Beyoncé' stuck Jay-Z in the mouth with a swift jab—knocking out his front teeth.

Beyoncé' stuck Jay-z in the mouth with a swift jab—knocking out his front teeth. 

"Is it true?" Beyoncé asked. "What? did I try to cuff Barrack?" Oprah responded. Beyoncé nodded. "Ha! As if. The truth is in the 90's he had a cougar complex. He made a pass at me and I curved his ass. Keep in mind this was way before he was a junior senator, let alone president." Oprah said. Silence lingered a moment before she spoke again. "I mean I could have him now if I wanted. I just have no interest in men these days."

"Is that right?" Michelle said; making her way up the steps of the gazebo. Beyoncé's jaw dropped. Shit just got real. "It took you long enough to get here." Oprah said. "Sorry I was busy breaking Stedman off." Michelle said; walking past Oprah without stopping. Savage. "Please, you aint enough woman for my man." Oprah rolled her eyes. Michelle didn't acknowledge the jab. She gave Beyoncé a firm squeeze. "Hey little Queen! I missed you! How's my God daughter?" she asked. "Oh Blu is fine. She is already  doing algebra." Beyoncé said. "Good. Does Sean know?" Michelle asked. "Uh, no! She almost slipped and spilled the beans once. He would have far too many questions if he found out our 4 year old was smarter than him." Beyoncé laughed.

"Men have such poorly formed egos." Michelle said. "Bitch, so you just gonna sit there and act like I'm not here?" Oprah snapped. "You asked me here. I don't have to like it." Michelle said. "Regardless you need to fucking respect me. This is my home." Oprah's stare bore into Michelle's soul. Beyoncé just watched stunned. "I'm sorry ok? We good?" Michelle asked. "Yeah we  good." Oprah said. Sean entered the room with a plate of margaritas and finger foods. "Thank you Sean!" Oprah said. He placed the tray on the table and handed each of them drinks. "Ladies, please enjoy." he said; planting a kiss on Beyoncé's cheek. "I'm going to watch the game with Stedman. I love you." Beyoncé lit up like the 4th of July. "I love you too." she said patting him on the ass as he left.

"Ladies, I asked you here because we have a problem—God damn Sean makes a mean Margarita—anyway, I spoke with the concierge." Oprah said nursing her drink. Michelle and  Beyoncé looked visibly upset. "You too? Where is she??" Michelle asked. "I wish I knew! She came to me when I was sleep." Oprah said.  Beyoncé looked away. "She came to me as well but I am not allowed to speak about what she told me."  Beyoncé said. "Me too." Michelle added. "So I assume you all have your directions?" Oprah asked. They both nodded. "That she contacted us at all I assume she has found the King candidate, which means the prophecy came sooner than we thought." Michelle said. "It also means those idiots found Ogun's Tomb." Oprah said. "Fuck! I'm never going to get a damn break!"  Beyoncé said. "I really love this body! I love my life!"

"Calm down Sasha. We don't know if you have to go back yet. Besides, you've had her body long enough. You know the rules." Michelle said. "Bullshit! Oba has had her body forever!!!"  Beyoncé yelled. Oprah cleared the distance between them in an instant and slapped Beyonce like she was attempting to get her stuck chips to fall out of a vending machine. "Tond uyo vree pkesa ym etru mean!!" Oprah screamed into Beyoncé's face—speaking in Oneiros—the language of dreams.  Beyoncé knew she had crossed a line. The slap would have broken the neck of a normal human but it it left no mark. Which means Oprah pulled her punch. It still stung like hell..

"I'd like to see you try that shit with me." Michelle scoffed. "Are you crazy?"
"Bitch I might be! Keep talking." Oprah said. "Ok, lets drop this for now." Beyoncé said. I need to know who that bitch is." Beyoncé said pointing at Veronica. "Holy shit! You can see me?!" Veronica said. She had crept up the stairs while they were bickering."A better question is how you got into this place." Michelle said; taking off her heels and and earrings. "No, I got this Aya Obama." Beyoncé said. Michelle beamed at her. "So you speak Yoruba now?" Michelle asked. "A little. I know that Aya means mother and Baba means father. ya know, simple stuff." Beyoncé said.

"Jay!" Beyoncé yelled. A moment later Sean entered the room. "Bae? What's up?" he asked. "Can you please escort this bitch out of here?" Sean took one look at Veronica and went stupid. Veronica had on a leopard print jump-suit that looked painted on and hugged her curves like a long lost lover. "Jay!!" Beyoncé snapped her fingers. "You like white bitches now? Get Becky out of here!" Queenie snapped.

 "Huh? Oh! Maam let's go." Sean said taking Veronica by the arm. In a fluid and swift motion, Veronica reached into her purse and retrieved a silk handkerchief and rubbed it under Sean's nose. He froze. "Now 'Jay', I need you to let me go, and go take a nap." Veronica said. "Ok..." Sean said and walked back into the mansion. "Jay!! Jay! SEAN!!!!!" Beyoncé screamed. Her face was red and flushed. "Bitch! What did you do to my husband!" Beyoncé was fuming. "Oh nothing. Maybe he just likes white bitches." Veronica said. Oprah couldn't resist from laughing and Michelle was fighting back a smirk.

Beyoncé was on her feet a moment later. "Ok wait! I just need some information and I'm gone." Veronica said. Beyoncé went deaf—blinded by a complete and perfect rage.  She swung but Veronica dodged and jumped back several paces. "Look! I don't want to do with this. I just need to ask you something!" Veronica pleaded with them. "If you can beat Sasha I'll answer 1 question." Oprah said. Veronica kicked off her heels and took a defensive stance. "Also if you use Prana or Ashe you automatically forfeit." Michelle added. "Wait how do you know I can use—" Veronica began,  Beyoncé had cleared the 20 feet that separated them in a millisecond. Beyoncé was a tiny dame, but each of her blows struck like thunder. Veronica could barely keep up with her speed. Barely blocking her blows, she jumped back another 20 feet. If this bitch hits me it's over. "Keep running Becky!!" Beyoncé yelled.

Becky? Becky?! That's it. "JAY!" Veronica yelled. Sean burst through the door like a fucking hurricane. His eyes were completely glossed over and his pupils were glowing.  He looked like a zombie. "Jay. Break this bitch in two." Veronica said. Sean didn't hesitate. He lumbered towards Beyoncé. "Also tell her everything you've hidden from her while you do it." Veronica said twisting the knife. Beyoncé lost all constitution. "W-what? Sean! Jay!! What are you doing?" she pleaded with him. Jay said nothing. He grabbed Beyoncé by the neck and lifted her off the ground. Her legs thrashed around violently. "I removed his strength limiters. He is easily 4 times stronger than an average human. Remember, you asked for this this shit. Remember you got in your feelings not me." Veronica said; collecting her shoes and heading back to the gazebo. That was when Jay began to speak.

"I fucked Rachel Roy." he said. Beyoncé's lip quivered.

"I fucked her while she was still married to Dame." he said.

"I fucked Mya." he said. I even licked her ass and kissed you the next morning.he said. She shook her head. No! No!

"I fucked Claudia Scheelen while you were at your baby shower."  he said. Beyoncé wept.

