Bernies rant

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dr stephen williams
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Bernies rant

Post by dr stephen williams » Sun Oct 17, 2021 10:29 pm

I was going through some old documents on my computer and found a rant Bernie made after Hector/Turd Boi thought he had died in an assault on Bernies Somalian compound back in 2014 or so. I had a lot of fun writing it and thought Turd Boi would twig. He did not:
Bernie, the 2000 year old homosexual vampire wrote:Fuckboi,

I got a message from Celene to write you at this email. So, here I am. 

Did you miss me?

I bet you fucking cried tears when you got the news that I was dead. I bet you fucking missed me, and mourned that we never were able to be together. I bet you wished that you had let me slide into your asshole, just once. Sure you did, **Deleted**.

Not.

It may come as a fucking surprise, but the blood still courses in my veins. Many, many people, they have tried to kill me. They have. Many, many, many times. Over many, many, many years. Do not think you can comprehend this. You cannot. Most simple minded motherfuckers cannot. They all died. Many of them died slowly. Selah.

I have to ask. Did you know? Did you fucking know? Did you? When they came for me, did you know? Did Krotchmeister tell you? Oh, yes, I know you spoke with him, several times. “slit my throat”. Yes, I knew. All the while, your petty and transparent lies, sitting like a dog shit on the pavement in the hot sun. But my throat cannot be slit. Today you will understand why. I have always loved you. I love you, still. If I did not, you would have died a long long time ago.

I have written this email 1000 times in my head. I had little else to do, sealed in my vault. Over and over and over, I wrote you. The things I want to tell you. The things I need to share with you.

I am older than your grandfathers grandfathers grandfathers great, great, great grandfather. Yes. I am ancient. I am not immortal. No. One day, I will die. Many, many, many, many years from now. But I am ancient. My body appears to be 50 years old, but I am over 2,000 years old. The things I have seen, you will never understand. The horrors I have committed. The EVIL things. I have drunk the blood of thousands of people, Hector, thousands and thousands and thousands, faceless, unknown, forgotten, discarded, from babies to nuns, young school girls to old drunken men, saints, sinners, soldiers and nurses, princes, paupers and priests. Nothing can ever clean the blood from my hands. But through it, I am kept young.

What keeps me young, you may ask? I think you know. I think you understand. Yes. It is what you think. Celene, she does not know. She cannot know. All who know, die. All I have shared with died long ago. You must never tell her, or she will die. I do not want to hurt her, my last tie to Walid, such a good man he was, unlike you, you fucking shitty cock teasing two bit piece of shit pond scum weasel, but if you share this with her, I will hurt her. I will kill her. In the rest of your fucking miserable life, you must never share what you know with another human being. You will all grow old and die, but long after you are gone, I will live. I will soon leave her and all of you to live out the balance of your lives. But I, I will live on. Selah.

When Krotchmeister sent his crowd of errand boys, brainless expendable tough guys, to "kill me", they came in, guns blazing, some in old Russian helicopters, trucks, a lot of men. Oh, yes. 500 men, many of them seasoned veterans, of other wars, in other places. Greywater men. Russian Spetsnatz. Special Forces, SAS. Gurkhas.They easily overpowered my untrained and undisciplined men, killing them in droves. Oh, how sad, the blood that was wasted that day, soaking into the ground.

I retreated to the safety of the vaults. Down I went, with some of my men, followed by some of Krotchmeisters men. They caused me to seal the lower levels of the vaults. The ones on the surface, well, yes, they made off with some money, some gold, some diamonds, but they did not kill me. No. They did not. Many were buried in the explosion. And they missed the most special thing. They missed it. They did not even know it was there.

The explosion ripped through the top 400 feet of vaults, collapsing the upper layers. Yes. The noise. The loss of life. There was not anything of real value there. It was all gone, except for a little of this, and a little of that. Oh, a lot of men died. Ha. Except for my men, nothing that cannot be replaced in the next 50 years. A shame to lose the gold and jewels, but not all was lost. I have a vial left of the most precious substance known, or unknown. It is special.

