In the beginning... There I was....

  It was one of my earliest memories. Right after the 1st torture session. The one where the man, then ONLY known to me as "My Cousin" was taunting me. I was standing about knee high to the man as he taunted me. He asked me a question. What was my dream life like & demanded of me that I describe my "dreams" to him.

  If I recall correctly at the time of this writing I shrugged & said something like unto. "Same old same old".

  My Cousin giggled at me & basically said. "Let me describe them to you". He said I'd been killing people. Usually with a straight razor hadn't I? Though I'd carved up several people.

  I confirmed it in a ho hum way. So what? People tell me I talk in my sleep & he probably listened in.

  My Cousin giggled & told me it wasn't so. You see I'd learned to walk & talk within a few weeks of birth. My parents weren't very interested in me, in fact my entire family wasn't interested in me one bit. They had lives & they didn't include space for myself. Welllllllll My Mother (Honor honor honor) & My Dad (Honor honor honor) were loyal members of his devil-worshiping cult & they couldn't wait to get away from me & left me with anyone who'd take me for as long as they'd take me. Junkies, perverts, child-torturing madmen, psychos, they'd all had their turn inflicting pain on me & getting whatsoever gratification they desired from me.

  So?

  Well My Mother had  left me with some junkies & in a manner that would become "normal" in my life if they were shooting up drugs, heroin & other creative chemicals, it was fun to shoot the baby up with them & see what they could get me to do.

  My Cousin bragged that it seemed like they could get me to do a lot. Which they thought was weird. You see reader, I was already a Christian, & I went by the name "The Good Kid". I was a full-time soul-winner. I refused to do any evil or illegal acts. But when doped up I could be talked into doing... anything. Unusual. When I asked he said just about every toddler has a line they wont cross, even on their drugs. He basically said the only thing we can figure is that since you were only a few weeks old you haven't built up a core consciousness, & I was the most pliable kid on their drugs they'd ever seen.

  He said at 1st the junkies just had me doing all sorts of insane, silly, & humiliating acts at parties & soon I was a party fav. Everybody's shooting up? Gotta inject the baby too & see what we can get him to do? He bragged... it was a lot.

  At 1st it started innocently he reported. "Go stab him with this pencil. Go grab that. Go do this. Go do that... sinister act.

  The junkies stabbed each other & their enemies mundanely enough for a time & got me to wreck things. Then it occurred to them why not get the baby to do these things to their enemies. A month old baby? Who would hold them accountable?

  Soooo... While I stood in my Mother's Parent's living room he said they took me places. Doped me up, & had me stab & slice their enemies. Bring the baby in a carrier & have HIM steal things & if caught just whip out a punishment on the kid you've been torturing to placate the given crime victim. Soon I was stabbing people, cutting throats, stealing expensive jewelry from high-end dealers & all it cost was a baby-portion of drugs.

  My Cousin bragged... "People died. Don't you remember"? He boasted their drug causes a "dream-like state" where victims think they are dreaming. It was the 1st time I heard of "the date rape drug" & he bragged that with liberal baby-sized high dosages of said drug I would recall little of what happened.

  Yeah... I remembered. If you could call intermittent memories of pain, torture, & humiliation remembering.

  Wellllllll... in the weeks to come more people were involved & the crooks grew more & more brazen & the scam grew more & more elaborate. Soon lots of people were involved & a whole bunch of people knew about the goings on. I was hot stuff & everyone wanted the walking & talking baby to torture & to get to stab & steal things for them. "Don't you remember"?

  Yeah, I recalled.

  The weird thing was I was a strong soul-winning Christian off the drugs. All the more to amuse the devil-worshipping gang who delighted in tormenting the "little goodie goodie".

  Wellllllll... a plan killing, stabbing, & stealing that includes too many people was bound to come to the attention of the gang's leaders who were appalled at the number of people involved in a very large murderous criminal conspiracy. So The Bosses decided damage control was needed. He boasted that while I was sent to "The Resort" he claimed was on Isle Royal (I wrote about it here in my heavily edited by the gang website & in my 1,500 page letter to the F.B.I. where some dies every few pages) to endure a lengthy torture (to help facilitate many of the gangs "other ongoing blackmails" where the gang's many victims were encouraged to beat & slap me under the guise of getting even with my family for recruiting them... on film) they'd killed the junkies. A disappearance here, a car wreck where several died there, & an accidental death or 2 until they whittled them down to victims they thought they could trust.

