseled, handing Dennis his credentials printed on a small rectangular piece of card stock. Then, when the man simply stood there with a stupid look on his face, Doctor Meyers pushed past him and continued down the path. Soon he was back at the hospital. Crossing the street Meyers descended a staircase to his basement office. Entering the reception area Edwin's secretary immediately noticed him. "Lester Nation the 4th is waiting for you" she said, pointing toward the waiting area to the right.

Edwin turned and saw a young dark-haired man with a closely cropped beard. He was wearing a leather biker's jacket. The man, who had previously been sitting on the couch in the waiting area, stood and extended his hand. Shaking the hand of the junior Lester, Edwin greeted him. "Hello, Mr. Nation. I am the doctor you spoke with earlier this morning on the phone... in regards to your father".

"Yes, my father" the fourth Lester replied. "I don't understand how he ended up in the psychiatric ward". The younger Nation looked quite confused. "I will explain everything" the doctor assured him. "First, I see you have completed the insurance forms?". Edwin was referring to a stack of papers clipped to the clipboard Lester was holding. "Yes" Lester confirmed, handing the stack of papers to the doctor. "Good, good" Edwin replied, accepting the forms. "Now, will you not join me in my office where we can discuss this in private?". "Certainly" the still-confused 4th Lester Nation agreed.

In the office the doctor sat behind his desk and his guest Lester Nation the 4th seated himself in a chair facing Edwin. "I must regretfully inform you that your father has had a complete break with reality" Edwin somberly informed the junior Nation. "Surely you were aware of his split personality disorder?" "Yes" Lester4 admitted, "but dad was on medication for his condition, and doing quite well I might add".

Edwin took in what the son of the man he was treating said. "Hmmm. I don't know the reason, but your father has retreated completely into his alternate personality. Ever since the police delivered him to the hospital several days ago he has been insisting that his name isn't Lester Nation the 3rd, but an individual named Steve".

"It actually took us some time to locate you, as your father came to us without any identification on him. And, of course he kept saying his name was Steve. As for a last name, he added that other than Steve, he wanted to remain anonymous. Also, he kept talking about how proud he was about being a complete shithead on the blog of someone named Joe Kelly. That is how we finally discovered who your father actually is. One of the nurses hit upon the idea of searching on the name Joe Kelly, and some obscure blog called Truth 101 came up. I won't bore you with the details, but, suffice to say it was through that blog that we were able to discern your father's actual identity".

"This Steve seems to be quite a violent individual, so at this time I am not going to recommend releasing your father into your custody. He's back on his medications, but they don't seem to be having an effect" the doctor sadly informed Lester3's son. "Can I see him please?" Lester4 asked. "Of course. In fact, seeing his son might jolt him back into reality". Edwin stood and said, "I'll show you the way".

Edwin guided Lester4 to a padded room a short distance from his office. "Be aware that he may not recognize you" Edwin cautioned, opening the door. In front of them a wild-eyed gray-haired man was strapped to a gurney. "I must have access to the internet" the slobbering spittle-flecked man shouted when he saw the doctor. "It's my duty to call out the Anti-Semites and hate bloggers that have infested cyberspace" he added, this time whimpering.

Then, seeing Lester4 his eyes lit up. "Help me, please" the drooling maniac pleaded. "This crazy doctor thinks I'm some shithead named Lester Nation the 3rd. I know that guy and I can assure you that I am not him. Lester Nation is one of the anti-Semite hate bloggers it is my sworn duty to call out". Kneeling down next to the gurney, a concerned Lester Nation the 4th attempted to reach his demented father. "It's your son, dad. Your name is Lester Nation the 3rd".

"Aaaahhhh!!!" the restrained bug-eyed Lester/Steve screamed, spraying his son's face with salivia. "F*ck you, son of Lester!" he screeched, suddenly lunging toward his progeny. Opening his mouth wide Lester/Steve bit down hard on his son's neck, tearing out a huge chunk of flesh. Blood gushed freely from Lester4's shredded jugular. Seconds later Lester4 passed out due to blood loss. Edwin Meyers hit the panic button located on the wall near the door and a nurse responded.

Several minutes later an unconscious Lester4 was loaded onto a hospital gurney for transport to the hospital upstairs. "He's stable and should survive, but he'll need a transfusion" a nurse from the medical hospital above observed as they rolled the gurney down the hall to the elevator. The elevator doors shut and Edwin returned to the padded room where he found Lester/Steve still laughing manically. "Sedate the patient" an angry and annoyed Edwin instructed his assistant.

 swtd-208. polfi-24.  Previous. Next.

Joe The Liar's Series of Unfortunate Events

Fortune knocks but once, but misfortune has much more patience -- Source of quote unknown.

