School toilet voyeur

2020.09.08 13:32 ET_Cooper Toilet school voyeur

I do like following true crime, but I’m into unsolved cases, and for most of the time of this case, it seemed to me so obvious that the parents did something to Jonbenet and then covered it up, that I didn’t consider it unsolved, and so didn’t pay too much attention to it.
Then when I heard about one time Jonbenet photographer Randy Simons being busted for child porn, I started thinking there might be more to the case than I thought. Now I’m an IDI person, but...wow. One of the most amazing things I’ve seen since reading/watching/listening about more on this case is how 100% proof positive many people are they “know” who did it. I mean, I do consider myself an IDI person, but I’m only...MAYBE...70% sure of that. I mean, it’s kind of impressive how many people out there have no training to solve crimes are SURE they’ve figured out one of the hardest cases in American history. Again...kind of impressive. :)
Anyway, here are my accumulated questions, comments, and thoughts I have regarding the case. It’s REALLY long, so I don’t think many people will read it, but I just needed to get it all out of my head.If you respond to this, please post whether you are an IDI, RDI, BDI, PDI, or JDI or undecided person upfront, and what percent sure you are of your theory. Also, I’d love for anyone who reads it to respond to each item, but this is long, so I understand if not.

  1. In July 1996 the Ramseys’ Charlevoix, MI home was part of a “Tour of Homes” in that area. In the Fall of 1996 an unusual suitcase and pair of cowboy boots were found in Jonbenet's bedroom in that house. Also, her bed was found messed up too as if the person had slept there.If an IDI, this could match the M.O. of him possibly taking a tour of the Ramsy’s Boulder house before entering that home.
  2. Does anyone know the size of the cowboy boots found in the MI house? Was it ever compared to the 2 sets of boot prints found in the CO house?
  3. This also seems to match the M.O. of the Amy/Ninja Guy attack, as it’s assumed the attacker in that case may have been in the home while the mother and daughter were out, then waited.
  4. The above leads me to believe if an IDI then it may be someone who breaks into the houses prior to committing the crimes and, like the Golden State Killer, sets things up, or at least plans what he’s going to do later.
  5. I think if there was an intruder, then it’s someone for whom being in the house is part of the excitement of the crime.It would also explain why certain things in the ransom note seem to show knowledge of what they may have found around the house, like a stub or something showing $118,000 as the Christmas bonus.
  6. It’s said by John Ramsey in one interview I saw that Micheal Helgoth was at least partially exonerated by the fact the Hi-Tech boots belonging to him did not match that the size of the Hi-tech bootprint found in the Ramsey’s home the day of the murder. If true, it seems the police do have the size of said print, but I couldn’t find that information on the internet.Again, I do wonder if this was ever compared to the size of the cowboy boots found in Jonbenet’s room in the MI house.
  7. Seems many people think Jonbenet’s was talking about Santa coming to visit her “after Christmas” means Bill McReynolds, but Jonbenet was at many places where she could’ve/did run into other Santa Clauses. Like, The Boulder Philharmonic Christmas Pageant, 12/96, Lights of Christmas Parade on 12/6/199, The All Star Kids Christmas Pageant on 12/17/96, Southwest Plaza Mall on 12/22/20, etc.Do we know if any of these Santa Clauses ever looked into/questioned by police?
  8. Would there have been anyway for the murderer to know the alarm system was off?Again, in the Amy/Ninja guy case, there was an alarm system. It was only for the ground floor. When the Ninja Guy/Attacker fled, he jumped through a window on the top floor master bedroom instead of running to the ground floor to escape. To me this implies he may have known that the alarm system was for the ground floor.Is there a way the intruder in the Amy case, and possibly in the JBR case could have known these things?
I believe the security system was from a place in Boulder called "Safe Systems":
http://www.acandyrose.com/s-evidence-alarm-system.htmAnyone know if the alarm system was the same in the Amy/Ninja Guy attack?
  1. For those who think BDI, AND that the end of the 911 call has Burke saying “What did you find?”, does this mean that the Ramseys found Jonbenet, assumed Burke did it, and staged the kidnapping, murder, and rape before finding out for sure if Burke had injured Jonebenet?
##. Burke once hit Jonbenet with a golf club. If nothing was legally done to take him away then, why would the Ramsey’s assume that he would get taken away for hitting her a second time to the point they would then strangle and sexually assault their daughter’s corpse?
  1. If any of the RDI accidently why do you think they’d fake a murder, kidnapping, and a rape/stragulation? Why not just a stage a murder?
  2. I don’t believe this myself, but has anyone theorized a Boulder police officer, or Boulder police officers, may have done it? I find it interesting any little thing the grieving parents do is on purpose as part of their master plan, yet anything the cops do is because of ineptitude. Think about it:
* Who would have the night off and know the police were undermanned that night? A cop.
* Cop-like flashlight and bootprints?
* The note says they know police procedures.
* Apparently they didn’t use the K9 unit they had. This could have helped either find the body and/or the way a kidnapper escaped before they knew it was a murder.
* A cop may have known the Ramsey’s didn’t have the alarm system on as they may have been called out when the kids set it off previously
.* If someone saw a cop enter the house, he/she could’ve said they saw someone enter, and ewas why they were in the home.
* Usually criminals who stage crimes get someone else to find the body/see the staging. The cops missed checking the wine cellar, and sent John to look for clues.
* The note threatened the Ramseys wouldn’t get their daughters body back for burial if they didn’t listen. The police tried to hold back the body to the Ramseys.
* People think the Ramseys had friends come over to mess up any DNA, but the cops did far more than that to mess up the DNA, including apparently letting the victims’ advocates clean.
* This could explain why they are always so insistent the parents did it. (It isn’t but it could, and a lot of the theories I read on this case are completely hypothetical.)
  1. By the Hi-Tech boots, and possible use of a stun gun, it seems like (if not Boulder PD) the suspect would have either a military/police background or an interest in either or both.
  2. Why would the Ramseys invite people over specifically to mess up the DNA profile? They live there. Any Ramsey DNA can be explained with, “We live here”.
  3. If the RDI, why did John admit he broke the glass in the basement? If it seems like if he invited people over to mess up the DNA, and purposely took the body upstairs to mess up the DNA, wouldn't he want to leave this as a suspected way for the “fake” intruder to enter the house?
  4. I don't think people talk about the fact John made 2 calls to his pilot, not 1. The first was to say Jonbenet was missing, so the flight was off. I often hear people talk as if it was one phone call to leave, and often this false “only one call was made, to leave” is claimed to have been made prior to the body being found, as if he knew the body would be found and wanted out.
  5. If the RDI, why would they let Burke be taken to the Whites w/o him? It seems like they would want to make sure he didn’t say anything to blow their cover.
  6. The note says that they will call the Ramseys, but doesn’t list a phone number.18. People say that the Ramseys didn’t mention the fact the kidnapper didn’t call when he was scheduled, but does this mean the police never said anything either? In fact, I believe the other officers left Linda Arndt there alone before the call was scheduled to arrive. That seems just as odd as the Ramseys not mentioning it.
  7. If the note was faked by the Ramseys, why fold it? It had a crease in it. Their story was it was found laid out on the steps, so why fold it? This seems like the act of someone who wrote the note and then folded it to put in their pocket for a later time.
  8. If the RDI, why drop clues in the note like the $118,000, especially after they never turned on one another at any other time?
  9. I think if an unfamiliar IDI, the $118,000 was partially put there because the intruder wanted to show off they’d been snooping in the house previously.
  10. Obviously the ransom note is a fake, but I think it seems like more of a fake to keep the Ramseys from calling the cops. Especially if they knew they could easily get $118,000. Asking for millions, they may have said “We can’t get that in time. Call the cops.”
  11. If one of the Ramseys wrote the ransom note, why ask for a small amount when they knew they were not going to have to get it?
  12. Why would the Ramsey’s write a note that gave them until 10AM before calling the police, then call 911 at 5:52 AM?
  13. Pasty’s handwriting couldn’t be ruled out as the writer of the note, but it was on the lowest scale of not being ruled out.
  14. Access Graphics Human Director of Human Resources Gary Merrimen’s handwriting sample was a higher match for the random note than Patsy. T or F? He was also former law enforcement.
  15. I believe Ex-Access Graphics employee Jeff Merrick sued the company for about $118,000.
  16. From the ransom note, the writer seems to be someone who is highly literate.
  17. The ransom note seems to be written by someone who is not only a fan of movies, but a fan of cop/kidnapping movies.
  18. The writer seems to relate to the kidnappers in these movies, possibly at the same time.
  19. The ransom note seems to mention at least 4 movies: Dirty Harry, which has a kidnapping and an anti-hero cop, Speed and Ransom, in which the bad guys are cops, and Nick of Time, in which 2 people impersonating cops abduct the lead character’s child.
The intruder could relate to cops, but specifically to those who have a “villain”/bad streak, or people pretending to be cops.
  1. The movie Ransom came out in November, 1996. While I obviously can’t say for sure, it doesn’t seem like the type of movie parents with 2 young children would be able to go see, especially since one of the parents was a busy business man at the time. Again, can’t say for sure, but seems unlikely.
  2. Although not like any other kidnapping note, the ransom note does remind me of 2 notes from other crimes: the Leopold and Loeb note, and the Pizza-Bomb-Bank-Robbery note. Both were written by someone who considered themselves smarter than everyone else, and perpetrated the crime specifically to show they could pull off the “perfect crime”.
  3. The writer of the note seems theatrical.
  4. The kind of tape used in the crime was apparently the type often used in theater. Could the intruder have been a theater student, or work in a nearby theater? Or a theater in Hickory, NC where the tape was manufactured?
  5. The tape was from Hickory, NC, and made there in November 1996. Is that enough time to get to Boulder for sale? It’s literally weeks before the crime. There are questions as to that:
https://hickoryrecord.com/news/hickorys-connection-to-jonben-t-ramsey-case-focus-of-presentation/article_c7ffe3ae-5010-11e9-bf2e-df527cc908ed.html
  1. The tape used on Jonbenet was manufactured in November, 1996. This is the same month the movie Ransom came out.
  2. Bob McReyolds was a literary professor.
  3. Janet McReynolds reviewed movies.
  4. Does anyone know if any suspects were ever described by Bob McReynolds’ daughter and/or her friend after they were kidnapped and the daughter’s friend molested?
  5. I don’t believe this theory either, but… I’ve heard police discovered McReynolds went to adult books stores for a fetish not considered tied to the case. I’ve heard his son was also considered a possible suspect. What if McReynolds’ fetish was voyeurism, and it took the form of having his children watching him? If so was that why his daughter was abducted with her friend, and could his son have assisted with JBR? What if Burke is partially scarred because he was forced to watch what happened to his sister? Pure, seculation, but what isn’t on this case?
  6. Where did the practice/first draft ransom note go?
  7. I don’t think SBTC means anything except to the person who wrote it. I remember reading about one serial killer, called himself “The Cat” or something. No reason. Even after they caught him.
  8. I’ve heard some people say the word “listen” is odd in a note since you don’t listen to a note. It’s not. People often write like they spoke. I wrote”heard” above for things I read, and I doubt any of you blinked an eye.Have none of you ever said “I was talking to” someone after you texted or e-mailed with them?This is just reaching.
  9. The note mentions John’s “southern charm”. He’s not southern.
  10. I think the idea that Jonbenet’s name wasn’t in the note might be because the writer wasn’t sure how to spell it is an interesting one. I don’t think I believe it, but it’s interesting.
  11. I keep reading the pineapple was the same "down to the rind". Does that mean she eat the pineapple chunk/s INCLUDING the rinds? That seems as odd as putting it in milk.
  12. Is there any way to know if the tea next to the pineapple was hot tea originally?
  13. The bowl the pineapple was in had Patsy and Burke’s fingerprints on it. The tea glass had Burke’s. The spoon had no fingerprints on it. Seems odd.
  14. Apparently the spoon was a large silver spoon that was used with the nicer silverware. It was apparently kept in a drawer in the bar area away from the everyday plates and utensils. This area apparently was visible from one of the main windows in the house.
  15. The flashlight was also from that drawer in that bar area.
  16. Again, the glass with the tea apparently only had Burke’s fingerprints on it. If hot water was poured in the glass, it seems odd a parent would serve it to a child like that as glass is a great conductor of heat, and the glass had no handle. Also, no parents' fingerprints were on the glass. But Patsy’s prints were on the bowl, so did she serve Burke the pineapple, but allow him to get the tea himself? And the spoon?
  17. The above makes me think if an IDI that he may have made this odd combo of food. He could’ve been wearing gloves and grabbed the bowl, cup, and spoon from around the house, leaving whoever’s fingerprints were on them prior to his touching them. The other idea would be Patsy gave Burke pineapple, let him make himself tea, and Patsy or Burke got a large, fancy spoon from another part of the house, with the flashlight, and neither left any prints on the spoon (or flashlight). Either way, the lack of fingerprints on the spoon from another room seems odd.
  18. I have a “lite theory” based on the fact that the crime took place on Christmas, and the note mentions them getting Jonbenet back by New Years. I think the intruder may have been house sitting, or a college student left largely alone by not going home for Christmas. This would mean if he had decided to take her, he’d be able to hide her until around New Years.
  19. I think if an IDI he may have thought of taking her as a sex slave, but that the money and phone call, etc were all just a ruse to prevent the cops from being called for as long as possible.
  20. There was a shoe imprint from a Hi-Tec brand work boot found in the mold growing on the floor of the room Jonbenet’s body was found in. All the investigators who’d been in the room had been tested with no match to the Ramsey’s or the police investigators. T or F?
  21. Additional partial shoe impressions were found near Jonbenet’s body in the same room, and also on the toilet tank in the basement’s bathroom. T or F?
  22. Were the prints on the toilet tank checked to see if the stains were from the mold in the room where Jonbenet’s body was found?
  23. An unidentified pubic hair was found on the white blanket that covered Jonbenet’s body. T or F?
  24. John Ramsey and the police noted a scuff mark on the wall under the open window in the train room where the suitcase was found. T or F?
  25. Jonbenet’s body was wiped off. The autopsy found some of the liquid on the body. T or F?
  26. A rope was found inside a brown paper sack underneath a bed in the guest bedroom next to Jonbenet’s bedroom that John Andrew used when home from college. The rope and bag did not belong to the Ramseys. T or F?
  27. Small pieces of material from the brown paper sack were found in Jonebenet’s bed and in the coroner’s body bag used to transport Jonbenet. T or F?
  28. Unidentified brown fibers were found on Jonbenet’s body, the paintbrush, the duct tape, and the rope of the garrote. T or F? (Apparently Lou Smit believed these may have been from work gloves)
  29. The suitcase found under the window in the train room had a pillow sham, duvet and a Dr. Suess book in them. T or F?
  30. Fibers from the sham and duvet found in the suitcase were found on Jonbenet’s shirt also. T or F?
  31. Fibers from the basement carpet, but no fingerprints, were found on a baseball bat found just outside the Ramsey home. The Rameys claim it was not theirs. Burke has siad it was his. T or F?
  32. Forensic examiners found Jonbenet’s blood on her Barbie Doll nightgown found next to her body. T or F?
  33. Fibers from the rope used to strangle Jonbenet were found on her bed. T or F?
  34. Dark animal hairs were discovered on Jonbenets’s hands. The hairs matched nothing in the house. T or F?
  35. The FBI discovered black beaver hair stuck to the duct tape. No other beaver hairs were found in the home. T or F?
  36. Does anyone know the story on the size 12 Wednesday underwear Jonbenet was wearing? I’ve read several conflicting things. Is the story Jonbenet put it on herself when she got dressed that day?
  37. People say the Ramseys didn’t give interveiws/speak to the police until months after the murder, howver the truth is:
- Boulder police officers interviewed them throughout Dec. 26, 1996, the day JonBenet's body was found.
- Police questioned them both Dec. 27 and John again Dec. 28. Officers were with the Ramseys24 hours a day from 6 a.m. Dec. 26 through 2 p.m. Dec. 29, when the Ramseys left for the funeral in Atlanta.
- Police questioned Burke Ramsey on Dec. 26. The conversation was tape-recorded without either parent present and without parental consent. A police psychologist interviewed Burke on Jan. 6. Burke was interviewed again, over three days, in May 1998.
- Handwriting samples were given by John (Dec. 26, 28, Jan. 5, 1997); Patsy (Dec. 28, Jan. 4, 1997, Feb. 28, April 12, May 20), and Burke (Dec. 28).
T or F?
  1. People seem to think it’s odd Burke may have waited in his room while something was obviously going on in his house. Who wouldn’t come out of their room to see what was happening? I can see it both ways. As a kid, I probably would’ve been right out of the door interested to know what’s going on, but my sibling probably would’ve waited in their room.In the Elizabeth Smart case, Elizabeth was kidnapped right in front of her sister, but she waited 2 hours before telling her parents out of fear.
75 If you are someone who thinks every kid would have left the room, are you also one of the people who wouldn’t have called the police because the ransom note said not to?
  1. Burke wasn’t in the house for that long after the police showed up. The 911 call is around 5:52 AM, and Burke is dressed and taken out of the house around 7:00 AM. People often talk like he was in his room for hours. A kid not coming out of his room due to fear or confusion for 1 hour and 8 mins isn’t that hard to believe.
  2. They say in most crimes where the criminal staged a crime scene, the criminal who staged it lets someone else find it, hence the purpose of staging it. Why would John have staged the crime, then found it with no one seeing it?
  3. I’ve heard it said John did things like tear the tape off to ruin the DNA, but then why put the tape on in the first place? The plan was to place the tape on as part of the staging, then rip it off with no one seeing it to explain why his DNA was on it? Why not just not put any tape on?
  4. Why would John or Patsy Ramsey tie and bind Jonbenet only to loosen the ties with no one seeing them?
  5. Seems like his story of “distraught father isn’t thinking of DNA evidence and his trying to see if his daughter is breathing” seems a lot more plausible than the above.
  6. The suitcase found in the basement was John Andrew’s. It was usually kept under the stairs (although I’ve also heard it had been kept in his room he had in the house). It had a blanket/comforter in it with semen on it (apparently John Andrew’s) and Dr. Suess book. It was usually kept in John Andrew’s bedroom they had for him in the house. T or F?
  7. Does anyone know what Dr. Suess book was found in the suitcase?##. The Ramseys’ neighbor Joe Barnhill said he saw John Andrew approach the Ramseys’ house on the night of the murder. He later recanted. Did he recant that it was John Andrew, or that he saw anyone at all? I’ve read he later admitted he didn’t 100% know what John Andrew looked like. T or F? I’ve also read the man he saw was blonde. T or F on the blonde part? (The attacker in the Amy/Ninja Guy attack was blonde.)
  8. If the Ramseys did it, where do you think the following items went:
* First draft of the ransom note.
* The cord.
* The tape.
* The rest of the paintbrush.
* The fluid used to clean Jonbenet’s body.
* The cloth used to clean Jonbenet’s body.
None of which were apparently found in the home.
  1. If you think they threw it out, why not get of things like the flashlight, pineapple, etc? And before you get hung up on those items specifically, I just mean why get rid of some items of evidence and not others, especially since the ones found would have been yours anyway?
  2. It seems funny to me that RDI people dismiss John Douglas and Lou Smit by saying they “were fooled by the Ramseys” with both of their vast amounts of experience. I’ve heard many point out Patsy had theater classes in high school and/or college. John Douglas basically created FBI profiling. In my mind, that trumps school drama classes.Meanwhile, the Boulder PD botched the crime scene. If anything it seems to me it’s more likely they’re embarrassed by how badly they botched the crime.
  3. Many RDI people seem to think the garrote was placed around Jonbenet’s neck, or slightly tightened. It was not. It was tightened to the point her neck was indented, kind of like a sausage link. I don’t blame these people. The photos are upsetting, but to me this looks like it was done by a sexual deviant. I doubt even a parent trying to protect their other child (who didn’t get in trouble for accidentally hitting his sister with a golf club previously) would do this to their daughter especially since there wasn’t a need to fake that kind of assault in the first place.
  4. I read a comment once where someone said they had to strangle Jonbenet because while fighting her Burke pulled her shirt leaving a mark on her neck. Yes. Because no criminal would ever pull a child’s shirt during a struggle.
  5. I believe she was also molested with the paint brush afterwards. T or F?
  6. If an IDI, I think the reason he wrote the ransom note inside the house instead of before was because if he was caught breaking into the house with the note that’d be worse than just getting caught for a B&E.
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submitted by 22Julslow to Home_Made_Fun [link] [comments]