"I am planning on seeing Casey Cohen tonight."  he said.

"I didn't fuck Liv, but I lead you to believe I did so you wouldn't be suspicious of everyone else I was fucking."  he said. Beyoncé sobbed.

"I fucked Rita Ora and Tori Kelly while we did cocaine and watched the Kim Kardashian sex tape" he said. A silent cry escaped her. Veronica almost pitied her. Almost.

"I plan on leaving you for Rihanna once my attorney's verifies that my prenup is still valid." he said.
With that statement, Beyoncé went cold. Her eyes began to glow. "SASHA NOOOOOOOO!!!" Oprah yelled. Too late. Beyoncé touched Jay's chest. His back exploded sending shards of his spine and sinewy pieces of his heart and lungs in the grass.  His grip went flacid and Beyoncé fell to the ground. Sean collapsed—immobile. Beyoncé lay in the grass sobbing. Oprah and Michelle both looked at Veronica. "Bitch who are you?" they asked in unison. "I assume the new queen candidate—seeing as your current one can't control her feelings." Veronica said glancing at Beyoncé who lay on her side openly weeping. "STEDMAN!" Oprah yelled. Stedman was such a standard old Negro. He wore a pair of blue shorts with black dress socks and suspenders slung over his wife beater. He had a mouth full of food and a piece of cornbread in his hand. "Damn baby what? he asked. "Awww shit."

He glanced at Jay's body. "What you want me to do?" he asked. "Go to my dressing room. Third draw on the left. Bring me the canister." Oprah said. "I'll begin he incantation." Michelle said. walking toward Jay's body. Veronica paid them no mind. She was impatient and lost in her phone. A few moments later Stedman returned with the bottle. It' was beautiful and made from pure copper. It was engraved with several runes that began at the base and tapered off towards the top. Michelle was over Jay's body. She appeared to be singing. Veronica recognized the language so she slyly remembered the incantation. I might need it someday. 

Bitch please. You aren't leaving here alive! A voice boomed in her head.

"Oh my god! How are you doing this! Veronica was sincerely shocked.

"You know damn well how I am doing this. It's you're ability. Oprah said; projecting her thoughts into Veronica's mind.

"What I mean is how are you using my ability?"

"Fuck you that's how." Oprah responded.

"Look, I didn't want a fight. Also, you said I couldn't use Prana or Ashe how was I supposed to fight?!

"Not fair is it? That is what it is like to be a black person in this world. The odds are stacked against you, but if you want to live you have to work with the little bit you have! Of course you cheated which is what white people do—so I'm not surprised. Oprah said.

Jay's coughing interrupted their exchange. Stedman poured the contents of the canister over his wounds and they began swiftly healing. "W-what happened to me?" he stuttered. Beyoncé hugged him tightly. She openly sobbed. He squeezed her back. "Baby what's wrong?" he asked. 'I-I know. I know about it all. The cheating. The 3-way with with those lousy thots. The cocaine. Rachel, all of them." she said flatly. "W-what? N-Naw baby! Stop believe lies. I dont..I aint even trying to argue with you!" he yelled. Beyoncé' stuck him in the mouth with a swift jab—knocking out his front teeth.

"B-bish ish yuur crathzy!!" he yelled; spray blood on her clothes. "Uh, if he ruined that Versace top she is wearing—I'm going to kill him my damn self." Veronica said. Beyoncé stuck him again and he went straight to sleep. "Don't you kill him after we wasted lethe water on him!" Oprah yelled. Beyoncé didn't reply she simply stared at Jay; daring him to wake up again.

"Back to you. I see you have a strong will. Normally I would know everything about you by now. Who are you. Have you forgotten the face of your mother?" Oprah asked. "What? Look. You said if I won you would answer my question." Michelle climbed up the steps of the Gazebo and joined the pair. "Little Queen, you are wasting good liquor. I'm about to drink yours." Michelle said. Beyoncé remained silent. "That is cruel. You know she can't be a Queen candidate now. Matricide is a no no." Veronica said. She was being smug.

"Alright bitch. you need to start talking or you going to get hurt." Oprah said.  Veronica laughed. "Yeah right! Bitch I'm free, white and 21—not to mention I'm rich! You can't even hurt my feelings." she said.Veronica not only crossed the line. She drew several more and skipped right across those.
Mrs. Obama sighed and began nursing her Margarita. Oprah stood and cracked her knuckles. "Let's see about that you shitty bitch."

My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist. 


There, I’ve said it. I’m sure you are going to expect me to redeem myself with some long forgotten tale about a boy who was abused and tossed from foster home to street—leading him to become a monster.  Don’t bother. I don’t feel a bit of remorse for what I do. I’ll tell you what brought me to this point another time, but make no mistake— My name is Twan. I am a rapist. I am a monster and I feel no sorrow or empathy for my victims.

I’m typing this from my hotel room. Last night I attended a so called ‘neo masculinity’ rally. The meeting gained significant attention via social media. The idiot that organized this rally was rumored to be pushing for legislation that made rape legal so long as it occurred on private property, but this was apparently a joke. I assume it was a ‘joke’ in the same sense that N.A.M.B.L.A just really really likes the company of little boys. Either way it peeked my interest so here I am.

I met Trent at the rally last night. I felt his eyes on me, but I never approached him.  Every move I made found him in my general vicinity. I can spot a victim hunter a mile away. When this hastily organized debacle concluded—rather taking a cab to my room—I made it a point to make the 10 block trek back. When I saw him smoking a stogie in front of my hotel entrance. I highly doubted this was coincidence. He wore a pink shirt that was clearly made for a toddler, a pair of tan cargo shorts, sandals, and a backwards turned fitted hat that choked his skull. He also had an awful case of date rape face.

“Sup?” he said. I smiled and headed for the door.
5….4….3….2…1
“Hey wait!” he said.
“Yes?”
“Sup?”
“Can I help you?”
“I dunno can you?” he grinned.

Gross.  He is so gross. “My name is—“  His phone interrupted me.  He punched the end call button.
“I’m Trent. How about I buy you a drink?” he asked. “I’m not sure, I’m pretty exhausted. “
“I saw you at the rally—kind of weird seeing you there. Come on! I don’t know anyone here.” He pled his case. “Sure why not?” I said. He dropped his cigar without bothering to stomp it out. Lazy, smoker, date rape face and a douchebag name. He is a perfect candidate.

My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

The hotel bar was nice. I stay in IHG hotels exclusively. Staybridge in particular because they have full kitchens and separate bedrooms.  Though the real bonus was that the bar had Allagash on tap. The hotel was laid out well and had a sincere homey feel. We sat in front of the fire place on a large overstuffed couch. We talked about life, the universe and everything. He told me about the issues he had with his last few girlfriends. There was nothing particularly interesting about his anecdotes. Just the standard garden variety blame shifting, and complete lack of accountability.

I barely spoke aside from the occasional feigned look of suprise or an approving nod. I interrupted him once to talk about my fiancé. “Her name is Kimberly. She—“ I paused and reflected on my words. “She saved me.” I said. “That is nice. So you like girls?” he asked. “ I like GIRL—singular.” He  wasn’t even listening. He shuffled around a bit, and his eyes constantly darted from me to my glass. So it begins.

