There Must Have Been Something!!!

Not content to let Facebook compile what my year was because it would have been rather lopsidedly THIS, I have decided to comb through Facebook on my own and find those moments in 2014 that, not only didn’t totally suck, were actually pretty damn awesome.

Let’s begin at December 30th, 2013 and this:

Vee P-h’o descended upon the new Culture Thug studio, personally styling the shoot and her wardrobe. She brought along Annie Dinovo on make-up and hair and Arseny Litvinenko assisting her with her personal, street-style styling. Wasted Effort supplied her custom jewelry. That was a good day.

On January 12, Très Zukko stopped by the studio for our “Gaga/La Dolce Vita” shoot. That was a good day.

On January 20, Riannaconda and I got together to do the Catwoman shoot she’d been aching to do. That was a good day.

We ended up getting a Sin City poster out of it:

On January 25, I took this picture. That was a good day (To this day, it remains the only authorized print of my recent work in existence).

February 9, with Rosie Thornbush. That was a good day and I have the scars to prove it.

At 7:33am. the morning of February 16, I took my very first picture of Nikki Monette. That was a very good day.

It led to many of the great days I had this year…

At 10:50pm on March 2, I took this picture:

Mz. Shank. At the time, I could never have known how important a picture it would be. Good days this year? Most of them were spent raising hell and goofing off with this amazing creature. I have been a fan of Hunter S. Thompson all my adult life but it was not until meeting the young woman who would become one of my best friends of all time that I finally understood what he meant by “Too weird to live. Too rare to die.” I love her to this day and 2014 would have been unbearable without her.

March 15 with Vicky Veil was a good day:

April 16, this happened and I helped bring one of Dolly Dynamite’s most twisted ideas to life. THAT WAS A VERY GOOD DAY.

About this time, things started to go a little sideways. What I will say is this: Miss Ruthe Ordare performed the last burlesque performance I would ever need to see. I am a lucky man to have witnessed it before I would never see another. It was everything that a performance could and should be.

After that I spent a lot of time with the crew at Funky Winkerbeans. Those were mostly good days.

Starting shooting a lot more fashion work:

Did this on my birthday and that was a pretty good day:

Started spending my Mondays with the crazy kids at The Cobalt. Still there. Good days.

While singing karaoke at The Cobalt, I met Christa.

She got me shooting the Vancouver Art & Leisure Events…

And that brings us up to pretty much where my wallet was stolen by one of my housemates on Christmas Eve.

So, 2014 wasn’t all bad but it sure as shit could have been better.

So, we will try again.

The Raven: The truth of her lies…

“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”

I honestly thought it was over, that we had moved on. But when faced with the dilemma of having to share a stage with people she knew KNEW THE TRUTH about what happened this spring, with me sitting in the audience, she regurgitated the old lie about a restraining order that DOES NOT EXIST and NEVER HAS and had the producer ask me to leave. My date and I left quietly and without incident except, when I left, I said the to host, “This is bullshit.” His reply?

“I know.”

So… Fuck it. This is EVERYTHING.

——-

The following post is a collection of emails between VPD Constable Jose Domingo and myself regarding Justine Sane/Samantha Armstrong and her lies regarding “harassment”, other personal correspondence between myself and Justine Sane, and emails and texts with others relating to her lies. Until now, I have left others out of this but I will no longer protect “the innocent” when those who know the truth of the situation refuse to protect me. Last night I was removed (quietly and politely) from a show I had every right to attend because Justine Sane lied to him, claiming there was a restraining order against me. NO SUCH ORDER EXISTS. I am not to contact her. She is not to contact me. But, as one of the emails states below, the VPD will not and cannot act if we are in the same venue coincidentally.

Let’s begin with this:

 

If my “harassment” has been this “horrible thing” she’s had to deal with “since last December”, why is SHE sending me texts, asking to call and “flirt” the following April? That in itself should be enough but I am going for full disclosure here. You have her side of the story. This is mine, ALL of it.

