Post 284: Personal Service Announcement

Get out your tin foil hats, folks! We’ve been invaded and the authorities are doing nothing. NOTHING!

Oh, the huge manatee!


In my opinion there are people in San Diego that are terrorizing women and imposing measures that take away their freedom of choice. These predators are using voice to skull technology or synthetic telepathy and putting on people mostly women and controlling them away from their homes and into disgust and perversion. I have this opinion because it is happening to my wife and I. Their technology is Orwellian with the full effects of the novel 1984. I can only identify one of the predators (in my opinion) and I have many open police and federal cases open against him and others. Be careful they have invaded our lives, stolen identities, threatened families, broken in and robbed, assaulted, harassed, work, clients, and family, used illegal surveillance to the point where my wife and I didn’t even make love because it was public without consent. Out of respect for our families I refrained and the perverts responsible have been nothing but disrespectful disgust. I can only name one of the predators (in my opinion) The evidence I have is objective and has been reported I just have no idea why he is still walking the streets. Anyway his name is M[anly] B[uttz], 12/3/XX, 5’10” 180 lbs. bald blue eyes no body art. Seen around San Diego and Oceanside. Unfortunately with someone I care very much for and want to insure her freedom of choice in private without fear. I will forgo her description but please have her call her husband ASAP. I am worried about her wellbeing.

Wish there was a photo to go with it. I get all crazy for bald blue eyes. From my local CL. Have a great weekend.