2018.02.10 19:11 JD-McGregor School toilet voyeur

Flick. Flick.
"The lighter's dead," Caleb said.
I shook the mini Bic lighter a couple times and tried again.
Flick. Flick.
The sparks finally turned into a flame that held. I was able to keep the end of the joint there just long enough to light before it died. I took deep drags until the burn slid down far enough to be self-sustaining.
"Have a little faith dude," I said as I handed the joint to him. "I swear you doubt the lighter every time we come out."
He took it from me and accelerated ahead on the forest path. He took in greedy drags and held them in his lungs before exhaling into the tree branches hanging overhead.
It was our fifth consecutive night bringing joints into the woods for an evening smoke. The forest behind residence had become our favourite spot. The campus security guards knew why students tended to gravitate down there when the sun went down. They didn't mind much. So long as you weren't too loud or giving anyone a hard time, the tree-lined slopes were the perfect place to bring your drugs.
"Care to pass it back?" I said as I jogged to catch up. "The other one I rolled is a lot smaller. So don't hog all of this one."
Caleb took another drag and passed it back to me as he held his breath. His pale bony arm banged against mine as he coughed and again moved further ahead on the path.
Something was bothering him.
We went to high school together and had been lucky enough to be matched as roommates (per our request) for our first year living away from home. You really get to know someone when you live in the same the same confined space for long enough. By that point in time, I could always tell when something was wrong.
I would eventually get it out of him. It was only a matter of time. I already had my suspicions of exactly what it was.
Caleb didn't let me catch up with him until we reached the familiar clearing. The one stretch he dared not walk alone. It seemed his discomfort in the area trumped his desire to distance himself. It was our least favourite part of the woods. Where that single bulb exposed you in the darkness. The place where the tunnel opened up.
His eyes, now fogged and red around the edges were open wide. He wasn't going to move until I stepped into the clearing first.
Tunnel Junkies. That's what we called them. The same five people we would always see lounging around the area in front of the tunnel every night we went down there.
That tunnel connected the forest path to the not-so-nice neighbourhood on the other side of the overpass. Every bit of the aging grey concrete was covered in at least one layer of graffiti. The single overhead light at the tunnel entrance shot a ray of orange over the clearing that was surrounded by an otherwise black forest.
The Tunnel Junkies owned that area. They always leaned on the splintered picnic table or sprawled themselves out on the grass. It's not that they would say or do anything. In fact, they never did much at all. They were comatose and spaced out at all times. It was more the thought of whatever they were doing in the tunnel that scared us.
Sure, Caleb and I were known as The Potheads by a lot of people on our floor. But coming back and smoking a few joints behind Res every night was Mickey-Mouse compared to what these guys were doing. I don't know if it was heroin, meth, or something worse, but whatever they were doing was taking them someplace else.
I passed the joint back to Caleb as I stepped into the clearing. I kept my chin close my chest and my pace quick as I passed. My eyes were low, with the Tunnel Junkies carefully surveyed on my peripheral. I wasn't interested in any eye contact or confrontation.
I heard Caleb's steps catch up behind me by the time I was halfway across. I couldn't help but cheat a glance back towards him and watched the Tunnel Junkies as I did. Sure enough, it was the same five people. All of them, I was sure, were students. Three guys and two girls. The oldest couldn't have been more than twenty-one. The girls were cute too. One blonde and one brunette. Neither of which looked like the types who would shoot up in the tunnel behind campus.
I caught the gaze of the blonde girl. She was on her way into that dark corridor and stopped as our eyes locked. I was sure I recognized her from my Econ class. We maintained eye contact until I reached the end of the clearing. A mutual attraction was there. Not that I planned to ever pursue it. I wouldn't dare go near that tunnel.
Finally, we were in the cover of the trees on the other side. We successfully passed them without any confrontation. The returning darkness was comforting. Caleb passed the joint (which was now but a roach) back to me. His shoulders sagged again.
"You gonna tell me what's bothering you at some point?" I asked him.
"I just hate walking by the Junkies, that's all."
"I don't think so. Something's been pissing you off since before we left. You know you're going to tell me about it eventually. So why not just get it over with now?"
I tossed the roach to the ground and Caleb stepped on it and turned his foot in the earth. He backed up and leaned against the trunk of an Oak Tree.
"Sometimes, I think it would be easier if I roomed with someone who didn't know me so well," he said, playing with his hands. "It's nothing big, man. It's just been frustrating these last few months. I really thought Uni was going to be more fun than this."
It appeared to be a non-critical issue. That was relieving.
"What's been frustrating about it?" I asked. "I mean, it's not like the frat parties you see in movies. But you knew that before coming. It's still way more fun than high school was."
"More fun for you maybe."
"Why more fun for me?"
He laughed, obviously forcing it.
"C'mon now, Jack. You know what it is."
I did know. But I didn't say so. I just shrugged my shoulders and looked back at him.
"Dude, I still haven't gotten laid. It sucks ass. I swear every guy on the floor has taken down at some point but me. How many times have you gotten it now? Three?"
"Four actually," I said as smiled at him, trying to keep things light.
"Well, that doesn't make me feel any better. This is our dorm room experience at University. We'll never get to live this lifestyle again. And I'm fucking squandering it. We shouldn't even be here smoking up right now. We should be at some party or social club."
"It's Monday night, Caleb."
"I know, but still."
"Alright," I said. "How about this? I won't sleep with anyone again until you do. I'll devote my entire being to being your wingman, starting with the kegger this weekend. How does that sound?"
He pushed off the tree and walked a little farther away.
"Whatever, dude," he said. "You know, I wish those girls weren't hanging outside the tunnel. I'm pretty sure one of them is in a few of my classes."
"One of them is in my Econ class too! We should do a double date!"
He turned around and finally smiled for real. All it took was bringing up the absurd idea of approaching one of those Tunnel Junkie girls.
"Probably should start with some girls I'm not terrified of," he said.
"Maybe a good idea."
I took out the second joint and started trying to light it.
7:50 PM.
That's the approximate time that Caleb would get back from whatever evening Engineering class he had on Tuesdays. It's amazing the specific details of his weekly schedule I came to learn.
My alarm clock read 7:39 PM. That meant I only had eleven minutes. Too tight? It would take me at least two minutes to run down the hall to the communal bathroom and grab some toilet paper. And his imminent arrival would make the whole thing feel forced. It’s never as enjoyable when you have to rush it.
Still, you have to take your opportunities when you have them. Privacy came at a premium. I was just about to get up when I heard the footsteps outside the room. Caleb must have gotten out early that night. And he had people with him.
I closed the window on my laptop as I heard his key in the handle. When he walked in, I turned to greet him, acting as if I had just been there studying like I was supposed to.
"Hey dude, what's up?"
He stood still in the doorway. His eyes more bewildered than we passed the tunnel the night before.
I heard a girl behind him. Then another. I couldn't believe it. Caleb hadn't brought back any girls to the room without my help up until that point. This was a ground-breaking event.
"C'mon in," Caleb said nervously over his shoulder. "Meet my roommate, Jack."
Two girls I recognized walked into the room. Both of them smiling like Caleb had been a Stand-Up Comedian on the walk over. I blinked a few times in succession as if I needed to reaffirm exactly who it was I was seeing.
Caleb had brought the two female Tunnel Junkies with him back from class.
"Hi," both of them said. The blonde one, who I had made eye-contact with the night before, came up at sat at the foot of my bed next to me.
"I'm Hailey," she said as she extended a hand, as if it were some kind of formal meeting. "That's Sandra over there."
"Jack," I said as I shook it. I looked back at Caleb, who still looked like someone stuck needle filled with adrenaline in his arm. Sandra had taken a seat on his bed. He looked too nervous to sit down beside her.
Just as they were from afar, the girls were very attractive in person. The definitely did not look like junkies. Just young, good-looking university students. Not the type you expect to show up in your room unannounced.
"So, how is it that you two ladies found your way to our room tonight?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Sandra and I saw your roommate the way out of the Commons Building," Hailey said. "We recognize you guys walking on Campus, actually. But I swear we see you guys every night walking through the forest."
"Yeah, that would be us," I said as I leaned back in my chair. "I'll be honest, I recognize both of you as well. It’s nice to finally meet you."
I winked at Caleb quickly, careful the girls couldn't see.
"We're tired of hanging around with the same crowd all the time," Sandra said as she crossed her legs on Caleb's bed. "Figured that this was our first year at University. We're supposed to be meeting new people, right?"
"Right," Caleb said finally taking a tight seated position next to her. But he didn't say anything to follow it up. An awkward silence was incoming.
"So what are we doing tonight?" I said.
"Well, like we were telling Caleb on the way here. We were hoping you guys would come down to the tunnel with us tonight. We've got some pretty cool stuff down there," Hailey said.
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. Caleb was saying that you guys had a lot of studying to do tonight, though. Said you would probably want to stay in."
I turned to Caleb and gave him what better have been the most disapproving look I've ever given.
"No," I said. "We're free."
The journey to the tunnel proved to be somewhat of an emotional rollercoaster. It started with disappointment in my dear friend Caleb. I couldn't help but be irked that he had complained about not getting any female attention. He jokingly brought up the crazy scenario of meeting these girls, then, by some miracle in the universe, they both approach him the next day... and he says he has to study.
But the disappointment quickly gave way to sympathy. The dude was just down on his luck. No young man likes feeling he's the Beta-Male. Of course his confidence was low. This had potential to be the turning point he so desperately needed.
By the time we reached the forest path opening, I had stopped worrying about Caleb altogether. I started to think about this Hailey girl who had entered my life. Something about her radiated excitement. She was different than the other good-looking university students. It was impossible not to be intrigued. Perhaps it was because deep down, I was a little afraid of her.
And that was the last emotion I felt on that walk. Fear. It kicked in right as we approached the tunnel. Exciting or not, I did not like that place. A quick glance over my shoulder suggested Caleb’s sentiment was much the same.
We were officially among the Tunnel Junkies.
The three guys were in their usual spots, stretched out and lounging in the open area. At first, I was worried we might have a little confrontation. Surely they wouldn't like two new single guys brought into the fold.
But, the spaced-out, drug-fuelled look on their faces (which was even more striking up close), made it clear that wasn't going to be a problem. Wherever those guys were inside their minds, they looked content. They probably didn't even realize we were there.
Hailey took my hand as we took our first steps into the tunnel. It’s like she was aware of my discomfort. I didn't look, but I hoped that Sandra was doing the same for Caleb.
"So, are any of you two responsible for this fine graffiti work?" I asked, trying not to broadcast my discomfort.
"No," Hailey said. "We've got better things to do in here. The graffiti’s been here forever."
As we progressed further in, I started counting the lights above. They were spaced out every couple meters, screwed to the cracked cement ceiling and protected by little cages.
"I'm starting to feel tired," Caleb said. His go-to-excuse when he wanted to get out of something.
If he did in fact want to leave, he was too late. Because Hailey stopped at what looked to be the exact halfway point of the tunnel. There was a door on the wall I figured must have led to some maintenance or storage area. Much to my surprise, she pulled it open with no resistance. Whatever was in there, no one was trying to protect by locking.
She held the door open and pointed inside.
"Ladies first."
My impression of the room (at least its actual purpose) appeared correct. A circuit breaker and a caged off utility shelf lined with tools and cleaning supplies were on the other side. Pipes ran all across the walls and ceiling. Droplets of water leaked all over the damp and muggy room.
The industrial-style decor apparently was no bother to the girls who brought us there. Hailey reached for the pipes overhead and started following them across the room with her hands. Sandra took one of the two empty and aging wooden chairs next to the doorway. I prayed that Caleb would have enough sense to take the other one while it was vacant.
He didn't of course. He stayed right next to me. He may as well have clutched at my side for comfort, because it was obvious he was terrified. Perhaps under normal circumstances, I would have given him a look or sent him a text that he was overreacting. But in that moment, I agreed with him. This was no normal night out with college girls. We had no business being there.
Hailey felt around nearly every inch of piping before she was finally satisfied. She smiled at me when she finally brought her arms down.
"Not warm enough," she said to Sandra who was then leaning all the way back in her chair. She started fishing around in her jean pockets until she found a lighter. She threw it underhand to Hailey.
Flick. Flick.
The lighter sparked a few times before maintaining a flame. Hailey brought it up above her head to a corroding silver pipe running along the far wall. It opened up just above where she stood. She waved the lighter at the pipe opening. The flame crept up on either side when she brought it close enough.
"What are we doing here?" Caleb asked. Perhaps the most confident thing I'd ever heard him say in front of people he didn’t know.
Both of them laughed.
"Come, sit here beside me," Sandra said. "Don't worry, we aren't going to shoot up any heroin. It’s a lot more interesting than that."
Caleb looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. He did as she asked. Once again, he held his body tight and away from her as he sat on the creaky wooden chair. Better to let him look like the nervous one, I supposed. Less focus on me.
"What are you going to show us?" I asked Hailey, who was still running the lighter below the pipe opening. Little bits of exhaust were starting to leak out.
"I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh or leave," she said. "If not, you're just going to have to go into it totally blind."
"I can't promise you anything. But you know there are a lot of other places on campus we could be tonight that aren't in the abandoned maintenance room in the middle of the sketchiest tunnel in town."
"Alright, fair enough," she said, still smiling wide. "Just give me another minute here. I guarantee you this is better than any club night."
The exhaust coming out of the pipe grew thicker. The room which had smelled like dust and dirt until that point, started to smell like cigarette smoke.
"By better, you mean kill us all with carbon monoxide?" I said, now feeling very worried.
She held her free hand out towards me. I didn't want to take it. I wanted to snap my fingers at Caleb and start our way out. But, perhaps my young male ego was still too strong at that point. I grabbed her hand and gripped it, not wanting to show any sign of fright or weakness.
She pulled me closer to her and the pipe that was now bleeding dense exhaust into the room from overhead.
"Tell me, Jack," she said. "Right now, what in the whole world do you want more than anything else? It can be absolutely anything. What would make you unbelievably happy in this moment?"
"You seriously think I'm going to tell you that?"
"It's okay. You don't have to say it. You just have to think it. But hold it clearly in your mind. It always makes it so much better."
The exhaust surrounded us. Everyone in the room started to cough.
"Hailey, what the hell are we doing here?"
"You'll see," she said. "Look up at the pipe. Breathe it in."
It wasn't like I had a choice in the matter. It was amazing how fast I left the room.
Could you call it an out-of-body experience? In some ways, yes. But that doesn’t describe it properly. It was more than that.
The first thing I saw was myself. Not an exact replica of me, but rather an older version. Perhaps in my late thirties.
It was like looking through the lens of an overhanging camera. As the older version of myself walked down the sidewalk of a busy city street with skyscrapers looming overhead, I followed him. I saw everything from a third-person perspective. I stayed the same distance away, perhaps three meters above. The angle would sometimes adjust and circle around him. It stopped wherever I got the best line of sight. I was close enough to make out the look on my face, but far enough to see everything in the immediate surroundings.
It took me a little while to adjust. It was hard to comprehend exactly what I was witnessing at first. I watched him stroll down this street for a few minutes. It wasn't until he turned into a little flower shop, that I remembered I had just been standing in that maintenance room as a college student.
One would think I would have panicked. So few have experienced a psychedelic trip on a level to totally leave both their body and sense of reality. You think that you would be overwhelmed and terrified at the idea of losing control or being somewhere you don't fully understand.
But I didn't. I was perfectly content with things just the way they were.
My future-self grabbed a lush bouquet of roses and brought them to the counter. He laughed with the clerk as he paid and left the shop with a smile on his face. He continued down the busy street outside for a few blocks before the scenery changed.
It was like the city just ended and gave way to a serene rural environment. He then walked on a quiet country lane. The sun was shining bright and long branches of willow trees lining either side of the road hung over him.
I followed him as he strolled with a skip in his step along that lane. His smile had faded to a humble grin. His eyes squinted against the sun which I figured was setting on the horizon ahead. It was warm. Maybe twenty or twenty-one degrees. The perfect temperature for an evening walk.
That's when I realized it for the first time. I couldn't just observe my future-self. I could feel him. I felt the warmth of the sun as he did. The sensation was perhaps not as intense as if you were experiencing it firsthand. It was like it lingered at the very edge of your skin. Faint and fleeting, but unmistakably there.
It didn't seem to matter that I couldn't see or move my own body. I could feel it just the same.
I watched as he turned on to one of the gravel driveways that lined either side of the street. It led up to a quaint, modern looking home that rested atop a green rolling hill. He held the bouquet of roses behind his back as he knocked on the door.
My perspective changed then. Rotating around behind him so I could see inside as the door opened. I felt a rush of excitement when I saw who stood there. Perhaps it was my future-self feeling it. Perhaps it was just me. But it just felt so good. It must have been both of us.
Hailey stood there, her hand draped over the door handle. She was older, but certainly no less beautiful. She had aged like fine wine. No wrinkles on her face, her hair still an energetic blonde, reflecting the evening sun. She was a gorgeous older woman. She couldn't have grown into anything else.
He revealed the roses from behind him and her knees quivered for a moment before going still. They both started laughing and she stepped out of the house and threw her arms around him. They embraced each other for a while before she pulled away. She grabbed him by the collar and led him inside.
I followed them in. It was so easy, like I was able to move right through the wall. I started to feel a little nervous. Not the kind that terrifies you. More like the way you feel when you finally get the chance to do something you've always wanted to.
She starts grabbing at his shirt, still giggling. She pulls it over his shoulders and tosses it to the stairs. He picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. He carries her into the living room and sets her down on the edge of a plush blue couch that’s designed in a modern style I’ve never seen before.
He starts taking off her clothes and that feeling of nervousness tingles a little more. She unbuckles his belt and pulls on it. The nervousness changes to raw excitement.
She takes off the remainder of his clothing and soon both of them are wearing nothing and pressed up against each other. I'm watching the entire thing unfold. And it doesn't seem like voyeurism.
Because it wasn’t voyeurism.
I can feel everything my future-self can. The warmth, the moistness, the genuine connection of being with someone you care about. I'm there the entire time. A silent third party experiencing every sensation along with him.
When they stop, they cuddle up on the couch. He whispers something into her ear and she whispers something back. I can't hear it, but it doesn't matter. Whatever she said must have been exactly what he wanted to hear. Because I feel very satisfied. Like I've truly found a place where I belong.
They keep talking, and for the first bit, I still can't hear. Until finally, I hear Hailey's voice come through. But it's loud. She isn't whispering, even though it looks like she is.
"Jack, are you back yet," she says.
Then the vision changed. It was night time, and just one pale light illuminated the area. I saw the trees and the night sky above. I realized that I lay in that open area just outside the tunnel opening. Hailey leaned above me, the same younger one who brought me into the tunnel earlier on.
But she smiled just as her future-self did.
"You look really spaced out," she said. "You musta had a good trip."
J.D.
submitted by JD-McGregor to nosleep [link] [comments]


