The following is an excerpt from Chameleo: A Strange But True Story of Invisible Spies, Heroin Addiction, and Homeland Security by Robert Guffey. Below Guffey provides context for the excerpt:
My investigation into the rampant stalking and torture of innocent civilians in San Diego began in July of 2003 when my friend Dion Fuller was arrested (under the ostensible auspices of The Patriot Act) for conspiring with international terrorists to smuggle Top Secret military equipment out of Camp Pendleton. The fact that Dion had absolutely nothing to do with international terrorists, smuggling, Top Secret military equipment, or Camp Pendleton didn’t seem to bother the NCIS (the Naval Criminal Investigative Service). Dion was released from jail after a six-day-long Abu-Ghraib-style interrogation during which he was never allowed to make a single phone call or speak to a lawyer.
At this point Dion was selected to be a guinea pig for protracted covert experiments involving electro-optical camouflage and psychotronic electromagnetic nonlethal weaponry purportedly manufactured by SAIC (Science Applications International Corporation), the central headquarters of which is based in San Diego only thirteen minutes away from where Dion was living at the time. Dion insisted, for the next seven months, that he was being followed by an array of “invisible midgets” funded by the U.S. military. Was Dion suffering from drug-induced paranoia, or did the very act of being terrorized by the U.S. government push him over the edge into total insanity? This is the question the readers will ask themselves as they dig deeper into the tale. The strangest and most disturbing aspect of Dion’s crazed pronouncements, however, is that they’re probably true. Each twist and turn in this bizarre saga is chronicled in my new book, Chameleo. What follows is Chapter 13, which picks up the narrative right after Dion has been arrested in New Orleans (only a couple of months after fleeing the NCIS and the San Diego police in an ominous black death van).
Meanwhile, I was trying every desperate move I could think of to pick up classes at either CSU Long Beach or on another campus, so I sent the following email (titled “The Curious Affair of the Invisible Midgets”) to Dr. Eileen Klink, the chair of the CSULB English Department:
Dear Dr. Klink:
A close friend, who until recently was living in San Diego, is currently being pursued across the country by a covert team of invisible midgets and/or very slender acrobats funded by an unknown government agency. This is an incredibly long and improbable story, too complicated to go into in an email as short as this, so I’ll give it to you in broad strokes.
I’m trying, as much as possible, to prevent my friend from being tortured by highly sophisticated electromagnetic devices known in intelligence parlance as “nonlethal weaponry” (turn to page M1 of the 1-4-04 edition of the L.A. Times and read the article entitled “Pulling Punches” by William M. Arkin for more information). Such technology includes mind-altering, damaging weapons called “acoustic bullets”. Since this unnamed agency is currently employing flying probes called ARODS (see spawar.navy.mil/robots/) for the purpose of keeping very close tabs on my friend, it’s quite difficult for him to attain even a moment’s respite without the chilling shadow of the law always looming over him. Apparently, such peace can only be attained with a fair amount of money in order to hire paranormal entities known as “lawyers” and “private detectives” to prevent these midgets and/or very slender acrobats from having their way with my friend.
Since I’m gearing up to wage a difficult legal battle with these people, a battle I’m sure you would support morally at the very least, any extra cash would help. Hence, this email, inquiring into the present state of affairs concerning English 100 teaching positions available in the spring semester. In the event that anything at all is available, I would be very appreciative if you could keep me in mind for a position. Otherwise, my friend might end up being star-chambered and gaslighted by invisible midgets and/or very slender acrobats and we don’t want that to happen. (For evidence concerning the advent of invisibility, i.e., “light-bending,” technology please click on this link: eetimes.com/at/news/OEG19990120S0003).
Remember, we’re all in this fight together.
Bro. Robert William Guffey, 3º
For some reason the chair did not respond to this message. My fears were no longer unfounded. The invisible rapscallions were clearly preventing me from working. Dion’s problem was now my problem and always had been. I had to continue doing whatever I could to help him fight the oppressor.
The second the cops released Dion three days later, he high- tailed it back over to the parking lot where he’d left the van. He was shocked and relieved to see that it was still there. He must have made quite an impression on the New Orleans police, as they told him to haul his ass out of town the moment they let him go. So, from Louisiana he went to Minnesota to drop off a package for his teenage son. From there he decided to visit an old friend from high school, a girl named Peru who now had a baby and lived with her boyfriend, some shady dude named Jawbone. Peru and Jawbone allowed Dion to stay at their house for a night.