Joe Truth sat down on a wooden crate next to the dumpster where he had just dove for his evening meal. The mattress-sized piece of cardboard he would use for his bed that evening was propped against the wall behind the garbage receptacle. This area in the alleyway behind a fast food establishment was, for the time being, the place Joe was calling home. Joe opened a Styrofoam container and proceeded to chow down on one of the stiff dried out burgers the dumpster had yielded.

Joe scratched at his scruffy flea-infested beard, contemplating the troubles that had lead to his homelessness. It all started when he foolishly submitted the wrong headphone specs to the manufacturing plant in Vietnam. Specs that were based on the likeness of a famous actress from whom Joe had neglected to receive any kind of authorization.

For that reason he was sued by his only investor, William Hartenbaum. William was furious with Joe when he was served with a court order demanding the headphones be destroyed. William threatened to destroy Joe for his shitheadedness, and he had.

Joe's lawyer tried to convince the judge that his submitting the wrong design specs was just a dumb mistake and not willful or malicious, so he would be able to discharge the remainder of his debt to William by filing for bankruptcy, but William's high-priced team of lawyers argued otherwise... and the judge ruled against him! After liquidating all his assets -- and paying William what he could -- he was still several hundred thousand dollars shy!

A short while later Joe started drinking and soon lost his job. Then his wife left him... and took his beagle Dudley with her! With nothing left to live for Joe contemplated suicide, but he was too much of a coward to follow through. That's when he started performing sex acts for money. Every day Joe found himself giving dozens of strange men oral pleasure simply so he could get money to shoot up with heroin. Joe had no doubt that if this went on much longer he would end up dead, which would be fine by him.

Suddenly the back door to the burger joint burst open and the franchise owner appeared. Pumping his shot gun he growled, "get out from behind my establishment or I'll fill your hide with buckshot, you worthless vagrant". Joe left as quickly as he was able. Not knowing where to go he wandered the neighborhood. It began to rain lightly, then heavily. Soon poor Joe was soaked to the bone. Passing by his old house Joe noticed the for sale sign that had been placed in his front lawn was missing.

Curious, Joe decided to peak in a window. What he saw shocked him. Inside he recognized the man that had ruined his life, William Hartenbaum. William was sitting on his couch, his beagle Dudley at his feet... and Mrs. Truth sitting next to him! Joe couldn't believe it when they started to make out. After a while Joe and the former Mrs. Truth moved to the bedroom where they quickly undressed and jumped into bed. A horrified Joe Truth could not watch as William made wild passionate love to his ex-wife. From her moans of pleasure it was clear she was enjoying herself quite a bit.

A sickened Joe sat down next to the bedroom window and puked up the old burgers he had eaten earlier. Dusk was approaching, so Joe decided to use the tool shed in the backyard to get some shuteye out of the rain. Using a bag of bird seed as a pillow and a canvas tarp as a blanket, Joe curled up on the floor and tried to go to sleep.

Early the next morning Joe opened the door of the shed and walked by the bedroom window. Inside his wife was fast asleep in the arms of William, her head resting on his chest. "Damn him!" an angry Joe muttered. Walking around to the front of the house Joe saw William's Ferrari in the driveway. Grabbing a pointed rock Joe started scratching the crap out of the cherry red paint job.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing!" a surprised William shouted when he looked out the front window and saw a filthy homeless man scratching his car. Running out the front door he swung and punched the hated bum as hard as he could in the nose. Joe screamed in pain as blood spurted from his shattered schnoz. Weak from hunger Joe was unable to fight back as William continued to pummel him with his fists. "Please stop!" Joe begged, but William swung and knocked out all his front teeth.

Joe fell to the ground and lay there not moving as William commenced kicking him violently in the chest and gut with steel-toed boots. Also a few times in the crotch, pulverizing his genitals. Joe felt his ribs crack with the next kick. After that he blacked out. Was this the end? Joe hoped it was. He wouldn't be around to see it, but if William was arrested for his murder... at least that would be something.

Image: Joe Truth examines William Hartenbaum's Ferrari before picking up a rock to scratch it.

 swtd-199. polfi-23.  Previous. Next.

Republican Dreams Crushed By Big Boob Mistake

My initial response was to sue her for defamation of character, but then I realized that I had no character -- Charles Barkley (dob 2/20/1963) an American retired professional basketball player and current analyst on the television program Inside the NBA.

Hearing a knock at his door Joe Truth shoved his beagle Dudley off his lap and got up to see who it was. Opening his front door Joe saw a young man in a suit standing there impatiently. "Can I help you?" Joe asked the stranger. "Yes", the man replied. "Are you Joe Truth?".

"Yes, that is me" Joe confirmed. "I am a process server from a law firm representing the actress Salma Hayek. The reason I am here is to deliver this to you"... the man withdrew some papers from his breast pocket and handed them to the confused Truth. "What are these?" Joe asked, accepting the documents.