“I think I will have one more drink then I have to turn in.” I said. “Yeah, but like, these drinks are expensive, how about we go to my room. I have tequila out the ass.” he said.  Tequila out the ass? Could he be many more of a douche? Summer's Eve could learn from him. “Its fine, I’d rather drink down here. No offense but I don’t really know you.”  I said.  “Ok, ok! Let me get you a drink!” he said with far too much fervor.  I conceded and let him know that I needed to use the restroom.
A few moments later I was tying off my left arm and injecting myself with a small dose of Romazicon. I knew what was coming with that last drink and I wanted to be prepared.

 I put my ear buds in, sat on the toilet and prepared myself. I’ve had Lil’ Wayne’s  ‘Free Weezy Album’ and Kendrick Lamar’s ‘To Pimp A Butterfly’ on repeat for weeks now and I was completely stuck on them. I did a few breathing exercises, though I could barely control my excitement.  Moments later, I found him at the bar looking impatient. “Hey! You took forever!” he said, shoving the drink in my hand.  I winked at him and drained my glass. He seemed delighted by this. “The bar is closing. We should head to my room! I have my computer hooked up to the television so we can do Netflix. Also I want to watch most of the sports highlights I missed because of the rally.” The douchebag prattled on. The drowsiness began creeping its way into my consciousness. Yup. He drugged me. Shit the dose of Romazicon  wasn't strong enough.

“Y-yesh. That soundz amazhing.” I said; slurring my words.  I could see the delight in his eyes. We walked toward his room, his hand occasionally tapping the small of my back. “Wait, what sports highlights? College ball? I-I thought the s-shuperbowl was tomorrow?” I asked. “Huh? Oh yeah college games. I know you are probably an Alabama fan, but Utah is 10-3 right now.”  he said. I didn’t say a word. I hate sports, unless you consider raping rapists a sport—which of course I do.  We arrived at his room. Room 420. Could he possibly be any more of a douche?  When he opened the door I almost puked. The room was a mess. There were pizza boxes everywhere. Crusts were scattered throughout the room, along with a veritable ton of Pabst Blue ribbon cans. He tossed his key card on the counter. I stepped over some errant trash and snagged the card when he wasn’t watching. “Hey, what is your name by the way? I never caught it.” he asked. “W-what?  My name ish-” I began. A heartbeat later, all was black.


My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

The room spun into view. The Romazicon hadn't been strong enough to keep me conscious, Christ, how much did he dose me with? My awareness returned—albeit slowly.  I recall waking up at some point but the details were sketchy. I have no idea how I made it back to my room. I sat up, attempting to recall the night. The fresh pain exploding in my groin and throat filled in the blanks for me. I don’t recall how I got back to my room, not to mention I was completely naked. My body was bruised, but my dignity was still intact. After the hellish life the universe tossed me I was unbreakable—which makes me an ideal hunter.

I grabbed my phone and immediately called my lover—the dearest tenant of my heart—Kimberly., my savior. “I’m already headed your way she said and ended the call. She hates what I do, but if I don’t who will? I see her point though. I try not to think about it. I sometimes wonder if I should just leave. She’d probably be happier. I pushed those thoughts away and began preparations for my holy work. I shit, showered, and shaved. “Fuck! It’s 11:30!” I said aloud. The hotel offers a free breakfast buffet if you make it in time.

It’s silly I know. I was clearly raped last night, and here I am lamenting over missing a free meal. Please try to understand this is who I am.  This isn’t my first rodeo.  I was hungry, so I called room service. A half hour later I filled my tummy with a garden salad, guacamole and chips, and a large glass of orange juice. I haven’t eaten meat since I met Kim. She forbade me, and I complied.  End of story—no argument. She owns my heart. She is the only person I can talk to about my work. She accepts me with no judgment. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her aside from change. Ironically enough, she wouldn’t ask me to.

When I finished my meal I opened my suitcase and took a few condoms out, as well as some lube, handcuffs , and my trusty taser. I changed into a tracksuit and a pair of Jordans. I then placed my items into my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and headed out the door. A heart beat later I was standing in front of room 420—my hand covering the peephole. I knocked. No answer.  I knocked several more times with the same result.  I should really wait on Kimberly, but I was far too anxious to begin. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key card id stolen before abruptly passing out. The room was still in disarray, and Trent was nowhere to be found.


I rifled through his personal effects, searching for anything of value.  I found his wallet. Jackpot. I walked to a desk and used the hotel’s stationary to copy down all of his personal information.  I also helped myself the petty cash he kept in his wallet. Easiest 500 bucks ever. I opened a dresser and found the most beautiful Audemars Piguet wrist watch I’d ever seen. “I’ll definitely be taking this.” I placed the watch in my bag, but when I closed the dresser drawer I heard the tell-tale rattle of a pill bottle.  I pushed aside his disgusting, stained underwear collection. Gross .Another grown ass man who doesn’t know how to wipe his ass.

 I found the bottle. Bingo. Come to think of it something has always perplexed me about drug regulation. If the FDA knows that Rohypnol is used for date rape, then why do they continue to make it? They stopped making Quaaludes because of abuse—they passed legislation to make it extremely hard to get narcotic pain relievers, so why not eliminate Roofies? There are so many alternative sleep aids available. Hell, I’m practically immune to most drugs, yet one Benadryl knocks me out cold. Oh, and don’t get me started on Ambien.  I found a small bag of white powder in the bag as well. I tasted a bit. Cocaine. Nice. I did a small bump of coke and the pain Trent left me in last night left me in a hurry.  I left the room in search of my dear Trent. My candidate.

 My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

I found Trent at the bar. Big surprise. It was 1:30 PM and he was already drunk. Several patrons were watching the pre-game programming. I took a seat next to him. “Sup bro?” I asked. He nodded but was otherwise stoic. “Penny for your thoughts?” I asked. Still nothing. I ordered a drink. I wanted another glass of Allagash, but I wanted to celebrate so I ordered a couple of fingers of scotch. They had a very limited selection of whiskey, but they did have the Balvenie 12 year single malt.. Shit! I wish I knew they had this last night. I drank. I savored it for a moment and let it slide down. The fire in my belly, combined with the excitement of Trent’s impending judgment gave me goosebumps.

As I rifled through his clothes earlier I distinctly recalled a Broncos jersey which gave me an idea.  “I’m rooting for The Panthers. What about you?” I asked. That got his attention. “The fuck bro? have you been following ESPN?” he said. “The ESP in ESPN doesn’t mean they can predict the future! Cam Newton is a wild card bro.” I said, though I had no idea what I was talking about.
I hate sports. I merely repeated what I’d heard weeks before regarding Mr. Newton. “That is true, but Denver’s defense is a brick wall bro.” he said. “So what? Carolina’s defense is strong, but their offense is going to overwhelm them, not to mention their lineup is filled with goons.” I said, again having no idea what I was talking about.