Around this time, the service on Dion’s cell phone was canceled, so he had to start calling me from pay phones. Some of these calls I recorded.
CONVERSATIONS WITH DION
DF: When you hung up the phone with me, my phone starts going… you know, it sounds like it’s giving change back or something?
DF: And I pick it up, nothing. Just, like, totally flat. And I’m like, oh, that’s bizarre. Then I pick up the other phone that I’d given you the number to… same thing starts happening. But I hear the machine go, “Hold on. One second. Please wait one second. Please wait one second. Serial number: 8-1-8-6-4…” Then it goes, “Thank you! 9-4…” And then it’s just starts reeling off all these numbers, and then it does it again. What’re you doing?
RG: I’m recording this. I’d like you to take it from the top. Can you say the first thing that happened in Minneapolis?
DF: Okay, man. I’ve got twenty-three minutes on this.
RG: Okay, just talk about Jawbone… what they said to Jawbone…
DF: Oh, uh, well… what the cops said to Jawbone… was, uh… they asked if I was living with him. He’s like, “No.” They asked him about the stuff I had moved in and out of the house. They told him that I’d been talking to people, and I’d been talking to people about “doing something.” They questioned him for forty-five minutes. They asked him to go down to the station. He said he couldn’t do that, he had to go to work. And, you know, he’s forty-five minutes late. And just various questions about me and implying that possibly I’d be some sort of terrorist.
RG: They actually used the words—
RG: But they said, quote, “He’s been talking about doing something.” Unquote. That’s it.
DF: Yeah. “He’s been talking to people about doing something.” Period.
RG: And where did they talk to Jawbone?
DF: Well, he walks to work every night. They picked him up on the way to work. Which cracked me up because Peru got all pissy with me, and I’m like, “Look, they obviously know you guys.” She’s a weed smoker. It’s obvious that, you know, they’ve been under surveillance. And she mentioned that, because of some rapist in the neighborhood, they’ve picked up Jawbone a few times and shit. But this was all questions about me, my comings and goings. And the fact that I was talking to people. I haven’t talked to anybody in three days, except for the lady at the food stamp office. Other than that I’ve been living in the van, reading, and going to a shelter to eat.
RG: And there’s no way the woman at the food stamp place called or—
DF: Not at all. No, this happened the night before I went to the food stamp office.
DF: No, she was totally sympathetic, and understands that they waste their fuckin’ money on a lot of stupid shit.
DF: [Pause] Uh… would you be… would you be able to send some money? And, uh, I talked to my dad. Actually, he’s calling you tomorrow to get my license plate number off the van.
RG: I just sent it to him in an email.
DF: Oh. Did he already reply?
RG: No, not yet. I emailed him a few hours ago.
DF: Yeah. He’ll probably check that, but if not he’s gonna give you a call because of all this bullshit.
RG: Yeah, yeah.
DF: It sucks. I wish you were recording that, like, way earlier. I meant to say something when I first got on the phone as well, because this needs to… I mean, I really don’t think I’m going to be living much longer. There’s a bunch of nervous- ass cops with guns all over me and my car. And just lying and… funny, after all this bullshit with Peru happened I went back to this gas station where there was this cute little punk rock chick workin’. And I’m frazzled out of my mind, just driven to the point of complete anxiety, and I’m like, “Hey, listen to this.” And I go into this whole story with her, and tellin’ her all this crap. And I’m like, “Look, I’m the target of continual government, like, harassment, and blah blah blah.”
And, you know, I was in there earlier and asked to use their phone because my phone card wasn’t working properly and had a normal old everyday conversation with her, so when I was talking to her about this seemingly crazy shit… she believed me. And had no problems with what I was saying. Then I moved my van across the street because the guy delivering the gasoline to the gas station needed me to move. And so I moved it across the street. This girl, after hearing my story, gave me five bucks for gas. I went to go get my van from across the street to pull back into the gas station, and in the short amount of time that that took, two cops passed… well, one guy in a red car passed by and put his hand to his mouth and obviously said, “He’s moving.” And as I went to turn into the gas station a cop came up right behind me and said I was being questioned because I didn’t use my left turn signal. And as I sat there, in less than thirty seconds, four other squad cars pulled up, one equipped with a drug dog. And they asked if they could search the car. I said, “Nope. I live in there and I don’t want you going through my personal belongings.” They go, “We thought you’d say that.” They asked if I was in a militia. I asked why, and he’s like, “Because of your shoes.” [Laughs] I said no, I drove for an ambulance company in Inglewood. Another cop comes up, who I found out later was the sergeant, and goes, “You lived in Inglewood?” I go, “No. I drove for an ambulance company in Inglewood.” The other cop who pulled me over asked if I still did that. I go, “No. I’m in Minnesota right now.”