"It's a cease and desist order that demands you immediately halt production of your Big Boob Headphones due to your unauthorized use of Salma Hayek's... shall we say, assets... on which you modeled your product. Lucky for you we found out about this before they actually went to market, otherwise you'd be facing a multi-million dollar lawsuit. Mrs. Hayek's lawyers are insisting you destroy the unauthorized product".

"What are you talking about, man?" Joe protested. "My headphones were modeled on the big boobs of some generic size 36C hooters, not the rack of this Hayek chick. An individual I've never heard of, for the record".

"Mrs. Hayek's lawyers do not believe this claim. First of all, you know her measurements off the top of your head, and secondly, you have Mrs. Hayek's picture displayed on the webpage where you announced your product. If you fail to comply and actually attempt to sell your headphones... you will be sued".

Joe Truth frowned as the man walked away. Suddenly his cell phone started vibrating. Removing it from his pocket Joe flipped it open and held it to his ear. "Hello, Joe Truth, CEO of Big Boob Headphones Inc here".

"It's your sole investor, William Hartenbaum" the voice on the phone said. William sounded angry. Joe wondered if William's anger had something to do with this lawsuit. "You jackass, Truth!" William shouted. "I just found out that you went ahead with the design for our headphones that we agreed you wouldn't use. The design modeled on the breasts of Salma Hayek".

"What makes you say that?" Joe asked innocently. "What makes me say that is a cease and desist order I was just served with. That, plus I just got off the phone with the manager of the manufacturing plant in Vietnam where our headphones were manufactured by slave labor. He faxed me a copy of the design specs you submitted".

"So what?" Joe asked. "So what? So they're the ones you had the designer draw up based on a picture and the measurements of Salma Hayek. The papers say we have to destroy the headphones or face further legal action".

"I swear I sent over the other design!" Joe protested. "No way, Joe. Hayek's lawyers have an inside source. They know the truth of the matter. And Hayek's picture is on the freaking box, for crying out loud! And speaking of the finished product, a cargo container of the headphones is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow. That's 50 thousand units that I, as your only investor, will have to take a complete loss on. Not only that but I'm going to have to pay to have them destroyed".

"That's a shame. I was eager for the profits to start rolling in so I could become a rich Republican who complains about paying his taxes" Joe lamented. "It is a shame, shithead" William replied. "Now I'm going to sue you, seeing as you're the one who fu*ked this up. By the way, I read what you wrote about me on your blog and didn't appreciate it".

"Oh, no!" Joe cried, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm finished!". Tears were running down Joe's face now; the fact was that he could not afford to reimburse William for 50 thousand headphones. He would probably lose everything. Could he declare bankruptcy? He'd have to call his lawyer immediately.

Hanging up on William, Joe went back inside and flopped down in his easy chair, first shooing Dudley out of it. He took a swig of his beer and reached for his sandwich. Gone. That darn Dudley must have eaten it. Damn! Mrs. Truth wasn't going to be happy about this. She had warned him that his Big Boobs headphones idea was a bad one. Why oh why didn't he listen? He had just finished publishing a post on his blog in which he called a number of people shitheads, but clearly the real shithead was Joe Truth.

Video 1: Music video of the "Weird Al" Yankovic song "I'll Sue Ya", an original composition by Yankovic (not a parody) from the 2006 album Straight Outta Lynwood. This is the 4th cut on Al's 12th studio album (3:52).


Video 2: Salma Hayek talks about her breasts on the David Letterman show, 6/25/2006 (1:42).



 swtd-198. polfi-22.  Previous. Next.

The Persecuted Vigilante Hero's Heroic Rescue. A 2nd Truthy Dramatization

Truth is mighty and will prevail. There is nothing the matter with this, except that it ain't so -- Mark Twain (11/30/1835 to 4/21/1910) born Samuel Langhorne Clemens, Twain was an American author and humorist. He is most noted for his novels, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876), and its sequel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1885). A quote from Mark Twain's Notebook (1935).

Note: This commentary is the second in a two part series chronicling the exploits of the killer George Zimmerman (read the first entry here). The narrative that follows consists of what I have decided to call "truthy drama". The story below is a blend of fact and fiction. The central fact here being that George Zimmerman's heroic car crash rescue appears to be a fraud...

Officer Pat Reh steered his police cruiser north up the 400 Florida State road, alert for speeders, accidents, or anything out of the ordinary. It was approximately 10 past 5 in the afternoon. "I'm not far from Sanford, the municipality where my pal George Zim killed that Black thug" the officer thought as he continued on at a moderate speed only slightly exceeding the legal limit.

Policeman Reh, a friend and supporter of George Zim, was among those within the force who thought George should have been invited to join their ranks. In his mind his pal's gunning down of the drugged up street punk was proof that George was the exact sort of fellow they needed to help bust heads and keep the streets safe for the Conservative residents of the Seminole County area.