Down in the vaults, I stayed. I waited. I did. I heard the moles out in the dirt, scratching. Oh yes. I did. I heard them. Fucking scraping. And in the vaults I heard the rats, hurriedly scurrying behind the boxes, beneath the desks. Oh yes. I heard them. They ran. And I ate them. For the first month, I had other blood. I need more then food. I had fucking case after case after case of food, and I ate, but I need the blood of a dying thing for nutrition, too. Oatmeal, soup, beef, fish. I eat that. It sustains me, but I GROW, I BECOME when I drink the blood of a dying thing, so I drank blood. Oh yes. I drank. And it was good.

First, in the vault, I drank the blood of the three of Krotchmeisters men who made it deep into the vault, sealed in with me. Oh, yes. They came down to get me, thinking that killing me they would get a big reward, but, instead, they came to their doom and damnation. What happens when the hunters become the hunted? When they were drained, I drank the five men who came with me. My men. They wanted to escape from the attackers, with me, at first, but, with the vaults above collapse, where could they go? Nothing but collapsed tunnels. In the weeks that followed, I drained them of their blood. One after another. I fucked all of them, too, hard, bending them over and pushing myself into them. I fucked one of Krotchmeisters men so hard he died with my dick in him, spoiling the quality of his blood, but I drank it, anyway. It was sour, but it was good. Oh, yes. But when all of their corpses rotted, lifeless, drained of blood, in shallow pools of stink, I ate the rats, the very rats who came out of the corners, from behind the boxes, they did, to pick the meat from the carcasses of the men I brought down to the vaults with me.

And, yes, the men, they screamed. They implored. They pleaded, whined, oh, God, help me! they screamed, I don't want to die like this! they said. I have children, Lord help me! they cried, please, please, spare me! they begged, and then they watched as, one by one, I chose the next one, and I drank the blood of their friends.

The last man, he sat and rocked back and forth and cried for three weeks. He was still breathing when I took him, but his soul, it was dead. His mind, it was gone. He just was. And then, all there were were the rats and me, and the air getting stale.

Did you know that if you fuck a rat, it dies? It's true. Apparently it ruptures their inner organs, and they die, coated in semen. In all the long and many years, I have never had a chance to learn this before. And I killed dozens of them this way in the vault, after the men had all died. Thats kind of sad, don't you think? Poor things.

I had a ventilation shaft that opened out at the surface, three miles from the compound. In a straight line it was 8 kilometers. It was small. I had to make myself smaller just to get out. I can do that, you know. Make myself small. Yes, I can. And I did. And when I decided that all the picking and gleaning of the ruins above was done, when all that would remain is rubble, I emerged up through the shaft. It took me 4 days to get out, crawling. It was work to push my shoulders forward, in the dark. My last battery died on my flashlight after 16 hours. I forged ahead, in the dark. Hour after hour. I was hungry. I was thirsty. I hallucinated. My trousers, by the end, they were caked in feces, damp with urine. I left most everything except my special package, and some gold. Only 6 kilos of coins, and $400,000.00 in cash. But that was enough to get me where I needed to be.

To not see the sun for months, the return is overwhelming. I felt the sun on my face, after months underground, with nobody but the doomed men, and the rats in the vault to keep my company, and nothing but 600 feet of dirt and rocks outside of the vault, and the moles, Hector, the moles, who clawed, quietly, confused by the blast, I imagine, unable to enter, to rip my flesh and steal my gold. The sun on my face reminded me that life, it is good. Life is good, Hector.