  My Cousin promised me that the few conspirators who were left that the Bosses thought they could trust would oversee me torture as a punishment against them & in a small part against me. Being that I was a Christian & would obey no reasonable devil-worshiping commands to do this, that, or the other thing unless I was doped stupid.

  What's my opinion? The author of this website's opinion is that since I have never worked for or with mid-Michigan law enforcement I don't believe every word that comes out of a child-molester's mouth. That & I believe them even less whenever a mid-Michigan... cop uses the words "Reliable Informant" when describing said child-molesters or the white knights of their imaginations who they say are not child-molesters... but merely friend of a friend of the people they are informing on.

  It would be years later that My Cousin (Twice in the years to come they claimed his name was John) bragged THAT was why I was locked in my crib for all those years at his command. At one point the criminal conspiracy to commit had become open public knowledge. Thus I was kept locked away & hidden from the world until I was 4.

  The facts? THe only fact I can reliably confirm is I endured much pain at the hands of the gang. A thing every... cop I ever met scolded me that no child-molester anywhere would do to a child. "I know for a fact that child-molesters love children & would never do anything to hurt a child". In my opinion it is a commonly used... cop saying that is very wrong.

​

​

  In the beginning... Growing up Molester...

  I woke up at My Mother's Parents... again. "My Cousin" would tell me that he ordered me drugged whenever I left my cell, "My Crib" they called it, lest at any time I should learn about the world outside. It also explained why the curtains were also closed wherever they chose to wake me.

  The house was full of maybe a dozen or so people in the kitchen & almost as many in the living room & teens. The house wasn't that big, it was packed. The people, some I knew as they told me they were My Mother, Dad (extremely unusual for him to be at his in-law's place) were the sum of my Mother's siblings, My Cousin,his Lt (the man soon to have a cut hand), whosoever were the friends of My Mother's Siblings (they wouldn't be around long & would never be replaced to the best of my knowledge), assorted "regulars" whom I would never know but would recognize as time went on. Chronic drunks nearly all & by the conversations drugs flowed like water among the assorted guests who were men, women, teens, & children whom I'd meet once & never see again (though a few lasted up to a week, a few).

  Me? I was optimistic. It was a chance to get out of my cell, a room that never changed & where I was pounded on for my every accidental noise. Be it vocalizing, or even dropping a toy through the bars to my cell. I was fed by bottle regularly, everything was an occasion for violence. My every feeding was violent, a condescending whirlwind of insults & assaults. Visitors came in, always different. Always violent. Always. Every time. Always. Always always.

   My world was a violent place seemingly designed solely to drive me mad... today was no exception...

  It's among my earliest memory, the people around me were giants & there was no one not bigger than I. I was lifted up & set standing in the living room by My Mother (honor honor honor) who told me not to follow her & left me in the midst of the crowd & went into the kitchen.

  The violence began the moment she was out of sight. The combined attendants of the room pounding on me, passing me between them, & hitting & insulting me all the more. At 1st mindless in nature. Just assorted pain & the pure glee that came with inflicting pain on a baby. Laugh laugh laugh...

  As time went on they became more cruel. I was quizzed. My Cousin told everyone I was a genius who knew everything. My extended family agreed with him. Thus, by logical deduction if I was asked a question & didn't know the answer I was guilty of lying. Period! Thus... I was quizzed.

  Let me tell what is probably the most unbelievable part of my story. I estimate I was but a few weeks old... & I didn't know everything. Not by a long shot. Sure, I could talk. At their level. I had the vocabulary, but not the knowledge to answer the questions put forth. Thus pain came in buckets. Then as I was instructed in whirlwind fashion occasionally I'd forget something they just taught me or simply explain it wrong or such. The pain was particularly bad here as NOW they knew I was lying. I'd just been instructed in the full room. My Mother & her siblings filtered in & out & the guests changed & the pain never ended.

  Pain! Pain. Pain...

  Laugh! Laugh. Laugh...

  Hours passed & now My Mother took over the pain fest while the room gleefully drank, drugged, & laughed at my expense. She began to quiz me as to my philosophy. Strange I thought? Why? Hadn't she taught me it?

  I explained I was a christian. I worshiped God. Quoted some bible, some.

  She began to demand of me complex philosophical questions & asking me how a christian might solve them?

  So I answered as best I could.

  No matter what I said I was wrong to her or she was displeased at my answer. That's in between the often occasions where my answer was forced to be "I don't know"? How could I if no one had taught me?