 “Bro what the fuck are you talking about? As far as everyone else in the world is concerned, the Panthers made it to the Superbowl on accident!” he said.“Calm down chief. I’m just saying—you are going to be extremely butt-hurt when the Broncos lose. I’d put money on it.”  I said, hoping he’d take the bait. “Oh yeah? Put your money where your mouth is!” he demanded.  I reached into my bag and removed exactly $300 of his money and laid it on the bar.  “There. Here is my money. Where is yours?” I asked. “It’s in my room.” he said. I was  excited! I’d wondered how I was going to get him back to his room.  I gathered my composure and spoke.

“Then how are you paying for your drinks then?” I asked.
“I have them charge it to my room.”
“Ok so how about this Tre—” I said, catching myself at the tail end of the first syllable of his name.
“—Trendy bro.”  I finished.  Shit. Was that the best I could do on the spot? I hope he bought it. “Huh? Trendy bro?” he asked. “Well hell, I don’t your name and you are wearing Banana Republic and Dulce and Gabbana so what the fuck am I supposed to call you?” I said. “Trent. I’m Trent.”  he said, offering me a hand. I squeezed hard. “I’m Twan. My name is Twan.”  I said. He bought it! I could barely contain myself. My cock throbbed. Don’t worry boy. I will feed you soon.

“So here is the deal, we let the bartender hold the money, and she can pay the winner.” I said. “Deal! I’ll go get my cash when we finish this round.” he said. “Hell, how about I buy us another round, then we go get your cash?’ I asked. “Deal broseph!” I ordered a couple of drinks. He was drunk already—no—he was scummy. So much in fact he didn’t notice what I dropped in his drink. We chatted for a while. I will say this, if I didn’t already know that Trent was a monster, he could easily be mistaken as a ‘nice’ guy. He was a garden variety trust fund baby who attended an Ivy League university as a legacy and rather than getting a job like the rest of us, he simply lived off mommy and daddy’s money.  I always found it funny that Clarence Thomas rambles about affirmative action being a problem with major colleges, yet conveniently ignores that the real affirmative action is that the children of alumni are instantly accepted 100% of the time, regardless of their ethnicity.

“Wait, didn’t I see you at the rally last night?” I asked, draining the remainder of my glass. “Oh! You were there?” he asked. “Yup.” I said bumping his fist. “Yeah man! Seems like there is a war on masculinity! They want us to be pussies! I mean look at animals! Animals take what they want!”  he said. Yes we do. “I feel like it is survival of the fittest. If you don’t want something done to you, then it is up to you to stop it.” I said, pandering to his poorly formed ego.  “Exactly!!” he said, slamming his glass on the table.  I thought it would take more than arbitrary pandering to make him talk, but it took surprisingly little to get him to open up. He regaled me with tails of his exploits. He had raped a whopping total of 23 women.

“I mean they clearly wanted it, otherwise why didn’t they stop me? Right?” he asked. “Oh they want it bro.” I laid it on thick. “I mean think about it, if you can legally shoot and kill someone for being on your property without permission, why shouldn’t you be able to rape them?” he asked, seeking approval.  I nodded, my heart banging against my chest. “It’s these beta males! They pander to women’s desires because they can’t get them otherwise. Meanwhile, when Alphas like us follow our instinct and take what we want, we are somehow criminals.” he said. I couldn’t tolerate anymore. I am a monster. I don’t rationalize it. It annoys me to no end when a monster wears the veneer of human. I accept what I am, meanwhile this cretin is following the Republican playbook and blaming the victim. “When was your first bro?” I asked.

“Technically when I was in college, my friend Chad and I tag teamed this gorgeous cheerleader—bro it was some real life porno shit. My dorm mate Jamal was there recording it for us. This bitch took both of our dicks in her pussy at the same time. It wasn’t a rape per say, but she screamed so much! We asked her if she wanted to stop, but she was silent so we kept going.  About a week later we were all in handcuffs. I bet it’s because she found out I was fucking her best friend.  Which was crazy! Like I would have seriously dated such a hoe!”  he chuckled. I nodded. “The fucked up part is that Jamal is still in jail, and he was the only one who didn’t fuck her bro! It was because he was black.” he said. How quaint—a socially conscious rapist. 

I eyed his body. I needed to make sure I could take him. He obviously worked out, but most of his strength appeared to be upper body. I glanced at his legs. They were boney and pale. That was all I needed to know. My hackles rose. Kimberly must be here. That was my signal. I was now safe to proceed. Safe to proceed with my holy work. I glanced at the clock. “Hey man, the game starts in 10 minutes. Let’s go get your cash, plus I want to show you a few things in private. Too many eyes here.” I said. “Oh you got pics? Video? You gonna share bro?” he said, barely able to contain himself. I could definitely relate. “Yup!” I said. With that we headed to room  420. Finally

My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

He fumbled about looking for his key card while.  “Whoa buddy you alright?” I asked. “Y-yeah. I can’t find my keysh.” he said, wobbling. I was liberal with the dose of Rohypnol I spiked his drink with. Though I was shocked that he could still speak, let alone walk. I offered him the very key card I’d swiped from him earlier. “Bro, is this it? It just fell out of your pocket.” I lied.  “T-thanks broshif.”
By some miracle he managed to get us through the door. I could literally see the alcohol evaporating off of his body. He stumbled towards the dresser. I stepped in, grabbed the ‘do not disturb’ sign, hung it on the door handle and closed the door behind me.  “What the fuck bro!!! My sshhit!! Ish missing!” he raged. “Game time bitch.” I said. Which was ironic as it was now 5:00 PM, Superbowl start time.

“W-what? Fuck the game bruh!! My money, sshit!!” he cried. I reached into my bag and slipped the watch on. “Are you talking about this?” I asked, flashing my wrist. “Y-you! You took mah ssshit!!” he immediately charged at me. I was prepared. I hit him with the taser and that was that. I could have taken him, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  I kicked him in the ribs as hard as I could. He was out cold.

I drug his limp body to the bed and poured him onto the mattress. I undressed him and flipped him onto his back. I then handcuffed him to the bed and waited. My cock pulsated. He was so impatient. This was the demon I swore fealty to. It demanded I pin him to the fucking bed and shred him like wet paper. I pulled up a chair, popped in my ear buds and waited. I sent Kimberly all of his information. His bank account would be drained by the end of the day.  He came to roughly an hour later and immediately screamed for help.

*****CRACK*****

I slapped the bitch quiet. The motion caused my ear buds to jerk out of my ear with a nasty pop. I hate that sound! Angry I slapped him again. He instantly bruised.  “If I have to gag you, I will.” I said. He tugged hard on the handcuffs to no avail, and when he saw the stun gun all hope faded from his eyes. He fell apart—sobbing. “Why are you doing this bro?? Please don’t do this!!” he pleaded. I laughed from a good and healthy place. “BRO! If you don’t want me to do this, stop me! Otherwise you clearly want it!” I said. Tears flooded his face. I laughed at him, tossing the lube and condoms next to him. The sight of which made him thrash about violently. I hit him with the taser and he fell silent.

“Bro, please don’t do that again. I won’t move. I promise.” he said. “I'd prefer you to move. It’s no fun if you don’t fight back.” I said. “Why?! Why are you doing this?” he pleaded with me. “Survival of the fittest pumpkin!” I said. “But were men!! Were on top of the food chain.” he attempted using his twisted logic, to no avail of course. “So women are lesser creatures then?” I asked. “YES!! You get it now!! Women are for taking!” he said.