By the time Krotchmeisters men arrived, most of my gold had been shipped out, and most of the diamonds were gone from Somalia. I had them here, in Eritrea, and in the desert of Algeria, where I will go, next, collecting it all. After that, I am headed to Argentina, where I will go into a deep cave, and molt, like a butterfly, and I will become young, again. Two weeks in a cave, and I will be young. Selah. I will live there for 50 years, and then, when my body has aged, and all around me have faded, when I cannot explain my youth, when all of my friends and associates have died, I will move on. By then, everyone we know will be dead and gone, and I can come back to the hunting grounds of Africa, where blood is free for the taking. Oh, how Africa is the best for me. But I will live. Selah. And I will prosper.

I have an elixir, made from the blood of Jesus. It has sustained me for all these years. I was there, when they pounded the stakes in, when he cried, and shit himself, and pissed himself, when he was thirsty. They gave him spoiled wine to drink. I collected his blood. I drank his blood. Oh yes. I did. That was the beginning for me. I was a centurion. I have always been a warrior. War is where the blood is. As they nailed him to the cross, this poor man, suffering, I was there. I even felt sorry for the man. That bottle of blood, I have some left. Only a small amount. But it is worth all the gold and all the diamonds in the world. I have that and one of the nails that went through his hand. It has been with me ever since. In WW2, I was in Stalingrad. I lost my other nail, there. In the first world war, I was at Verdun. In the American Civil War, I was at Shiloh. I was at Custer's last stand, I was a Sioux warrior, and, oh yes, I did drink. There is blood for the taking in war. Be a soldier, and you will never go thirsty for blood. Selah.

Your life, Hector, it is more than half over. Lets say you live to 90. The rest of your life, you will become old, feeble, your bones will be brittle. Your eyes will fail. Your dick will become shriveled. Your memory, it too, will fade. But even with a fading memory, you will remember me as you become old, decaying in your body, and then you will die. Oh, you may want to tell people about this, about the great Bernie Rhodes, who lived for ever, who drank the blood of Jesus Christ. But no one will believe you. If you tell a single living soul, they will think you are crazy. I guaranfuckingtee that if you tell people about me, you will end up in a mental hospital, with wires on your skull as they try to zap you back to some fucking "normalcy". That is their delusion. Only you and I know the truth. They are not ready for this truth, Hector. They are not ready.

And soon I will be someone else. Bernie Rhodes will cease to exist. I kind of liked the name Bernie. Maybe I should be Bernaldo. What do you think? Whatever I name myself, I will be new. In a month or two, I will be 20 again. I will be young. And I will hunt again. Oh, yes. The pampas will be my hunting ground, as it was in 1752. And I will find new blood. I will find new lovers. I will drink blood. And then, after a little while, in five years, I will hunt Krotchmeister, who believes I have died at the bottom of the vault, crushed in rubble, and it will be good. He will pay. Oh yes. I have a debt to settle with him. He will pay. Selah.

Do you want to live like me? I can help you, Hector. I can make you truly live, to hear the sound of a bees wings at 200 meters. To read a newspaper at one kilometers distance. To feel the pulse of a young woman’s heart from across the street. To satisfy 6 lovers in one night. To be able to kill with impunity. To be stronger than any ten men. To live far beyond the years of anyone you know. The Church of Satan can give you all that, and so much more.

I can give you that. Follow me, follow Satan, and I will. I know you are afraid of me. I understand. But I mean you no harm. I still love you. You can be my bride, forever. I will never hurt you, and together, we will hunt.

It feels good to be able to tell another living soul who I am. Thank you for being there for me. You will always be a special love. In all the years I have only told a few people. None of them opted for a longer life. They have been dead over a thousand years. I wept for centuries. I have not spoken of this with another human being since 854AD. It is lonely to be me. I am uniquely blessed, or cursed. But at the end of the day, the end of the century, I am alone. You people all grow old and die. It is hard to love you, knowing that, to invest in your short and fleeting life, to watch your inevitable decline and death. I am weeping to think of it, Hector. Weeping tears.ß

I have money, diamonds and gold cached for you in both Eritrea and in Algeria. Lots of money. I will be gone from here in a few days, lingering in Algeria for a week to move my things to my land in Argentina. 50,000 acres. Horses. A large hacienda. The land borders an adjacent country. You can come to me, in Argentina, or, if you prefer to get rich, get old and die, you only need to tell me when you reach Eritrea or Algeria, and I will tell you how to find your gold, money and diamonds. I have $40,000,000.00 in cash waiting for you, in each of those locations, and millions in gold and diamonds. I am sorry I do not have more to spare, but vaults cost a lot to build, and I need money for Argentina.