DF: They’re dumbasses, man. Then he points to the temporary registration tag on me and he goes, “I thought you said you got here two days ago.” I go, “I did.” He’s like, “This says January 6.” I go, “Well, that’s when I left.” And he goes, “Well, now your story’s changing. I thought you said you got here two days ago.” I’m like, “No, that’s when I left. I got here two days ago. That’s correct.” And then when I said I’d spent time in the New Orleans jail, they didn’t want to hear any of that. Eventually, when I was sitting in the cop car, with my lengthy criminal history, the only thing that came up were the drug charges that were dropped in San Diego.
DF: There was a printout of all the charges I was charged with in San Diego. Not my burglary. Not the possession for sales. None of, like, the serious crime came up, just the drug charges.
RG: It didn’t mention the fact that you were in jail in Maryland back in ’98 or—?
DF: None—none of that. Just, bam, drug charges and San Diego stuff. I was arrested in New Orleans just a fucking couple of weeks ago. None of that, just the San Diego shit. When they asked, “Have you ever been arrested for a drug charge?” I’m like, fuck no, because I haven’t… unless you count that pharmacy worth of shit I stole.
DF: No, that didn’t come up, you know. [Laughs] And right off the bat one cop comes up and starts saying shit about crystal meth. And I’m like, “What the fuck’re you talkin’ about?” You know? And they’re like, “You’re acting pretty fidgety.”
DF: “My partner over there says you’re acting pretty fidgety.” And I’m like, “Fuck, I just had a bunch of cups of coffee.” And they’re like, “Maybe, duh-duh-duh.” They knew all this crap about me and shit, man. But… can you please send money?
DF: Tomorrow. Like as soon as possible. And the code is the name of the guy who had been good friends with Philip K. Dick who they executed in the desert.
DF: Just the first and last name.
RG: Right, okay.
DF: Yeah, I got his book today.
RG: Which one?
DF: The Other Side.
RG: That’s a good book.
DF: It’s in excellent, like, pristine condition. I saw that and L. Ron Hubbard’s… something Dreams. Like, one of his science fiction books. That was in pretty excellent condition too.
RG: There might be some hypnotic triggering cues in there.
DF: Yeah, that’s what I was figuring! But actually I just left that. I just wanted the Pike book. I figured that was more relevant to the situation.
RG: You know, Pike was in the Navy.
DF: Navy Intelligence. [Laughs]
RG: It would be easier on me if I could… I mean, I have almost nothing left in the account.
DF: Oh, do you?
RG: It would be great if your dad’s check would come first, then I could send it to you.
DF: I have nothing. I can’t even get out of here. If anything, just for me to be able to get away from this shit, you know? But it should be there. When my dad went to the mailbox and sent me the stuff that’s coming to Peru’s, he sent it out on Wednesday. The thing didn’t come to Peru’s on Saturday, so I’m sure your check’s gonna be at your house tomorrow, you know.
RG: But what’re you gonna do? It’s, like, it keeps happening…
DF: Fuckin’, I have no idea. I can’t even get work. I got the majority of stuff to, like, keep me afloat with food and stuff. I just need to be able to take a shower and put, like, about a hundred bucks into the car for a tune-up. And a tank of gas. Then I can get to, like, you know…
DF: Yeah, I don’t fucking know, man. I mean… but, I mean, I need more than that because I don’t want to have to call… like, I want to talk to you, but I can’t call and my dad’s like, “Look, don’t tell me where you’re at.”
RG: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
DF: And it’s, like, you know, they’re tracking all this bullshit through the phone.
DF: The phone. [Pause] And stuff. You know. And I know I gave you and my dad Peru’s address. You didn’t send anything, did you?
DF: Good. Because that’s just… man, she just flipped, and, oh my God, this just sucks.
RG: I mean, Joan said that a lawyer could help you, but the problem is you’re mobile and [laughing] you have no money…
DF: Well, I’m headed back that away. You know, I’m headed to Haiti. I’m gonna go figure out that whole situation for ’em. Settle it for ’em.