2017.06.07 14:20 Middlenameredundant What Happened at The Compound

“I tried not to show fear. I really did. My father always told me that I was the brave one, the one who would make it through. Looking back on it, I guess that’s a substantial burden to put on what is essentially a child.”
I looked up at her over my notebook. I’d been writing more than I’d been making eye contact, trying to get it all down verbatim, sure, but also not wanting to see the pain on her face. The notebook was better than a recorder for that, at least.
“Why do you think that’s a burden? Didn’t you appreciate that he had faith in you?”
“Well, no. It meant that I had to survive. All those times when I wanted to curl up and die, I’d think about his words and keep going. The pressure of it…”
“But, now that it’s over, aren’t you happy that you’re still alive? Out of all those people, that you survived?”
She didn’t answer me. She didn’t need to; her eyes made it all clear.
I’d first heard about The Compound three years ago. I was fresh out of my Ph.D. program, and looking for a case to really sink my teeth into. The Compound was it. I must have written half a dozen papers on it during my postgrad. How it could have formed, how people could have let those things happen to themselves and their children. It never really got any traction, though. I never ended up on any daytime talk shows, stroking my beard and pontificating about complex social psychology.
That’s mostly because The Compound never really made the news. It was alluded to a bit in some local papers, but the details were left out. It turns out that the general public loves all the gory details of murder, rape, and torture, but when it’s something like what happened at The Compound, that’s a whole other story. After that, it ceases to be entertaining and starts to be uncomfortable. Uncomfortable doesn’t sell papers.
I didn’t think we’d ever know the full story, though I’d been trying my damnedest to piece it all together. When Angela agreed to speak with me about her time at The Compound, I felt like I’d made real progress, that it was all going to come together. She could fill in all the gaps that three years of research could not begin to. She was the key to everything.
It makes me laugh to realize how naive I was.
Angela was the only one they pulled out of that cellar alive. The other twenty-nine people were just bodies in various states of decomposition. There’s not much information about how long she was in The Compound, or how her family ended up there. All anyone knew about her came from that long tracking shot on the news. That shot of her blinking in the sunlight, smeared with blood and covered in bruises. We all looked into her hollow, glazed-over eyes and turned off the television. Maybe if we’d kept watching we would have seen that expression turn defiant as she looked into the camera, holding eye contact with whoever was brave or sick enough to keep looking.
Somehow she managed to disappear after that. No interviews with furrow-browed, faux-sympathetic reporters on the weekday evening murder shows. No high-profile volunteer work with anti-cult groups. She just vanished. I think even the media wanted to keep away from her. She was uncomfortable like that.
It took the bulk of three years for me to track her down, and I felt like absolute garbage about it. She clearly didn’t want to be found, but curiosity gnawed at my insides until I couldn’t sleep at night. Suddenly my need to know what happened at The Compound became more important than this poor girl’s mental health. So, I called her.
“Hello?” the voice at the other end of the line was guarded and soft.
“Hi, is this--sorry--is this Angela Burdham?”
“Yes, to whom am I speaking?”
The formality caught me off guard. I hadn’t really thought about what I would say to her.
“Hi, Angela. Um, this is Dr. Hanson, I mean, Rick Hanson. I, uh, I’ve been studying your case, The Compound? And I--if it’s alright with you, I mean--I would like to interview you about your experiences. Please.”
The silence on the other end of the phone extended uncomfortably. I checked the screen on my phone, thinking that she might have hung up on me. Finally, she spoke.
“Yes, Dr. Hanson, I think I would like to speak with you.”
Angela lived two states away, just far enough to make meeting in person difficult. I couldn’t interview her over the phone, though. It just didn’t seem right. She suggested a local community center where I could rent out an office. Meeting in her house was out of the question, she said. She didn’t want those memories dragged into her home. I didn’t blame her.
I couldn’t imagine what she had been through. The research I did turned up relatively little about the monster who held those people captive. Adam Furlong. A middle-aged banker who vanished without a trace six years before The Compound was discovered. When the SWAT team raided The Compound, Adam, dressed all in white robes, charged the armed lawmen and died instantly. Suicide by cop. His life had been uneventful, would have been completely unremarkable, except for his moonlighting as a...whatever he was. Adam raised more questions than he answered, as the body he left behind was half-starved and battered itself. Those of us who studied the case assumed that there was an element of asceticism in his insanity. Perhaps he had starved and mutilated himself in a vain attempt at penance for the horrific crimes he had committed. We couldn’t be certain. At any rate, Adam Furlong was just one of many questions I had for Angela.
I flew out two weeks later.
I was surprised at how nervous I felt. All my questions, three years’ worth of work, all came down to this one person.
I met Angela at the community center as we had arranged. For someone I had spent so much time obsessing about, it was somehow shocking to see how nondescript she was. She was a pudgy woman with a soft, round face and limp brown hair. She could have been someone’s middle-aged mother if she hadn’t been in her mid-twenties. I did the math in my head; if she was fifteen when she went into The Compound, that made her only twenty-four. I guessed that what she went through would have aged just about anyone.
Angela greeted me shyly, with a practiced formality.
“Hello, Dr. Hanson,” she said, timidly extending her hand to me.
“Please, call me Rick.”
“I’d rather call you Doctor, or Dr. Hanson if you would oblige me.”
“Uh, sure, that’s fine. But you know I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m just a researcher, not a physician.”
“Regardless,” she began before trailing off.
I smiled at her, trying my best to set an informal tone. “That’s just fine! Whatever you’re comfortable with. Shall we go into the office and begin?”
Angela nodded and followed me down the hallway into the empty office I had reserved. Inside sat a white table with mismatched chairs on each side. The walls were blank and white. A fluorescent light hummed and spat above us.
“Please, have a seat,” I motioned toward a chair. “Do you mind if I take notes in my notebook?”
Angela shook her head and sat stiffly across the table from me.
“We don’t have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable. If I ask you any questions you do not wish to answer, just let me know and I’ll stop. Okay?”
“Yes, Doctor, I understand.”
I bristled slightly at her tone but smiled at her regardless. So what if she was a bit weird and socially stunted. Who wouldn’t be?
“Well, then, let’s get started. Can you tell me how you ended up at The Compound, and when?”
Angela sighed deeply and looked at her hands. “I was among the first, me and my family. There were so few of us then. I went with my parents. They said we had to go, my sister and I.”
“And why did your parents do that? What persuaded them?”
“Doctor, I ask myself that question every day.” She wiped the corner of her eye with one hand.
“Okay, that’s fine,” I said, writing her words down in my notebook. “Did you have any interactions with Adam, the leader of The Compound?”
“Did I? Oh, yes, but not at first. The children were saved for last, and the last took years. I was an adult in age when he got to me. We were made to watch, you understand?”
I nodded.
“What were the conditions like at The Compound? Were you all fed and given water? Did you socialize with each other? Were you ever allowed outside?”
“Doctor, I...I can’t.”
I swallowed. In my haste, I had overwhelmed her. “I can stop if you’d like.”
“No, I just...okay,” she exhaled a shaky breath.
“We lived together in the cellar. You’ve seen the photos? Well, that was it. The floor was dirt, and when we were hurt it would soak up the blood. A light was in the cellar so that we could see. We had to see.
“There was a second room where people were taken. It was dark and from the cellar you could hear the screams, as if they were in the same room with us. I’d rather have seen what was happening because imagining was so much worse. We toileted in the corner, and eventually, a bucket was given to us. When the people became bodies, they were stacked along one wall, and then another, until our space began to close in on us, and we couldn’t remember where the walls used to be. The smell went away after a time. There were rats who came and went, making burrows in the flesh of the walls that weren’t walls. We heard them chewing all day, even when we slept we heard them.
“There was water and some food, at intervals. I don’t know how often; there was no light to tell the days by. We were hungry and thirsty, but that isn’t what we died of, so we must have eaten and drank. We spoke openly and often at first, making escape plans and discussing our real lives outside of The Compound, then not really at all. We stopped looking at each other as fellow humans and saw only deaths that might precede our own. If we were unlucky. We all wanted to die. All of us. A man named Nick ate part of his dead wife, hoping that her rot would take him over, that her death might infect him. It did not. He had to wait his turn like the rest of us.”
Angela cleared her throat and looked down at her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, no, no. There’s no reason to be sorry. I can’t imagine what this must be like for you...you don’t have to say any more than you’re comfortable with.”
“I just don’t want to burden anyone with it all. The things that were done…”
“It’s not a burden. I asked you here; you don’t need to worry about me.”
“Have you seen the photos?”
I nodded. I had seen the photos. The awful photos, horrors beyond description. It made me feel like a voyeur, listening to Angela tell her story with those images in my mind. I had seen the things she had described but hadn’t had to live them. They were burned into my brain, seared in like an afterimage. I couldn’t image how they haunted her.
We continued like that. Tentative questions and halting answers, all while I wrote down everything Angela said. I couldn’t fight the guilt I felt, documenting it all like a court stenographer while tears welled in her eyes. All for my research.
We talked for an hour or more. She eventually became comfortable enough to talk about the abuses inflicted upon her and the others in stark detail. It unsettled me, but I let her continue at her own pace. I thought it must be therapeutic for her, and tried not to let the horror show on my face. With each graphic retelling, I shifted my weight in my chair. If I hadn’t known better, I would have believed she relished in my discomfort, but her face showed no sign of enjoyment.
The question I’d wanted to ask the most I saved for last. The enigma that was Adam had gnawed at me since I’d first read about The Compound. How does a man with no criminal history become the monster Angela had described? And how does a person seemingly devoid of charisma lure thirty people into a cellar?
I waited until Angela had finished recounting a particularly heinous mutilation, and broached the subject.
“Can I ask you one more question, and maybe you’re as clueless about this as we all are, but why did he do it?”
Angela looked at me curiously and began picking at her thumbnail. She had something she wanted to tell me and was evidently debating it.
“It’s okay, Angela.” I sat my notebook down. “Whatever you have to say is between us alone.”
At that, she focused her eyes on me, a direct, naked stare that made me uncomfortable. She looked as if she were deciding something, as if she were weighing her options carefully. Her face shifted subtly, morphing from soft shyness to determination.
“Well, you asked. And I am hungry,” she said, giving me a cryptic look. “Doctor, are you aware of entities that consume human emotions?”
The question threw me for a loop. Whatever I was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. I cleared my throat.
“I know that in some Judeo-Christian traditions, demons are said to grow stronger by feeding on emotions. Is that what Adam told you all?” I had suspected a religious delusion as part of Adam’s psychosis, and it made sense that he might try to envelop his captives in his own mythology.
“Adam didn’t tell us shit,” Angela replied, causing me to straighten in my chair. “I mean, he screamed, but he had nothing of value to contribute. You are correct, however, in your recollection of childish Bible stories. Some of us do grow stronger through feeding. Some anger, some lust, some greed. Fear, though, Doctor. Fear is the most delicious of all. It’s animalistic. It’s pure.”
I stared at her, confused. She relaxed in her seat, dropping her defensive stiffness in one fluid motion. She leaned back and studied me, a predator watching its prey. My breathing quickened in my chest as I began to put the pieces together.
Angela inhaled deeply and smiled.
“Can you smell it now? The fear? It’s wafting off of your skin like perfume. It’s simply heavenly, Doctor.”
I gaped at her. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me, could smell my own sweat, and kicked myself for agreeing to meet in such a secluded environment. I surveyed the blank walls of the empty office, looking for any cameras that might have captured our exchange. There were none.
“I don’t understand,” I said, though I was fairly certain that I did. “Are you telling me that Adam wasn’t the leader of The Compound? That somehow you were behind it?”
“Is that so difficult to believe? You said yourself--out of all those people, I survived. Occam ’s razor, Doctor, or didn’t they teach you that in school?”
“But Adam…?”
“A meek idiot I dressed in robes. He broke mentally early on. Fear didn’t seep from him like the others, though I tried my best. When the day came, I dolled him up myself. Feeble-minded creep. You can’t imagine my delight when he ran face-first into the first bullet he saw. The rest of them would have done the same, had they been alive. They all wanted to die, Doctor. Begged me to kill them. But why stop a good thing early? You don’t leave the buffet after the first plate.”
“But what about your bruises? Your cuts...the blood?”
Angela laughed. “Do you think I’m stupid? If I came out of that cellar fat and happy, there’s no way I would be able to disappear. A few sprints into a brick wall can quiet a lot of questions.”
I thought back to the crime scene photos. Angela had fresh bruises, open wounds. There were no scars on her, not like the others. It all started to make sense to me. The bodies stacked naked from floor to ceiling in that tiny cellar. They weren’t just stored in there--as if the cellar were a meat-locker--they were decoration, designed for maximum fear. The beatings and the mutilations weren’t meant to kill; they were public, meant to provoke terror in the others. The screams in the adjacent room carefully calculated. The stories she had been telling me: they were designed to increase my unease. Maybe they were true, maybe embellished, but they had done their job.
Angela rose from her seat and sauntered over to me. She leaned into my ear, purring her words.
“I learned a lesson from The Compound. A person can only stand so much fear until they shut down. It was an interesting experiment, concentrated fear in such quantities and of such quality, but it’s not a long-term solution.”
She breathed in deeply and moaned softly as she pulled her nose from my ear to the bottom of my neck. She licked her lips before speaking again.
“There’s so much more fear to be had out here in the world.”
I swallowed hard, trying to still the thudding of my heart. It didn’t work. Angela stepped back and smiled at me.
“Don’t be upset, Doc. I mean, sure no one will ever believe you and you’ll almost certainly be discredited if you try to share this. And, sure, you’ll live your life knowing that others like me exist in the world, ready to devour your mind. But think of how full I’ll be.”
Angela winked at me and walked out of the office door. I tried to move, to run out to catch her, but found myself frozen in place. I slowed my breathing and wiped my sweat-covered palms on my pants. I didn’t want to catch her, I realized. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.
Ultimately, she was right. I was discredited; no one believed me. She ruined my life more thoroughly than I could have imagined. I searched for years; nothing else mattered to me except finding her. I filed missing persons reports, hired private investigators, and scoured every inch of the internet. I spent every dime I had. I quit my job, severed my relationships, all to commit myself to tracking her down. She just disappeared from all public life.
It’s like trying to chase a half-forgotten nightmare. But I know she’s real. I know she’s out there; I know she’s feeding.
submitted by Middlenameredundant to nosleep [link] [comments]