—-

From: Baron Cameron [mailto:culturethugphoto@gmail.com]
Sent: Monday, September 15, 2014 2:04 PM
To: DOMINGO, Jose
Subject: Fwd: Attacks on my business and credibility

Constable Domingo, can we meet at the Starbucks at Granville and Georgia (beside London Drugs around 5pm? Below please find my version of events. Though I consider this matter closed, I want to file to reflect that that there is blame on both sides of this issue and that she is responsible for us corresponding again.

My side of the story.
For the record:

Vengeance Black, The Dark Sir (I don’t know his real name but this is the name I know him by: his stage name for sadism acts at fetish parties) and Samantha Armstrong (aka Justine Sane) have tried to destroy my business by slandering my professional conduct with models.

This is a screen grab posted to the internet by The Dark Sir:

In this passage he mentions me and my business by name claiming I am a scumbag and a threat and to be avoided at all costs. He quotes a text I sent him stating my desire to attend a show she was performing in and that I would not be a distraction or a burden to them but he turned it around and phrased it so that I sounded like I would be stalking them from the darkness. This is the message I sent Samantha on the same subject:

He didn’t share this one because it didn’t make me look evil. Why would I want to go to this show so badly? Because of this:

the number in question was a number we developed together, was dedicated to me, and I was invited to the show. Why? Because Samantha and I used to be lovers. Beginning mid-May of 2013.

When I first was contacted by police about “harassing” Samantha, I had only sent her a message to ask her to ask him to remove the post about my business and that I had a lawyer drawing up cease and desist papers. It was not a message of a personal nature.

The message I sent yesterday, that led to our [Const. Domingo and I] conversation today was this:

It was sent to her professional account and not personal in nature. I meant the last line to be polite.

I posted this on his page:

Again, purely business in tone. I posted it twice. Both instances were erased and I was blocked from requesting again and the picture was not removed. He finally removed it but not before calling me untrustworthy and a fraud.

I was upset at his use of the picture because it was not used to promote Sam’s career as Justine Sane (as per our usage agreement). I was used as an illustration to a post on his site, not hers, about his plans to fuck her later. He had also deliberately removed the watermark to circumvent my copyright and creative ownership of the picture.

This is a copy of the original:

it was shot in my studio at 12:10am on the morning of December 30th, 2013. It was our last photo shoot together. It was also the last time we had sex. For him to use this picture that way is doubly insulting and hurtful.

This is the copy Samantha received and the only one she could possibly have access to:

You can clearly see my watermark, declaring this picture as my work in the bottom right hand corner. ANY copy of this picture that does not have that watermark has been deliberately altered to have it removed.

So, again, my reason to contact them was for business reasons. He also chose this pic as it was one of the random pics I repost of ALL my models on Twitter. This was the last picture of her I posted. Him taking it, removing my watermark, and posting it in a post about fucking her was a direct “fuck you” at me.

As to his charges that I am a obsessed photographer I give you this. The texting between Samantha and I was of the nature it was due to the fact that although we hadn’t had sex since the end of December, we had been corresponding intimately for weeks previous to the first incident and had been physical in a sexual sense on a couple of occasions. This text is from May 4, 2014, the day after the wrap party for the Vancouver International Burlesque festival.

She had made contact with me weeks earlier intimating that she missed me and our time together.

Many of her texts made me feel as if she was looking to rekindle our relationship. I asked her if she was serious about it and got this:

But then she changed her mind again:

[*Notice the phone call lasting ONE HOUR AND THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES. Harassment by me? Or her reaching out to her ex? Notice again SHE APOLOGIZES for leading me on AGAIN. BSC]

All of these mixed messages culminated in a poorly conceived drunken rant of a text. After which she asked me not to bother her. I asked if I could see the show. When he responded with a libelous and deliberately misleading attack on my character and business, I contacted her, as stated above, asking her to ask him to stop.