DF: I figure I’d be pretty good in that kind of situation.
DF: [Laughs] Know what I mean? So, like, yeah, when I’m able… and that’s what I want to do… but, uh, that address you gave me, I’m gonna get in touch with that person…
RG: You should. Yeah, I would advise that.
DF: Oh, yeah. Could you look up asylum stuff on the Internet for me?
DF: Yeah, in Canada.
RG: Oh, I see. Okay.
DF: No, not like the one Wanda was in.
RG: I’m sure they could provide that for you. [Laughs]
DF: [Pause] Well… they do. They used to do that sort of shit.
RG: No, I meant the other kind of asylum.
DF: Oh, yeah. [Laughs] Okay. No, I want to look into that.
Because this is just insanity. It was worse than San Diego. I never had fuckin’ eight million cops on my ass like that. And they were just like… just such off-the-wall shit was coming out of their mouths. Now I’m at this truck stop. Oh, you should’ve seen the way—there had to be, like, forty cars that were behind me. I swear, Robby, it’s just so fucking insane. I would, like, speed up and go toward an exit and stop right before it so all the cars on the freeway would have to pass me. And then, like, half of them would get off. The other half would keep going. And then I would go and do it again.
The half that had gotten off had comeback behind me again. And we were just going over and over it again until, like, I got… you know, the majority of them had been, like, displaced onto all these different exits. I pull over onto this truck stop and I say to this guy, “Look, I’m a U.S. combat veteran from the first Gulf War. A close friend of mine from the first war stole all this shit from the military, and basically they think I have some- thing to do with it. I just got escorted out of Minneapolis and now I’m just gonna sleep in your truck stop parking lot. Is that okay?” Guy’s like, “Yeah, no problem, man.” I go, “If anybody comes into here and says anything about me please let me know.” Dude, you know, they couldn’t say that, like, “Hey, are you an anarchist? You this, you that?” Because, dude, I’m wearing work pants, boots, and I have a crew cut. I look like I’m fuckin’ full-on military.
RG: Why did the guy say, “We thought you were in a militia because of your shoes?”
DF: Because of my shoes. Because they’re Special Forces shoes.
RG: I see. So, he was just grabbin’ for straws.
DF: Oh, yeah! You know, he expected some, like, litany of Nazi shit to come out of my mouth because that’s what they’ve been told.
RG: Right, right, right.
DF: And shit. They go, “Oh, okay, we’re going to give you the van. We don’t want you walking around Richfield all night, blah blah blah.” I go, “Why did you do this, and how did you get this information?” He goes, “What do you mean?” I go, “Well, a friend of mine told me he was talked to by—” And he goes, “What’s his name?” And I go, “Well, a friend of mine—” And he goes, “Well, that’s not true, I just met you this evening.” And he goes, “What’s his name?” And I go, “Well, never mind.” I just, like… you know, went about my business. Oh, it’s just insane. Just ridiculous. The amount of… when I went into that, uh… [Pause] So how much? And I’m in Minnesota. And, uh… this area… ’cause this phone card’s gonna cut off. I have to get another phone card, but…
RG: Is it possible for your dad, just this one time, to go—?
DF: He can’t… well, there’s, like, no way… he has no problems sending you the money. He can’t because he has to do that on a credit card.
RG: Why can’t he do it by cash?
DF: I—dude, dude, it’s my dad. I don’t know. You know, I mean, I told him. I guess whenever he leaves he’s with Linda [Dion’s stepmother] or something. And it’s easy for him to put the shit in an envelope.
RG: I see.
DF: Is he sending you cash?
RG: No, no. He’s been sending me checks.
DF: Dude, I don’t get it, you know. And it’s, like, each time I’m in this situation it’s, like… I’m in it because it’s, like, fucking dire crazy straits, you know?
RG: Of course.
DF: Yeah, and there’s stuff that’s coming from my dad’s that’s taking mysteriously longer than it should, stuff that was going to Peru’s house.
DF: It was my license, a copy of my birth certificate, all this really important stuff that I’m unable to get because they made me leave. But through the food stamp office—which, like, pissed them off to no end—I’ve got the food stamp card, I’ve got various forms of ID to where I could go get work.
RG: Yeah, that would be good.
