Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Fake Roadblocks in Chicago

A while ago we shared a video that shows a sketchy road block. The driver drove past it and escaped unharmed. We asked if you thought it might have been a trap. Then today, we see this in Chicago. People setting up fake roadblocks and then beating/robbing people. Criminals keep getting more creative. We've all got to keep up. Watch your back, folks.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Oh, Stalkers; What Fun You Are

This happened to my cousin. A guy at her highschool who was a socially inept introvert began following her around between classes in second year. In her third year she realized that he was in all of the same classes as her. Turns out that he found a copy of her preferred class schedule and copied it to a tee.
Not long after she started receiving creepy love letters in her locker. She amassed a good two dozen letters before she took it to the principals office out of concern. The letters had become increasingly more creepy. The words love and "watching you" had been used.
She had a decent idea of who it was and the principal contacted his parents and took him for some counselling. The letters stopped.
Two months go by and my cousin and the rest of her immediate family are coming home from a family dinner. Her older sister goes straight up to her room to change. She opens the closet and curled up in a ball in the corner is the stalker, crying and shaking.
No doubt my cousin flips the fuck out screaming bloody murder and my uncle rushes up. They knew who the kid was and although they were extremely mad they didn't get physical or anything. They called the police who came and took him away. They had a restraining order put on him and had him moved to another school. They didn't press charges because he was mentally unstable.
The creepiest part about the whole situation is that the whole family had been hearing noises in the house for months. The older brother of the family (whose room was in the basement) had heard the faint sound of doors opening and closing several times. And my cousin who he was stalking had noticed some of her personal belongings had gone missing, primarily underwear. In fact, it was an inside joke between the sisters for some time that she had to buy so many new pairs of underwear all of the time. The creep admitted that he had been breaking into their house for months to go through my cousins personal belongings.

A Little Gold Necklace

I was born in Bosnia in 88 and was 4 when I, my mother, and my sisters fled the north of the country. Our bus was stopped on the border to Croatia and armed men boarded. They demanded everyone's money and valuables. Not being pleased with the take, they demanded that everyone strip naked to make sure that no one was hiding anything. If they found anyone hiding valuables, they told us, even if it was just one person, the entire bus would be shot.
One of these armed men paced back and forth on the bus, looking at each of us as his comrades rummaged through our clothes. He stopped by an older and rather saggy looking lady and extended his rifle. He raised her left breast with it to check if she had been hiding anything under it. She hadn't. Satisfied, he moved on and passed me, sitting there completely naked except for my little white socks. They returned our clothes, smiled, and handed us our "exit visas."
When my family and I finally reached a shelter in Zagreb we all collapsed from exhaustion. Before I went to sleep, however, I complained that my feet hurt. My mother took off my socks to massage my feet and out fell a little gold necklace.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Uncle Flappy


I was in my room, looking between my textbook and some South Park when I heard the unmistakable sounds of someone stumbling around in our living room (3 friends and I shared an on-campus modular housing unit, or "mod"). I look down into the living room, and there's my friend "Jim". Jim sees me and says, "Pilgrim, you gotta help me, John just tried to rape me." Jim looks ten kinds of freaked out. He wants me to drive him home. His home is 3 hours across state lines, but he's obviously been crying and looks really freaked out. I agreed.

Once we were in my car, he started pointing into random scenery, saying "turn here! why did you keep going? turn here, then!" This kid was pointing into random rocks and trees, a river. I realized this kid was out of his fucking mind. So I just kept saying stuff like, "Dude, I can't turn there, that's not a road. Don't worry, I'll get you home."

 I just started driving him in a big loop around campus.

He started to get quiet. After a wile of driving in silence, he asked, "Pilgrim... you'd never try to kill me, would you?" I told him no, and he got quiet again. Then, "What if someone paid you a lot of money? Would you kill me for money?" I said no, and he got quiet again. Then, after three of the longest, most ominously silent minutes of my life, he threw a tape recorder at me that hit me in the shoulder, shouted, "THIS IS FROM JOE!" and jumped out of my moving car.

I put my car in park and got out, he rolled to a stop and jumped up. He yelled, "ARE YOU COMING TO GET ME, PILGRIM?"


"Oh, okay."

 He looked uninjured and he wasn't trying to run, so I got back into my car and pulled over to the shoulder. I get back out and he's gone.

Two hours later, the search party of friends I mobilized discovered him in his boxers, bleeding profusely from his hands and knees in lounge of the all-girls dorm. I had found X
John earlier, and asked him what had happened. Apparently they had all eaten a bunch of mushrooms and Jim had wandered off.