  Pain! Pain. Pain...

  Laugh! Laugh. Laugh...

  At the height of it, during a laugh fest My Mother was summoned to the kitchen leaving me standing alone in the party. The party-goers ignored me for once & for the 1st time since I arrived I had a chance to ponder the world before me as I took it all in.

  Some danced in disjointed, convoluted dances of the inebriated, others stood & partied. Drinking & drugs were the theme & the booze flowed & pills of all colors & types abounded. People shared white powder that I could only assume was sugar & I wondered why anyone would want to snort it through the nose? They told me it was a drug, to feel good, to get high. Others produced syringes & openly bought & sold their medical product between them. I recall them over & over saying. "Don't shoot up in front of the baby". They took great care to create a living wall to obscure what they did with their syringes or just left the room when it was mentioned, returning in minutes.

  I recall "My Cousin" at 1st telling people to not shoot up in front of me & then threatening them to not inject drugs in front of me. I also recall 1 guy setting up shop, beginning to cook up & prepare a syringe. My Cousin, cheerleader of the painfest my life had become ordered his guys to take him out back & beat him up as a demonstration he was to be obeyed or else. I never saw that man again.

  What could I do but stand there in My Mother's Parent's livingroom? So I stood there in the center of the room pondering the goings on around me while simultaneously avoiding the crowd. Any of which would attack me if they peceived me next to them.

  I wondered to myself. "That is their line in the sand? The ethical line they wouldn't cross? They just tortured a baby for hours & injecting drugs in front of that baby (me) was their ethical & social limit"? Yeah, I thought & talked like that as a baby. Deal with it oh ye skeptic readers.

  "Who are these people"?

  As I watched the festival around me, pondered the pain & madness I was enduring full-time I wondered to myself. "Who are these people? How did I learn to talk? They told me they were the ones who taught me to talk but"???

  I pondered how other than today how My Cousin would shout, yes shout. "TEACH HIM NOTHING"! "I DON'T WANT HIM LEARNING ANYTHING"! And he meant it. I was never at any time to receive any instruction of any sort whatsoever ever under threat of extreme punishment. PERIOD! But not today... in a sick sadistic way.

  I wondered. "Who are these people who only days ago I greeted as strangers, not knowing a single one? As I listened into the filth of their speech & it's low-brow nature I wondered? These are the people who taught me to talk? These are the people who taught me to be a christian? How is this even possible?

  How was any of this possible? Looking back on it I was engaging the adults in adult level conversation & discussing full-blown top end philosophy questions & answering to adult situations. But I couldn't count to 3. Much to the room's delight. I learned little things there, stupid things mostly, I recall almost none of it.

  How was this possible? How was any of it possible? How did I come to know these things? How?

  How? How'd I learn this stuff? How'd I know these things? Who instructed me so that I was called "The Good Kid" even then when in their midst, a nickname that yielded much pain to me over the years. How? Who taught me this stuff? Why did they teach me this stuff? Surely I had not been philosophically equipped to live with these people? But how do I explain this?

  How?

  Sadly... if the people involved swore an answer to me while resting their combined hands on a stack of bibles 10 miles high I fear I would not believe their answer. And if you're an outsider reading this I recommend neither should you.

  How?

​

THE 1 YEAR BEATDOWN... Yeah... they would. “The crueler we treat you is only more proof that you're a scumbag to the cops”. Growing up Molester.

 

  In the beginning... There I was. Age 1. In solitary confinement in my cell. Oh, it had a nice name & all. People called it “The Crib”. I was 1 year old, or so they told me. It was a boring world, to me that is. I ate and slept in my crib inter-spaced with occasional exits that almost allays ended in pain.

“My Cousin” had a theory on all the pain that was inflicted upon me. “I ordered it”. It was his usual plan, Plan A, the plan that allays works in mid-Michigan Always. He explained he was a professional child-molester. He molested children, mentally, physically, & sexually for fun and profit. That and that Plan A, the plan that leaves all mid-Michigan.. cops either bewildered or loving him, his plan was that the cruel, meaner, and sicker he treated his victims, the more he was insured by the act to get away with it. He explained it like this between torture sessions. Once a given child admits they were tortured by the gang it made it easy to outright dismiss their accusations. “Most cops actually believe that child-molesters like children and that they'd never hurt them”. Thus the crueler he was, the more your average... cop would ignore his victims because no child-molester would hurt a child. EVER!