That the Liberal media and the Obama administration had attempted to railroad his friend with false charges of murder made the LEO's stomach churn. Fortunately the five Whites on the jury saw the truth and didn't buy the narrative put forward by the prosecution. This was a textbook case of self-defense. That the one ni**er on the jury felt otherwise was evidence to him that the Black community was the true source of racism in this country.

But the law was upheld and a good man was set free, despite the efforts of the race hustlers and race pimps. Also despite the outcry from the entitlement-dependent Blacks who use race as an excuse to bitch and moan about being kept down by the man when their problems are entirely self-caused.

Hopefully this incident would serve as a wake up call for their community. Law-breaking and drug-using thugs who attack those who only seek to prevent their law-breaking could be blown away and their killings ruled justified henceforth. George's acquittal put them all on notice. The only downside was that his unfortunate buddy was now in fear of his life from the type of Liberal scum that seeks to keep Blacks down, dependent and on the dole for their own political benefit.

Just then a call came in over the cruiser's communication system. "An SUV has slipped off the road and overturned several miles ahead of you" the dispatcher informed him. "Emergency vehicles have been notified, but you can arrive on the scene first if you step on it". LEO Reh flipped on his siren and increased his speed, passing a vehicle ahead of him. "I'm on my way post haste" Reh informed the dispatcher.

"If a vehicle is overturned there may be a need for a hero to pull victims from the wreckage" PO Reh postulated. Taking out his cell phone Reh pressed the speed dial button for his buddy Zim. "George, get your butt to the offramp at SR 417 and SR 400, there's been an accident". "What the fu*ck do I care? I'm not a cop nor will I ever be" an annoyed sounding Zim replied. "This is your opportunity to rehabilitate your public image by playing the hero. I'll secure the scene and you can assist anyone who may need assisting".

"Great idea!" Zim agreed, suddenly feeling much better. A conservative group in Ohio had already raised 12k for him to buy guns and/or a security system. Who knows how much more he might be able to rake in if he got more of the country on his side. Nothing from the Blacks of course, but Conservative Whites were with him strongly. Certainly the "donations" would take off in response to him being labeled a hero. "Please send the GPS coordinates to my phone" Zim informed his cop friend. "I'm on my way".

Soon George was behind the wheel and speeding toward the scene of the accident, heading west from his home in Sanford to the intersection of the 417 and 400 Florida State roads. Arriving a short while later George easily spotted the overturned SUV. A fire had already erupted and the vehicle was ablaze. Jumping from his truck Zim grabbed a fire extinguisher. Running toward the vehicle George passed a number of frightened onlookers. "Look, it's the vindicated George Zim" one White woman whispered to her Republican husband. Quickly Zim approached the burning wreck and crouched down next to the driver's side window.

"Help me!" cried the driver. Then he recognized George and suddenly felt assured that the persecuted hero would save his family. "Thank the Lord" the man exclaimed. In no time George had pulled the man and his family from the inferno that otherwise would have consumed them. The driver's young daughter hugged Zim tight. "God bless you" the little girl said with tears in her eyes. Zim's cop friend approached. "Everyone saw what you did" the cop said, smiling. "Soon the world will know that George Zim is, in reality, a hero".

Suddenly the truck violently exploded, but everyone was a safe distance away. The onlookers (all who had been to afraid to act) cheered, clapped and hooted as Zim and the family he had just saved ducked under the police tape his friend had put up to keep back the crowd. An ambulance arrived and the husband, wife and children departed, but not before the misses gave Zim a big kiss on the cheek. "I owe you my life" the woman said, thanking him. A beautiful blonde who was standing among the onlookers caught Zim's eye, due to her big bazooms. Zim took a victory lap, high-fiving the still cheering crowd behind the police tape. Then he signed several autographs.

The blonde babe with the large rack motioned for Zim to come over to her. "I knew you were a hero" she whispered in his ear as she gave Zim's package a friendly tug. "Do you think your wife is into three ways?". "No, no" that part is definitely not believable" Officer Reh cautioned his friend. "We'll keep your concocted story up to the departure of the ambulance, and leave off everything else, including the part with the blonde and her big bazooms".

"So you got here only in time to pretend to help? Don't worry about it. I'll support your version of events... minus that last bit". "Of course" George agreed. "I simply got carried away". In reality George had arrived in time only to assist several others as the family was pulled from the SUV (which only caught fire later). After the driver was helped from the vehicle by another man George assisted him in walking away from the scene. The man was a little woozy and George steadied him by placing an arm around his waist.

"Thanks" the man said, relieved to see that others had gotten his family members out of the overturned SUV. That was when Zim's cop friend approached. "Amazing that you got here ahead of me, given that I was already on route when I called you" the LEO remarked. "No, I just happened to be driving by when I spotted the accident", George corrected officer Pat. "Yes, that is a much better lie" Pat agreed. "You're quite good at fabricating believable narratives that fit the events".

