04/19/01

Looks like Timothy McVeigh will go to his death in a few weeks denying other conspirators were involved in the Oklahoma City bombing. I read a quote from a psychologist that said McVeigh may be driven to take complete credit for the bombing even though it may have involved an unidentified group of others because this boosts his notoriety, feeds his need for attention through martyrdom. The shrink criticized that if other conspirators were involved, their discovery will be made all the more difficult once McVeigh is gone. I guess we’ll never know if Clean Phil was John Doe #2 or not. He certainly looks just like the composite sketch of the mystery person. Nobody really knows where Phil was this day in 1995, so I guess his strange resemblance to the sketch still gives rise to thoughts that he had something to do with what happened. It doesn’t help that Maddy swears she saw Phil earlier that April on the campus on the University of Oklahoma. She said when she called out, the person she thought was Phil ran off in a hurry as if to avoid her. Of course the government went back on itself and said John Doe #2— whoever the hell he was, they care not to learn— was not related to the case at all, that he was essentially injected into the investigation by mistake. But you have to wonder if they took that tact for the sake of tidiness. And besides, if McVeigh was willing to let the whole thing fall on him, why would the Government want to have any loose ends dangling that might change the culpability question and jeopardized their chances of frying the fucking bastard? Just what the fucking world needs right? Another fucking conspiracy theory. When Porch Rot let me go through Phil’s room and poke through his shit I thought for sure I might find something that might link Phil to what happen in Oklahoma City. I’m relieved to say I found nothing of the sort. Don’t get me wrong— it’s a good thing. Still when you have a thought like that floating around in your head for so long, it still seems hard to put it completely to rest. I still have this thought Phil was a person in the mold of a Timothy McVeigh or a Unabomber— that he may have been capable of great destructiveness without necessarily being noticed this way initially. He was quite bent on anarchy really if you read his writing and he was really quite clever too to be able to carry out a complicated plan. And of course the entities that governed the universe sanctioned anything he did. Fucking alien space creatures. Good fucking gracious.

04/18/01

I tried to get sex this morning but was shot down without much explanation. I told Phebe right after that I wanted my guns out of Stash Skimington’s house. I told her I wanted them given over to Percy for safekeeping. She just started laughing. What, Percy gonna take up shooting little furry animals now in addition to playing cricket and tea drinking? I filled up with jealous anger all of a sudden. I just sort of went back in time to when we were teenagers fucking in the hay. I was on top of Phebe’s sister prematurely ejaculating with my noodle barely wet while Stash Skimington continued to pound himself noisily into Phebe like he could stay at it for a week. I always thought I liked Phebe’s sister better. Vera was always prettier than Phebe and had bigger tits, but when I finally had my chance to pork her, my mind somehow got all caught up in how Phebe was being taken care of nearby bent over the hay bale. All I wanted to do was pork Phebe after that. That’s all I could think about. Shouldn’t have written all that. Fucking pornography! The guns go to Percy’s, that’s all there is to it! Then I’ll go over there to see Stash then! Phebe says with attitude. I don’t want that fucker putting his mitts on anything that belongs to me! So then I go to Swami’s place on Montgomery Street to dig. I’m down about 4 feet in the hole and what do I dig out? A fucking antique Victorian Era dildo made out of carved ivory. Fucking thing’s almost a foot long! Swami announced he was utterly and completely astonished: A splendid most unexpected discovery of a lingam! How much do you think it’s worth? Oh, my, to the right person, this could be priceless! We had cricket practice later in the day. Fauntleroy seemed down in the dumps. He said Betty’s family came into his apartment while he was away and cleaned him out of most of his belongings. You could tell he’s having a tough time right now. Percy really didn’t need me to talk to him about letting Percy run the show. Fauntleroy didn’t seem to want to be there today really. I got home Phebe had Cinnamon Girl playing on the stereo. That’s the call for business of course, but I was nervous. Thought maybe I’d find Phebe bent over the coffee table with Stash Skimington pounding his meat into her again. But no, she was alone waiting for me plenty ready to go. It all ended like that time with her sister, though. It sucked. Where the hell is my Viagra---the splendid most unexpected discovery of a lingam! The pillow talk sucked too: There’s a guy writing about us, you know, on the internet, Phebe says. Stash told me about him today. He used to play in a band with Phil. He’s writing a blog about Phil’s disappearance. He identifies you as Phil’s ‘brother/cousin’ and me as your ‘wife/cousin’ and Phil as my ‘nephew/cousin’. He thinks we’re concealing knowledge about what happened to Phil. He really needs to be stopped!