Oh, I can’t wait to bust this fuck boi’s pussy open! I grabbed the lube and placed it back in my bag. “I guess we won’t be needing this anymore.” I said.  Trent looked as if he had died inside.  “W-what are you going to do?” he sniffled. “Trent, can we stop pretending? I am going to do the same thing you did to me last night. Not to mention the 23 girls you raped” I said. He was perplexed. “Bro! We just met!! This is all a mistake bro!! I aint no faggot!!!” he yelled. “Oh no baby boy you are a faggot. You might not be gay, but you are definitely a faggot.” I scoffed at him.

Trent looked at me like I drowned his puppy. “Bro, I don’t know you!! I swear you have me mistaken!” he said. “I do not. Trent, I will make you a deal. Try your hardest to get out of those cuffs. If you can, I will use the lube.”  I lied. “No! It’s not fair!! I don’t know you!!” he cried. “Alright enough of this shit.” I said; kicking my shoes off and dropping trou. The abrupt sight of my cock caused Trent to thrash wildly. He tried with everything he had to rip the headboard loose. He failed. He began sobbing again.

“Thanks! I just wanted to make sure you couldn’t get loose. And I lied about the lube. You lost your lubrication privileges the minute you regarded women as lesser creatures.” I said.
“Why are you doing this bro!! Please don’t. I have a family!! I’m rich!! I can give you—“
“—money?” I finished his sentence. “Trent. My fiancé Kimberly will have your accounts on empty before the end of the day.”

 I phased a bit.

“K-kimberly….” he was searching his memory.

I phased a bit more.

“You know what kills me about you fucking troglodytes? You have mothers! You have Aunts! You have sisters!” I said.

 I phased a bit more.

 His eyes widened a bit, but he seemed unsure of something. “I-it’s different if it’s not your family!!” he said. “See Trent, it’s dumb shit like that!” I said phasing a bit more. Trent was too sedated and frightened to even notice my shifting until my tits began to fill my top. My newly formed breasts filled in my tracksuit—though I over did it a bit. Had I worn a dress shirt, I would have made it rain buttons.

“I assume you realize that lube is entirely off the table now—right?” I smirked. He was too shocked to speak. His brain was in overdrive attempting to sort out what was happening. My hair draped my shoulders.  I tied it back into a pony tail. I of course didn’t completely shift into a woman; I kept the penis, which was impressively erect. This was my favorite part. Pun intended. “Trent!” I said snapping my fingers. “Focus!” He came to. “What is going on?! What the fuck is going on bro?!!” he screamed. I tapped him with the taser as a friendly reminder, but this time he passed out. I immediately slapped him conscious again. “Trent! Wake the fuck up! We’re just getting started, with no end in sight!” I laughed. I completely disrobed, phasing away my cleavage and curves.

“Trent. This is not going to be pretty. I’m going to take a Viagra and do a bump of this amazing Cocaine you donated—and by the way it takes me an eternity to cum”. I  climbed out of the bed and grabbed my bag. I did another bump of coke and popped the pill. I also found a redbull in my bag that I immediately drank. I put my ear buds in and waited for the tingle. Trent said nothing. He had found his resolve and had defaulted to silent indignity.  That changed when I rushed the bed and mounted him. I slammed through his defenses—impaling him on my cock—without lubrication. He began to scream but I slapped him hard across the mouth. He lost all constitution. I shifted my face again. The woman he raped last night would be the face of his penance. I began pumping him violently. He cried in silence. His visible distress only made me harder. I paused. My makeshift ponytail came loose. “You didn’t bother catching my name last night—” I said; retying my hair, I pinned him down by the throat. I spat in his face before I finished speaking. “My name is Antoinette and like you—I am a rapist.”

CHAPTER 14: CHICAGO IS KILLING ME
_______________________________________________


I would like to thank you for taking the time to read this excerpt from my novel. [The Dead Girl Diaries: Book 1 – “Awakening”] If you would like to learn more about my series please like my facebook page.

“For the record, you completely crushed my pussy.” she said; parting her lips a bit.

“I have to recharge.  You are going get up, go to the kitchen, warm up 2—no—4 slices of pizza; not in the microwave either. Use the toaster oven Benji!” Veronica said. Benji  popped out of the bed and headed for the door. “Also, a cocktail.” She added. Benji grabbed his junk, slapped his ass, and began dancing. “I got some ‘cock tail’ right here for you toots!” he said.

“Ummm….you are actually making my pussy dry. I literally need a humidifier installed in my cervix.” Veronica said. Benji’s ego shattered.

“I’m going to go warm your pizza—“ he began.

“In the oven.”  

“In the oven doll face.” Benji headed toward the kitchen. Veronica watched as he strode away. She saw him visibly depress a bit. Fuck….he is so sensitive. “Benji—“ she called after him. Benji stopped and faced her. She laid back in the bed and spread her yams. Benji froze. 

He was hypnotized. It had been over a year, yet the boy still lost himself in her face. He would do anything for her. She was his Venus.  He worshiped her.  

“For the record, you completely crushed my pussy.” she said; parting her lips a bit.
“For real?” He perked right up.

“You absolutely wrecked me.” she blushed. The room could barely contain Benji’s ego. 

Kolabati shared his sentiment.........

10 years after the New York Incident

 (‘SEE NIGHT WORLD’ OR ANY OF F. PAUL WILSON’S NOVELS and excuse my typos) 

"The world was fool enough to believe that it had conquered The Otherness." Richard said. Kolabati shared his sentiment. “It’s not over Johan. You’re wrong. We need to prepare. I can feel it.” A queer sensation had been crawling up her spine since high tide. “I disagree. My research says we won. It's been 10 years.” Johan said through gritted teeth.

He was turning red. Why won't they just accept that we are at peace? He had lost the person he cherished most during the first collapse. He felt that if he could finally find his resolve, and settle in to enjoying this peace, then so could they! “Your research is exactly akin to astrology—pure, fucking, hokum." Richard said this with far to much bass in his voice. Johan swirled his scotch around in his glass. 

Johan found this laughable considering that Kolabati and Richard claimed the high tide played the catalyst in incomprehensible battle between The Otherness—a consciousness you could only call evil on an extremely good day, and the Ally—a consciousness with the attention span of a goldfish, who isn't  as concerned with us as it is winning an intergalactic chess match played with our world. The most we can expect from it was benign insouciance. "You have to let this go Kolabati!” he said, banging his glass on the table. “Johan…” She couldn't reach him. Every attempt to get through to him about their impending doom ended the exact same way.  It took a second invasion for Johan Augustine to admit he was at fault. 

The room shook. “W-what....?” Kolabati surveyed their faces. They were as stunned as her. The next tremor floored them all. Johan began to rise, but lost all constitution when he looked through the window. A moment later, adrenaline soaked his system and triggered a massive heart attack. He was one of the lucky ones. He didn’t live long enough to witness the macabre in it's ethereal form.