George was unsure what his friend was talking about. "I'm implying nothing" Pat remarked, noting the accusing look on George's face. "Whatever happened that night I know you did the right thing; as do many others. We are with you George. You only have to worry about the MSM and the Liberal dirtbags". "And the Black community" George added. "Yes" Pat agreed, "they love to play the victim and blame Whitey for all their problems".

"Now I'll file my report and note that you took the lead in rescuing these unfortunate victims. You should contact your lawyer and set up a press conference. That could go a long way toward rehabilitating your image". "Will do" Zim agreed, thankful that his buddy had the foresight to call him and allow him to pretend to be a hero. "Take this card, it has all the info regarding the family you saved (wink, wink) on it" Pat said, handing the aforementioned card to George.

Turns out his lawyer loved the idea. "That's what he does, so the idea that he would stop and offer aid to somebody in need in a car just makes sense" Zim's attorney Mark Mara gushed to a local CBS News affiliate. Mara contacted the family Zim had "saved" and attempted to convince them to attend a press conference in order to praise his client. "I'm uncomfortable with that" the man who had slipped off the road and flipped his SUV responded. "There is a lot of negative publicity involving Mr. Zim and I'd rather not get caught up in all that".

"But my client saved the lives of you and your family, it is the least you could do" Mara said, pressuring the man to participate in the media event. "OK" the man said reluctantly. "I'll be there". But after thinking it over the man wasn't so sure that Zim had been the one to pull him from the SUV, so he called back and cancelled. "I'm sorry George", a saddened Attorney Mara said to Zim over the phone, "the a-hole you rescued chickened out". "God d*mn f*cker!" George screamed after the call was disconnected. "Just when I thought I was going to get some positive media attention, this jackass refuses to play along".

"At least the White Conservative community is still with you. And they are out there plugging your heroics on the internet with great enthusiasm" Zim's wife Shellie said, attempting to sooth her enraged husband. Yes, there was that. This could still work to his advantage, provided no one got wise to the fact that the entire rescue was a fraud. Officer Reh assured Zim that nobody recorded the incident on their cell phones. "I walked the crowd and told them I could connect anyone with footage to a reporter that would pay handsomely, but there were no takers" Pat said to George at the time. "Don't worry, without any video footage nobody can dispute your version of events".

Zim hoped his LEO buddy was right, because if it ever got out that things didn't happen as per his fabricated narrative... well, he didn't want to think about that. His most fervent supports would never abandon him of course, as they would simply ignore any evidence that suggested his heroics were staged. But his chance to win others over would surely be blown. "Oh well" Zim decided. At least he was a free man.

For a time it looked like his bogus story about him shooting that Martin kid in self-defense wouldn't be bought by the jury. Not long, but for a short while. They asked a question about manslaughter and Zim's heart sank. Could he be convicted of the lesser charge? No, it turns out his momentary doubt was competently unnecessary. His lie-filled version of events was accepted and Zim was set free.

But how much fame (and the money that comes with it) would his notoriety bring him? That was still up in the air. Maybe another Conservative group would step forward and offer to pay to send him back to college so he could study to become a lawyer? He had to keep a positive attitude. He was, after all, a man who had literally gotten away with murder.



 swtd-186. polfi-21.  Previous. Next.

The Persecuted Vigilante Hero. A Truthy Dramatization

Thank God for the rain to wash the trash off the sidewalk -- Travis Bickle, a character played by Robert De Niro in the 1976 American vigilante film Taxi Driver.

Note: This commentary is comprised of what I have decided to call a "truthy dramatization". What follows is a blend of fact and fiction. In some sections more fiction than fact, but in others more fact than fiction. This is an alternate narrative to the one put forward by GZ. Why have we accepted his version of events as true (or even mostly true) when things could have gone down very differently?

George Zim cried himself to sleep one night some time less than 2 years ago. But this was not unusual, as George's thoughts often centered on the life he saw for himself if only others would cut him a break and give him a chance.

"What's wrong honey?" his wife asked, tired of her husband's near constant whining.

"I have been rejected again by the police force", George sobbed. This was a complaint Mrs. Zim had heard many times before.

"I thought you received an A in that college course in criminal justice? That, plus your dad is a retired judge. One would think those two facts alone would assure you a position in law enforcement" his wife pondered. She was confused as to why her husband couldn't achieve his dream.

"I know. None of it makes any sense", George agreed. Clearly his plan to become a LEO via nepotism and academic achievement was not panning out.

That is when he decided to prove his worth by joining the Neighborhood Watch of the Retreat at Twin Lakes, a gated community in Sanford FL where Zim and his wife resided. "With my help many arrests will be made and crime will be abolished in this community", George declared, envisioning the adulation he'd receive when he caught a Black youth breaking and entering.