2016.06.09 03:12 Podorson School toilet voyeur

Western Europe is abuzz with the latest flare-up in the war between the sexes, and for the moment, the Amazons seem to be winning. If outrage continues to mount, it will soon be not just uncool and politically incorrect for a man to urinate while standing up, but out-and-out ILLEGAL. ToiletYes, the liberated women of France and Germany and Holland have vowed to put their men down – on the toilet. They carry placards showing a huge red X scrawled across a man standing to urinate. They shout: “Laissez tomber votre pantalon, et asseyez vous! (Drop your trousers and sit)!” “Behalte deine Tropfen fuer dich (Keep your drips to yourself)!” “Toch niet weer een vieze plas op MIJN badkamer vloer (Not another filthy puddle on MY bathroom floor)!”
Their motives, or so they insist, have nothing to do with penis envy and everything to do with hygiene. On the face of it, their argument seems to, uh, hold water. No one enjoys stepping in a puddle of urine. Given the distance between the toilet bowl and the penis of an upright man (approximately two feet, depending on anatomic variations), and factoring in the width of the bowl itself (approximately twelve inches), it becomes clear that only the sharpest aim can hit the target every time. In such a precarious setting, even a moment’s loss of focus will scatter errant drops on the floor. On the other hand, if every man sits to urinate, the bathroom floors of Europe will remain pristine. Or so goes the logic of the Amazons.
Forgive me, madams, but I beg to differ. Before joining the fray, let me establish my credentials: during my life, I have urinated approximately 118,000 times (five times a day for sixty-five years) and on countless occasions have watched other males urinate in public restrooms. (I am not a voyeur, of course; all of these glimpses were caught from corner of my eye, with no intention to invade the privacy of others.) Furthermore, during medical school, I spent four years studying the human body. Combining my knowledge from these sources, I must warn the mothers and wives and cohabitees of Europe that their efforts to sustain the purity of their bathroom floors will surely come to naught, defeated by the anatomy and physiology of the male genitourinary tract.
The first fact to be faced: most of the stray “sprinkles” that so enrage European women occur not during the act of urination itself, but immediately afterward, during a ritual men learn as part of their potty training. By “ritual” I refer to the various manoeuvers required to discharge the urine remaining in the urethra (the muscular tube that delivers urine to the tip of the penis) once the bladder is empty. Nor is the act merely symbolic or recreational. A man who tucks away his penis without performing these manoeuvers will dribble half an ounce of urine into his underwear, causing an embarrassing stain in the crotch of his trousers, or an even more embarrassing streak down his trouser leg. To avoid this debacle, every sentient male, after every urination, carefully squeezes or “milks” his member to assure that no stray drops remain within the urethra.
Unfortunately, some men pursue this goal with excessive vigour, indulging in what can only be described as “shaking off the last drop.” It is precisely these movements – and not the free-falling stream itself – that deposit most of the unwanted urine on lavatory floors throughout the world. And sometimes, given a sufficiently vigorous shake, on the walls, or even on the ceiling.
Let me interrupt my argument for a moment to address the mortified gasps from some female readers. I know your “drying off” ritual is far more civilized than the one described above, but this difference derives only in part from the inherent uncouthness of men. We must also consider anatomy: the female urethra spans only a miniscule length in comparison to that of the male, and as a result, it harbours only a tiny dollop of urine. The male ritual seems barbaric to women because they need only daub themselves with a tissue to remove the few drops remaining on the external genitalia. Granted, their method is more aesthetic, but it’s not our fault that a discrete little wipe doesn’t serve our needs. We can’t help it. No one decides to be a man instead of a woman.
To reiterate my point, men scatter urine not so much during the actual urination as during the “shaking off” that follows. As a result, forcing men to sit while emptying their bladders will serve little purpose, since no man wants to shake himself off while remaining seated on the toilet. To do so he must run the risk – a great risk indeed for the famously well-endowed men of Western Europe – that his instrument will bash against the toilet seat, or dip into a bowl teeming with coliform bacteria. Because of this reasonable and compelling reluctance, all the obedient men who sit to void their bladders will inevitably defeat the purpose of sitting by rising to scatter their offensive droplets on the floor.
But all is not lost. Eons ago, a hydraulic genius designed the perfect instrument for receiving urine from the male organ with a minimum of mess and bother. I speak here of the lowly urinal, the gleaming porcelain icon that adorns public toilets throughout the western world. For those female readers who have never visited a men’s restroom, let me describe this icon: its bowl is broad as a toilet bowl but sits much higher from the floor, at just the right level to encourage a direct hit from a majority of the men who stand before it. Better yet, the urinal comes with a back-splash to catch any misguided drops, while the push of a button flushes all its surfaces with a cleansing gush of water. Voila! What more could a man or woman ask?
Any nation that bans urinals will pay for this folly with an increase in floor soiling when millions of men stand up to shake off their drops over a toilet located two feet below their penis. Let us remember that the toilet was designed for defaecation rather than urination, and, as noted above, it serves the latter purpose rather poorly, while for the urinal, the very opposite is true.
Unfortunately, urinals give no help on the family front, since few of them are installed in private homes. But we must not lose hope – the solution is at hand. In fact, every home already contains the solution, and it rests only a few feet from the toilet itself. Let us consider the sink, a porcelain instrument whose opening spans a greater width than the toilet, and whose height above the floor brings it much closer to the average male instrument. The short-legged among us must stand on our toes, while midgets and children will need to use a stool, but this is a small price to pay for urine-free floors. By my calculation, considering only the physics of hydraulic trajectory, urine aimed at a sink by a man of normal height is eight and one-half times less likely to go astray than when aimed at a toilet. Furthermore, this logic applies equally to both urination and to the drip-dispersing ritual that follows.
Yes, I can hear the howls of protest: urine in the sink – yuck! Indeed, our culture is replete with disparaging references – “piss on it,” “filthy as piss,” Sink“I don’t give a piss” – but rest assured that such prejudice is for the most part misguided. Which is to say, urine has long suffered a bum rap. To quote Merriam-Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary:
Urine: liquid to semisolid matter that is produced in the kidney and discharged through the urinary organs, that is typically (as in normal man) a clear transparent amber-colored slightly acid fluid which is essentially a watery solution of end products (as urea, uric acid, and creatinine) of protein metabolism, inorganic salts, and complex pigments, and that constitutes the major true excretion of the vertebrate body.
What Merriam-Webster leaves out is the most important fact of all: urine from a normal male is also sterile – completely free of bacterial contamination. In fact, as any soldier trained in desert warfare will attest, this warm, salty liquid serves as an excellent wound cleanser, provided contamination is avoided by delivering the stream directly from its source. In my paean to urine, however, I will not go so far as to advocate urophagia – drinking ones own urine. Though the habit is unlikely to cause serious harm, those “alternative” practitioners who insist it will cure a variety of ills can offer not one jot of scientific evidence to support this idiocy.
Despite urine’s innocuous nature, when contaminated it provokes an aesthetic and hygienic disaster by offering an excellent growth medium for bacteria. After an hour or two in a warm environment, these organisms produce breakdown products that stink to high heaven. This problem is easily avoided, however, by the simple expedient of washing away the urine soon after it is voided.
So at last we have the solution to our excretory dilemma. First, encourage men to continue using the urinals in public toliets, while at home insist they both urinate and squeeze their last dribbles into the sink rather than into the toilet, then rinse the sink with a generous splash of water. To facilitate this splash, the wise hostess will keep a plastic cup nearby. Let me close my argument by noting that this procedure offers a spectacular bonus: even the most efficient modern toilet consumes more than a gallon of water with each flush, while a sink can be rinsed with only a few ounces. Thus if every man on earth pursues this excellent regimen, we will save billions of gallons of water every day, thereby preserving the environment for future generations.
Make your woman happy.
Be clean and green.
Piss in the sink!
Readers might like to know the source of the genitourinary disparity that has kept women seething in a jealous rage since the dawn of human history. Oddly enough, the best available evidence comes not from evolutionary biology but from a theological event that dates back to 3,949 B. C. The material that follows was taken from a revised version of Genesis based on the Dead Sea Scrolls:
God approached Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and said unto them, “There remain of my gifts to mankind only two items, but I have yet to decide how they shall be divided between man and woman.”
And Adam said, “Tell me of these wondrous things, for I am the man, and by virtue of my closer resemblance to Thee, I must be given the first choice.”
“Well,” said God, “the first item is an extraordinary arrangement of tubing and erectile tissue that will allow you to urinate while standing up.”
“That’s it!” said Adam. “I’ll take it.”
“But this other item . . . ”
“No, no,” said Adam, “that’s what I want, God, and I want it right now.”
The moment the item was installed on his person, Adam gave a gleeful shout, then rushed off to urinate on trees and write his name in the sand, feats that to this day have eluded every woman on earth.
God and Eve stood alone in silence, looking one another in the eye.
“Ok,” Eve said at last, “what’s left for me?”
And God said, “It’s called a brain.”
submitted by Podorson to ohnowhatamidoing [link] [comments]


2016.05.06 10:33 GeekBite School toilet voyeur

On a regular day, I wake up, put on my VR goggles, then I check my friends’ snapchats. Snapchat has moved on from old-school 'smartphones' to VR and so now we can watch our friends’ snapchats in 360º video as if we were looking at the world through their eyes. All the celebrities I follow vie for attention with full vlog episodes of days in their lives, but I'm pretty sure most of them are faking it. I heard a rumour that most of them just employ people to film interesting videos of a lavish lifestyle for the attention and then claim it's coming from their goggles.
I know, It's probably super weird for you guys to hear this, but Kanye West is one of the most popular vloggers in the world right now. He's actually grown sick of his egoic personality and now he strives for realism and honesty in his vlogs. I usually follow through Kanye's day, as he spends the weekend with young 13 year old North West and speaks maturely and candidly about his divorce with Kim and why you should always get a prenuptial agreement.
After I've caught up with everything in my feed, I log in to school via my goggles and get all my work done. I feel bad for kids with traditional parents, who have to actually physically go to school, rather than just logging in with their goggles. Once finished, I usually log in to Facebook, which these days, features a virtual world where you can socialise with others and play VR games. Hackers keep screwing with the physics, so it's a bit glitchy at times, but when it works, it's actually really fun and I've met some of my closest friends through Facebook VR.
To chill out, I like watching new release movies on Netflix. Netflix has decimated the movie theatre industry with Netflix Cinema - a subscription service that gives you access to watch the newest movies in a virtual reality cinema. In Netflix cinema you can view the movie on a big virtual screen in your goggles, you can pause the movie whenever you want and after watching it, you can talk in a virtual reality room to other people around the world that just watched the same movie. 10 years ago, most people would've been too socially introverted to talk to any random person at the cinema about a movie, but these days, given the anonymity provided by VR, and the fact you can just exit out of the cinema app whenever you want, it's easy to talk face-to-face to like-minded people and make friends through VR social apps.
It's annoying to hear my parents talk about VR ruining the social lives of today's kids just because we stay inside nearly every day. Like seriously, Dad was born in the 80's, before the INTERNET even existed. He's a dinosaur. Plus, his generation just sends messages with written text and pictures using different retro touchscreens and computers. How anti-social and impersonal is that? At least with VR, we actually have real conversations.
It's interesting how when VR first came out, everyone just thought of it only being used for gaming and porn. Now it's basically becoming the backbone to our society.
Since One Direction got back together, my little sister has been watching their music videos non-stop. Some of the immersion in VR music videos is kinda weird to me, but she loves it. She loves the way they make it feel like they are singing directly to her. I find it super creepy. Those dudes are getting to be a little too old to sing like that to my little sister...
I also like tuning into Periscope to watch one of the many live vloggers that let us follow them through every second of every day. It's interesting seeing life from the perspective of another person. My parents think it's weird to watch an unedited stream of someone's life, but I find the voyeurism and the immersion in someone else's life really engaging. Plus, it's cool how the most popular vlog streamers just wake up and walk through life being able to do whatever they want. Companies literally give them everything for free, just so the vlogger uses the company’s products and services in their stream in front of their millions of followers. I really want to be a live vlogger when I finish school.
After a long day, I often order pizza with the Dominos VR app. It's kind-of gimmicky with the way I need to swipe through the pizzas in front of a virtual pizza oven and how I'm meant to physically add each ingredient I want with the VR pizza creator, but when they send out the pizza delivery drone to the house, I like the way I can view the 360º video feed from the drone as it flies here. I think that's really cool.
When having a shower, that's when I usually take my goggles off and start looking at the 'real world'. I used to keep my VR goggles on when having a shower, so I could keep watching live AMAs on Reddit while getting ready for bed, but I've heard way too many horror stories of hackers being able to see my goggles VR video feed without me knowing, so now I just don't take them in the shower or toilet at all.
When it's time for bed, I must admit, I do sometimes watch adult VR videos... Mum tried to block adult content, but I managed to find a tutorial on YouTube to get around that. The other night, I found a site where you just paste the link of someone's Facebook profile to the site, then it maps that persons face to the pornstar in any of their VR videos. Don't judge me, I know it's super messed up and I haven't done it yet, but it's certainly intriguing...
Virtual reality has brought on the biggest social change since the Internet. It really is funny how people used to think it was just a passing fad. I guess a lot can change in 10 years and everything really is much clearer in retrospect.
I wrote this with the initial intention of making an animation of it for my YouTube channel. I'm not too good with animation, so if you liked this little brain dump on what it's like to live with VR in 2026 and you're into animation, send me a message and perhaps we can make a video for it :)
My name is 'GeekBite' on all social media for those that are interested
EDIT: I'm not 6 years old, I'm 23 haha. This is just an exercise in creativity, imagining what it might be like for today's 6 year olds in 10 years time, when they are 16 ;)
submitted by GeekBite to Futurology [link] [comments]