We got Jim back to our mod, gave him some hot cider, a blanket, and sat him down in front of a six-hour recorded VHS tape of Futurama. After about an hour and a half of silence, he was able to explain that he had thought X

John was going to rape him, had come to our mod looking for someone to take him home, had become convinced that I was going to kill him, thrown a grenade at me (tape recorder) and jumped out of my car, left landmines behind him as he ran (his clothes), broken through the window of the arts building to throw me off his trail, jumped out a second floor window, and saw that the door was open to the girls dorm and that it looked warm in there. He apologized for the trouble. It didn't occur to me until much later that he had tried to kill me with a grenade.

Monday, March 16, 2015

Ghost Doll

Some childhood symbols straddle the line between adorable and terrifying. Like clowns. Or Furbys.
Some dolls fit the category, too, with spooky eyes that seem to move or a porcelain pallor. They're not all Chucky, but some of them just don't seem quite right.
Anne McLaughlin grew up with a cabinet full of dolls — including a pretty dancer doll and a set of wooden nesting dolls. But one, she says, stood out.
"One of the dolls in the cabinet was absolutely terrifying," she says. "Very tall, thin doll, and her face was not a doll face. It was a grown woman, so she didn't have big eyes she didn't have a smile. She had tiny little eyes. She always looked like she stepped out of one of those New Orleans ghost stories."
The lady doll was also a music box, and it spun slowly to music when wound. The doll gave Anne the creeps.
So one night, when she was about 10, McLaughlin thought to herself: "I'm going to take her out of the cabinet just to prove that I'm not scared of this doll" — even though she was very scared of it.
So she wound up the doll, left it on the bedside table and walked away. Suddenly there was a crash.
"And right when I turned around, she had just walked to the side of the bedside table, and fallen to the floor with a big crash, " McLaughlin can't even finish her sentence. "I went and slept with my parents."
The next morning, she crept back into her room and placed the doll back inside the cabinet.
Read the rest here.