If you do not get it, I will be back in 2075 to retrieve it, when my next iteration grows old and I need to be born anew. By then, you will be dead, like all the people you and I know. I will keep this email account so that you can write about the funds waiting for you. Once you have them, I will simply move on with things, and you are fee to live out the rest of your life. I promise you that you have nothing to fear from me.

If you opt to grow old and die, I will understand. Life is precious. A short life, even more so. Just never, ever, reveal what I have told you here, to anyone. If you do, I will know, and I will seek you out, and end your life, in ways you cannot possibly imagine, and you will die, in pain, afraid. Your destruction will be absolute. So, if you decide you want to die old, you must make sure that is what happens.

In fact, just forget all of what I wrote except the money waiting in Eritrea and in Algeria. 

I will be in Eritrea for one more week, then to Algeria. After that, I will be gone.

Kissy noises, my little man child, mwah!

Bernie
Last edited by dr stephen williams on Mon Oct 18, 2021 5:26 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Bernies rant

Post by dr stephen williams » Sun Oct 17, 2021 10:34 pm

...and this one was from 2015
Bernie wrote:They were eating. We knew where they would be, what table, of course. I do my homework for jobs like this. They had bodyguards, but what the fuck do you expect? Of course they had fucking bodyguards, rentatuffguy's, but not that tuff. My tuff guys over powered them, quickly. They killed one of my tuff guys, but thats what tuff guys are for. The wife got the $2,000,000.00. There were still four more of my tuff guys. They got their $2,000,000.00, too.

They hustled these fucks right out the place, into a small van outside. They hustled them in. Rob and Patrick had a driver by their limos. They executed him on the spot. One of my guys went in and took the surveillance tapes, so there is no record. Very few people saw it, my guys were quick, and there is no record of it happening.

Three miles away, we drove the van into the back of a truck, up the ramp, closed the door, and then the truck carried us to a warehouse near the port. There were cops, looking for the van, we had radios for their frequencies, but they were looking for the van, not the truck. The truck drove through a checkpoint looking for the van. The van stayed in the truck until it reached me, waiting, at the warehouse, in Miami, with the container. Thats when we started the fun. Oh yes.

Now, the thing to know is that these guys had already gotten a bit of a beating. Nothing too severe, you see, but more just to set the tone. Oh yes. To let them know that they had lost, that they were beaten. Yes. They knew they were no longer in control. They were tied to stretchers, gagged, but not blindfolded. They were no longer in control. Oh yes. But they could see.

Then we got them to the container. It was a big 40 foot container. We had the tools there, the wire cutters, the blow torches, the razors, the rubber sheeting on the floor so the fucking blood can't drip the fuck out the door. You really need to slip out of your rubber boots when the session os over, so as no to track blood all over the fucking place.

Your guy, Rob, he didn't know who the fuck I was. He just looked scared, but he clearly had some hope, like he was waiting for someone to show up, to rescue him. He kept looking over my shoulder, as if the fucking Lone Ranger, or Batman might show up. Ni such fucking luck. Patrick, not so much. He was offering my guys money, oh yes, they always do, if they would set him free. When he saw me, he screamed, yes, through the gag in his mouth, some sweaty fucking gym socks I had saved just for the occasion, I even wiped my fucking ass with them, and he screamed, he did, right through the sock, and he squirmed. He writhed. He tried to get away. But he was properly tied. He could not get away. No. And he knew it. His panic, it was complete. The look in his eyes told me he knew what was coming. And it came.