2016.05.01 19:57 TitusVI School toilet voyeur

Western Europe is abuzz with the latest flare-up in the war between the sexes, and for the moment, the Amazons seem to be winning. If outrage continues to mount, it will soon be not just uncool and politically incorrect for a man to urinate while standing up, but out-and-out ILLEGAL. ToiletYes, the liberated women of France and Germany and Holland have vowed to put their men down – on the toilet. They carry placards showing a huge red X scrawled across a man standing to urinate. They shout: “Laissez tomber votre pantalon, et asseyez vous! (Drop your trousers and sit)!” “Behalte deine Tropfen fuer dich (Keep your drips to yourself)!” “Toch niet weer een vieze plas op MIJN badkamer vloer (Not another filthy puddle on MY bathroom floor)!”
Their motives, or so they insist, have nothing to do with penis envy and everything to do with hygiene. On the face of it, their argument seems to, uh, hold water. No one enjoys stepping in a puddle of urine. Given the distance between the toilet bowl and the penis of an upright man (approximately two feet, depending on anatomic variations), and factoring in the width of the bowl itself (approximately twelve inches), it becomes clear that only the sharpest aim can hit the target every time. In such a precarious setting, even a moment’s loss of focus will scatter errant drops on the floor. On the other hand, if every man sits to urinate, the bathroom floors of Europe will remain pristine. Or so goes the logic of the Amazons.
Forgive me, madams, but I beg to differ. Before joining the fray, let me establish my credentials: during my life, I have urinated approximately 118,000 times (five times a day for sixty-five years) and on countless occasions have watched other males urinate in public restrooms. (I am not a voyeur, of course; all of these glimpses were caught from corner of my eye, with no intention to invade the privacy of others.) Furthermore, during medical school, I spent four years studying the human body. Combining my knowledge from these sources, I must warn the mothers and wives and cohabitees of Europe that their efforts to sustain the purity of their bathroom floors will surely come to naught, defeated by the anatomy and physiology of the male genitourinary tract.
The first fact to be faced: most of the stray “sprinkles” that so enrage European women occur not during the act of urination itself, but immediately afterward, during a ritual men learn as part of their potty training. By “ritual” I refer to the various manoeuvers required to discharge the urine remaining in the urethra (the muscular tube that delivers urine to the tip of the penis) once the bladder is empty. Nor is the act merely symbolic or recreational. A man who tucks away his penis without performing these manoeuvers will dribble half an ounce of urine into his underwear, causing an embarrassing stain in the crotch of his trousers, or an even more embarrassing streak down his trouser leg. To avoid this debacle, every sentient male, after every urination, carefully squeezes or “milks” his member to assure that no stray drops remain within the urethra.
Unfortunately, some men pursue this goal with excessive vigour, indulging in what can only be described as “shaking off the last drop.” It is precisely these movements – and not the free-falling stream itself – that deposit most of the unwanted urine on lavatory floors throughout the world. And sometimes, given a sufficiently vigorous shake, on the walls, or even on the ceiling.
Let me interrupt my argument for a moment to address the mortified gasps from some female readers. I know your “drying off” ritual is far more civilized than the one described above, but this difference derives only in part from the inherent uncouthness of men. We must also consider anatomy: the female urethra spans only a miniscule length in comparison to that of the male, and as a result, it harbours only a tiny dollop of urine. The male ritual seems barbaric to women because they need only daub themselves with a tissue to remove the few drops remaining on the external genitalia. Granted, their method is more aesthetic, but it’s not our fault that a discrete little wipe doesn’t serve our needs. We can’t help it. No one decides to be a man instead of a woman.
To reiterate my point, men scatter urine not so much during the actual urination as during the “shaking off” that follows. As a result, forcing men to sit while emptying their bladders will serve little purpose, since no man wants to shake himself off while remaining seated on the toilet. To do so he must run the risk – a great risk indeed for the famously well-endowed men of Western Europe – that his instrument will bash against the toilet seat, or dip into a bowl teeming with coliform bacteria. Because of this reasonable and compelling reluctance, all the obedient men who sit to void their bladders will inevitably defeat the purpose of sitting by rising to scatter their offensive droplets on the floor.
But all is not lost. Eons ago, a hydraulic genius designed the perfect instrument for receiving urine from the male organ with a minimum of mess and bother. I speak here of the lowly urinal, the gleaming porcelain icon that adorns public toilets throughout the western world. For those female readers who have never visited a men’s restroom, let me describe this icon: its bowl is broad as a toilet bowl but sits much higher from the floor, at just the right level to encourage a direct hit from a majority of the men who stand before it. Better yet, the urinal comes with a back-splash to catch any misguided drops, while the push of a button flushes all its surfaces with a cleansing gush of water. Voila! What more could a man or woman ask?
Any nation that bans urinals will pay for this folly with an increase in floor soiling when millions of men stand up to shake off their drops over a toilet located two feet below their penis. Let us remember that the toilet was designed for defaecation rather than urination, and, as noted above, it serves the latter purpose rather poorly, while for the urinal, the very opposite is true.
Unfortunately, urinals give no help on the family front, since few of them are installed in private homes. But we must not lose hope – the solution is at hand. In fact, every home already contains the solution, and it rests only a few feet from the toilet itself. Let us consider the sink, a porcelain instrument whose opening spans a greater width than the toilet, and whose height above the floor brings it much closer to the average male instrument. The short-legged among us must stand on our toes, while midgets and children will need to use a stool, but this is a small price to pay for urine-free floors. By my calculation, considering only the physics of hydraulic trajectory, urine aimed at a sink by a man of normal height is eight and one-half times less likely to go astray than when aimed at a toilet. Furthermore, this logic applies equally to both urination and to the drip-dispersing ritual that follows.
Yes, I can hear the howls of protest: urine in the sink – yuck! Indeed, our culture is replete with disparaging references – “piss on it,” “filthy as piss,” Sink“I don’t give a piss” – but rest assured that such prejudice is for the most part misguided. Which is to say, urine has long suffered a bum rap. To quote Merriam-Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary:
Urine: liquid to semisolid matter that is produced in the kidney and discharged through the urinary organs, that is typically (as in normal man) a clear transparent amber-colored slightly acid fluid which is essentially a watery solution of end products (as urea, uric acid, and creatinine) of protein metabolism, inorganic salts, and complex pigments, and that constitutes the major true excretion of the vertebrate body.
What Merriam-Webster leaves out is the most important fact of all: urine from a normal male is also sterile – completely free of bacterial contamination. In fact, as any soldier trained in desert warfare will attest, this warm, salty liquid serves as an excellent wound cleanser, provided contamination is avoided by delivering the stream directly from its source. In my paean to urine, however, I will not go so far as to advocate urophagia – drinking ones own urine. Though the habit is unlikely to cause serious harm, those “alternative” practitioners who insist it will cure a variety of ills can offer not one jot of scientific evidence to support this idiocy.
Despite urine’s innocuous nature, when contaminated it provokes an aesthetic and hygienic disaster by offering an excellent growth medium for bacteria. After an hour or two in a warm environment, these organisms produce breakdown products that stink to high heaven. This problem is easily avoided, however, by the simple expedient of washing away the urine soon after it is voided.
So at last we have the solution to our excretory dilemma. First, encourage men to continue using the urinals in public toliets, while at home insist they both urinate and squeeze their last dribbles into the sink rather than into the toilet, then rinse the sink with a generous splash of water. To facilitate this splash, the wise hostess will keep a plastic cup nearby. Let me close my argument by noting that this procedure offers a spectacular bonus: even the most efficient modern toilet consumes more than a gallon of water with each flush, while a sink can be rinsed with only a few ounces. Thus if every man on earth pursues this excellent regimen, we will save billions of gallons of water every day, thereby preserving the environment for future generations.
Make your woman happy.
Be clean and green.
Piss in the sink!
Readers might like to know the source of the genitourinary disparity that has kept women seething in a jealous rage since the dawn of human history. Oddly enough, the best available evidence comes not from evolutionary biology but from a theological event that dates back to 3,949 B. C. The material that follows was taken from a revised version of Genesis based on the Dead Sea Scrolls:
God approached Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and said unto them, “There remain of my gifts to mankind only two items, but I have yet to decide how they shall be divided between man and woman.”
And Adam said, “Tell me of these wondrous things, for I am the man, and by virtue of my closer resemblance to Thee, I must be given the first choice.”
“Well,” said God, “the first item is an extraordinary arrangement of tubing and erectile tissue that will allow you to urinate while standing up.”
“That’s it!” said Adam. “I’ll take it.”
“But this other item . . . ”
“No, no,” said Adam, “that’s what I want, God, and I want it right now.”
The moment the item was installed on his person, Adam gave a gleeful shout, then rushed off to urinate on trees and write his name in the sand, feats that to this day have eluded every woman on earth.
God and Eve stood alone in silence, looking one another in the eye.
“Ok,” Eve said at last, “what’s left for me?”
And God said, “It’s called a brain.”
submitted by TitusVI to Sinkpissers [link] [comments]


2015.01.01 13:58 Monkey0nMyBack School toilet voyeur

I feel like everything could go either way right now and, if I don't take control, I could lose the thing that is most important to me.
I first masturbated at 7 or 8 years old, when I first learned what a blow job was. I first achieved orgasm at 10 before I even knew what it was. I used to do it at school and in bed.
I have been in a relationship for nearly 4 years but, due to health reasons (she has a bladder problem :( ), we are rarely able to have sex. Because she is pain a lot of the time she also is not in the mood for any other sexual activity.
When we started out we used to fuck 5 times a day, everyday. I have the sexual appetite of a pumped up bull on steroids. I can go all weekend and still need more. Since the health issues we do it far less than once a month. As a result I masturbate much more often. Sometimes tipping 5 a day. I did it in the university library multiple times a day before graduating. I now do it at work in the toilets. I even pulled myself off on the coach on the way back from the staff Christmas party. I'll do it any where at any time. I fucking love it.
Recently, I saw some porn on my gf's laptop; gang-bangs and shit like that. I was never so turned on as I was when I learned what she was really in to (I am a massive voyeur ). Since then I was in to the stuff, too. 10 guys on one girl. dirt.
I am usually always turned on when I tug. I occasionally just do it for the sake of it. If I could just limit it to when I am turned on, it would be a start, however, I'd still be doing 3-4 times a day.
I have been using a chat service and chatting women up on there. Telling them I'd like to share them with 10 guys. One girl asked if she could watch me with a guy. Now, I am a straight guy, but the thought of her getting off to it sent me in to a rage. It became a bit of a fantasy since - even though I wouldn't actually do it (I am sure that makes sense to you guys..).
So I masturbate at least 5 times a day now. I am sick of chatting girls up online. My girl deserve a bit more respect than that. I have realized and I am determined to not return to it. As for my increasingly extreme "searches" on porn sites, it needs to stop somewhere... and I can't just keep searching for the next most extreme way to have an orgasm, either - in a fire?
I need to take control. I am desperately in love with my girl but often find it hard to enjoy that when i am battling with the guilt of flirting online. As much as I enjoy it, I enjoy kissing my girl good night and making her a hot water bottle when she is poorly.
I know it wont be easy. I am just grateful I found this community.
Having written this, the thing i want to do when i press send is find some porn and knock it out before getting out of bed. I feel like crying because I don't think I'll allow myself the orgasm.
submitted by Monkey0nMyBack to NoFap [link] [comments]


2013.12.14 22:36 1440p School toilet voyeur

I play the piano. The pieces I play at a certain age get stored in my memory along with other experiences from that same age. When I hear a piece that I used to play years later, I cannot help but remember my life back then. The two are intertwined, and the music becomes the soundtrack of my past.
When I was in grade school, a friend and I were hanging out playing runescape on some of the library computers. He tried to go on a website, whispering to me about how inappropriate it was and how his friend had showed it to him. Of course, on the library computers they were blocked. I remembered the name of the site and when I went home I searched it. I know now that it was an obscure porn site. This was when I watched my very first few videos. I actually shivered with nervous excitement and arousal and adrenaline as I entered this newfound world of hot women doing hot things. My penis was rock hard. I didn't know what to do with it until a while later when I figured out what masturbating was.
Turn the clock back even earlier. My childhood friends (different ones now) and I were messing around on a laptop and typed random toilet humor words into the address bar. This led us to a black site with a little picture of a naked woman on the top left corner. We exited out of it immediately, giggling.
Later I found out about this thing called the Internet Wayback Machine. While on vacation at my cousin's house, I was using their laptop early one morning, while they were still asleep, and the idea got into my head that I could type in the name of that website with the naked woman on it into the wayback machine and find out what it used to be, before it turned into a featureless blank site. I was shaking with anticipation and curiosity. Behold! I was rewarded with a sample video to a pay-site. This was probably, during the summer of fourth grade, the very first porn video I had ever watched. I had now idea how the man's penis was going into the girl, since the private parts were pixelated out and I didn't know how sex worked. Nevertheless I got diamond hard and watched that video again and again that morning. Man, it felt so dirty and exciting, especially with the risk of being found out.
I wasn't hooked on porn right away. I watched a video very occasionally, when I was bored and my parents weren't around and the idea popped into my head to visit that same porn site I mentioned in the second paragraph. I can remember one video in particular: what happened, how it finished. I can vaguely remember the thumbnail of one other video. At the time I was playing Debussy's Arabesque, a sad, dreamy, and beautiful piece. In my memory the song would become intertwined with those first, formative videos, with the excited yet incomplete feelings I had when watching them. I didn't really know what was going on, but I longed to know, to participate, to not be a mere voyeur, trespassing on others' lust.
Now that I am pretty far along in my nofap journey, these memories are coming back to me. When I hear Debussy's Arabesque, I remember the young me watching the videos, and I relive that whirlwind of adrenaline, being high on the feeling of discovering something naughty. I remember it with great nostalgia and longing, because after years of porn, I realize that the excitement has been lost, that I will never achieve that same rush, that all this time I have been like a drug addict chasing his initial high, and now that I have quit, I will never have the chance to experience it again.
Hopefully, when I find out what real intimacy is, I can move on from this phase of my life. For now, I am stuck in this limbo of longing, fighting my addiction in an arena with no escape.
submitted by 1440p to NoFap [link] [comments]