There had been numerous reports of such activity lately and George was determined that he would be the one to put a stop to it. Then the Sanford PD would see what a valuable asset he could be. Surely then they would beg him to suit up and walk the beat.

George grabbed and holstered his gun, after loading it with hollow-points. "The feral Negroes are on notice" a determined George growled, quickly drawing his firearm. "Make my day", George said, speaking to a fictional Black thug while fingering the safety.

"That is so sexy", his wife Shellie purred.

Zim smiled. Then he frowned, realizing that so far he hadn't been able to foil any robberies. Despite his 46 calls to the police switchboard.

Shellie noticed her husband's frown and reminded him to dose up on his doctor prescribed Adderall and Temazepam.

"This will pull you out of your funk", Shellie commented, handing her husband the drugs. Zim swallowed the capsules, along with a big gulp of water.

George reholstered his weapon and donned his jacket, preparing to head out for the day. If his dad wasn't able to call in a favor to get him the LEO job he wanted, at least he was good for something. His dad WAS able to pull a few strings to get him a concealed carry permit. Otherwise he would have been rejected, due to his prior legal troubles. In 2005 George was arrested for resisting officer with violence after getting into a scuffle with cops who were questioning a friend for alleged underage drinking. Then in August 2005, Zim's former fiancé sought a restraining order against him because of domestic violence.

George had been mulling over the situation in his mind... and was growing ever more convinced that these minor incidents had something to do with why the police wouldn't agree to make him an officer. He had to face facts that his dream was dead. That revelation lead to a deep depression. Shellie wouldn't stand for it and demanded that he seek help from a licensed psychologist.

"I'm not crazy", George thought, rejecting his wife's suggestion. Instead he asked his doctor for something to help with his mood. That was when his doctor prescribed the aforementioned drugs. Drugs that could cause new or worsening mental or mood problems; including aggression, agitation, anxiety, delusions, depression, hallucinations and hostility.

His doctor, echoing his wife's sentiments, told him it was imperative that he be evaluated by a psychologist.

"Fu*k that", George said after taking the drugs for awhile and realizing they were helping him feel better. "I don't need a psychologist, I need to get proactive".

That is when he signed up for MMA classes at a local gym. "I'm going to buff myself up so that when I encounter a young Black thug I will be able to subdue him", George decided. "I gotta get in shape. Too much sitting has ruined my body. Too much abuse has gone on for too long. From now on there will be 50 pushups each morning, 50 pullups" George declared, quoting a line from the film Taxi Driver.

George smiled, imagining the fateful day when he intervened and stopped a B&E in progress. The mayor would probably give him an award for heroism. Then they'd come crawling to him with an offer to become a member of the fraternity sworn to "serve and protect". Unfortunately the plan wasn't working out so well. After a couple of sessions of intense training his instructor said he simply did not have a natural aptitude for fighting.

"Now what?" thought Zim. He hadn't considered purchasing a firearm before because he knew he'd fail a background check. But that problem was resolved with a little help from Robert Zim Senior the retired judge. Soon after George was granted a concealed carry permit he purchased a brand new Kel-Tec PF-9 9mm pistol. Carrying it with him everywhere he went took some of the sting out of being labeled a wuss by his MMA fighting instructor.

"This will show them that I'm not a wuss", Zim thought, feeling the weight of the weapon on his hip. Frequently George would stand in front of a full length mirror in his bedroom. For hours he would practice drawing the weapon. Pointing his PF-9 at his reflection George would shout "freeze ni**er!" It made him absolutely giddy daydreaming of the day he would make his first citizen's arrest.

But it would probably be better to just shoot the thug dead. The killing would be completely justified under Florida's Stand Your Ground law. Also, a situation in which George had to put down a street punk in order to save his own life would surely play to the sympathies of the public more than if he arrested someone who was later let go. That would be an incident that would pass almost without notice and be quickly forgotten.

No, that wouldn't do at all. In order to make himself into a hero his life had to be in danger. And the best way to assure that would be the story that was told would be to kill the suspect. Then he wouldn't be able to muck things up by telling "his side". It was then and there that George made up his mind. Technically it would be murder, but in reality George would be doing his community a service, just like Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver. Travis Bickle took out the trash and George would do the same. And, just like Travis, George would be hailed a hero, although George would embrace it (unlike the De Niro character).

George kissed his wife and went to work.

George and his Black friend had their own insurance office. "You're one of the good ones", George told Blackie, and indeed he was. He never would have gone into business with Blackie otherwise.

Blackie thought George was joking (playing a racist), seeing as George himself had a great grandfather who was Black, but George was dead serious. His dad taught him that Blacks can be some of the worst racists and well as thugs who think stealing is preferable to hard work.