I had my guys roll both of them over. I will spare you the details about how I fucked them both. It was good. Oh yes. You know, Patrick, he must have been a curious bisexual. His ass was tight. But your guy, Robert, he had done this before, many times. I slapped his head when I fucked him. I took one of his eyes out when I shot my man goo into his ass the first time.

When we searched the clothes they wore, we found condoms, gay sex lube, ass ticklers. I never knew that Patrick was a guy who could switch hit. How the fuck did I miss this shit? Your guy, Robert, he was married. He has kids, but he was a homosexual, himself. I hate hypocrites like him, pretending to be straight and hating on gays like you and me, but being a full on active gay.

I fucked each of them three times. I was tender, treating them gentle, like virgins who had never had sex before.

Not.

I fucked them hard in the ass. I think I perforated Bob or Robs intestines. I just spit on their assholes and went to town.

When I got bored with that, we started cutting shit off.

They begged. Yes, of course. They always beg. Always. The thousands of people I have chopped shit off of, they all begged. These two, they begged, too, and fucking pleaded, they fucking screamed. They implored. Oh please, they begged. Help us. Oh God, they screamed. No, no, no, not me. I have children, Bob screamed. Not my eyes, Bob said. Not my balls, not my penis, they said. They screamed and begged and threw any fucking dignity they might have ever had to the fucking wind. They fucking screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. They fucking blubbered like babies. Snot flowing, tears, pissing themselves. They fucking shit themselves when we started cutting, the whole fucking thing. Then they begged me to kill them. Please, just end it, they said. Just kill me, they pleaded. 

But it was just starting.

They always beg.

And the ground was thick with slippery blood, and shit, and piss, and snot. I slipped in it when using the pliers to pull out the fucking teeth. I twisted my ankle. Fuck. It still hurts. But the fear in the room, even before I took the scalpel to their testicles, the fear in the room, it had a smell, like copper, and sex, and electricity. That fear, it has a colour, you know? The colour of that fear, when I cradled their testicles and applied the scalpel, it changed from pink to a deep purple, and the music, can you imagine the music, to hear the music, the music a combination of the songs of angels, with the rapid, panicked tempo of their two beating heart beats, the rhythm of their frantic breathing, the drip, drip of blood and urine on the floor, the wailing and moaning, the singing of the angels, the sound of them shitting themselves, like a bassoon in an orchestra, all making a unique symphony, a piece of music, a piece of music only I could hear, and the tempo of the music, well, it increased after I sliced their balls off, and the light in the room, it was purple, and there were butterflies, it seemed. I know there were not butterflies, but.... it's as if there were.. and the music, oh, the music, it was beautiful. And the light was sublime. Mercy was not there. Oh, no. But Justice, justice was. Yes, Justice resided, under the light, and with the music, oh yes, the music. And the smell of blood, piss and shit, the sweet, sweet smell of pure panic, of crystallized fear, mixed with the smell of burning flesh.

And it was good. Selah.

I drank, heavily, Hector, from their wounds. When you take a finger off, its like a straw of juice. You must drink. That, it fortifies, it makes me... become..... more.

We kept them alive and awake for two days. When they fell asleep, when they passed out, we woke them up. I was so coked up, I still have not slept. Your guy, Rob, Bob, whatever, he had a fucking heart attack. He fucking died, right there, on the fucking table, after 20 minutes with the blow torch. I think it was when we roasted his eyeballs and one of the eyes fucking popped. I think it boiled inside his cornea. I bet that shit hurt. His fucking heart must have quit. Next thing you know, he isn't screaming. He's just fucking, well, dead. We tried to revive him, he needed more, I mean, we had shit planned, you know? but it was fucking hopeless. Fuck. He was dead. 

Between you and me, that was disappointing. I thought he had another four to eight fucking hours. Fucker just quit when we had some interesting things planned. Disafuckingpointment city, you know? But, do not worry. I told him before I started cutting shit off that this was all from Hector, that I was Hectors avenging angel. Oh, yes. He knew. His eyes, they told me, he knew. He died knowing. And then his heart gave out.