DF: Yeah, and that’s like, you know… I was gonna do that tomorrow morning in Minneapolis. I was, you know, escorted the fuck out of there. I haven’t taken a shower in a week. I’m like… I feel like crap. I’m like, you know… it’s crazy. I’m not on drugs. I haven’t drunk anything. It’s just, like, I’m fuckin’ worn out, man. The other night… like, after I found out the stuff from Peru, I start the car. I’m on a totally isolated, deserted street and it’s snowing. I hear people, like, walking outside… it’s funny, because all the shit about midgets—
RG: [Laughs] Yeah.
DF: I’ve noticed, I’ve seen more midgets than anything. I think they think I have some, like, fear of midgets or something.
RG: Not when they’re visible. [Laughs]
DF: Exactly! That’s what I was thinkin’. I don’t care when I can see ’em. [Segues into an Edward G. Robinson impersonation.] “I’m big, see!”
DF: It’s the ones I can’t see that I’m scared of. Uh, but, yeah, there’s like, this person, like, as I’m coming down the street, was hurriedly, like… like, rapidly trying to pull this midget female out of her house and she was obviously wasted drunk. And I stopped. And the person was trippin’ out that I stopped. And I’m, like, wavin’ ’em by. ’Cause I thought it was an old lady at first. But then I realized it was a midget. Oh man, I got these glasses out of a thing that people donate their eyeglasses to? And, man, this is better than—I can see a fuckin’ hemorrhoid on a gnat’s ass with these glasses, man. It’s an amazing difference. I can see everything. It’s cool, and they’re, like… they’re, uh…L.A. Gear, and they’re, like, nice, nice glasses.
RG: Oh, good. They’re not serial killer glasses?
DF: Oh, no. No, no, no. They’re nice. No, I look like, fuckin’… not at all. No, I mean, they’re real—they’re kinda like your glasses, I guess. Smaller frames—
DF: —and just really nice. I look edjamacated—
DF: —and shit. But, uh… oh! 4:30 in the morning, in the snow, freezing outside… I wake up randomly at a weird time, so I hop in the front of the car and I just start the car. And I notice behind me—because I’m watching behind me— two sets of headlights come on. Then a third car comes around the corner, and there’s a space behind me, and tries to pull in, but at a weird angle. And it’s this woman who looks kind of confused, like “What do I do?” type look?
DF: So I roll down my window [laughs], and I wave her by. Like, “Hey, go by, I’m not leaving.” And she gets this look on her face like, “What the fuck? What’s this guy doing?” [Laughs] And she goes and pulls away. And if it was somebody who was looking to park right there, just randomly at 4:30 in the morning, they would’ve came and parked further up the block, correct?
DF: Or come back around to see if I had left yet, correct?
DF: Nope. All three cars, bam bam bam, leave, like, right by me as I’m, like, flippin’ ’em off. [Laughs] Not, like, out the window, but just, like, inside of the window—
DF: —so they have to look over to see it. [Laughs] And not one person stopped… nothin’… and shit. 4:30 A.M. And, uh… the cop goes, “Man, why did you have to come out here tonight? At this time of year? It’s fuckin’ cold!”
DF: And he smelled like booze, too. Which… I was gonna say somethin’, but then I thought I’d just get my ass beat.
RG: Well, you know, you have to get through that below-thirty weather somehow.
DF: Yeah, exactly. All smellin’ like fucking alcohol. Uh, it sucks.
I need to sit down with you and go from the beginning of this conversation, like everything… because you could fill in, like, the blanks when I start—
DF: —the story. Because I really need to get this documented on tape.
RG: Yeah, well, maybe we can do it through the phone. [Laughs]
DF: Yeah. [Laughs] Oh, yeah. No, we’re gonna do it down on the beach in San Diego.
RG: [Laughs] Along with all the midgets there?
DF: Yeah. Exactly.
RG: Have you seen anything more like that recently?
DF: Oh, it’s still—oh, yeah. The predator drones are, like, my best buddies out here.
RG: But you haven’t seen anything like that. Like the invisible stuff? [Pause] Or have you?
DF: I get the feeling every once in a while.
RG: Oh, okay. But it’s not like it was so obvious before where you could actually see it?
DF: No, not so much, no.
RG: Yeah, okay.
DF: Yeah, I’ve been trippin’ on that kinda. But… oh, what I have noticed is that they have the same kinda thing for vehicles where, like, you look at the car and it looks like there’s nobody in there. And it, like, actually looks like there’s depth, and you could reach in there and there’d be nobody there. And I’ve seen… they’ve used them all over the place in San Diego, but in fact if you get up really close you could see the silhouettes of people sitting in the cars.