3 thoughts on “Post 284: Personal Service Announcement

  1. “So, why don’t you have a seat and start by telling me what’s going on?”
    Horf sat down in the chair indicated by detective Gruntle. Honestly, he didn’t know if he could even trust the cop — or _any_ cop, really — but it had reached the point where he was left with little choice, so he decided today was the day he needed to go to his local precinct and make a report. What else could he do?
    “Okay,” Horf began. “So when it started, I thought maybe I was just going a bit mad. The voice in my head made me think I was developing schizophrenia or something. But when I talked to a doctor, the description he gave me didn’t really sound like what was going on with me. But them my wife started experiencing it, too! Voices. In our heads. Well, one voice, a man, and when we compared notes it seemed to be the same man. and he was saying similar things.”
    “Okay, go on,” Detective Gruntle said.
    Horf took a deep breath. “So I started doing some research on the Internet–”
    “Ho boy,” the detective interrupted with a sigh.
    “No, no,” Horf tried to reassure him. “Listen, let me finish, I learned how this can happen.”
    Detective Gruntle gave him a resigned look. “Fine, go ahead.”
    Horf nodded for no particular reason. “Right, so, I read that it’s possible to transmit sounds directly into a person’s head through something called bone conduction, but rather than doing it through direct contact with your head, they beam it into your head with microwaves or some damn thing. I didn’t really understand it, but it’s a real thing.”
    Horf licked his lips. He wasn’t used to talking so much, and he was nervous besides. “Anyway, at first it was like it was trying to send me subliminal messages to kind of change me in certain ways. I’d hear things in my head like, ‘You want to get rid of your dog,’ and, ‘You like wearing wigs,’ and, ‘Chicory is just as good as coffee, you should drink more chicory.’ Crazy things like that. But I heard them like someone was in the room saying them, so I don’t know how he expected such messages to work. I guess he realized they didn’t though because then the things he’d beam into my head changed.”
    As Horf spoke, Detective Gruntle was taking notes on a pad of paper. Or he pretended to, anyway. Horf could see he was just doodling an image of a cock and balls and occasionally muttering “mm-hmm” as if he was paying attention. Horf continued anyway. He had to get this out. “He started talking directly to me rather than trying to give me directives. He started saying things like, ‘Your time is coming,’ and, ‘I will ruin your life.’ Well, that got my attention, because he was already starting to ruin my life — dealing with a voice getting beamed directly into my head by someone I couldn’t see and didn’t know is pretty goddamn unnerving, you know?”
    “Mm-hmm,” the detective murmured again, now starting to draw an image of what looked like the start of a face.
    “My wife, too, she started getting threats,” Horf went on. “Vile threats, saying he’d like to rape her, telling her she’s worthless, and saying he’d ruin her life, too. I didn’t know what to do, she was scared, and I don’t blame her — so am I.”
    Detective Gruntle continued drawing. “Mm-hmm.” It was the face of a crazy person. Eyes looking in different directions, tongue poking out of its mouth at an odd angle, drool spilling down the paper.
    “You’re not even listening!” Horf yelled. He’d had enough.
    “What?” the detective said, finally looking up from his artwork. “Yes, I am listening, and you need to keep your voice down. Now, do you hear this ‘voice’ now?”
    “Well, no, so far it’s only happens when I’m at home,” Horf explained.
    “Well, look,” the detective tried to explain as patiently as he could. “We can’t do much with this if you’re the only one that hears it–”
    “No, no,” Horf interrupted. “Listen, you haven’t let me finish. I know who it is. I can tell you about him!”
    Detective Gruntle raised an eyebrow. “Alright then, what’s his name?”
    Horf, heartened by the detective’s seeming willingness to go along now that he had a concrete starting point being handed to him, beamed. “He’s 5’10”, a hundred and eighty pounds, has bald blue eyes, no tattoos, kind of like Mr. Clean, only less cartoony, or maybe Telly Savalas back in his Kojak days, only less smarmy and more evil, and his name is Manly Buttz!”
    If the detective’s face made any attempt at expression over the course of the next several seconds, there weren’t instruments sensitive enough to detect it. Horf couldn’t decide if his paralysis was caused by a shock of recognition or sheer incredulity.
    “I think it’s time you left,” the detective finally said flatly.
    “What? Why?” Horf wasn’t about go to anywhere now.
    “You’re wasting my time and the department’s time!” Gruntle exclaimed.
    “How?” Horf persisted. “I’m making a legitimate complaint! I even gave you the guy responsible and everything, all you have to do is pick him up!”
    “Really?” the detective said sarcastically. “Manly Buttz? Really? That’s not even a real name!”
    “Yes it is!” Horf retorted. “When he was beaming his voice into my head last night I heard his phone ring — his, not mine — and he picked it up, but he was still transmitting, and he was talking like it was to someone who was going to his house, because he was confirming his name and address and, I guess for some reason, his physical description. Don’t ask me why, but right after he got off the phone and he said ‘Oh shit!’ and then cut off the transmission. He knew he messed up and now I had his personal info, so now I’m giving it to you so you can get the guy! How much simpler can i make it?”
    By this time numerous eyes were on him. Horf didn’t care. It happened, and he had enough to get the police to catch the guy. Why weren’t they listening?
    Detective Gruntle closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “This sounds like a load of bullshit, okay? I don’t know if you’re crazy or just want to waste the government’s time and resources, and I don’t care. You want to make it simple? Come back when there’s an actual crime we can see and maybe even hear going on.”
    “Look, _dickhead_,” Horf yelled, hoping the insult would make him pay closer attention. “This _is- real and it _is_ going on!”
    The detective clearly didn’t like being called a dickhead. He took a breath, swelling his chest, and shot Horf a murderous glare. “You want to know what’s going on? You’re going into a holding cell, that’s what’s going on. Cheeswether!” He called for another officer. “Take this nut to holding! I’ll deal with him later.”

    Horf continued to protest louder and louder, but it only made matters worse. He was handled roughly as he was guided to a small holding cell, which was also occupied by a rather large, tough-looking man — not really tall, per se, but muscular, an impression that was only amplified by his shiny, smooth dome.

    The cell door slid clanked open and Horf was shoved inside, nearly toppling arse over tea kettle. As he righted himself he tried to make a bee line right for the door, but the officer slid it shut with a clang. Horf grabbed the bars and shouted after the officer, “I have proof! I can prove it to you! Let me out and I will show you!”

    It was pointless, of course. It looked like he was in for the night. Horf sighed heavily and sat down on the opposite bench, hunching over while placing his elbows on his knees and resting his forehead in his hands. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. At home he’d hear the voice again. He wasn’t sure he could deal with more of that tonight. His wife, though. She’d hear it again, he was sure, and it was easier to deal with when they had each other nearby to lean on. But tonight she would not have him. He was afraid she’d go mad if she had to hear the voice again without him there to commiserate.

    “Told you,” came a voice. A familiar voice. _His_ voice. No. No, no, no, no. He could reach him here. He could reach him here! This couldn’t be happening. He looked at the fellow on the opposite bench. The fellow was looking back, a glint in his eye and one side of his mouth upturned in a half-smile that was full of malice. “I told you I’d ruin your life.” The man’s lips didn’t move.

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