Tweakers and their Vibrators

In Adelaide, Australia, four people got locked up for kidnap and torture. And it all started with the theft of a sex toy. This quote from the article is priceless:

“The court heard the incident began when Janise (name redacted to protect the moronic) who was an ice user, wanted revenge on the victim after he took her vibrator.”

Janise was an ice user? [🤔]. For those of you who aren’t in on the lingo, Ice is just another term for meth. A very strong, potent form of meth. It looks like clear-ish crystals, hence the name Crystal Meth or Ice.

Janise enlisted the help of her brother and father in her crack plan to rescue her vibrator and punish the poor dumb bastard who stole it. The article never explains why he stole it. Which to me is just as important to the story as the fact four people kidnapped and tortured the dude and not one of them thought at some point that they were going a little overboard. Janise convinced her dad, brother, and random family friend (Guaranteed the guy was either banging or trying to bang Janise. That’s the only non-ice reason I can see for him going along at all with the plan). Regardless, as I was reading this article, I could not help but wonder: How does the conversation about her stolen vibrator even get started?

If this was America, I would say this whole incident had to start in a trailer park. Given that this happened in Australia I’m kind of at a loss. For the sake of my own entertainment, this scene has a decidedly American-Redneck bent to it.

Here we go.

***

Janise stomps out of her room in her slipper boots. She has her pink, “I survived Daytona Bike Week 2020” hoodie pulled up over her head, an unlit Newport cigarette clenched in her trembling fingers. She paces back and forth across the living room where her brother Carl and her dad Carl Sr. are trying to watch a re-run of Storage Wars.

“What?” Senior asks once Storage Wars finally goes to commercial.

“Billy-Tom!” Janise squares off and fishes around in the pocket of her cut-off jeans for a lighter, “Son of a bitch!”

“Who?” asks Carl Jr.

Janise stomps her foot, “Billy-Tom!” she yells.

Carl Jr. cocks his head, “Yeah but which one, Billy or Tom?”

Janise growls, “Billy-Tom you dumb shit!”

Junior looks at his dad, “Well fuck,” he says.

“What the hell happened? The commercial’s almost over for god’s sake.” Demands Senior.

“Bastard stole my vibrator, son of a bitch.”

Junior snarfs his Cheerwine and breaks out laughing.

Senior looks at him with nothing but disdain.

Junior stops laughing, “What?”

Carl Senior’s voice is low, “That son of a bitch stole from you?” he asks.

“Uh-huh,” Janise answers.

Senior retracts his recliner and groans to his feet, “Nobody steals from my baby.” He declares, “Nobody! You steal from one of us, you steal from all of us!”

“Damn right!” echoes Janise.

“Yeah but…” Junior stops when he sees the look in his father’s eye.

“Where is he?” asks Senior.

Janise shrugs, “I dunno, probably with his skank wife I guess.”

“He’ll wish he was never born.” Senior declares.

Janise lights up her Newport and holds it up in front of her for emphasis. She blows menthol smoke out of the side of her mouth and squints her eyes, “I got an idea for that.” She says, “We need duct tape, some dog food, and a kitchen knife.”

Without missing a beat Senior is walking to the kitchen, “Done.”

Junior watches the two of them break off to other parts of the trailer like the A-Team after an ops briefing, “Dad, do you even know what a vibrator is?” he asks.

“Don’t matter son,” says the elder Carl, “Get your shit, let’s go.”

***

I still have a couple of questions about the case of Janise and her stolen vibrator.

  1. Who steals a vibrator? What kind of weirdo is the tool she kidnapped?
  2. Do you think Billy-Tom kept it for himself or was it a gift for his skank wife?
  3. How great must ice be?

Reference:

https://www.9news.com.au/national/adelaide-news-four-people-jailed-over-bizarre-hostage-drama-stolen-sex-toy-victim-forced-to-eat-dog-food/1f8e206a-89d7-4f4b-bf28-9cd9c0496840

On another note. What do you guys think of Acquisitor?