Cops explained it to me like this. Child-molesters would never hurt a child. IT'S UNETHICAL”! That and those sick but misguided pervs love kids. They'd never intentionally hurt one. Even if they were looking at 20+ years in prison.

My Cousin went on. Torturing kids made it easy to get the rest of the... cops to side with him. Here's the logic. Let's say a given tortured child goes to the... cops and complains about the pain. Well, then My Cousin and his gang admit that maybe things got a little out of hand... but... the child was being punished and is whining about their just punishment because of the horrible... horrible accusation they are about to make up. Usually it's (… cops feel free to look up the word “usually” here) such and such child is crazy and on drugs (got into Granny's medicine again. We don't want a child to overdose do we Officer? Besides... the stuff my victim did before and during being drugged were horrible. You can ignore him/her because the toddler is on drugs”.

Making up stories about a 1 year old? There's not a single Mid-Michigan... cop out there that'd believe a single child-molester would do it. Again... “Because it's unethical”! And... “Because child-molesters like children. Cruelty is impossible to a group of people who like children. EVEN if they're looking at decades in prison if caught”.

According to my bragging “cousin” the more a victim protests their innocence the more... cops think they're guilty “Because drugs are involved”. Thus empowering the Molestor's most potent statement against their victims (Avert your eyes now ye virgin-eyed Mid-Michigan... cop readers. AVERT!!!! Hey, I tried to warn you and assume no responsibility for any psychological harm inflicted by reading this tale), Their number one sentence against victims? I'll say, now that injury to Mid-Michigan... cops is unlikely... “You can ignore him/her because he's/she's on drugs”.

Works almost every time I'm told. Personally, I've seen it work and if a gang drugs victims often the sentence makes for a great cover. That, and films of the victim drugged and interacting with their torturer's and rapists on film. Like this...

 

(Pssst. Readers, don't tell this to Mid-Michigan... cops. You could cause irreparable psychological harm to them. My concern is not for victims of the gang here. It's not about the victims... it's about possibly mentally traumatized... cops. We cant have that. With "their" investigation skills they'll probably never notice if you don't tell'em).

 

Sooo... My Cousin had bragged about the week before. Ya know... “See that bump behind your ear”? “I took you to the party dressed as a girl”.

 

Sooo... sitting in The Crib.... at age one I sifted through recent events... and I remembered...

I was at some house (actually, My Mother (Honor honor honor) had taken me there only recently. She told me it was a friend of hers. I don't recall it being all tortured and such so in all probability... they were “not cruel”. About the best I could hope for back then), white, 2 story, surrounded by children & adults, and doped out of my mind at what was my 1st party I'd suppose. There was a camera team, 2 people and they filmed me exclusively. Following me from room to room and averting the camera often (but not allays) while party-goers beat me.

People, adults and kids walked up and one by asked me. “Why are you dressed like a girl”?

At 1st the subject mystified me and I denied it. “I'm not dressed like a girl”. So they pounded on me. Slaps and punches mostly

So I retreated to another room. Either they followed me or the occupants of the next room asked me. “Why are you dressed like a girl”? When I denied it they proved it by pointing out the dress and leotards & make-up & such. When I took them off the adults pounded on me and had pretty teen girls violently put them back on in another room.

“Why are you dressed like a girl”?

“Because they beat me up and put these clothes on me”.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

I retreat to to the next room....

“Why are you dressed like a girl”?

“Because they beat me up and put these clothes on me”.

PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH!

I retreat to to the next room....

“Why are you dressed like a girl”?

“Because they beat me up and put these clothes on me”.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

I retreat to to the next room....

Rinse, lather, repeat. They did this a long... long time to one-year old me.

They coached me... subtly It came to this... if I said I wanted to be a little girl... they beat me less. They filmed it all and we did this over & over & over & over &...

They even raped me with a German Shepard over and over. Dry humping really. At first. Beating me as I tried to push the dog off of me. It became a real test of wills actually. At 1st they simply tied me over a box, butt up and had the dog rape me. Then they untied me and left the skirt on me, bullied me into position by the box making sure to stand off camera, and tried to have the dog rape me. I resisted so the dog bit me and scratched my abdomen up badly. Prompting the gang to put a shirt on me so as to continue filming.