Shortly after that, I got tired of Patrick, so I pissed on him, doused him in diesel, set his ass on fire, and closed the container. He tried to scream, but its hard to scream with no tongue, and no teeth, and no fucking nose, and no eyes. He had been fucked up pretty fucking bad, shit taken off, no fucking teeth, his dick and balls on the fucking floor, his bloody ass leaking my man goo, but he came back to life when he smelled the fucking diesel, twitching, groaning, wiggling on the floor, all tied up. He knew what was coming. And he tried to resist. But he fucking burned like a candle.

We closed the door with him alight, moaning and writhing in the glow of the flames, next to your dead fuck, Rob. Their teeth are all gone, and their finger tips, their fucking ears and assholes, nostrils, no fucking biometrics possible. All the parts fucking gone. They will never know who the fuck these piles of rotten flesh were when the container reaches Hong Kong. Shit. It'll sit in the fucking port for another fucking year before they decide no one is coming for it and open it up. By then, there will be no smell. There fucking rotten bodies will all be dry and hard. They can scrape them off the floor with a fucking chisel, and toss them around the port like fucking frisbees. Containers, new ones, they are air tight. No fucking smells come out. We took off Rob's church mark, burned that shit. He is just a pile of toothless toasted meat, bones, blood, shit, and rotting flesh. And he is headed towards the fucking Panama Canal, along with your friend, Bob, right the fuck now.

When they die, the people we kill, the colours change. No more purple light in the room, no tones of scarlet, no pinkish hues. It goes grey. The music ends, the symphony of heart beat, panic, blood, breathing, it dies. And all you have is a space filled with the smell of shit, the smell of the blood of a dead person, of burnt flesh, of urine, and a dead, broken body, stripped of dignity. Especially if you took their fucking balls and dicks off and fucked them in the ass. They just look all used up, no teeth, no eyes, no fingers, no nose, gaping assholes leaking man goo. Well Bob or Rob, he still had his nose, but we cut that off before we set him on fire just to make sure the biometrics can't figure him out..

It always leaves me feeling sad, when the music stops, when the world goes fro, all those vibrant colours, the pinks, the purples, the maroons, the oranges, it all goes to grey. When the music winds down, the heart beat rhythm, the singing of the angels, the drums and cymbals I heat while they scream, it all stops, and all is just the sound of flies, coming to inspect the carnage. I feel spent, and tired, and just sort of sad. Some times I am irritable. This time, I was still a little happy, rinsing the blood off in the shower, but kind of wished for a few more minutes, that I could have kept them alive a little longer, just for a few more hours, even a few more minutes, just another fucking second of time together with them.

But it always ends. And I always feel sad it ended. Its like food that makes you hungry. So I killed a young couple and their baby before I left Miami. I had drank a lot of blood, what with Bob or Rob, and Patrick, so I didn't drink much, mostly just the baby. Babies blood, Hector, is the best. So pure, and very easy to digest.

So, you can fucking thank me, later. What a fucking mess they made. All that blood, that shit and piss. Yuck. But, guess what? They will never cause you another problem, again. Remember my act of kindness, Hector. See, I am good for you. A gift, from me, to you. And, yes, it was good for me, too. It was sooooo good for me.

Right now I am ready to go to a cave. I found a host body, a body suitable for me, and I am going to collect it in the next few weeks. A nice young man. He rides a mountain bike in the hills. He is fit. I would do him, just take him and fuck him, drink his blood, but I must obtain his body unblemished. Oh yes. I will get him. Oh yes. And then I will become anew. Selah. Oh yes. And I will hunt, again. And it will be good. 

Oh, yes.