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Fuck Those Guys

This story actually happened about 6 years ago. My sincerest apologies for the length of this story, as I am verbose and often include too many details. But I think you all might enjoy this.
It was a sunny warm Sunday and I had been hunting for the recently released G1 Android phone on Craigslist. After emailing back and forth a few times, we arrived at a great price for not one but 2 phones! So, we arranged to meet at an apartment complex about 30 minutes away. I gathered my cash and drove to the location.
I was stupid and young at the time, and did not comprehend how dangerous the part of town I was heading into was. But, I felt relatively safe upon arrival since it was a pretty well populated apartment complex and there were lots of people around in broad daylight. I was standing on the sidewalk in between the parking lot and the pool area, where a bunch of kids were playing, swimming, shooting each other with water guns, etc. Parents were all around watching. Even so, I had folded up all the money and stuffed it in an almost empty pack of cigarettes. I was wearing jeans, a t shirt, a gray hoodie with two pockets on the front, flip flops, and glasses. I put the cigarette money pack in my left hoodie pocket and I had a switchblade in my right hand in the other pocket. (Hey, it seemed safe enough, but I was being cautious- or so I thought.)
So, the seller comes out, shes a 20 something girl, and shows me the phone. I have a look, agree to the purchase, and she says she needs to go back up to the apartment to get the other phone and cables. She asks me to come up to the room with her, and I decline (haha! I am so smart!) and respond, "That's ok, I'll wait here." She comes back down another time to apologize that its taking so long, and goes back up to get the rest of the stuff. I'm standing around, happy as can be, when she comes back again and starts talking. I can't even remember what she said because this is when shit got real. Like, real real. As in time slowed down and I entered an alternate reality where this was happening to someone else and not me.
She's blabbing about something and suddenly I feel wetness on the right side of my face. I sort of laugh, thinking one of the many children has got me with their water pistol! Ho ho! Well played, little sir! Then I notice that the area, once full of playing children, was completely empty. Not a soul to be seen. My brow furrows as my synapses fire at previously inexperienced speeds to try and orient myself. I notice that the wetness feels oily. My eyes go back to the girl, and I notice that she has stopped talking. Then she bolts. I look to my right, the direction of the blast, and see a skinny man, crouched very low, scuttle around a parked car. Confusion intensifies. Then I see a shadow to my left.
I turn just in time to catch a glimpse of a very large man charging at me, who immediately lands a Mayweather magnitude right hook on my left temple. I go down. Hard. My sandals fly off, my glasses are ejected, and my arms go flailing as I hit the rough asphalt of the parking lot.
It is at this point that I realize that the wetness was mace, or pepper spray, or whatever you want to call it. It drips into my eyes, my mouth, my nose, its all over my hands, and its pretty much all over my face now. The burning begins, the scorching searing pain of Mount Doom tearing at my flesh and mucous membranes. The pain is over whelming. I am trembling with adrenaline, even as I write this, 6 years later.
No sooner than I stop skidding on the asphalt does my large assailant reappear, now kicking me in the ribs, and punching me mercilessly, left right left right left right. He's screaming, "GIVE ME THE MONEY! GIVE ME THE MONEY BITCH." I yelp like a little girl, desperate for any intervention or even acknowledgement of what is happening. I remember my mother always telling me that in her rape defense courses they taught her to yell "FIRE" and not "RAPE" as people are more likely to come to your aid. So, naturally, I yelled everything.
"FIRE! RAPE! HELP! STOP! NO! FIRE AGAIN!" but it was in vain. I am no greedy person, and my life was not worth whatever money I had brought, and so I quickly decide to offer it up. But when I reached into the pocket to get the cigarette pack with the money in it, I found nothing but lint. Struggling to squint through the searing pain, my eyes darted around, but I couldn't find it, as I was doubly blind without my glasses. "I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY!" I began to yell, between the blows. But he was not having it. "I KNOW YOU HAVE MONEY," he retorted. And so I desperately rolled over and said, "TAKE MY WALLET I DONT HAVE IT JUST TAKE IT."
And take it he did. He rifled through my left jeans pocket and took my shitty flip phone, and then grabbed the back pocket of my jeans, which contained my wallet, and ripped the entire pocket off my jeans. This ripped a huge flap out of the jeans, almost all the way down the leg, exposing my nearly bare ass as I curled into the fetal position on the ground. But the blows did not cease.
Rolled over onto my right side as I was, my right hand found its way into my right hoodie pocket. My hand gripped tight around the switchblade. I didn't even think twice about what I was about to do, and in retrospect it could have ended a lot worse. I rolled back to my left, and as my arm came out from under me I flipped the knife open and began waving and jabbing and tearing the space immediately around me into little ribbons. I was blind, so my eyes were jammed shut, which meant I had no direction in my attack. I resorted to attempting to appear as insane as possible, and began shouting like a mad person. Obscenities, sounds, animal noises, anything. And it worked.
All I remember hearing was "oh shit" and then the hurried footsteps of that asshole running away. I stopped my targetless attack, and drug myself to my hands and knees. I had to get out of there. I found my glasses, cracked and scratched, close by. I struggled to get them on and feebly collected my keys and one flip flop when I looked up and saw it: about a foot under the back of my parked car laid the cigarette case containing the object of the assault. Somehow, the irony of the situation gave me strength, and I collected my money. I stood up and shouted, angry with the world. "FUCK YOU!! FUCK YOU ALL!" and jumped in the car. I had no phone, and obviously nobody was going to help me, so I got the fuck out of there.
I drove. A few miles. Nearly blind. As I sat at a stop light, shaking, my mind began to assemble the facts. This was a setup. There were 3 accomplices. I was the victim of a Craigslist scam. Now, I should mention at this point that I am an attorney, and was at the time a law student. My desire for justice is a driving force in my life, and injustice infuriates me beyond my ability to express myself. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, white knuckled, and when the light changed I floored it.
I screeched into a tiny gas station with two pumps and about 30 square feet of interior space. I bolted inside and surveyed the store. Most of it was a large glass box where the attendant would sit, sheltered from the pieces of shit that passed for people around here. My ass was exposed. I had tears streaming down my face, which was red as a tomato, and I was mad. Really fucking mad.
A little old asian lady was sitting in the glass box, and we locked eyes. She was using a cordless phone. I locked onto that phone like a fucking fighter jet, and demanded, loudly, "GIVE ME YOUR PHONE." She pointed outside and said, "Use payphone." I had zero fucks remaining to give, and so I insisted. "LADY, I AM NOT FUCKING AROUND. THAT PHONE. YOUR PHONE. GIVE IT TO ME." She stared at me blankly, and slid it through the little window on the counter. I jabbed 911 and began shouting at the phone as soon as I heard a response. Location. Squad car. Name. Mugging. Battery. Now. I hung up.
Not knowing that milk and oil are the best treatment for pepper spray, I walked to the soda vending machine. I pulled the plastic wrapper from a sleeve of large cups, stuck it in the ice dispenser, and filled the bag. I tossed the phone on the counter, thanked the nice lady for her help, and went outside to wait for the cops.
As I sat there icing my face, they pulled up. I told them what happened, and they mumbled something into their radios. They calmed me down a bit, then put me in the squad car and drove back to the scene. I collected my missing flip flop and we looked for my phone but didnt see it. Back in the squad car, and they drove me next door to a seedy motel. As we pulled in, I saw the small parking lot filled with cop cars, dogs, and officers everywhere. I got out, and retrieved my last crumpled cigarette from my cigarette-wallet. I asked a homeless man sitting on the curb for a light, and stood there, ass to the wind, smoking my cigarette of victory as the cops paraded my 3 assailants out of a second story room onto the balcony of the motel.
I walked up the steps, looked them each in the eye, and provided affirmative ID to the officers, with some flair. "do you recognize this person?" "yes. thats the asshole that pepper sprayed me." "do you recognize this person?" "Yes. thats the piece of shit that beat on me." " Do you recognize this person?" "Yes. thats the cunt that set me up." This got a laugh from the cops, as they snickered and led them downstairs.
They took me to the precinct to finish up the report, document the craigslist post, etc. I borrowed a cell phone and called my mom (i was staying with them over the summer) and lied, telling her I ran into my friend and was hanging out with him but would be home soon. They had freaked out and were calling police stations to file a missing person's report at this point since I wasnt answering my phone. My wallet was returned to me, soggy, in a paper bag, since they had tried to flush it. I added insult to injury when I used the bathroom, thinking I had washed all the pepper spray off my hands. Wrong. My dick began to sting but by this point it was the least of my worries. They took me back to my car, I threw on some shorts I had in there, and went home to fill my family in. They were hysterical, but my dad thanked me for lying to my mom until I was there tell her in person.