The power grids were knocked out like they were made of tin foil. The city’s lights went dark methodically and one by one—echoed by an equal number of human souls being snuffed out. The spikes were grotesque. They were thousands of feet long tore through the earth. Lava—or what could have easily been blood—sloshed around in their deep crevices. They seemed alive. If trees grew in hell, they would look just like these.

They shredded through skyscrapers without effort. People died in droves. Goddamn droves! The Otherness herded humans towards their death and supped on their misery! These things literally nourished themselves on  suffering.

No one was spared in the city—not a woman, man or child. The very earth was alive and obliterating any and all life it found. The Earth was black and red, however in the following months it cooled to an ash gray hue. The spikes—having ended their climb—could be seen from space. Then it happened. 

The O-DNA molecules began to replicate. The desolate and twisted thing our world had become; combined with the desperation of the survivors served as the sustenance it required to maintain itself in our dimension.  It rewrote the DNA sequence of any embryonic life form it came across—plant, animal, or man. The possessed life-form then burrowed into any section of the earth that held dinosaur fossils and consumed them Said fossils being the remnants of their ancestors during the first attempt The Otherness made for our planet a few millennia ago. From there they made their ways to the nearest spike, burrowed into the ground, and slept.

 After a painfully short gestation period The monsters erupted into the world; lousy with O-DNA. In fact  they absorbed any available DNA from conscious life on our world, They fed on anything. Consuming any matter from the old world appeared to be their primary function. They were excellent at their job. Roughly a year later the world fought back and won. That was Mrs. Pozzessere’s doing. She gathered a rag-tag conclave of the once hidden powers that be, and lead a revolt against the very evil they ushered into their world. They won......but not without substantial heartache.

Hide and seek…

Alisa was 7. She tugged at her father’s scarf, begging for his attention. “No Alisa. Your father is busy.” her mother said. “Boring….” Alisa was clearly unaffected by the trauma the world had suffered. She skipped ahead of her parents giggling. She ran towards an abandoned warehouse. Luckily they lived in an area least affected by the collapse, though everything was still a God damned wreck of a nightmare.

“Hey! Alisa!” her father yelled. “That child! Where could she have gone?” her mother asked. “Papa! Mamma!” she squeaked from behind them. “Hide and seek!!” Alisa yelled; running into the warehouse. “Alisa!” her mother objected. Her heart was playing drums inside her chest. She started after Alisa, but papa shut down her pursuit. “What’s the harm?” he said. “So you want to play hide and seek Alisa?” he asked. “Not yeeeeeeeeet!” she was enjoying this.


“Hide and seek...” he said. Alisa was busy looking for the perfect hiding space.  She spotted a banged up cabinet that somehow survived the planet’s decimation. “Come and find me!” she yelled out at her father.  “All right! Now where is my….Alisa!” he said. Alisa giggled, eyeing him through the cracked door.

**CRACK**
**CRACK**

Several gunshots rang out. Two of them and in swift succession; followed by screams. “It’s the Aragami! Run!!” a voice echoed throughout the warehouse. Alisa was terrified. She was all alone in the cabinet. She tucked her knees into her chest and went silent. “Alisa! Where are you!!!?” Her father was frantic. Her mother ran towards him in the exact same state. “Dear, where is Alisa?!” she said. She was sweating through her orange turtleneck, and her golden mane was slightly ruffled.  Their baby girl was in another world. She had completely disconnected. Those things are out there! Those things! Those things that ate Tommy!

They yelled until they were hoarse—hoarse and desperate. “Alisa!!!! Alisa!!!!” they echoed each other. Eventually their voices reached her. Alisa snapped out of it having found her resolve. “Mamma! Papa!” she yelped. It was still too late. The thing snatched her papa up in it's maw; snapping his body in two and chewed. At the same time it ran her mother through with what appeared to be a horn. Her 5 year old psyche couldn't handle this. Alisa went numb. She stared at the thing wide eyed.

It was terrifying. It radiated darkness. It's tail was long and had what appeared to be a huge and disfigured flipper attached to the tip. It's skin was a sleek and oily black. It's face and body appeared to be half lion, half God. Her father's split and mangled body hung from it's mouth. Half of him was covered by the creatures blood soaked beard. The thing  had several onyx spikes protruding from it's head. Her mother was sloppily impaled on one of them.  The creature began to leave—but suddenly—it stared directly into the cabinet. A moment later, it's face was buried into the crevice her face was crammed into. Alisa screamed.

MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE TO THOSE WHO TOOK THE TIME TO ACTUALLY READ THIS. PLEASE LIKE WHEN YOU ARE DONE SO I CAN SEND YOU A SUPRISE.

Roughly a year later the world fought back and won. That was Mrs. Pozzessere’s doing.

10 years after the New York Incident

 (‘SEE NIGHT WORLD’ OR ANY OF F. PAUL WILSON’S NOVELS)

"The world was fool enough to believe that it had conquered The Otherness." Richard said. Kolabati shared his sentiment. “It’s not over Johan. You’re wrong. We need to prepare. I can feel it.” A queer sensation had been crawling up her spine since high tide. “I agree. The sensors I developed confirm this. It's been 10 years. An entire God damned decade.” Richard said through gritted teeth.

Johan was turning red. Why won't they just accept that we are at peace? He had lost the person he cherished most during the first collapse. He felt that if he could finally find his resolve, and settle in to enjoying this peace, then so could they! “Meanwhile, your research is exactly akin to astronomy—pure, fucking, hokum." Richard said this with far to much bass in his voice. Johan swirled his scotch around in his glass. "You have to let this go Kolabati!” he said, banging his glass on the table. “Johan…” She couldn't reach him. 

He had dismissed all of their claims the moment they approached him claiming the high tide played the catalyst in an incomprehensible battle between The Otherness—a consciousness you could only call evil on an extremely good day, and the Ally—a consciousness with the attention span of a goldfish, who isn't  as concerned with us as it is winning an intergalactic chess match played with our world. The most we can expect from it was benign insouciance. Every attempt to get through to him about their impending doom ended the exact same way.  It took a second invasion for Johan Augustine to admit he was at fault. 

The room shook. “W-what....?” Kolabati surveyed their faces. They were as stunned as her. The next tremor floored them all. Johan began to rise, but lost all constitution when he looked through the window. A moment later, adrenaline soaked his system and triggered a massive heart attack. He was one of the lucky ones. He didn’t live long enough to witness the macabre in it's ethereal form.

The power grids were knocked out like they were made of tin foil. The city’s lights went dark methodically and one by one—echoed by an equal number of human souls being snuffed out. The spikes were grotesque. They were thousands of feet long tore through the earth. Lava—or what could have easily been blood—sloshed around in their deep crevices. They seemed alive. If trees grew in hell, they would look just like these.

They shredded through skyscrapers without effort. People died in droves. Goddamn droves! The Otherness herded humans towards their death and supped on their misery! These things literally nourished themselves on  suffering.

No one was spared in the city—not a woman, man or child. The very earth was alive and obliterating any and all life it found. The Earth was black and red, however in the following months it cooled to an ash gray hue. The spikes—having ended their climb—could be seen from space. Then it happened. 