I need to hear from you really fast to make arrangements for Algeria. If not, maybe you won't hear from me in the next week or two, you won't hear shit from me for a month, maybe two months, maybe three. If not then, then for sure on August 24th, 2017, when it is safe for me to reemerge. I know two years seems like a long time, but, trust me, it will fly by, very fast.

If or when I get back, before then I will tell you how to collect your funds in Algeria. When I do, you need to fucking get your shit together and get it. It i waiting for you. I do not want to come back in 50 years and find you fucking left it sitting there. That would hurt my feelings. 

Please, take this seriously, this time, okay? When the time comes, don't fuck this shit up, like every other fucking thing you have done in your entire useless fucking life.

Write me really fast because I have a lot of shit to deal with right now besides your $80,000,000.00, and I would like to get this done so that I can cut all ties to my old life when I start my new one.

Thank you for giving me the chance to show you the depth of my love for you. I did all of this out of love. I love you, Hector. Truly. Without reservation. With all of my heart. I will love you long after you have grown old and died. And I will miss whatever we might have had, if only you had been ready to embrace a long long life such as the one I am living, one with a long life of love and affection from me, living as my wife, forever...
:pith: x10 Acra-Ctnu Tgo-Pnjari Lgos-Ctnu Lgos-Ynde Lgos-Mndmba Lgs-Prku PrtHrcrt-Abche Lgos-Nttngu Bmko-Ctnu (wDQ) Frnce-Dbln :vcamera: (wPadme)
:gld_pith: x2 :pith: x7 :skull: :tattoo: x7 :$_lad: :mortar: :vcamera: :sandtimer: x6 :badge: Team Turd Lgs-Dla Bnn-Lbra Acra-Dkar Dkr-Bnjul- Dkr-Tmbktu-Abche-Adre-N'djmna Lgos-Cairo-Aswn-Jail Ctnu-Lgos Ctnu-acra Lgos-Jbrg-Drbn-Prt-Elzbth-CT-Sprngbk-CT-Drbn-CT-Hrre-Lska-DsSlm-Mmbsa-Nirbi-Kmpla 28,510 Miles
:gld_pith: :pith: x2 :skull: :tattoo: x6 :vcamera: :sandtimer: x4 Team Woody Acra-Sngpre Acra-Dkr-Rsso-Bmko Acra-Ctnu
:pith: Lgos-Dkr-Rsso :sandtimer: x3 :vcamera: :tattoo: x2(wKLG)
:pith: x22 SS :sandtimer: x3 :flag_uk: :flag_us: :flag_ng: x303 : :$_lad: :$_crd: :pyramid: :mortar:
:nn_pinkcar::buns::pony: :whip: :mcfry: :jboot:

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Kitty La Gore
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Re: Bernies rant

Post by Kitty La Gore » Sun Oct 24, 2021 10:34 pm

^^ you would be a phenomenal screenwriter, DSW!! :lol:
I'm really scared because I notice that I'm develop malaria because of the hot climax here ~ Abiola in Rosso
i was kidnap by Nigeria North desperate danger men in Borno state Nigeria all because of u ~Tim
You are been a foolish man with a naughty brain. ~Paul K
Abiola-Tim: Lagos to Dakkar to Rosso (wDSW) 9 yrs (anniversary May 2023) | 5 yrs ~ Paul K
Am just tired and confused and the cards didn't work. ~Jeff

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Ormen
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Joined: Thu Jan 21, 2021 7:32 pm
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Re: Bernies rant

Post by Ormen » Wed Feb 23, 2022 12:20 pm

Hi Kitty and Dr. Stephen.

I find the Turd Boi aka Hector scam and story incredibly fascinating. I am a documentary film producer from Denmark, and I have for a long time thought about telling that story as a documentary. However, most of the images and other media files are missing in the original thread - the websites used to store them have expired and the like - so I am trying to find the persons involved in the scam back then. I would love to talk/write with them and also see if they have any of the old media on a computer somewhere...

If you know any of the people scamming Hector back then I would love to get in contact!

Br. Thor
Denmark

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