The next day my boss berated me for showing up a few minutes late. I told him the story, showed him my shiner, and he gave me a pass, but I would later reflect on that morning as the first of many instances in which he treated me like crap. I grew to hate him even more than my attackers. In the end, they all went to jail for several years. The last of them just ended their probation this month. In the mean time I finished law school, got engaged, paid off half my student loans, and made something of myself. Fuck those guys.

Christian Doran Film

Very well done film by Christian Doran.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Possible Carjacking Attempt

What do you think about this shady road block? Did this driver narrowly avoid a carjacking?

Tuesday, March 10, 2015


I was walking around Houston late at night with a friend after my prom. We were having a good time and talking about high school since we were so close to being done. We round the corner to get back to his house and two guys come up out of nowhere demand our wallets. I had left mine at the house as to not lose it. My friend had his. The two guys shot me in the chest and fled. After that the ambulance was called and the last thing I remember was throwing up an enormous amount of blood at the hospital. I was in a medically induced coma for about a week then woke up and was fine! With the worst input it was the best output. My school supported me, people constantly prayed for me, and I was on the upswing. The thing that really bothered me and continues to bother me to this day, is thinking about how one person could consciously decide to take my life over a wallet. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but now I am in college and on the diving team. So eat that suckers.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Encounter with a Multiple Killer

I was 13 and so was my friend, staying at his sister's apartment in Chattanooga for the weekend.
We stayed up all night playing games and decided to walk to Waffle house at 3:30 am which we remembered as being only right down the street on our way in and we figured we could stay out of sight of cops, etc; and get there fine.

A woman in a Jeep pulled up and yelled asking us if we wanted a ride, and once we told her we were going to Waffle House, she said sure. It worked out and she then drove us home afterward and told us she might be out again the next night. Great!

Where it all went wrong: The next night we decided to walk to Waffle House again around 4am or so and were walking for what seemed like a couple miles trying to take side roads and whatnot to avoid police/people who might turn us in for curfew and down one of the shitty dimly lit roads a black coupe passes us and stomps on the brakes. It wasn't her car.. Fuck. Hopefully it was someone willing to pick us up again.

Nope. A  guy hops out and runs toward us and pulls a gun telling us to empty our pockets. We do what he says while trying not to shit our pants and his friends yelling at him from the car to "just come on" and "hurry up". We emptied them and gave him our $40-ish and he starts running back to the car, and as soon as he gets near it(probably between 20-30ft away) we run and jump down the embankment and run toward the woods by the side of the road and hear the car start reversing fast so we laid down about 15-20 ft in the woods by a pile of dirt and some cut down trees not far off the road and stayed as still as possible and hear him being yelled at by them to "hurry up". He gets out and goes to where we jumped down looking for us and pointing the gun in the woods saying "I can't see them!" "I can't get down there! You do it!" and after about a minute or so he runs back to the car and they speed off.