2013.02.20 00:31 tabledresser [Table] IAmA: Canadian police officer AMA

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Date: 2013-02-14
Link to submission (Has self-text)
Link to my post
Questions Answers
What do you think is the major difference between Canadian police officers and American police officers? Biggest difference between American and Canadian police is simple.. Canadians are better educated, and paid more. Most Canadian officers that are hired on have a degree or multiple certifications/college diplomas. Average salary after 4 years of being hired on is about 84k annually not including overtime, this number will likely increase with the coming contract negotiations.
That's $84k Canadian? Still, quite decent, but just wanted to clarify... Yes 84K Cdn.
I chose the wrong profession... If you get into a specialty unit you actually get an 8% wage increase, and clothing allowance of 1100 annually.
Im glad you get paid well, thanks for the work. Thanks for the good wishes! They are typically far and few between :)
$50,374 - Starting salary (during Academy training) $66,905 - Upon graduation from the Academy. $71,261 - After one year. $84,739 - After five years. FYI. I believe that most services within Ontario are on Par or close to NY state's salary. I know some services State side are well paid, many are not.
You said that most officers have a degree. Do you have a degree? if so, what in? I have a degree in Criminology, a police foundations diploma, a diploma for electronics technician and another degree in GIS started.
Needless to say it was alot of money to go through university and college, but well worth it in the end.
Sounds great! Until you get to the 46.4 percent tax rate, and the taxes keep on coming. Then the cost of living, well, better off in a duplex in west Virginia. Many americans don't like the tax idea in Canada, but when you receive your paycheck and 1/3 of it is gone.. you kind of get used to it and realize that atleast if I got sick I'm not paying $1million in medical bills.
They pay for your clothes? And this does not count into your salary? Correct. You lose overtime hours that are given to those working on the road (80 hrs), but the trade off is if you are in a specialty unit typically you are in plain clothes. So yes they give you 1100 annually for that which isn't factored into your salary.
I'm looking at getting into the RCMP myself and have questioned actually going to school. I attended the career presentation put on by the RCMP and they said post-secondary isn't necessary. Basically what I'm wondering is do you think I'd have a better shot with courses such as Criminology under my belt compared to nothing but work experience and firearms licenses? It wouldn't hurt going either direction. Getting your FAC isn't a bad route, but not necessary unless you like to hunt/target shoot.
Are you pursuing the GIS degree for personal reasons, or does tie in to your career as a police officer? I initially started my GIS degree before any policing aspirations. I did fairly well in school getting several scholarships for post secondary education. I found at that time in my life I was not ready for university and decided to take a break and work, before going back and completing the other schooling listed above.
I ask because I working a CS degree and have recently become interested in the field of GIS. GIS can tie into policing if you are interested in a criminal analyst position. Tracking criminal trends over time and creating maps for divisional inspectors/investigators.
Thank you for giving me hope in getting my undergraduate business degree. Everyone thinks I'm wasting my time earning a B.Comm and wanting to join the Toronto Police later on. I plan on either going to grad school for an MBA or JD or even some college diploma programs afterwards. If you get your MBA many services will hire you for their financial department. Don't forget front line policing is only one aspect of what actually goes on in a police service. You have record managers, dispatchers, HR, financial services.. list goes on and on.
You go to UOIT? I took Criminology at UOIT yes.
Ah, right. Like if you are undercover, or something? Not so much undercover for the most part, but more so to blend in with the general public and not draw attention.
Currently aiming to finish my BA in GIS. Mind pointing out how one may go about becoming a criminal analyst? Its a field I'm interested in pursuing, one of the reason for studying GIS. Edit: accidentally a word. Usually drop a line to any of the police services HR departments and see if they are hiring for any analysts ... easy way to go.
What was the most dangerous/crazy situation you ever been in? I took photographs for criminal investigations/break and enters. So I was exposed to numerous autopsies and people in various states of death. I luckily have not been involved in any shootings, although have drawn down on numerous people believed to be armed. (The region I work in has very few murders maybe 10 annually).
Craziest situation I've ever come across is having to cut down a woman in the process of trying to hang herself. I was with a partner literally 200m away when the call came across. Lady called 911 advised she was going to hang herself and left the front door open so that officers didn't need to wake up her sleeping boyfriend upstairs to retrieve her body. She used the nylon packing rope to hang herself from the unfinished ceiling in her kitchen. I ran in with my utility knife cut her down and was able to resuscitate her before EMS arrived.
Wow, awesome. Kudos. Do you know where that woman is now? Or if she's doing fine? I doubt she is doing fine. She had chronic pain and various other ailments to begin with. I don't often get a chance to follow up with people. Unless I arrest them time and time again. Very rarely do you have people you deal with actually turn themselves around. Sadly once they are set on a goal they typically carry through with it.
K Moral question time, i think you did the right thing by the way. I think the whole concept of not being allowed to end your own life is horrible. Who is any one person to force somebody to live. She tried to kill herself, and you just brought her back into this world that she no longer wants to be apart of, shit i'd be pissed. We do not allow torture in this world, why do we allow people to be forced to live? I'm always on the job... once you sign up to be a cop you're a cop 24/7. If something were to go down and I was unarmed and I allowed it, I didn't do my job to protect the people I was sworn to do so.
That being said, i think a lot of people make snap decisions, or decisions under heavy intoxication, making saving somebody in this situation reasonable, and it is part of your job. But lets say you were in a situation where the person was genuinely depressed and no longer wanted to live, consciously making the decision to die, what would you do if you weren't on the job? I think if there was a humane way of someone wishing to end their life and it was legalized and the person was in a capacity to knowingly sacrifice their life then that is a decision they should (in my opinion) be able to make.
I have 5 immediate family members and literally know 100's of NYPD members. 4 out of the 5 in my family have never drawn their service weapon and about 98% of the hundreds I know have never either. I find it hard to believe you have "drawn down" on numerous people. Drawing down isn't the same as firing.. just remember that.
Why can't you be a cop here in the usa? can we clone you ? :( Maybe one day they can rebuild me... they have the technology!
*maybe one day I could be like Barry - Archer.
How do you take your Tim's bud? Haha sadly I don't drink coffee. I do drink tea/hot chocolate when it's cold out though.
Whats the most funniest situation you have ever been in? There are seriously too many to write. Officers typically find our humour a little darker than most. It makes it easier to deal with the situations at hand.
I remember getting a call for a lady trying to commit suicide, by driving her car into Lake Ontario. I get there to find that another officer was talking to her and didn't have her under arrest yet. I walked up and grabbed her and pulled her out of the car. (apparently all the couples making out/tokin up down at the Lake witnessed her trying to drive into the water in the middle of the winter. She tried to pull a Hollywood move of doing a donut to throw the people off the car that tried to get her to stop.).
I pull her out and she has no shoes on... I ask her where her shoes are and she replies that her sister is wearing them (sister is aimlessly wandering around the parking lot at this point.) Get the female driver out of the car and she won't let go of her purse dog (Dog's name was chomper... seriously chomper.). I finally try and wrench the dog out of her arms to affect an arrest all the while she's yelling get him chomper get him!
Placed under arrest and placed in the back of the cruiser she starts trying to kick out the windows.. .so out she comes again. Her feet were tied so that we can secure them to the floor of the cruiser, does her sister not come up to console her, but puts her hand on my sgt's shoulder. The other officer I was with kinda sees her out of the side of his vision and ended up socking her in the nose.
Finally they get the distressed driver in the car while I deal with the sister. I get a statement and wait for the husband to arrive to pick up his vehicle that we've managed to get out of the lake and back in the parking lot. As the sister goes to leave she thanks me and then goes to come in for a kiss. I obviously push her away, thinking what the hell is wrong with these people.. she walks away and comes back saying she forgot something.. and again tries to make out with me.. needless to say a funny funny evening.
I've had to mediate arguments between two crack addicts. All the while they argued over who was more pathetic. The wife complained the husband was on welfare and disability while they husband complained his wife "sucked dick" for crack.
The had 5 children taken away by CAS and when they were pregnant with their 6th they decided to move to our region. Our regions CAS was going to take their child when it was born so they opted for an abortion instead. They added they moved to our region from Hamilton to get "away from the drugs". Needless to say the building they moved in was one of the worst buildings for drugs in our city.
Whats your opinion on the recent Human Rights Watch Report that was released? as an aboriginal from Vancouver Island I would be interested in an officers opinion that isn't stationed in B.C. Also what do you think the procedure should be in terms of handling this? Who should overlook this? (Who should police the police?) I think it's hard to comment on officers actions outside of Ontario. It's hard to say as I've rarely had to deal with aboriginals although the ones I have dealt with (although drunk at the time) were very courteous and friendly. (My mother is also of aboriginal decent so maybe that's why I'm a bit more tolerant and understanding of things.)
What is the general consensus on weed? Does anyone really care about it anymore? Depends, some are very against, some are very liberal. I'd say I'm more towards liberal, However; with that being said if you have a pound of it in your car, I'll arrest you. If you're joe schmoe end user with a roach on you, it'll come down to the attitude test.
I may not charge you criminally for the roach, but you'll likely have another charge coming at you from another provincial offence.
The best story I've come across was a drunk guy that I arrested for being drunk in a public place, causing a bit of a disturbance. He was found with a scale and a small baggie on him. I initially found the scale and asked him what it was for and he replied chemistry... seriously the funniest answer I've ever heard... found the weed on him after the fact and just submitted it for destruction and didn't charge him for it. Honestly cops do have a sense of humour sometimes.
Have you ever arrested a NHL player? And are Canadians really nicer than Americans? I have never arrested an NHL player.. but yes an OHL hockey player.
Canadians are generally polite (generally speaking), but I don't deal with the general population for the most part, so the people I usually deal with are assholes to me, which I'm fine with as it's all part of the job. Almost all Americans I have met are nice, but I'm sure if I were to go to the less desirable areas I would find my share of assholes as well.
Side note, the Americans I have met typically decide not to drink with us for some reason. Had an American officer mention something about almost getting alcohol poisoning last time he did .. haha.
There must be something in their water ... or beer rather. What's water?
Legalization? I think the only thing holding back legalization of marijuana is a definitive test to tell whether a person is intoxicated by drug while driving. Otherwise the Canadian government would've taxed the hell out of it and sold it for themselves.
I bet a math problem would do the trick. Haha you'd think! I've met some pretty intelligent pot heads, mind you I'd rather deal with a pot head than a drunk any day. They tend to be more compliant, more forth coming and not to mention funnier than any drunks.
I notice a difference in uniforms between American and Canadian cops, mainly that all cops that I've encountered in Canada wear their kevlar vest on the outside, while most of the American cops seem to have it under their dress shirt. Is there particular reasoning behind this? We have inner vests as well that we could wear, but for the most part I think it's the visibility factor for the public, along with the option for compartments for our notebooks and tactical options that can be placed on the vest.
Canada has stronger gun control laws than the US. That being said, do you usually carry firearms with you on patrol? Yes. I think Britain is one of the only countries that do not. We carry our Glock 22 on patrol and typically have a C8 or 12 gauge shot gun in our cruiser.
Jenkins! Get the tactical notebook! The notebook has a pistol grip!
Sounds like you're planning on attacking norway. My moose doesn't get my air miles so I'll likely be stuck here .. until we devise our plan of the flying moose.
Moose jokes? Come on, it's only the GTA. We've actually had moose in my area and yes I operate in the GTA.
What's the scariest situation you've ever been in? Hard to say on the scariest, there are times where we have had to drive 160km/h+ (100mph) through city traffic to get to an armed person call, etc.
I remember having to deal with an ex-Canadian armed forces member who had beaten his wife pretty bad. Taking three officers to hold him down to effect an arrest as he was about 6'5 260lbs and solid as a rock. We got him cuffed, but trying to get him in the car was another issue. He was fighting us even while handcuffed. In the end it didn't work out well for him, but he laughed the entire time we tried to soften him up to get him in the car. In the end he just stopped fighting and was like... ok fine I'll get in... chuckling the whole time... WOULD not have liked to go toe to toe against this guy solo. (I'm by no means a small guy - 6' 220lbs)