[* These photos were not included in the original email to Cnst. Domingo but I include the screen caps now so as to show their (Vengeance Black and Justine Sane’s) initial reaction to my, admittedly, drunken tirade. I would also like to note that I never threatened Justine nor his child. I had, however, just watched the Red Wedding episode of “Game of Thrones” and the fact that this fake dom, coward considers himself a wolf… Well, you can imagine.]

 

[I would like to take this instance to invite ANY MODEL WHO HAS BEEN STALKED OR BULLIED BY ME to come forward. As our personal correspondence shows, our argument was of a personal and not a professional nature. So, either she lied to him or he is lying about me. Either way, lies. I will also invite you to visit his “The Dark Sir” page on Facebook in which he once called for women who disagree with his treatment of “fat” women to be sought out and confronted IN PERSON! He claims I am a stalker and a bully? ]

She is blocked on my Facebook (as is he). Anything she sees on my Facebook she would have to make a concerted effort to see. Anything I write about our situation and the constant lies coming from their side that she may see, is not me trying to contact her; it could be considered her cyber stalking me as she is making the effort to view my material.

Anyway, thank you for hearing my side of the story. I have received many messages from them through the VPD so if you would be so kind as to let him know this:

I can prove his claims against me are false through client testimonials and the simple fact that NO model has ever complained about my profession conduct. His statement about me that opened this email is an outright lie. I can prove damage to reputation. Also, I had two photo shoots I was lined up to do for weeks: one was cancelled and she cited this as the reason. The other took place yesterday with another photographer because the model was a friend of Samantha’s. That is proof of financial loss. That is all I need. If I catch one whiff of a public declaration from him about my talent or conduct as a photographer, I will hit him with a civil suit and I will win.

Apart from that, I wish them a long and miserable time together and if I never see them again (well, her. never met him), it will be too soon.

I affirm that the information given in the email above is completely factual and the truth.

Baron S. Cameron

—-

 

Can you send me your written statement when it’s completed please.

Thank you,

Jose Domingo
Cst. 2857
Vancouver Police Department
Operations Division
District 4 – Team 6
Phone: 604-717-9619 Fax: 604-257-3716
jose.domingo@vpd.ca
VPD URL: http://www.vpd.ca

—-

—–Original Message—–
From: baroncameron@gmail.com [mailto:baroncameron@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, September 17, 2014 10:57 PM
To: DOMINGO, Jose
Subject: The Full Story

Samantha and I met in the fall of 2012 and did our first photo shoot at her apartment in November of that same year. She was dating Simon Barry at the time. They broke up in the spring of 2013 and we began dating around the middle of May, 2013.
If was a very passionate relationship and if we weren’t having sex we were fighting. We were open sexually. She saw other people as did I but her sexual appetite started to mirror drug seeking behaviour. I became over protective of her. She felt confined and we broke it off. We continued to move in and out of each other’s lives. Each of us, at one time or another would make an attempt to bury the hatchet with varying degrees of success and failure. By the fall of 2013, we’d pretty much burned ourselves out.
The entire time Samantha and I were together, we would be taking pictures, hundreds. She was my beautiful young muse and I was a free photographer for a blossoming performer. We didn’t plan on falling in love but, for a time, we did and it scared us.
I had begun building a studio. She was going to be first to use it, to christen it. But by the time December had rolled around we weren’t really talking anymore. I asked her if she wanted to come shoot on Sunday, Dec. 29. She said she had other plans, specifically, to attend Kitty Nights, a weekly burlesque show at The Biltmore Cabaret.
I told her so be it and that I had a fashion shoot coming in a couple days later. Half an hour later, she called back and said she was driving over. She could not bear the thought of not being the “special” one. We did the photo shoot, got some nice pictures out of it, and had sex for the last time on the morning of Monday, Dec. 30. It was impossible for us to shoot and not have sex. The sex was bad, going through the motions. It really was over.
I began avoiding her. Staying away from shows I knew she would be at. One night I was the home of a mutual friend, Hannah (aka Nite Mare), celebrating Nite Mare’s birthday. We didn’t expect Samantha to attend but when she arrived with her bf at that time, Harrison Oswald, I went so far as to leave the house through the back door and walk around to the front of the house in my socks. As I was quietly putting my shoes on, SHE approached me and coyly asked if I was avoiding her. I answered her “Yes” put on my shoes and left the party.
In February of 2014, I was in attendance of the Screaming Chicken Theatrical Society’s monthly Taboo Review. It was the first time I had seen her in some time. I was standing, stage left, by apron of the stage with Katie Karjala (aka Rosie Thornbush) talking. Katie had been helping me “get over” my relationship with Samantha. Samantha came over to us. I honestly can’t recall what she said, but it upset me and I told her,in front of Katie, that I never wanted to see her again and, as long as I lived, I would never take her picture again. Then, once again, I was the one who left. I walked out of the WISE Hall and did not return.
What I said to Samantha that night was well known in the burlesque community, so much so that Bruce Wang (stage name, I don’t know his real name), a local performer and producer, sent me an email asking that I not attend his next show as a photographer because Samantha was performing and he felt it was unfair to have a photographer shoot the show that would not shoot all the performers.