RG: Oh, you mean, from the way the windows… it looks like there’s nobody inside?
DF: Yeah, but it’s a hologrammed image where it looks like… you know, like the Fakespace stuff. I finally went through all my email, by the way—how much could you send me by tomorrow? [Laughs]
RG: [Laughs] Well, I couldn’t send more than 150 without closing my account.
DF: Okay. That’s… that’s… that’ll work.
DF: And my dad will… I’ll get on his case tomorrow.
RG: Okay. I wish your dad would not be so fuckin’ pussywhipped.
DF: Tell me about it, man. And it’s like… you know, I think he kinda digs on the spy-weird thing or something?
RG: [Laughs] Then why does he make me do all the spy stuff?
DF: I know. It’s fuckin’ stupid. No, I know he needs to keep it under… like, low-key, you know?
RG: Yeah, but not against the government—against Linda!
DF: [Laughs] Exactly. She’s worse!
RG: That might be true. By the way, I was on the bus in Santa Monica the other day and I passed by the greatest bar. The name of the bar was The Bitter Redhead.
DF: [Laughs] Phil Dick’s friend, two names, and, uh, 150. Minnesota. Outside of Minneapolis. But call these numbers back, or I’ll call you on my other phone card.
RG: You mean the two numbers you already gave me?
DF: Yeah. ’Cause it might work now.
RG: I’ll try.
DF: Or, uh, another one’s 952-469-3726.
DF: Okay, I’ll talk to you in a minute.
DF: Okay, bye.
DF: Uh, you called those numbers, right?
RG: Yeah, it didn’t work.
DF: Yeah, I could hear ’em. They make the, uh, hang-up sound when you call. I pick it up and there’s, like, you know, there’s just blank… nothin’.
DF: And it goes, “Please hold one moment.”
RG: Yeah, ’cause it actually rings, and then nothing happens.
DF: That’s bizarre. And there’s like numbers on the phones and shit, so I don’t get that at all.
RG: The mechanical woman will say, “Thank you,” and then there’s nothing.
DF: Uh… okay, is that cool, man, so I can get the fuckin’ the hell out of Minnesota? ’Cause I’m just worried because of the “license revoked” thing, that I get down to Wisconsin, or I just get someplace where, you know, the car’s not in threat of gettin’ taken from me. [Pause] Hello?
RG: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
DF: Okay… are you gonna do that tomorrow at some point?
RG: Sure. I was… I was really hoping that Minnesota would be a place where you could…
DF: Me too. This is insanity. I don’t know what to fuckin’ do. Can you look up the asylum stuff and, like… And I’ve gone through the stuff and checked the emails… th-the addresses of, like, the Fakespace and, like, all that stuff and read through all of them. Scary shit, eh?
RG: Oh, yeah, yeah. In fact, I was just showing the file the other day to Joan and, you know, Danny Sheehan’s got a copy of it, and Randy.DF: That’s really good, man. And… yeah, a class action suit’s not out of, like, the realm of possibility… and winning money. I mean, it’s like, fuck, man, I could go round up plenty of people in San Diego, uh… that… and it’s funny, ‘cause, uh… you know, fuck, you don’t have to tell anybody that you’re on speed, or that you had done it in the past… but the shit that they have out there, and that they’re… like, the Navy… ’cause the last two places that were busted were on Miramar. Go to methvalley.com and there’s a meth lab locator, and you can put San Diego in and it’ll show you where the meth labs that were busted are, and they’re on the military bases out there. There’s no secret behind that because biohazard teams have to go out and clean this shit up. And they were busted on the military— on, not near, but on the military bases. But the shit sucks, though. It’s not very good. [Laughs]
DF: It’s not the good old kind that makes you fuckin’ crazy.
RG: Well, I was telling Joan, it seems to me that they’re purposely targeting areas where they know that there’s junkies—
DF: Oh, yeah, of course. No credibility.
RG: Yeah, no credibility. And no ties, usually.
DF: Yeah… I can’t believe this shit. I’m so far fucking away. I’ve driven so far, Robby, to get away from that crap. And it’s just, like, bam, worse than before.
DF: Escorted out of fucking Minneapolis for the most part.
Yeah, I’m reading through, like, the Snitch Culture book and it’s all, like… fuck, dude, you’ve gotta… I’m not gonna have any ability to call you. Let me make sure where I’m at, okay?
DF: It’s Lakeville, Minnesota.