Sooo... to recap. They bullied me into position next to the box by punching and slapping me. Pounding on me in a darkened film studio room in the white house. The room was very spacious and a toilet and sink sat off to one side. The room was otherwise void of any furnishings. Then, once the dog got leverage behind me they let me go while it pinned me against the box scratching me and occasionally nipping at me. I fought back. It bit me. Not very hard, but it hurt. I changed tactics. I turned around and tried to push the dog down. It bit my face and that bled. Filming was suspended while they tended my wounds and threatened me with more pain. Counseling me to just let it happen.

I refused.

They whined about how my face wound might cause filming to stop. In the end they chose to cake make-up on me... violently (because I wouldn't let them) and resume filming.

They began again. This time leashing the dog & holding it just so so it couldn't reach my face.For the most part.

Me? I changed it up. I tried punching the dog off of me but the best I could do was get it to whine and retreat no matter where I punched it. So I changed it up. Now I turned and tried to knock the dog off it's feet. So it bit me. So I changed it up again. I spun around as the dog mounted me and blocked it's mouth with my forearm and tried pushing it over. Ahhh... no good. So I tried it again, this time I tripped the dog's front legs and pushed it down while applying my forearm to the side of it's mouth so it couldn't bite me.

Sooo... they started again. At the “moment of penetration”... you know... that part of the rape. That dog was going to town on me & I felt penetration was imminent so I spun around (getting very scratched up) slapped the side of his face with my forearm, tripped his front legs, slammed him to the ground, again, & poked the dog's eye out! Scooped it out might be a better description?

WOW! Were they mad! Everyone. They slapped & berated me for poking his eye out. Afterwards even threatening to let the dog kill me as revenge between threats to poke out my eye.

I was 1 year old. Nearly two by my estimation.

One of the men hauled off and belted me in the face sending me flying! POW! The whole side of my face swelled & I bled everywhere. When I refused to let them treat my wound they brought in a mirror so I could treat my self. The only thing about it that was weird to me was seeing my reflection. I'd only seen my reflection a few times as a tiny, tiny baby. Now I was huge by comparison and not the sack of potatoes lump of a baby mere months old like the last time I'd seen my reflection and looked at the mirror wondering. “Is that me? Is that what I look like? Is that what my face looks like when it's swollen? I have nothing to compare it to”?

They drugged me with a needle. Moments passed... or so I thought at that time. In seconds everyone was dressed differently. The dog's socket was empty, but healed. And My Cousin was there with a few of his jocks. He giggled and asked me how long ago I figured I'd poked out the dog's eye. When I said a few minutes he laughed at me and told me I'd been drugged now for a week and taken all over the state and raped as revenge for what I'd done to a gang Icon... the dog. A much beloved and well-trained animal of the gang. He submitted as proof that they were all dressed differently than before and that my face's swelling had finally disappeared.

Sooo... My Cousin told me he was going to oversee my rape film personally. To make sure it was done right. He was going to rape me with the dog and simply film it from the other side when compared to last time because of the dog's missing eye. To that end he claimed he'd brought a special camera lens that'd flip the image of the rape over. In case I told... cops later that I'd poked out the dog's left eye. He'd do 2 films and later decide which film was better.

Now... he wanted to address the wound to my face. He told me it was wrong for the man to hit me like that. So as revenge he would be forced to pose and I could hit him in the face.

I initially refused but when they insinuated a threat I agreed. While he stood there, bent over I pondered how I might hit him? I was a baby. A toddler and by now had been in tons of fights and knew my blows were not very damaging. Still... I'd been taught that a knuckle-punch would hurt more. So I chose to do that, to his lips, reared back and let him have it. POP!

He reeled back! Bleeding from the lip which began to swell! I was amazed! So was everyone there.

My Cousin and the gang laughed and settled bets. It seems that in situations like that they like to bet on how most kids react and allmost none ever choose to hit their attacker back at my age. And those who did never did any real damage. Sooo... as revenge he was going to hand me over to the guy for some more rape and torture... on film... but until his face healed his film career was suspended. No cash for him. WOW! Was that guy angry and promised me much pain when I was delivered to him.

So they drugged me and promised to film me. Fade to black...

My Mother (Honor honor honor) later brought me to the house one more time for a backyard cookout kinda party. Children of all ages surrounded me and took turns pounding on me. Goading me to fight back.

My Cousin asked why I didn't poke their eyes out? So I told him I'd been told if a dog attacks you it's legal to poke it's eye out or even kill it. It's not legal to do the same thing to children.

He seemed disapointed and told me the cost of hiring camera teams and children to beat me would be exacted from me by revenge later.