[Image not included in original email but I include it here now. BSC]

This was not an effort on his part to protect Samantha from me, as evidenced by his second email apologising for the first email and that, as an artist, I should be allowed to shoot as I see fit.

[Image not included in original email but I include it here now. BSC]

The full text of this email is stored on my computer and available for review.
A short time later, I was hired by The VanDolls Burlesque Troupe to shoot paparazzi style, crowd shots at their production of “At The Movies” at the Legion Hall on Commercial Drive. Samantha came to the show with the guy she was with at the time. We decided to bury the hatchet, one last time, agreed to be friends, and hugged. I had no other contact with her that night.

[Image not included in original email but I include it here now. Behold the terrified face of a harassment victim fleeing from her bully. BSC]

At the April “Taboo Review”, she was performing and I was shooting the show. I was leaning against a column, stage right, next to the stage in the WISE Hall when she walked up. I said,”Hello” and smiled. Her reply was to ask me if it was wrong that my “scent still makes [her] horny” and that she “misses [my] cock most of all”. We spent the rest of the evening flirting both physically and verbally.
We continued texting. Many of the texts you have in the first email I sent you. I asked if she wanted to try again with a relationship. When she said no, I asked why she would be so cruel as to drag me back in. She explained that she gets “weak” sometimes and missed me. She apologised and I tried to let her go. But then she did it AGAIN. Not just sex stuff but emotional stuff: saying she cries when she hears “our song”. She sent me the result of some stupid, Facebook quiz that said we should be together. I again pushed for us to be together or for her to drop it and leave me alone. Then she did it AGAIN.
The Vancouver International Burlesque Festival is the first weekend in May. Samantha was slated to be the opening number on the closing night. Samantha suffers from crippling anxiety at the best of times and as Saturday approached, she reached out to me for support more and more.

[Image not included in original email but I include it here now. BSC]

 

[Thanks love? Strange way to address the “horrible thing” you’ve been dealing with for 4 months… BSC]