Detective Miles Otis pointed, “That’s an arm…”

Detective Jackson Cole sighed, “Yeah.”

Otis studied the random severed limb for moment, “You ever miss the good old days, dope and drive bys…?”

You catch one strange case and suddenly they call you the Freak Police behind your back. If the case is even remotely weird Cole and Otis get the call. Now they find themselves in a vacant lot staring at a forearm.

Fingerprints give them a name. Hardnosed police work generates a suspect. She’s a witch, so was the guy who’s forearm sits in a cooler at the coroner’s office. The witch says a hellhound killed her friend. And its hunting the homeless of Charleston.

Witches, magic, and a…hellhound?

Any other two detectives would laugh at a story like that. But Cole and Otis have faced the supernatural before. It almost killed them.

There’s a reason they call them Freak Police.

But can they face the darkness again?

Heavy Sleeper

A guy in New York City passed out drunk on the street outside his apartment building and got robbed not once, but twice. And he slept through both incidents.

According to the article the victim, we’ll call him Tanner for no other reason than this sounds like something a Tanner would do. Tanner went out and got lit, then ran out of gas right in front of his building. He found himself a nice patch of concrete and snuggled in for the night awash in the cool, fresh breeze of a New York City Friday night. Probably very similar to the soothing stench medley of rotting garbage, urine, and sewer gas.

Over the next couple hours Tanner got robbed twice, by two different people. The first thief stole his “Messenger” bag (I’m thinking more like his murse) and laptop. The second guy, at a different time during the night, rolled his pockets and made off with Tanner’s phone and wallet. This second incident begs the question, what kind of shitty criminal was the first guy?

The fact that the first thief didn’t think of taking the wallet is hilarious to me. I have this picture in my head of this guy sitting on his couch the next morning rocking some fuzzy slippers, boxers, maybe a really ornate kimono. There he is watching the local news, shoveling Fruity Pebbles into his mouth while trying to guess the password of the laptop he stole when the anchor starts talking about the theft of Tanner’s laptop. He stops eating and stares at the screen. Then the anchor mentions the guy was robbed twice, the second thief making off with Tanner’s phone and wallet. Our robber drops his spoon into his Fruity Pebbles and yells, “FUUUUUUCK!”

Palm to forehead, he slumps in defeat as he realizes how much he sucks at crime.

I really hope that happened.

The other aspect of this story I hope is true is a scene, of my own design of course, where the next morning Tanner, the building manager, and two cops are watching security camera footage of his night on the concrete. There’s Tanner, no phone, no wallet, no murse or laptop, hair all disheveled, and head pounding from the dozen or so Lemon Drops he slugged the night before. He has to watch himself sleeping through two robberies. All the while listening to the manager and two cops snickering behind him.

Poor Tanner, or whatever your name is.

PS: The suspects #sharkbait t-shirt is on point. #sharkweek.

PPS: Am I the only one who thinks the suspect is a dead ringer for t he Iron Shiek? I bet very few of you will get that reference.

Reference:

VIDEO: Man robbed while sleeping outside of Brooklyn apartment building; suspects sought (msn.com)

Work Smarter Not Harder, Right?

“Sly smuggler uses Border Patrol for free trips home,”

Time is money.

I’m not a businessman but I’ve seen Shark Tank enough to understand the phrase.

In law enforcement we have another phrase, “You don’t catch the smart ones,”

That’s usually because the would-be criminal mastermind failed to see a weakness in their particular scheme and it got him caught. Maybe a drug dealer didn’t quite know his customers as well as they should have and ended up ripped or selling to an undercover cop, something like that.