There was a cousin who said George's family were racists who disliked blacks, but what this cousin didn't realize was that there are good Blacks and then there are bad Blacks.

That's why he mentored some at risk minority kids occasionally. George was part of the solution and not a part of the problem. A good person, in other words. The cousin lied about him being a racist, the same as she lied when she accused George of molesting her. Yes, what she claimed may have been partially true, but what kids aren't curious about their bodies and curious about sex? It was all largely innocent stuff (some fondling and some fingering) which the cousin blew way out of proportion.

False accusations from women and rejection by authority figures was something the unfortunate George had to deal with frequently. But he was determined to gain some respect, no matter what it took. Volunteering for the neighborhood watch would be his ticket to the life he wanted. This is why George spent his evenings waiting and watching. Frequently he called to report suspicious activity, but so far nothing he could act on.

On the evening of Sunday 2/26/2012 George was driving his truck through the neighborhood, returning home from a personal errand. It was a few minutes to 7 in the evening and raining lightly when Zim spotted a suspicious hoodie-wearing figure walking slowly and peering in windows. George pulled over and took out his cell phone, his finger hovering over the speed dial button for the SPD. Would tonight be the night?

Yes, Zim decided, suddenly feeling both anxious and agitated... this character was definitely peeping in widows, probably interested if anyone was home. The guy was looking for an apartment he could burglarize, in other words. George watched for a few seconds longer before he pushed the speed dial button. On the phone with the Sanford PD George told the operator he saw a real suspicious guy just walking around looking about and that this guy looks like he is up to no good or he is on drugs or something.

The dispatcher asked him a question concerning the suspect's race. "He looks Black", George answered.

The suspect noticed George starring at him and began to walk in his direction. The suspect circled his vehicle, and George got a good look at him before he walked away. George confirmed to the dispatcher that the suspect was a Black male (BM) in his late teens.

"These a**holes, they always get away", George remarked to the dispatcher. George was determined that this time the Black thug wouldn't get away.

Trayvon, the BM in question, was speaking with his friend Rachel via a bluetooth earpiece. "Why this Cracker looking at me?" Trayvon wondered out loud as his friend listened.

"Maybe he a rapist?" Rachel replied.

Who knows? But Trayvon didn't want to find out, so he ran away. Now, Trayvon didn't want the Cracker to follow him home (and know where he lived), so he hid. A few minutes went by and Trayvon decided to take a look and see if the Cracker was still there.

"The back entrance", George answered when the dispatcher asked where the BM was running. "Fu*kin coons", George, who was experiencing feelings of aggression and hostility toward the fleeing suspect, muttered.

Then the dispatcher asked are you following him? and George replied yes.

He had gotten out of his truck to see where the BM had gone and was jogging in the direction he thought he went. The dispatcher told him not to, but George had no intention of listening to that direction. He said OK, but followed anyway. But George couldn't find him so he decided to return to his vehicle to wait for the police, crestfallen.

But this was just too good of an opportunity to let it pass by, so George decided to walk a little further.

"I need to find this fu*ker before the cops arrive", Zim thought. Suddenly Zim spotted the suspect, Trayvon. He rounded a corner and almost ran into him. The near collision dislodged the bluetooth from Trayvon's ear.

"Get off, get off!" Trayvon exclaimed in reaction to George's close proximity. Stepping back, a surprised and frightened Trayvon asked, "why you following me?"

In a gesture intended to intimidate the suspect, George placed his hand on his weapon and demanded, "What are you doing here boy?"

Trayvon's bluetooth earpiece fell to the ground. Trayvon saw George's gun and knew then he was in serious danger.

"You're going to die tonight ni**er", George said, making a move to unholster his firearm.

Before he could draw his gun a desperate Trayvon stepped in and made a grab for it, while also screaming for help. "Don't kill me! I'm begging you!" Trayvon cried.

George backed away and pulled out his weapon, but tripped over his feet and fell down. Luckily he didn't drop his gun, so he raised it to fire. Trayvon jumped on him in a desperate attempt to grab the weapon and they tussled on the grass for awhile.

Still screaming, desperate for someone to come help him, Trayvon continued to try to get the gun away from George. During the struggle George scrapped his head on the concrete sidewalk.

A neighbor named Good came out to investigate the screaming (of Trayvon) and saw the scuffle.

By this time it was getting dark out. George pulled his arms from Trayvon's grasp. In response Trayvon feverishly punched at George, still trying to disarm him, but George got off a shot.

The hollow point bullet pierced Trayvon's heart and the screaming stopped. Trayvon was dead (or would be in mere seconds).

The force of the shot caused the gun to recoil, hitting George in the face and breaking his nose.

"Fu*kin ni**er", George sputtered, pushing Trayvon's body off him.

A neighbor appeared with a flashlight.

