In response to your inquiry regarding what incident has caused Shezagodds to have a general disdain against me, I'd love to explain, although my lawyers have instructed me to not comment on pending criminal court cases.

But I'm going to anyway.

You see, when I was a little girl, Shezagodds babysat me.  We used to watch Sesame Street while she'd drink, answer calls for some sort of service, and wax her disgusting bikini line. I learned a lot about womanhood from her. In fact, I credit her for my above-average understanding of the female psyche, not to mention anatomy.

She also did things to me that led me down a dark path, confused, internally alone, and with a highly sexualized sense of identity that eventually led to years in foster care, 3 sex change surgeries, a cosmetic lobotomy, and an entire-body skin graft. I was rented out to her countless "boyfriends" and used for manual labor in the off season.  One day I nearly drowned in KY Jelly.  I blocked out the abused 'me', and focused on the 'me' that was developing a solid work ethic, packing and weighing heroine, and transferring the goods across state lines.

At the age of 8, I ran away from home when I found out she was my real father.  I met some new friends, and established a prostitution ring in Phoenix. It was short-lived, as three-way partnerships often are, but I saved up enough to pay for school. I learned a lot about business dealings, tax shelters, and the law while studying and dwelling in various enterprises in the off-time.

By the age of 11, I had earned my bachelor's degree in criminal justice under a pseudonym and fake ID. I had committed myself to a clean and straight life as a man now, devoted to helping others in situations similar to my own.  I was better and had found a true purpose in life.

As a boy at the age of 14, I had all but forgotten my dark days as a lonely, abused little girl.  Then one night at a rest stop, I was approached by a dark figure while tying my shoes.  They were velcro and I always had trouble getting them in knots. The figure suddenly attacked me with a black rubber dildo.  Immediately a flood of emotions came over me. Fear. Despair. Resentment. Hatred. Love. Anger...

And arousal. I had sexually matured by then, and these feeling were new to me. They burned from my loins with the fierce intensity of a solar storm. I had attempted masturbation before, but after nearly losing my very expensive surgically-manifested anatomy into the gears of a coin-operated laundry machine, I had an overwhelming phobia of sexual relief. The energy built up in me to a boiling point. This day I overcame my fears. And then some.

I grabbed the black rubber dildo from the old man and bludgeoned his 84-year old frail little body to death. I felt no remorse for killing him. Only remorse for the years of my childhood that I would never get back. All the pent-up emotions came pouring out that night. I cried over his body until the sun rose.  To me, the dead body beneath me was a part of me that died.  A part of me that I longed to have back.  There was no reverse. Only what has happened and what was to come.

Soon after I destroyed the body, I realized the black rubber dildo was mine.  I had dropped it and the old fart was just giving it back to me.  It was at this moment that I realized even in the finality of death, there could be humor.  I laughed so hard I cried. And cried so hard I laughed. I was in a transition, and spiraling out of control.

Over the next several months, I went into seclusion.  I watched Shirley Temple movies for days on end. Time stood still as I morphed in my cocoon, reflecting on my life thus far, mentally reinventing who I was, facing the reality of the past, and the reality of what I had to do. I was putting back together a puzzle I did not know the solution to.

One cannot understand the thoughts of a mad man unless he has been there himself. I was not aware of what I was about to do. There was no world outside my own existence that mattered anymore. Everything I would do, it would be for my survival. That's how I saw it. I didn't know what would happen, only that it was going to happen.

I cleaned up. I shaved my my entire body, ridding myself of all that was old. A clean slate in the most literal sense. I threw out everything. Photos. Journals. Beddings. Baseball cards. Pornography. All of it.

Except the black rubber dildo.

I went to the store and bought things I would need for a life on the road.  I emptied my savings, and bought a used hearse from a widow using a fake name. I don't know why she used a fake name but she did.  I got on the highway.  I was heading to my old home.

When I got there, I scoped the local establishments. Stayed low-key. Avoided faces I knew. I slept days and lived in the shadows.

I drove by the old house. Empty. Windows broken. I thought I would feel something. Nothing. It was just the shell of what went on inside. It wasn't worth the energy to even throw a rock. I didn't want to grant it the interaction.

Eventually I caught wind of Shezagodds's whereabouts. Apparently she had fallen on hard times, and due to a horrendous yeast infection in 2007, she was left without the use of her entire left side. I had no sympathy. It was a gift from Karma. And I had come bearing more presents.

She lived in a home with 8 other people. It smelled of urine and pot. There was no running water and every 40 minutes someone would lumber to the back yard and secrete their wastes into a grove of rather robust fig trees. There were dogs fighting over scraps. A child, nude, playing among household waste and dog litter. A child... Innocent and unfiltered. Destined to follow the life I had led.  I had to act.

I wish I can say I acted in a blind fury, in a delusional rage, unaware of what was right and what was wrong. Some excuse to tell a judge to grant me a plea of insanity. "Like a switch," they say. Just "turned off". That isn't what happened at all, however. I was more on than ever. I returned to my hotel and planned. Every contingency considered. Every detail addressed. Every possible episode of Forensic Files watched.

Two nights later. On a Thursday evening. I was among human waste and fig groves. The moon was not up yet, and the sun had set hours ago. The darkness covered me in the oil of the night, made of a thick humid air, and the utter darkness of space like sleek, dark, oozing black tar. It sheltered me as though a blanket over a baby. A Tar Baby... Hidden in the shadows, careful not to let my teeth glow.

Out she came, as she had the same as every other night. Waddling, wheezing, scratching her vagina as though trying to grate cheese off a block of cheddar with her fingernails. She had aged some. Mostly from the meth and alcohol, I suppose. But it was her. She approached not 3 feet from me, stumbling, grasping for reference in the dark. She lifted her moo-moo, squatting, snorting and coughing phlegm as she relieved herself. As her three orifices zealously emptied her body in vain attempt to expel the wastes that was her soul, I lunged, black dildo in hand. She had no time to inhale a gasp before consciousness snapped from her being.  I dragged her body to my hearse and rolled her up a plywood ramp into the back.  The muffler scraped the ground as I drove off. It was unfathomable how much she had let herself go.

I drove for hours. I stopped for nothing. I had food, and a gallon container to urinate in. I wanted to be as far away as soon as I could.

For the first hour she was screaming, but on the highway, there was no one to hear her but me.  I said nothing.  I had the foresight to run the taillight wires outside the interior panels and attached a plywood housing, screwed and glued, over the entire interior. I insulated everything for sound. She had no way to signal those on the outside. She was in a coffin for all she knew.  In hindsight, I probably should have just made a coffin, considering it was a hearse.

I approached a cabin long since deserted 15 miles up an overgrown dirt road. I parked the car and closed my eyes for awhile. I could hear her sobbing as I dozed off.

I awoke to the sound of flatulence. It was morning and the sun's warmth amplified the stench emitting from the back.

I opened the back door. My shadow cast on her face. She was blinded in the sudden light of the sun. She rubbed her eyes and focused. She looked up and suddenly went into terror. She knew what I was going to do. And she withdrew. She knew the day would come.  And today was it. She would receive what I had as a child.  This time it was my turn.

So I took her into the cabin, chained her to the bed, got boozed up, started talking dirty on the phone, turned on Sesame Street, and showed her how the fuck to do a bikini wax the right way.

-RJM