We take care of each other pretty well up here. Most shifts have approximately 18 people working at a time in the area I work. So we ensure officer safety at all times. I'll take a look through my old stuff and see if anything further pops out to tell stories about.
As a former CF member I am sorry. I have the utmost respect for the CF. I helped out a dude that returned from Afghanistan. (we dealt with his buddy the night before that had gone ape shit in the hospital fighting everyone.) He knew he was messed in the head and I offered what help I could in referrals to get him some counseling so he could deal with what he's seen.
Worst drunks I've ever had the pleasure of working with. Really would be nice to be given the time to follow up with guys like this to see if they actually sought help and received it. He was genuinely a good guy and his folks were concerned for his well being.
Before the bullshit Stunt driving law, driving 160km/hr+ on the 401 between Oshawa and Quebec was standard speed. I'm not sure to be honest. I think partially it's because no matter how high they raise the limit someone will always push it higher.
What is your take on speed limits in the GTA, why have the 400 series highways remained at a 100km/hr limit? I've driven in Germany on the Autobahn and seen some vehicles blow by me at ridiculous speeds, but there are still speed limits in some zones.
Do you know his name or regiment? I could probably look into it if you'd like... However I'm sad to say a lot don't, even with such a known illness as PTSD. I got nothing for my tinnitus, it seems they would rather just forget you once you are out. I don't recall.. there are some names that stick because it's something traumatic you deal with or you deal with them on a regular basis, but when you do upwards of 300 calls annually (not including traffic stops, or general public you come across). Names sometimes just don't stick.
Near my office there is very empty and spacious road with a posted 60km/hr zone, yet the average travelling speed is between 75-85 km/hr. Cops are doing radar every day there, and from my window I see dozen of people being pulled over travelling at illegal yet harmless speeds. When cops ticket speeders in zones where the limits are too low do they sympathize with the speeder? Or is there a mentality that the speeder "deserves" it? I'd say it depends on the situation, some will go there because they know the speed limit is low and they will write 5-10 tickets in a morning and not think twice about the driver. Others will sympathize but at the end of the day do their job. I've had numerous people complain about where I have done radar. I typically don't choose a location on an incline/decline, I locate myself in a community safety zone or areas where complaints have come in. Most people are cut a break (I hate giving traffic tickets out). They typically understand why I am targeting those areas and go on their way. Every now and then someone raises the question on how to change the speed limit in the area and I usually refer them to the municipal offices to put forward a change.
So the C is for "Canada" and the M is for "Murica"? I guess so! :D.
Give us some steps on staying safe? Staying safe in Canada or the United States? As I've only been to a few places in the US I can't really comment. As for Canada it's easy. If you associate with criminals, bad things typically will follow. If you associate with good people the only thing you really ever have to worry about are car accidents and other driving like idiots. I'd say that's the only thing you should worry about in Canada.
You always hear of home invasions on TV... they are not home invasions people!!! they are drug rips! I'd have to say almost 95% of the "home invasions" I've gone to are all drug rips.
What do you mean by drug rip's? cause my house was broken into on boxing day in 2009 and there certainly were not any drugs inside. Broken into is not the same as having someone push their way into your home while you are there, hog tying you up, pistol whipping you and then ransacking your home.
Ah, k thanks for clarifying, I was thinking of home invasion as in someone uninvited being in your home, I gather it is more along the lines of a hostage type deal than getting robbed then? Not so much as a hostage type situation as they don't really stay long to request/demand anything. They typically will tie up the home/owner (often drug dealeindebted user) and steal anything of value.
What was the stupidest thing you've ever caught someone doing and charged them for it? A guy filming his wife in their bathroom. The guy had some voyeurism fetish, but for some reason would film his wife without her knowledge, eventually it took it's toll on her and she called us to arrest him.. I'm still confused as to why he wouldn't just tell her he was into it that way she wouldn't be so creeped out. They had a kid together so one would think they at some point they had to have sex.
The guy had some voyeurism fetish, *but for some reason would film his wife without her knowledge* Could have been because that's what voyeurism is. Correct.. but one would think that being married and having a child voyeurism of your wife would be out of the norm..
Yeah, he should have manned up and filmed strangers. One would think he would... just not a typical voyeurism case.
In the end he was more worried about the seedling plants he had in his basement than the voyeurism charge.
What a twist! The twist is he also filmed his friends who were living with him and his wife at the time. (filming over the toilet). Wife left him only to return to him and have him film her again without her knowledge a second time... wondering if third times a charm.
Have you ever done a desk pop? I have not... but I know of people that have had their gun go off unexpectedly in various locations around the station. I'm sure this story is common with other services as well.
ND's should not be common in a profession where one is expected to be proficient with the proper handling and use of a firearm. That being said, what kind of consequences can an officer who has had an ND be facing? Typically they can be docked hours/pay/both... sent for additional training and have it documented.. this prevents them from moving to another position or could set them back in getting a promotion.
Wait, seriously? Story please. They are typically people joking around and acting foolish and then pop... uh oh... gun holstered and off to the staff sergeants office to get reamed.
That's some pretty poor weapons discipline there. What gives? Even in countries with good weapon discipline someone tries to be a comedian or does something foolish. One persons actions don't represent the people.
Can you quickly summarize your average day? Typically it's get to work 30 minutes early. Get dressed, go to parade to see what has been happening while you were away from work. Get your firearm, vehicle and head out. From there depending on what time you are starting at, it could be extremely busy or extremely slow. Do what ever paperwork needs following up from the day before and then start answering calls if nothing demanding is needing attention.
That's a typical day. Obviously different days of the week vary. Thurs-Sat nights tend to have more bars open and can result in more drunk driving calls/bar fights/disturbances.. but any day of the week can result in a jackpot call happening.
What is a "jackpot call"? btw youre amazing and glad there are Police who are as chill and honest as you! A jackpot call would typically be a priority 1 or 2 call.. your violent domestic calls, assaults in progress, robbery, firearm related call, officer in need of assistance call... stuff like that.
Were you involved in any of the G20 meeting security? Image was provided up above. I was unfortunately not involved in the G20 summit. Although I know numerous people that were. It's funny because there is always information that doesn't make it out into the public and police are perceived as being heavy handed. There were numerous attacks on railway switches before the G20 summit, believed to be tests for an actual attack downtown Toronto (Toronto has a major railway artery that runs right through the city). Also it was known that the black bloq were going to attempt vandalism and theft, but it's tougher to tie down who those individuals will be and at what point they will attempt anything.
Most ridiculous arrest you've made? Ridiculous in what way? As in cheapest arrest charge or as in most ridiculous situation someones gotten themselves into?
The most ridiculous situation someone has gotten themselves into. I've had a guy break into a beer store through the roof and get locked inside, and instead of having the common sense to unlock the front door kicked up his feet and just drank himself unconscious... that was pretty ridiculous.
What do you think of the rising use of drones by police forces? I agree that during an arrest they should be transmitting, but I guess the biggest thing is would you agree to someone filming you 24/7 as a civilian?
What do you think of the idea of mandating that police officers must wear cameras on their uniforms that record continuously and transmit the data to the police station and an independent 3rd party? There would be things you say or do that would potentially get you in trouble with your significant other, boss, friends... that is always the fear with having a camera on 24/7 brings and is no different in law enforcement. Having it on during an arrest makes sense up here though.
It wouldn't be 24/7 unless you're in uniform on duty 24/7... Sometimes it feels like you're working 24/7.
I get that. But what I was trying to say was that officers wouldn't be filmed 24/7. Officers already are filmed 24/7. Everyone with a camera phone, cruiser cameras, and then those that go out of their way to harass off duty officers (yes they exist). An off duty officer trying to effect an arrest at a theatre due to drunken fools causing a disturbance can guarantee they will be filmed by someone.
At some point an officer should be able to relax and be able to take a crap without it being audio and video recorded. (a bit extreme, but not untrue). I agree that when effecting an arrest it could be beneficial, for both the public and the officer, but having a video/audio recorder on all the time is excessive/unnecessary and would end up likely costing the tax payers more in the end. (think long term storage of large video/audio files).
What do you think about that 15 year old kid getting shot? Do you see an over all trend of these kids getting younger and younger or is that a one off? I think it was a one off.. although Toronto is developing some dangerous youngsters. We see 16 yr olds coming into our region that are armed and have been convicted numerous times of firearm related offences.
I would find it hard to say they are getting younger and younger, but more media coverage is definitely sensationalizing the lifestyle.
What do you think is the key to keeping the young kids away from gang life? What percentage of kids in bad neighbourhoods would you say end up or associated with gangs? I would say that the area doesn't make the kids associate with gangs, it's the lack of parenting. I've dealt with kids that have been arrested numerous times for firearm related offences and every time the parents yell and holler saying we're harassing her son. YET EVERY TIME WE FIND A GUN ON HIM! haha seriously I grew up in a shitty area of town along with 3 close friends and none of us have strayed to the dark side. (the 3 close friends are non-officers.)
I live in Ontario. I am a regular marijuana user. Honestly, most cops seem to turn a "blind eye" to someone smoking a joint in public around here, or at say a festival-type event. Typically it's not about the day I'M having, but more so about how the subject is acts and treats us/the general public.
Where do you draw the line on this, if someone is off on a park bench smoking a single joint, not bothering anyone, are you really going to give them a hard time? Or does it depend on the kind of day YOU'RE having? I was always raised on treat others how you want to be treated. Don't expect respect earn it.
Basically, what's your stance on something like this. So when another person expects respect immediately from me without earning it, it kind of bothers me especially when they then in turn say something silly like "fuck the police". That person might find that I have freed up some time to do the necessary paperwork for their arrest.
(Early morning, please bear with the terrible grammar and sentances) If they were to turn around act civilly there typically is no problem.
Do you every say "sorry" to people as you arrest them? Never. if I'm arresting someone it's for a reason and therefore shouldn't be sorry.
If I'm smoking bud in my car and hop out, lock the door and an officer pulls up and starts accosting me, asking if I have weed on me and telling me to open my car. Am I correct in telling him that he requires a warrant? Also, I have no weed on me, just smell. Well, personally, it would depend on your attitude totally. If you have a small roach, have never been in trouble before and were upfront and honest with me I'd likely have you toss the roach and stomp it, with no charges laid. (maybe just a reference in my notes to me dealing with you). If you came out and decided to be a dick, there are other ways and means of dealing with people in this manner... don't forget criminal is just one way we can deal with you. I wouldn't waste my time getting a warrant on a roach in a car. I'd just go after you through the highway traffic act, or various other provincial acts and hit you financially.. just saying there are more ways to skin a cat.
Most officers I know pretty well have this stand point. Be upfront and honest and don't be a dick and you will find that you get treated how you treat us.
I'd just go after you through the highway traffic act, or various other provincial acts and hit you financially. Kinda immature... Just advising there are more ways to gain entry to a vehicle or deal with person than just criminally.
Why do you need to prove it though? Ah I dont know your procedures, I would just be pretty annoyed if it happened to me. I feel like its harrassment, the warrant should be necessary for good reason I would think... Sure and in many cases it's obtained. But remember no officer is going to randomly stop and say get out of your car I'm searching it... there are grounds for the search or they obtain a warrant because there are grounds to search it.
I have seen teens that have been arrest 6+ times for firearms offences... the family claims the police are harassing her son... the question is .. is it harassment when the son is found time and time again with a firearm? and goes out and commits firearm related offences?
Do people really "steal" maple syrup? People will steal anything and everything not bolted down. The most typical items stolen from grocery stores are steaks.
Last updated: 2013-02-23 18:28 UTC | Next update: 2013-02-24 00:28 UTC
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2012.11.02 21:21 blank_shell_account Throwaway time again, What is the most perverted, despicable or just dirty act of creeping perving or peeping that you have ever done Reddit?