RG: Okay. Lakeville.
DF: Yeah. And it sucks ’cause the location that I’m at doesn’t have, fuckin’, uh… uh… a Western Union. I don’t know where the fuck… I’m gonna have to figure that shit out. What time is it there?
RG: Right now it’s 1:25.
DF: So it’s like 3:30 in the fuckin’ morning.
RG: By the way, you know you just have to keep hanging in there because things are progressing, but extremely slowly…
DF: Yeah, I’m almost at the edge of, like, suicide… and they keep fucking pushing me to it. Thank you. I appreciate everything. It’s the only way I’m going to be vindicated, man.
RG: I can’t… even though it’s progressing slowly, I can’t get it to go any faster without—
DF: I know, and it’s fucking lawyers and the justice system, and I’d rather be doing this on the outside than be locked up for something I didn’t do. I really thought they were gonna plant something in my vehicle tonight. That’s why I need to get the fuck out of here, you know?
RG: Well, yeah, we haven’t even got to level zero yet. We’re, like, at negative thirty. And we’re climbing…
DF: Yeah. Exactly. And, like, man… if anything happens… are you still recording this?
DF: If anything happens to me it is because Lita Johnston and the military and these people that are behind this did it. If I get killed in some way it is because they did it. I thought it was gonna happen tonight. I’m scared of these people. They’re fucked up. They’re menacing. They’ve threatened me. They’ve tortured me. This is insanity. I do not under- stand this at all. I didn’t do anything. And it’s just, like… I’m scared for my life. And I’m glad that… like, I mean… I’m glad I was able to drop off all the stuff I could to my son. And I mean that should be obvious to anybody that I’m in fear for my life, you know? And that’s just, like, fuck, man… I’ve got these phone cards… how’s Eric doin’? [Laughs]
RG: Eric’s worse off than you are. It’s called secondary post-traumatic stress syndrome.
RG: Or actually it’s tertiary. Because secondary would be me.
DF: Yeah, no… oh, it’s funny. He’s frettin’ over it. [Segues into an Edward G. Robinson impersonation.] “I’m big, see! The bigger I am the harder you fall, see?” Oh my God. Fuckin’ ridiculous, man. I’m tryin’ to, like, sit down and write and do stuff, but this makes it a little difficult.
DF: I-I don’t… I don’t fuckin’ get it, man.
RG: Well, you know Huey P. Newton wrote that book in jail, right? Revolutionary Suicide.
DF: [Laughs] Yeah, my grandfather said he didn’t write that at all.
RG: Yeah, his tailor wrote it.
DF: [Laughs] Oh my God. Fuck that. I don’t think I… I do not want to be writing any more books from inside of jail again. I still have all my stuff. Oh, it’s weird, though! The way they tossed up the van was—obviously they weren’t looking for drugs. But they did, like, abscond with my, like, shaving stuff and my deodorant and everything. I couldn’t seem to find it anywhere in my van.
RG: That’s weird.
DF: Yeah, it sucks because they tossed… I have this little, like, doll thing that’s like a Raiders fan that’s in all black with a hood? And it says… you know, it’s got the Raiders symbol on the front and it says, SPOOKY. [Laughs] He’s like this crazy little doll that’s symbolic of a Raiders fan. Apparently one of the cops was not a Raiders fan because he hucked it all the way across, and stepped on it in the van.
DF: ’Cause all the other weird crap I got up on the dash was completely left alone… except for that thing was, like, all the way in the back. God damn fuckin’ funny shit. You got my message from earlier though, right?
RG: What message?
DF: When I called from Peru’s house?
RG: Oh, yeah, yeah.
DF: Yeah, that’s what I thought. Okay, cool.
RG: That was pretty… it’s funny how they literally, like, implied you were a terrorist without using the word because I guess they—
DF: Oh, yeah. “He’s been talking to people about do ing something.“
RG: [Laughs] Which could mean anything.
DF: [Laughs] I know. No, but, all in the tone of voice.
RG: Right. It’s all in the tone—yeah, sure.
DF: And the way that they were treating Jawbone. “Yeah, he’s been talking to people.” [Segues into Edward G. Robinson impersonation.] “Yeah, about doin’ somethin’, see? Talkin’ to people, see?”
DF: “He’s gonna be doin’ somethin’, see? He’s got big plans, see?”
RG: Did anybody talk to Sunset or Weasel?