The O-DNA molecules began to replicate. The desolate and twisted thing our world had become; combined withthe desperation the survivors served as the sustenance it required to maintain itself in our dimension.  It rewrote the DNA sequence of any embryonic life form it came across—plant, animal, or man. The possessed life-form then burrowed into any section of the earth that held dinosaur fossils and consumed them. They were remnants of their ancestors during the first attempt The Otherness made for our planet a few millennia ago. From there they made their ways to the nearest spike, burrowed into the ground, and slept.

 After a painfully short gestation period—the dark earth serving as their womb—the monsters erupted into the world; lousy with O-DNA and any DNA sequence they absorbed from conscious life on our world. They fed on anything. Consuming any matter from the old world appeared to be their primary function. They were excellent at their job. Roughly a year later the world fought back and won. That was Mrs. Pozzessere’s doing. She gathered a rag-tag conclave of the once hidden powers that be, and lead a revolt against the very evil they ushered into their world. They won......but not without substantial heartache.

Hide and seek…

Alisa was 7. She tugged at her father’s scarf, begging for his attention. “No Alisa. Your father is busy.” her mother said. “Boring….” Alisa was clearly unaffected by the trauma the world had suffered. She skipped ahead of her parents giggling. She ran towards an abandoned warehouse. Luckily they lived in an area least affected by the collapse, though everything was still a God damned wreck of a nightmare.

“Hey! Alisa!” her father yelled. “That child! Where could she have gone?” her mother asked. “Papa! Mamma!” she squeaked from behind them. “Hide and seek!!” Alisa yelled; running into the warehouse. “Alisa!” her mother objected. Her heart was playing drums inside her chest. She started after Alisa, but papa shut down her pursuit. “What’s the harm?” he said. “So you want to play hide and seek Alisa?” he asked. “Not yeeeeeeeeet!” she was enjoying this.


“Hide and seek...” he said. Alisa was busy looking for the perfect hiding space.  She spotted a banged up cabinet that somehow survived the planet’s decimation. “Come and find me!” she yelled out at her father.  “All right! Now where is my….Alisa!” he said. Alisa giggled, eyeing him through the cracked door.

**CRACK**
**CRACK**

Several gunshots rang out. Two of them and in swift succession; followed by screams. “It’s the Aragami! Run!!” a voice echoed throughout the warehouse. Alisa was terrified. She was all alone in the cabinet. She tucked her knees into her chest and went silent. “Alisa! Where are you!!!?” Her father was frantic. Her mother ran towards him in the exact same state. “Dear, where is Alisa?!” she said. She was sweating through her orange turtleneck, and her golden mane was slightly ruffled.  Their baby girl was in another world. She had completely disconnected. Those things are out there! Those things! Those things that ate Tommy!

They yelled until they were hoarse—hoarse and desperate. “Alisa!!!! Alisa!!!!” they echoed each other. Eventually their voices reached her. Alisa snapped out of it having found her resolve. “Mamma! Papa!” she yelped. It was still too late. The thing snatched her papa up in it's maw; snapping his body in two and chewed. At the same time it ran her mother through with what appeared to be a horn. Her 5 year old psyche couldn't handle this. Alisa went numb. She stared at the thing wide eyed.

It was terrifying. It radiated darkness. It's tail was long and had what appeared to be a huge and disfigured flipped attached to the tip. It's skin was a sleek and oily black. It's face and body appeared to be half lion, half God. Her father's split and mangled body hung from it's mouth. Half of him was covered by the creatures blood soaked beard. The thing also had several onyx spikes protruding from it's head. Her mother was sloppily impaled on one of them.  The creature began to leave—but suddenly—it stared directly into the cabinet. A moment later, it's face was buried into the crevice her face was crammed into. Alisa screamed.

MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE TO THOSE WHO TOOK THE TIME TO ACTUALLY READ THIS.THE MINI MOVIE TEASER IS BELOW.
Sentinels: The Next Generation

The curious cases of Kendrick Johnson & Ryan Singleton Part I

The curious cases of  Kendrick Johnson & Ryan Singleton Part I
_________________________________________________________________________________

I want to open by helping you to understand just how grim the practice of organ donation is. The first assumption leads you to believe it’s an altruistic decision—only requiring you to check a little box as you register or renew your driver’s license. Then of course if you happen to die, your organs go to a person in need.  Unfortunately it’s not as simple as that.  You don’t have to be completely dead before they begin harvesting your body. In fact all the doctor has to do is verify that you cannot pass a few rudimentary tests. (They splash ice water in your ears, check your gag reflex, poke your eyeballs with cotton swabs etc.) Said tests are brief and if you fail them, they hook you back up to the respirator to keep you breathing and your blood flowing.

This keeps the organs protected and allows them to begin cutting. This practice often takes place regardless of whether you begin breathing on your own again and in some cases, even if you are still showing brain activity. Please bear in mind that while this practice is utterly macabre, it is 100% legal. So if the legal practice of organ harvesting is morally ambiguous, how can we possibly believe the illegal markets to not be exponentially worse?

  Let’s talk about Kendrick Johnson. Introducing Kendrick can almost be read as a script considering there appears to be an almost cliché and unyielding surplus of innocent black children murdered in America these days—however  I will say that regardless of how cliché it may sound—it is, like many other of these tragedies—the truth.

   Kendrick Johnson was a 17 year old, African American athlete who dreamed of playing pro ball. He attended Lowndes High School in Valdosta, Georgia. On January 11, 2013, Kendrick Johnson was found in a rolled up wrestling mat in the gymnasium of the school—dead. Did you automatically assume foul play? I did. But how much of that is social conditioning? Are we now conditioned to believe every black child that dies under questionable circumstance is a victim of conspiracy? Maybe. So how about we try to  look at this case with no pretenses and examine the facts.

The Georgia Bureau of Investigation swiftly stated that he died from positional asphyxia which means he was in— or placed in—a position that prevented him from breathing. What position or how he got into it remains a mystery. Regardless, the case was ruled an accidental death by the Lowndes County Sheriff's Office however, an independent autopsy conducted by a private pathologist in the service of Johnson's parents came to a different conclusion, finding that his death was caused by blunt force trauma.

The family was traumatized and demanded answers. They are finding that those answers—if granted at all—will be hard won. Next I want you to look at this photo:

This is a photo of Kendrick as he was found, rolled in a mat tucked neatly in a corner. What disturbed me about this is that there is no credible information available as to how he got rolled up into the mat. Also, notice how neatly he is rolled up. If for some incredibly preposterous reason he attempted to crawl into this cylindrical mat, whose opening was hardly suited for his size—the ends of the mat should be overlapping. To better understand what I mean, please take out a dollar bill and wrap it around your finger tightly and slide your finger out. It will drag several layers out and form a cone-like shape.  See what I mean? Now imagine that the mat was rolled as pictured, and then imagine him somehow wriggling into the tiny opening. All of the rings in the middle should be pushed in dramatically. That is not the case here. It seems more likely that he was wrapped up in the mat.