I lived in a townhouse subdivision from about 7th grade through highschool. Two units over was an extremely hot girl that was in my grade, but way out of my league. Honestly I doubt she knew I existed, I never really talked or interacted beyond a nod or wave if we were going in or out of our housed at the same time. Her mom was fine as fuck too, an older version of her. Both hot skinny perfectly built blondes.
Anyway, my best friend and I had discovered it was easy to climb up on top of the roof of the garage and get onto the top of the houses (these were 2 story townhomes that have 4 units to a building) and run around for the fuck of it. This was summer of 7th grade. We later noticed that by getting on the roof we could peep on the hot mother and daughter sunbathing in their backyard. Unfortunately never topless or nude, but still....
Anyway half of the fun was sitting up there seeing these hot women, but for me, the better part than just looking at skimpily clad chicks, was the voyeurism side, the being unseen part. My friend thought it was cool once or twice, but never had much interest beyond the first time we peeped. I continued solo. Started wanking it on the roof while I watched them.
Well later that summer, i had an epiphany. The houses all had attics, but I guessed that maybe they were all joined. This proved correct. I could go into my attic and walk over to her attic...
Best part is their unit had the same layout as ours, so I located the air vent for the bathrooms (masters was her mother's other was hers only a 1/2 bath on bottom floor.) And I went about cutting a viewing hole in each and adding a black felt drape so I could look through withouth light coming from my end.
I peeped on both of them showering, pissing, shitting for the next 4 years. Jeking it furiously. I watched as the daughter's breasts developed from 8th grade to 12th, and watched as she started shaving her twat, watched her mastubate with the showerhead and by laying under the faucet. Saw her mom almost catch her one time when she was laying down like that and her mom came in for toilet paper. I was like we shared the moment. I could tell when her mother was seeing someone because of the extra time she took shaving an waxing herself. It was like I knew them. Like they were mine.
I loved it when the daughter would take huge dumps, such a pretty girl, so perfect, but such loud nasty farts and dumps. I felt I knew her better than anyone, because someone that hot and preppy would probably die before farting in public. But I watched and listened and inhaled and fapped just 6 or 7 feet away from her. Hidden.
This kind of started to take a toll on my life, I was more withdrawn at school, didn't really try hard to date anyone. I was so addicted to this hobby. I would skip hanging out with friends after school so I could be sure to be there when she got home from volleyball and showered. I knew both of their schedules, her mother left for work at 10:30 and got home around 4:00 took a dump in the morning and shower at both. The daughter always took a dump when she got home. i skipped my morning classes to watch the mother almost every day in 11th grade until I nearly failed.
I had a few girlfriends but treated them like shit because they weren't as hot and always tried to make me do things with them which detracted from my peeping.
Twice when they were gone I actually opened their attic ladder and climbed into their house. Smelled the dirty panties, came on both of their beds. It was scary dangerous but such a fucking rush. Stopped after the second time I almost knocked over a bookcase by the attic hatch and was scared that they would investigate.
This continued nearly every single day until when I graduated highschool my parents moved out of state and I went with them. It all ended and I really haven't done anything even close to that pervy again. Thinking about now I wish I could move back to that place and pick a unit next to a new hot girl. I know this is all very sick. That was the only time I ever did anything like that though.
TLDR: I peeped on a hot girl and her mother from their attic for 4 years.
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