We saw each other over the weekend, went for late dinner together with friends after the Thursday show. While this was going on, Samantha had actually texted to ask me if we could speak on the phone. As soon as we were speaking, my voice made her horny (her statement) and she asked if I remembered what she had told me about my “cock” at The Taboo Review. We spoke for 90 minutes then she once more apologised for flirting.
After the Saturday show ended, most of Vancouver’s burlesque community went to The Coop, the rehearsal space for The Screaming Chicken Theatrical Society, for the after party. There was not a sober person in sight. It always ends up a sexually charged event. Samantha was topless and I was wearing nothing but my boxer shorts. I was pursuing her at first but left her alone after an unmistakable desire to be left alone. Not even an hour had passed before she passed me in the hallway and started rubbing my erect penis through my boxer shorts. The moment she realised that she’d been seen doing it by other people at the party, she left. The next morning I got a text apologising for her behaviour.
I’d had enough, and in possibly the biggest mistake of my life, sat at the bar drunk, and texted her for an hour straight on all the reasons we should be together. She sat there reading my messages off to him. I should have smarter because she did exactly the same thing to Simon Barry when she broke up with him: sat straddled over me on the bed laughing as she read aloud his pleas for reconciliation.
After that message, she [HE] asked I not contact her again. There was a performance of hers coming up that included the debut of a number we had developed together. She had earlier sent me a text saying the number was dedicated to me and that I should come to the show. I sent both of them a private message expressing my desire to come to the show to see the performance and that I woud not be a bother or even seen. Her bf twisted this around and posted to his Facebook page that this was evidence of me being stalker and a danger. He mentioned me by name, my business by name, and told all his page’s followers to share this information on their own pages. As a photographer, character assignation such as this is career death. I sent Samantha message saying that my Mom had lawyer drawing cease and desist papers if he wouldn’t take it down voluntarily. He called the police, claiming harassment. It was him harassing me, taking a low shot.
Cut off from any private recourse, I went to our community looking for them to understand what she was doing and force an apology.
I’m going to gloss over Las Vegas as it really had nothing to do with Samantha. The stress of dealing with the libellous garbage being spewed about me had me in a frail mental state which culminated in a complete mental breakdown and a failed suicide attempt. When I was released from the hospital, I was thrown out of the hotel. Later that day, Samantha posted a picture of her sunning herself by the pool captioned, “finally feels like a vacation.”

[I’d like to point out here that she knew I’d been to the hospital and knew I’d been thrown out. It was her goal I suppose, having also LIED to the hotel security about the non-existent restraining order. This even precedes the letter saying we could not contact each other. She tried to doom my trip before it even started. She is cold and vindictive. BSC]

After that no attempts to contact her were made. I wanted nothing to do with her realising she was a vindictive, attention seeking child.
Her. “Sir” is a Sadist fetish performer. Samantha and I had a usage agreement with the pictures we took that they wee to be used BY HER to promote her career performing burlesque as “Justine Sane”. When I was informed that he had deliberately removed my watermark/copyright and was using the picture on his page in a post about fucking her, I sent her a message asking it be taken down or the watermark/copyright replaced. I made two such requests to him that were ignored, then deleted, and then I was blocked from making another request. The picture was eventually replaced but not before he took another public shot at me suggesting I was untrustworthy, dangerous, and fraud.
Again, my only recourse was the court of public opinion trying to force Samantha to admit what the facts of the situation were.
That is when we first spoke and you know the story from there.
All texts and digital correspondence referred to in this email, I have copies of and can produce. There are also several witnesses to the conversations and events I have described.
When we spoke, you mentioned the possibility of public mischief charges being laid against Samantha. At the time, I just wanted this to end. But as I wrote this statement, my mind changed. If there is a case against her with the information you know have and can collect evidence to substantiate, I want you to investigate her as vigorously as you did me.

—-

Thank you, Baron,

I will add this to the police report.

Take care,

Jose Domingo
Cst. 2857
Vancouver Police Department
Operations Division
District 4 – Team 6
Phone: 604-717-9619 Fax: 604-257-3716
jose.domingo@vpd.ca

—-

From: baroncameron@gmail.com [mailto:baroncameron@gmail.com]
Sent: Monday, September 22, 2014 11:18 PM
To: DOMINGO, Jose
Subject: This isn’t ending

Her friends are contacting mine telling them that I am crazy. During a burlesque performance at The Cobalt my promotional stickers were all removed from the bathroom wall. The bar allows bands and artists to sticker the walls. No other stickers were touched. I have always asserted that I was the victim of the harassment. That email I sent you should have at least shown that she is NOT blameless in all this. My business has suffered. My health has suffered and my reputation is dead. The VPD very vigorously investigated me: phone calls, trips to my home. I did not invite you in to this mess.
Samantha is vain, vindictive, constantly craving attention, and using the VPD as pawns in her celebrity spotlight moment.
Do your job, officer. My alleged “harassment” consisted of ONE poorly conceived email that she has publicly admitted she laughed when she read. You have more evidence than that against her and her “Sir”. Please, if you were in fact sincere about representing both sides fairly, do so.
Thank you.