We ran further into the woods real fast and waited probably 20-30 minutes being as still and quit as possible watching each car that went by and debating how to get out and decided to keep trekking through the woods in the opposite direction of the road, using my friends lighter when we could to see and after a while we eventually see blue lights up ahead and run to them as fast as possible.

We get there and it's the gas station with cops trying to tell us to go away and we explained what just happened. We gave them the description and they told us that the same guy (in the same car) just robbed the Golden Gallon gas station in Cleveland at gunpoint and SHOT THE FUCKING CLERK(who was a kid, about 18 unfortunately died) and took $800 and that today must have been our lucky day since the same guys were spotted at this gas station as well(probably debating whether to rob it) and they were looking for them.

We went to the police department with them, told them our story and gave them descriptions and had our parents/his sister called who brought us home and did not get charged with curfew or anything else and were told how lucky we were that we ran and stayed still when we did.

TL;DR Guy murders an 18 year old kid while mugging him and robs me and a friend using the same gun an hour later. We were extremely lucky.
Relevant Article Here about the murder and sentencing.

Looks like the murderer, Travis Bess, didn't stop killing once put in prision. He killed his cellmate, too. https://tbinews.wordpress.com/tag/inmate/

Thursday, March 5, 2015

My Ex Tried to Murder Me

My ex wife, about a year and a half ago tried to murder me. We were married at the time and she was having an affair, had just taken out additional life insurance on me, and sabotaged my motorcycle before I had to take a long (100+ mile) trip on it for work.

Thankfully she failed at it and I discovered what she had done once I returned home. Had she turned those two bolts a simple quarter turn more I would have been highway paste instead of sitting here at work playing on the computer.

She all but admitted to it a few weeks later and I found out not too long ago that she also tried her damnedest at the time to convince our oldest son that the family would be better off if I were to die.

Did I press charges: She had already put a lot of effort into manipulating and emotionally abusing my for a bit and, in my absolute stupidity, I didn't file a police report because I knew that she would be the primary suspect and, at the time, I didn't want anything bad to happen to her.
In retrospect I was an idiot.

What she did: I drive a Harley and she broke both of the handlebar stem bolts free. These bolts (3/4") are held in place with compression washers and loctite. When I got home I noticed that my handlebars were extremely loose. I looked at the stem bolts and both of them had vibrated out to a point where it took a quarter turn, with my fingers, for them to drop out into the palm of my hand.
And sitting on the shelf right next to my handlebars, where I park my bike, was my 3/4" combination wrench. It also happened to be the only tool missing from my tool kit.

Why I deserved it: According to her, my fault was in believing the lies that she told me. I "should have known" that she wasn't being honest. And consider this; our oldest son is actually my step son. He is her biological son. And he, by choice, still lives with me. His relationship with his mother is completely strained and she's having the most difficult time figuring out why.

Why I married a crazy person: I didn't. At least, at the time, I didn't think I had. She was a wonderful mother and a phenomenal wife. We spent 13 years together, had a child of our own, and worked our asses off to build a life for our family. She meant the world to me and I did everything in my power to give her everything that she ever asked for, and to be the best husband and father that I could be. In the entire time that we were married I never once lied to her, I never cheated on her, I don't drink and I'm not a drug addict. I never once raised a hand to her, not even in mock play, and up until she started having her affair I believed that we were both very happy and an ideal couple. And the fact is all of our friends and associates believed the same thing.

What I plan to do for revenge: Nothing. She has to live with herself now. And she has to accept that anything bad that happens to her in her life is exactly what she wanted. She was willing to lie, cheat, steal, and abuse the people who loved her in order to get what she now has. Her strained relationship with both of her kids? That's what she wanted. Her "destined to be bad" new relationship? That's what she wanted. She was willing to turn her back on her own children for a relationship with a (at the time) married man who spent the past decade and a half cheating on his own wife. They are either married or engaged now, I don't know, or care, which and she dotes all over his son at the expense of our 11 year old son. So why would I need to do anything? She has set herself up on a path of lifelong heartache and misery. My attention is focused on ensuring that my boys are as happy and taken care of as they can be. And I'm slowly digging myself out from under the mountain of debt that she left in her wake (she also opened credit cards in my name and maxed them out while we were still married) and trying my best to just stay positive every day.