DF: No, I went back and asked. See, the thing is—oh, it’s funny, ’cause there were about twenty-five of them sitting all out in front of her house after all that shit happened.
RG: Twenty-five? DF: Man, no, there were about six cars all sitting out in front of, like… that I knew were, like, people of the spook variety. All down there. It’s funny, ’cause I pulled up right next to ’em and just, like, look over. And I’m in this big, menacing van that has no muffler at this point—
DF: —oh, and this is another reason I need money is because the muffler has become unhooked at the engine, and the engine is right beneath me—[Laughs]
DF: —in the car and all the fumes are coming straight up through the bottom, and I’m surprised I’m not dead yet.
RG: Are you driving the vehicle kind of like the Flintstones?
DF: [Laughs] No, I’m green. I’m some sickly color and the van’s filled with smoke. [Laughs] Because of carbon monoxide.
DF: It’s just not a healthy situation at all. But it’s only gonna take… and it sounds like a fucking 747’s taking off with this muffler. Bupp-bupp-bupp-bupp-bupp-bupp! Oh, it’s just so insane.
RG: Well, it’s good you’ve got a stealth vehicle.
DF: [Laughs] I told my dad I was going to paint it fluorescent orange.
DF: He’s like, “Yeah, you might as well.”
DF: Yeah, and I’ll know, like, after… I won’t call for a little bit, and if I do… because I’m not sure if it’s through the phone calls or if there’s actually some fucking microchip shoved up my ass.
RG: Randy thought—and Joan thought too—that there might be some kind of tracking device in your vehicle.
DF: That’s what I’m thinkin’, but I’ve got to figure that out for sure by not giving you any more—
RG: Right, yeah, that’d probably be a good idea.
DF: Yeah, but, you know, and it’s like I’m… ’cause I’m fuckin’ lonely as a motherfucker, man… but, uh, I’ll see by just not telling you anyway where I’m at, ’cause I specifically gave you guys—you and my dad—addresses.
RG: Yeah. It could also be the time—even if you don’t give me any specific information—the amount of time you spend on the phone might have something to do with it.
DF: Yeah, ’cause these things… each time I’ve been on these weird phones there’s been weird shit going on with them, and the book Snitch Culture talks about roaming wire taps the night after the 9/11 attacks and all that crap they have. And my dad, who’s, you know, a cop—law and order—is like, “Yeah, man, they’re just fucking up because they’re gonna get all the laws they wanted to track terrorists taken away from them because of this. It’s totally unproductive to what they want to do.” And he’s like, “They’re idiots.”
RG: Well, yeah, the pendulum’s either gonna have to swing back real hard, like post-Watergate, or it’s gonna get worse. I mean, it’s one or the other.
DF: It’s getting worse before it gets better. My dad, coming from, like, that total other side, goes, “Man, what they’re trying to do, it’s just gonna completely ruin them.” And he goes, “Yeah, the higher up you go the stupider they get.”
DF: And he’s coming from the perspective of a cop. And it’s like, I just gotta talk to him, “Look, man, you’re dealing with something that’s on a need-to-know basis, and you’re at the bottom of the food chain here, motherfucker.” He’s gonna find out what’s going on when they run my name tomorrow.
RG: Oh, okay.
DF: That’s what he needs that information for.
RG: Oh, good, okay. Well, yeah, I sent that—
DF: That’s enough of that because—
RG: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
DF: —I don’t want it to change—
RG: Yeah, okay.
DF: —before tomorrow. And ’cause I called him tonight and all that crap, but he’s been like—he told me, “I can’t do that.” And you know, I knew what he was saying when he said that and, like, everything… so hopefully… maybe my sister can find out as well and shit, but, uh… is there anybody… [Pause] We’ve got a minute left, man.
RG: Oh, okay.
DF: So… so what time’re you gonna do that tomorrow?
RG: Sometime around noon.
DF: Noon your time?
DF: Okay, can you please try… because that’s two this time and I’m, like, in the middle of a parking lot and I won’t be able to go anywhere until then.
RG: I’ll try to do it a little bit earlier.
DF: Okay. J.P.
DF: And, uh… okay. And that’s it, just…
RG: All one word.
DF: All one word. Okay. Cool, man. Uh… how’ve you been?
How’s the Freemasons? How’s the Brotherhood?
RG: [Laughs] The Brotherhood’s been going fine. I’ve gotten a lot of interesting information from the Scottish Rite Library.
[Line cuts off ] [Long pause]
[Then dial tone] [END]