—-

 

[She rejoices in telling people the police are involved. The following email states that my “harassment” was a text asking that my creative copyright be acknowledged and maintained.]

From: “DOMINGO, Jose” <Jose.DOMINGO@vpd.ca>
Date: Fri, 26 Sep 2014 02:19:59
To: ‘baroncameron@gmail.com'<baroncameron@gmail.com>
Subject: RE: This isn’t ending

Baron,

I understand that you are frustrated in regards to this incident. The reason I attended your residence was for one sole purpose, and that is to meet you personally and get your side of story.
I was not able to get a hold of you; As a result, I contacted you via telephone.

I am not looking who is to blame in this situation. My goal is to help both parties and to ensure that appropriate action was taken… A long term solution to prevent the incident from occurring.
In this instance, you admitted contacting Ms. ARMSTRONG requesting to take down the photo you took in the past or returning the photo back to its state due to alterations. I respect your Passion for the work you do. However, I think you could’ve dealt with the situation more accordingly by contacting a civil lawyer for advice. If you don’t have the means hiring a lawyer, legal Aid is available .

Contacting Ms. ARMSTRONG to solve the issue on your own was an inappropriate choice, especially you were advise not to contact her directly/indirectly by other Police officers Early this year.

I believe your story. I have no doubt that you are telling the truth. I have investigated Ms. ARMSTRONG’s allegations of harassment against you. No criminal charges Are brought forward against you and you gave me your word that you will not contact her ever again. Your cooperation with me is truly appreciated.

You mentioned that your business and reputation sustained a great damage due to the incident. To seek reparations, this can be dealt through civil court. In regards to your health, Take care of yourself and keep your head high. You are professional with a strong passion with your work. Should you believe that your health deteriorates, see you family doctor or call
911 should emergency.

Jose Domingo
Cst. 2857
Vancouver Police Department
Operations Division
District 4 – Team 6
Phone: 604-717-9619 Fax: 604-257-3716
jose.domingo@vpd.ca
VPD URL: http://www.vpd.ca

—-

 

[She also rejoices in making people believe that she has a restraining order against me. She does not. It is VPD order declaring that neither she nor I are to contact each other… telephone, text, email, etc. One that she broke first, I might add. The day the police were first involved she tweeted this:

“Got what [I] wanted?” Weird thing to write to your stalker unless what he wanted was for someone to either commit to the relationship they kept dangling in front of his face or LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE. So yes, thank you. I did get what I wanted. You OUT OF MY LIFE. But you just couldn’t let it go. And because we can’t talk to each other, I went public. And here I am again, after suffering embarrassment the VPD assure me below WOULD NOT HAPPEN. I never told the VPD she broke the order first. I should have and maybe they would have followed through on the public mischief charges Cnst. Domingo personally assured me they were considering against her. ]

From: baroncameron@gmail.com [mailto:baroncameron@gmail.com]
Sent: Thursday, September 25, 2014 7:29 PM
To: DOMINGO, Jose
Subject: Re: This isn’t ending

What about public meetings where no contact was intended or made? I have been invited to a show I plan to attend that she may be at. Do her and her boyfriend have the same piece of paper I do? Do I have to lose my way of life because I was the more vocal player in a game of her creation? She started this. I responded. I should be allow to travel freely and attend shows. I do not care to see her, and definitely not talk to her, but what happens if I want to attend a show I was personally invited to by the producers? Do I have to leave because of a shit show she started? Do I suffer the embarrassment of being led out by police in front of people who are just as much my friends as hers, more so in many cases?

—-

Baron,

As a Canadian citizen, you’re entitled to exercise your freedom. No one is taking that away from you…The police are not taking that away from you.
You have the right to express your own opinion. The VPD formal warning letter [emphasis mine] I provided you and MS. ARMSTRONG, as denoted, OUTLINES that you are NOT to make direct/ indirect contact with Ms. Armstrong.