More often than not, criminals commit crime because of greed. People sell dope, commit fraud, rob banks, or in this case guide people across the U.S.-Mexico border for profit, as a way of bypassing the career ladder on the way to wealth. When some meth dealer with no job, living in the back room of grandma’s trailer is suddenly driving an eighty-thousand-dollar pick-up truck, police tend to notice. When the dude gets wrapped up because he didn’t have the patience to keep driving a shitty 1995 Honda Civic while setting up a fake auto detail business or some other way to hide his money we say,

“Well, you don’t catch the smart ones,”

While I can’t speak for every cop, and my frame of reference is dated, I always bet that there was some guy or girl out there, probably an army of them, who had the simple discipline to stay off the radar, live humbly, run their schemes, be patient, and cash out down the road. Like Andy in The Shawshank Redemption. In fact, I always wanted to meet one of them, and by meet, I mean arrest. Mostly because I wanted to be able to point to her (It would be a her because chicks are way smarter and patient than dudes) and say,

“Look! We got a smart one!”

I even wrote a disciplined drug kingpin into one of my books, Where Angels Sing. The guy’s name was Harold Washington. He owned a laundry mat, drove a crappy old truck, and just so happened to be the invisible force controlling all the illicit drug trade on the west side of Charleston, SC. I’m not going to say anymore on the off chance you haven’t scratched Where Angels Sing off your summer reading list yet, no spoilers, but worth the read.

Anyway, when I look at this story, it’s one of those where, if I was the Border Patrol guy making the arrest, I’d be hard pressed not to give Mr. Javier Ernesto Ayala-Osuna a little fist bump. If for nothing else then to say,

“Glad we caught you, but, good scam amigo,”

Not to get political, but our border is a shit show. Mr. Ayala brought illegals over the line then turned himself in to the Border Patrol for a free ride home. That’s not only brilliant, it’s a hilarious bit of ingenuity. It makes you wonder how he came to take the chance on a free ride home in the first place.

Maybe one hot, arid, desert day, he was out of water, or running late for a date back in Mexico, who knows. Either way Ayala finds himself hiding out in the bushes ducking patrols when he says to himself,  

“Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?”

He turns himself in, a little apprehensive about the gamble. But then he gets some water, hot food, and a free trip home to not only in time to make his date, but also get a head start on his next adventure leading illegal aliens through the United States backdoor. Like I said, brilliant, maximizing efficiency of operation while at the same time tricking your adversaries into taking some of the burden off your shoulders.

According to the story he did it six times. That’s six trips, $8,000 per head, four to six people at a time for a total of around $288,000 give or take. Can’t hold it against the guy for giving that career path a hard look. Don’t get me wrong coyotes should go to jail, along with the people who pay to be smuggled over the border. But if we as a nation are going to have such senseless policies as catch and release and leave the barn door wide open, you can’t hold it against a good capitalist for trying to get his.

The story notes that Mr. Ayala was only caught because his charges (so to speak) turned him in when they got stopped as a group by the border patrol. That brings me back to my initial rant. “We don’t catch the smart ones,” we do catch the coyotes who decide to let themselves get caught with the people they are smuggling. I guess it never occurred to Ayala that they would turn him in once they realized their journey to the land o’ plenty would hook a hard detour into a DHS detention center. Oh, and that they were out a few thousand dollars for their troubles. In the end it reads like Mr. Ayala got a little too complacent in his scheme. That being said, he did get away with it six times before getting caught so maybe we do catch the smart ones. We just have to wait and catch’em when their guards down.

Reference:

Sly smuggler uses Border Patrol for free trips home – Washington Times

The Mature Blue Stilton, Worth Going to Jail for…

This is almost as bad as when a fugitive falls for the old, “You won a radio contest gag,” which, by the way, I am proud to say I pulled off in the far distant past. But that’s another story for probably never so moving on.

When we look at this story there are a couple of things that stand out. The first being complacency. Complacency is a real concern for anyone working in an operational capacity. Whether undercover protecting an alias, a diplomat working abroad, or even yes, a drug dealer.

Operational Security is the same regardless of what side of the game board you’re on. If you’re on the side of government, law enforcement or intelligence, OPSEC is drilled into your thick skull almost before the ink is dry on your appointment letter.