"Help me restrain him", Zim said calmly, straddling the body.

But Trayvon was clearly dead. Zim knew that, of course, but asking the neighbor to help restrain the BM was the only thing he could think to say to convince the neighbor that he was an authority figure who had just subdued a criminal.

An officer named Smith arrived at the scene at 7:17 PM, approximately one minute after George shot and killed his suspect.

George raised his arms and surrendered. A second and then a third officer showed up and CPR was attempted.

Trayvon was declared dead at 7:30 PM. Officer Smith placed George in the back of his police vehicle.

"I was yelling for someone to help me, but no one would help me", George lied, a little worried that a neighbor might identify the person screaming (correctly) as Trayvon.

Confident that the shooting would be deemed legal under Stand Your Ground, Zimmerman cooperated completely with law enforcement and didn't lawyer up. That would make him look guilty.

After five hours of questioning the police released George. The initial report noted that a White male later identified as George Zimmerman shot an African American teen in self defense.

George said he stood his ground, so the cops didn't bother doing a decent job collecting evidence and sent George home. A White guy named Zimmerman shot a suspicious Black thug, so they really had no choice. There was little doubt that it was an open and shut case, which is why they didn't drug test George, even though it is standard procedure.

Zim was subjected to a voice stress analysis (not the same as a lie detector test) and passed it.

Because the psychopathic Zim essentially believed the story he told authorities. At this point he still assumed that Trayvon was a Black thug who was up to no good. The BM was looking for an apartment to break into when George stopped him.

Yes, he planned on killing him far in advance of the event. Not him specifically, but the next Black thug he encountered. But the BM got what was coming to him, of that George was 100 percent convinced.

During a subsequent interview a Detective Serino attempted to bluff George by telling him that Trayvon's phone caught the entire incident on video.

George knew it is a common police tactic to claim video evidence exists in hopes of getting a confession. George knew better, so he said "Thank God, I was hoping someone would videotape it".

He knew the detective was lying, so he lied right back to him... and it worked! The cops bought his story and told him to go home. It was just that easy to get away with murder.

Later George returned to the scene and walked the cops though his version of events. "I thought my head would explode", George (greatly) exaggerated when he related his fabricated narrative of Trayvon slamming his head against the sidewalk.

"After I discharged my weapon the suspect said you got me. I assumed my shot missed and that he was surrendering. I flipped him onto his stomach... all the while he was mumbling. Then I spread his arms out to disarm him. I was looking for the weapon he had been hitting me with", George lied.

The victim was talking after being shot through the heart?? Unbelievably the officer didn't call BS on George's obvious and absurd tall tale.

George was grateful that the area he lived in was largely Conservative and Republican. A White male (as he described himself to the cops) who put down a berserk dope-crazed thug deserved the White privilege they extended to him.

A month and a half went by before public pressure from the African American community finally forced the DA to bring charges, but George wasn't too worried. Instead he made the most of it and went on the Sean Hannity program. He was finally getting the recognition he had always craved.

Conservatives across the country lapped up the Zim baloney and declared that he was a persecuted hero as well as a celebrity. A Black drug-using thug got what was coming to him. Clearly George had no choice. Zim and family set up a website to collect donations in order to fund his defense and tens of thousands of dollars flooded in. But George's wife dishonestly told the judge they were indigent. Zim's gullible wife Shellie was arrested for perjury when she was caught speaking in code with George about how much money they had in their bank account. George's bail was revoked. But it was only a minor setback.

George was also caught handing over a passport that he had previously reported as stolen so he could get a new one. Turns out he just misplaced it. But Zim figured he could use the second one to flee the country. The judge simply asked for both passports and ignored George's deception.

Another indication that the Governor-Jeb-Bush-appointed judge was on Zim's side was when she sent the jury to their deliberation with instructions that said self-defense meant Zimmerman was entitled to stand his ground with no duty to retreat. So Zim's legal team said their defense had nothing to do with Stand Your Ground, but the judge told the jury to decide the case based on it. That George provoked the incident by stalking an unarmed Trayvon did not matter. Seeing as Trayvon was dead, George's version of events essentially were accepted as the truth.

The jury of six women (five of whom were White) decided there was reasonable doubt and that George's truth was in fact what actually happened... and they declared him not guilty.

Conservatives across the nation cheered and predicted mass rioting egged on by race baiters and race hustlers. People who are actually civil rights crusaders speaking out for their community. White privilege benefited George as he had gambled it would. George smiled broadly when the verdict was read. Maybe he would go back to college and become a lawyer so he could help other "wrongly" accused people like himself?

Perhaps he would roam the countryside performing acts of heroism like pulling a family of four out of an overturned vehicle? Who knows? But Zim was confident that he could use his new found fame to separate a lot of gullible Conservatives from their money. Heck, one Conservative group had already offered to buy him a new gun!



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