I am confident to say that you and Ms. ARMSTRONG will exercise good judgment should you guys coincidentally end up at the same place.

Jose Domingo
Cst. 2857
Vancouver Police Department
Operations Division
District 4 – Team 6
Phone: 604-717-9619 Fax: 604-257-3716
jose.domingo@vpd.ca
VPD URL: http://www.vpd.ca

—-

From the Peanut Gallery:

 

This was sent to a friend of mine that Kate had never met and, by her own admission, did not know.

1. If you “don’t know the entire story” don’t tell other people what to do about it.
2. If you don’t know that Justine/Sam often suffers from terrible anxiety, you don’t fucking know her at all.
3. The police became involved (as shown above) when I sent ONE poorly thought out email. It became official when I asked her to stop her pig boyfriend from lying about me and my business. It became an issue again when I contacted her and him again asking that they respect my work and display it properly or not at all. After she’d stopped any chance of personal communication (I am certain at the urging of her then bf) I was forced to go to the court of public opinion. If the texts were embarrassing it was only because they proved she was lying.
4. See #1

I never sent a message to any of Justine’s friends decrying her or calling her names or trying to garner support for the apology I deserved. Everything was out in the open where it should be. Only once (outside of a day long Facebook conversation started by Kate) did I send a message to a friend of hers regarding Justine and it was this:

Also, for the record, the aforementioned “day long Facebook conversation” started when Kate sent me this (I’m sure she meant “psychotic” but you can’t expect everyone to have a working vocabulary):

This was followed by her ridiculing me for posts I had made earlier about my battles with depression. So not only does she self-admittingly not know what she is talking about when it comes to why I was pushing Justine for an apology and to set the record straight, but she has a heart of gold when it comes to kicking people when they are down. But then, that’s what you can expect when you “mess with a group of witches.”

Seriously, after I caught Justine in a lie at the end of the day long Beat on Baron Fest, Kate closed the thread so that more people wouldn’t catch Justine caught in her very public lie (the discrepancy between December 2013 and April/May 2014) but she finished it off with this:

“One thing I will say is that it’s not smart to mess with a group of witches [smiley face] hehe.” This is a joke to her. They circle the wagons around a person they know is lying and attack me at the same time. Check this out: when I pointed out to Kate that Justine had just lied to everyone and had been caught doing it, I got this as a response:

Essentially, when it was pointed out to the woman who mocked my struggles with depression, called me a psychopath, emailed my friends and (while admitting she didn’t know what the story was) told them how to interact with me… When it was pointed out to her that Justine’s dates were months off and Justine was lying not only to the entire Vancouver burlesque scene but also her friends… “I. DON’T. CARE.” I guess that’s all we need from Calamity Kate.

Instead, let’s hear what a member of the Vancouver bq old guard has to say about it (I must preface this by saying the very first thing she wrote to me was to let this drop. Obviously, I didn’t.).

 

BTW, this is the picture I took when she “knew [she] loved me”:

 

And while I’m taking everyone down with me, how about an honest assessment of whom it is we’re dealing with here by someone who has worked closely with them for years:

 

 

 

So that is pretty much it.

Is this bullying? No moreso than any other wronged person finding justice by any means. Granted, this is no Letter from Birmingham Jail but this is my defense. All I ever asked for was the truth. I got it from the VPD but, as evidenced by the events Sunday night, her lies still resonate and continue afresh. Why am I not surprised? I just hope if you have made is this far, I may have made even a slight dent in the armour and made you realize that I wasn’t the bad guy here… I am now. No more secrets. But I did not start this and I reacted as best I could when NO ONE ELSE would help me.

I leave you all with a fable:

A scorpion asks a frog to carry her over a river. The frog is afraid of being stung during the trip, but the scorpion argues that if she stung the frog, both would sink and the scorpion would drown. The frog agrees and begins carrying the scorpion, but midway across the river the scorpion does indeed sting the frog, dooming them both. When asked why, the scorpion points out that this is her nature. The fable is used to illustrate the position that no change can be made in the behaviour of the fundamentally vicious. 