He said that he'd ordered the gang's beloved and well-trained dog killed by the family. Just in case I somehow got a cop to listen to me and figured out where the dog was. Now the family and their gang buddies hated me and were eager to inflict great amounts of pain on me as revenge. He asked me. “Did you notice how skinny and small that German Shepard was in comparison to other German Shepards”?

I told him I'd seen them only on TV and had nothing to compare the dog to.

He said the scrawny small German Shepard was a perfect rape dog to use. Mostly because little kids had a slight chance of fighting back against it and... cops would laugh when a toddler told them they'd managed to fend off a German Shepard. Even if only for a moment. He bragged their rape plan always works on babies like me. Why not me too? Why'd I choose to fight the dog and not just let it rape me?

I told him since I was in pain anyway there was no incentive to obey the gang's orders to reduce the pain by consenting. So I fought.

My Cousin bragged the edited footage showing a girl-clothed me poking out a dog's eye made for a great film to show animal lover's proof that I was the scumbag in the room. Especially other child-molesters like himself who'd be shown the unedited version of the film and would be all too glad to torture me based on what I'd done to the beloved animal.

Laughing at his success My Cousin added. “Since you were so scratched up around the waist the camera guy only filmed you from the chest up and the edited film looks like the dog just rubbed up on you and you turned around and poked it's eye out”.

My Cousin asked me if I recalled when I 1st got to the cookout how a few of the children had invited me behind the house to a field with long grass trees to play? He claimed the dog was buried there and if I went to the cops the film of me playing over his body added to the film of me poking the dog's eye out would be all it would take to convince... cops I was the scumbag in the room, not them.

Good news? Yeah... he said he had some. It seems that guy with the fat lip whined and whined & bragged about the horrors he planned to inflict on me so much he ticked My Cousin off because in his opinion the actor made him look bad in front of the other visiting bosses because he boasted too much about how much of a man he was because of the horrors he planned to inflict on a baby as revenge when he should've blocked or dodged me in the 1st place (a few rude comments from the other Bosses was all it took he said). So he fired him from his film tour (going from city to city having sex with babies on film) and told him he was not going to get me for a revenge session and even smacked him up for making the gang look bad and for letting a baby wound him so in front of high ranking molesters.

 

Ya know... if it was just me, that'd be one thing. But imagine a child-destroying army... the children and the children's children of the above... “people” and picture how they probably treat little kids today? Do you suppose they treat them the same? Better? Or do they treat them even worse? How many 1 year old BABIES do you suppose they did this to? How many more do you suppose they plan to do it to if you fail to deliver me from them?

Did you see that loyal readers? I just doomed myself in the eyes of Mid-Michigan... cops by being stupid enough to repeat any of what the gang did to me just like “My Cousin” said.

I was one year old.

  My Cousin teased me. "You know I still have all those films of you calling yourself Moses don't you"? His "ace in the hole against me" a product of their drugs & films on a... baby.

  I replied. "Yeah. Because that doesn't prove you messed with my head at all".

  I'd never seen My Cousin at a loss for words. He looked like he wanted to hit me, roughly put his cap back on & left me standing there.

Whatever...

 

It is possible Mid-Michigan... cops read the above and are traumatized. I don't apologize for the mental trauma I caused them just now but only because I warned the delicate... cops of Mid-Michigan to not read the above. As a public service to them I offer this advice...

 

QUICKLY Mid-Michigan... cops! Picture pink bunnies frolicking in a peaceful meadow. A doe smiles and joins them with her fawn and they all hop and prance while birds circle and chirp a happy tune.

Ahhh... You'll be fine Mid-Michigan... cops. Seek professional help for your trauma... the above exercise should tide you over until you can get professional help. Just keep repeating the exercise until you either feel better or you have received the 'professional help' that I suspect most Mid-Michigan... cops need. Don't say I never gave you anything.

 

Yeah... I went to the... cops. Told the next Bay County... cop I met what happened. When I got to the part about the dog's eye he stopped me and went on a rant! He threatened me with violence. He... threatened... me... a baby... with illegal... violence... he threatened to hurt me... badly... He... threatened... me...

What? You think no Bay City... cop would threaten a child? Here's the film evidence below to prove they would... in my humble opinion. I am lead to believe that the below poster was put on public display by or for the Bay City... cops and in my opinion was meant to target and intimidate the law-abiding residents of Bay County and the Saginaw Valley of all ages.

I'm sure they have some sobbing kinda weepy lame excuse that they didn't mean to intimidate children... much.