I guess if you’re a dealer you don’t get that kind of formal education, more of an on-the-job training situation. The story here shows Mr. Stewart, that’s the guy, was wise enough to keep his comms out of the public air, via an encrypted chat service, but became so comfortable in the digital shadows that he thought casually discussing his favorite cheeses on the platform wouldn’t put him at risk. That’s where complacency lies, when things get a little too comfortable. Complacency kills, as the saying goes, or at least in this case it costs you, a lot…like a decade of your life lot.

My question in this whole thing isn’t how the authorities got his prints off the photo. That’s been done. A couple of photo filters, adjust the gradient, sprinkle in a little contrast, and BAM! Forensics. My question is context. This was not a solitary, random post about a cheese no one has ever heard of (or maybe I’m not enough of a connoisseur). This strikes me as the secret squirrel equivalent of taking food selfies. Or maybe he was hosting an underworld dinner party that night and wanted to check with Ecstasy Erica, his MDMA source, to make sure she wasn’t averse to the Mature Blue Stilton. Perhaps he had already had so much trouble with Heroin Karen over her gluten allergy that he was sick of it and decided to run the menu by everyone- menu mystery be damned! Problem was Erica had no idea what the Blue Stilton was and when overwhelmed with frustration he sent her a photo.

“Here!” he could be heard bellowing through the grocery, “It’s a God-Damned cheese! Uncultured heathens…I swear!”

That’s probably not how it happened. But the story seemed more fun this way.

Reference:

Liverpool man latest to be jailed as part of national Operation Venetic | Merseyside Police

You Remember to Ditch the Gun, but Forget the Weed Up Your Ass?

You are a thirteen-time felon by the age of twenty-seven.

You shoot yourself in the junk.

Despite the pain and shock you are cognizant enough to have your girl ditch the gun.

But you forget about the bag of weed up your ass?

The report said Cam, Cameron Wilson but we’ll call him Cam, shot himself through the testicles. If that is true, Cameron Wilson might be the world champion of pain tolerance. As in, “You’ve suffered enough bud, maybe the judge should let you walk on this one.” If he just put one through the bag though, this is incredibly irresponsible journalism.

Here let’s not worry about trajectory, damage, etc. Let’s consider whether or not Mr. Wilson, knew he had weed up his ass when they were prepping him for surgery. If you’ve ever had surgery, you get all those forms and questions before they put you down. The nurse standing over you,

“When was the last time you ate?”

“When was your last bowel movement?”  and on and on.

I’m no expert on smuggling via asshole, but I have to imagine that at some point before the lights went out Cam realized the bag of weed was up there. Maybe the initial adrenaline, fear, and pain might have let things slip his mind in the moment but at some point Wilson remembered where he put his weed. And he must’ve made the decision: I’ve got this, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Its already up there anyway.

Then they start pushing the meds and the world turns into cupcakes and unicorns.

“I’ve got this,” he giggles without realizing he spoke out loud.

The nurse administering the medication responds, “Yeah, you’ve got this,” trying to be helpful while thinking, this num nuts sterilizing himself is probably the best thing to happen to Wenatchee in the last year.

Cam realizes just as they push the, anesthesia meds, “Wait, did I say tha…?” Snore.

In the blink of an eye Cameron wakes back up. Everything is blurry but he feels awesome. He slurs, “Knew they’d never find it,”

A guy in a dark blue uniform and a broad mustache leans into his field of view. He’s a little blurry too but Cam can see the badge and a Ziplock bag he’s holding up for him. It contains another smaller, dark colored plastic bag,

“Find what, find this?” he asks. The cop gives the bag a little shake for emphasis, “Don’t worry, you’re all cleaned out kid, found the meth in the car too. Lucky fourteen bud. You sit tight,”

“Fuck,” Cam slurs, again not realizing he’s actually talking.

The cop doesn’t miss a beat, “Not with that junk you’re not,”

Reference:

Trouble snowballs for man who shot himself | News | wenatcheeworld.com

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