On October 31, 2013, the U.S. attorney for the Middle District of Georgia announced that the office would open a formal review into the death of Johnson. (A full 10 months later.) It is now almost July 2015 and the investigation is still pending and the Federal Bureau of Investigation is participating in that review process. That said, the story doesn’t end here. An independent autopsy revealed a gruesome fact. All of his organs were missing. The family was furious and demanded answers while the coroner and the funeral home played an infuriating game of hot potato with the blame. They finally came to this conclusion:  Johnson's internal organs were said to have been “destroyed through natural process" and "discarded by the coroner before the body was sent back to his home town of Valdosta”.  Don’t worry, I rolled my eyes at this part as well, but try to remember we are being unbiased. They found that his body had been stuffed with newspaper and other unnamed items. The funeral home was exonerated as this is apparently an acceptable practice.

The family hired attorney Benjamin Crump and filed several inquiries and eventually filed a law suit naming a total of 38 respondents. There has yet to be any publicly available information about where his organs ended up. There was also an disproportionate amount of focus on the funeral home’s poor practices rather than what the coroner did with his organs, why they denied having removed them, and more importantly—how, why and what does “destroyed through natural process" mean exactly?

Next, let’s talk about the surveillance cameras. In November 2013 approximately 290 hours of surveillance video from over 30 cameras that covered the gym area was released. A forensic analyst (Grant Federicks) found that tapes from two cameras are missing an hour and five minutes of footage while another set is missing 2 hours and 10 minutes. To date, there has been no explanation of as to where they are. [the missing video] The family believed this to be a cover up.  Jim Elliott, the Lowndes County Attorney, stated that the allegations of a cover-up are "unfounded" and "baseless".

 This is also when a seemingly innocuous speculation came from the president of the SCLC. (Charles Steele, Jr.) Steele—a black man—and one time a president of the local NAACP made the following statement directly after: “The Johnson family’s legal counsel not been entirely truthful in their statements and that there is no cover-up in this case.”

 First, no one asked his opinion whatsoever. Second, he had literally no interaction with the people involved in this tragedy so how could he possibly know?  Also, what are they being dishonest about, and if they were, how the hell would he be privy to this information when no one else is? To make such a rigid and finite statement with no provocation is indicative of the very same cover-up that he claims doesn’t exist.  So now we have people attempting to shift public opinion by challenging the credibility of the grieving family and their legal counsel as well as the funeral home—all of which distract from some very clear facts:

1. The coroner should have simply disclosed where his organs were.

2. The coroner needs to clarify why and what “destroyed through natural process" means.

3. The video surveillance. Where are the missing hours, and why did they conveniently vanish during times that would have given this case at least a modicum of clarity?

4.Where are his shoes? Did they magically vanish?

There have been several claims from anonymous sources stating that Kendrick was dating a young white female and that this didn’t sit well with several of his peers. I can attest to this unique form of drama—having grown up in the south and almost exclusively dated white girls. I fought often, and had my life threatened more times than I can count. However let’s completely take the racial element out of this.

 If we are talking probability, it seems more likely to assume he was either playing far too rough with his classmates and it ended badly (Any mother of little boys can tell you that boys don’t know the difference between danger and recreation. I have the scars to prove it.) or he was attacked. Those involved may have had no intention to kill him—likely attempting to hurt or scare him, but they went too far. They then rolled him up, left him there, then disposed of his shoes. However this doesn’t explain why the video surveillance tapes are missing, nor does it explain where his shoes and organs went.

Again, it is now Jun 2015 and this case is still under investigation.The family has filed a suit; claiming Kendrick was bullied repeatedly by several peers and that the school board did nothing to stop this. One of the bullies had an FBI agent as a father and there has been speculation that he was involved in the cover-up—however this is only speculation from the family’s counsel. We won't know until further information is released. However it should be noted that as I said prior—The FBI is involved in the entire review process. Also, bear in mind that it is alleged in the lawsuit that Johnson was lured to the gym by an unidentified 'white female' and that it was there that Brian Bell and his brother are alleged to have assaulted Johnson. The lawsuit further alleges that the father of the boys, FBI agent Rick Bell, encouraged the boys to assault Johnson.  I wish I could give the family answers. I wish I could give them closure. All we can do is hope that justice prevails. This is not the first time a young black man was suddenly missing organs. Part 2 will cover Ryan Singleton, a young black male. Also from Georgia. Also found dead with missing organs. 

In closing I would like to pose a simple question: 
If several vital parties claim that the Johnson families claims are without warrant and baseless—then why has this investigation taken the feds so long to complete?

How they spy on your phone!

(PhysOrg.com) -- Recently, researchers have been developing carbon nanotube-based thin-film transistors (TFTs) in the hopes of creating high-performance, flexible, transparent devices, such as e-paper and RFID tags. However, one of the biggest challenges holding back the transistors’ performance is a trade-off between the properties of metallic and semiconducting nanotubes that make up the transistors. In a new study, researchers have developed a new way of fabricating nanotube networks that partly overcomes this problem, and show that the nanotube networks could be used to make transistors as well as flexible integrated circuits (ICs).

The researchers, Dong-ming Sun from Nagoya University in Nagoya, Japan, and coauthors from there and Aalto University in Finland, have published their study on the fabrication of high-performance TFTs and ICs on flexible, transparent substrates in a recent issue of Nature Nanotechnology.

“We have shown that, without consideration of carbon nanotube chirality, the as-grown carbon nanotubes can be used to fabricate high-performance TFTs and ICs, leading to a simple and fast technique for low-cost, flexible electronics,” coauthor Yutaka Ohno of Nagoya University told PhysOrg.com. “Lightweight and flexible devices such as mobile phones and electronic paper are gaining attention for their roles in achieving a smarter and green ubiquitous information society. It is important to manufacture such devices at extremely low cost in replacing conventional paper-based media such as newspapers and magazines. Our work can provide such technology.”

As the researchers explained in their study, nanotube networks contain both metallic and semiconducting nanotubes. While a greater amount of metallic nanotubes increases the transistor’s charge-carrier mobility, it also decreases the on/off ratio.

Since both of these characteristics are important for overall transistor performance, the researchers in the new study found a way to optimize both characteristics by fabricating a nanotube network with certain unique properties. For instance, the network’s morphology consists of straight, relatively long (10 micrometers) nanotubes (30% of which are metallic) compared to other nanotube networks. The new network also uses more Y-junctions than X-junctions between nanotubes. Since Y-junctions have a larger junction area than X-junctions, they also have lower junction resistance.

After building the transistors, the researchers fabricated an IC capable of sequential logic – the first such circuit based on carbon nanotube transistors to date. In sequential logic circuits, the output depends on both the present input as well as the history of the input, so that these circuits have storage or memory functions.

The researchers predict that, by scaling up the fabrication process and using improved printing techniques, these nanotube-based TFTs could lead to the development of large-scale, inexpensive, and flexible electronics.

“Our near-future plan is to demonstrate roll-to-roll fabrication of CNT-based TFT arrays and ICs,” Ohno said. “To do so, we need to replace all the lithographic techniques by high-throughput printing techniques. For commercialization, we have to improve the uniformity of TFT characteristics more, but we are aiming at commercializing within five years.”

Read more at: http://phys.org/news/2011-02-carbon-nanotube-transistors-inexpensive-flexible.html#jCp