Thank you for your time.

If there is any part of this testimony you consider to be untrue, please send me your evidence. Mine is here for all to see.

BSC

Fuck the King and Damn Your Advice

I got an early morning phone call from My Man Steve to let me know my package had arrived (It is worthy to note that “My Man Steve” is not my man, Steve, in any sexual way. Quite the opposite actually: he’s my Chinese neighbour to whom I contract out all my illicit work). When Fred Phelps died a month ago, I just knew a fire-breathing, shit sucker like that had to have some hard core dogs around somewhere and I sent My Man Steve to Topeka to locate, steal, and deliver said dogs. Now they were mine! Their social re-education would take some time but I’ll have them killing for good in no time.

I waited for Steve at our pre-arranged co-ordinates, 248th St and 0 ave, in Surrey. I’d only been there five minutes before Steve came charging out of the trees, beaten and bruised, with two frothing Rottweilers sprinting on either side of him. He handed off the leashes and continued running.

When I heard the sirens, I merely stood still and lit a cigarette. As the Canadian Customs officers arrived in their 4×4, I calmly pointed in the direction Steve had run off in and acted like I was waiting for my dogs to finish their business.

When I got home, Steve was pruning the trees in his front yard as though nothing had happened.

You see, I have a knack for trouble. For years people would give me advice on how to stay away from it. It never worked. So I’ve stopped taking other people’s advice. FUCK YOUR ADVICE. I’m just going to take life as it’s thrown at me even when the Universe cranks that fucker up to 11.

So as Zevon and The Saint used to say, “Send Lawyers, Guns, and Money” but you can keep your advice to yourself. Otherwise, I will rip the Pride flag from my wall, use it to wrap my copy of The Koran, and stuff both of them down the front of your jeans and introduce you to my new pets. I will break them of their Fag Hating ways but it will take time. Even old dogs deserve a chance to admit they were wrong.

The Old Juice

I lie here, totally unable to sleep, thinking about the old creative juices. Right now they are pouring like blood out of my ears as though a gang packing Louisville Sluggers just had their way with me. I can feel the urge to write substantively again, but don’t know how to proceed. Baby steps, I guess.

Of all the blogs I could revive, I figured this was the best one to describe where I am right now. So, the Bastard is back. I leave you with this as I go off in search of bamboo splinters to force under my nails every time I put my pen down.

“Very Strange.

I feel like I might as well be sitting up here carving the words for my own tombstone… and when I finish, the only fitting exit will be right straight off this fucking terrace and into The Fountain, 28 stories below and at least 200 yards out in the air and across Fifth Avenue.

Nobody could follow that act.”

Hunter S. Thompson, The Great Shark Hunt

Words to the not so wise

BE VERY AFRAID.

So, here’s some advice on parenting, coming from a childless, bachelor based solely on what he’s seen on Tumblr.com

1. Sit the kids down to eat and ask, “Do either of you know what ‘NBHNC’ means?” If your daughter looks shocked, confiscate anything she owns that can take a picture and lock her somewhere that doesn’t have WiFi. If your 12yr old son giggles gleefully, he’s hacked your parental controls on the computer.

2. If your daughter is constantly washing Sharpie marker ink off the palm of her hand, she’s a really shitty poet. If your son does it, girls find him cute but a cruel woman will break his will and eat him alive one day. Or he’s gay.

3. If you want to know what your daughter is doing behind closed doors, rub the handle of her hairbrush down with Tiger Balm and wait for the screaming. Also, if your daughter regularly buys slim handled hairbrushes, she’s into anal play.

In the future, everyone will be a pimp for 15 minutes…

I really need to think about fashion choices more. Being mistaken for a pimp is never a pleasant experience. This is matched only by the realization that, for 15 minutes, I was one.

It was 20 years ago and I had taken to hanging out in a particular Vancouver club. For years, the owners of this club had allowed prostitutes to ply their trades from inside its walls. One night, I was sitting at a table with the door staff, the wait staff, a dancer, and a couple pros. I can’t recall why, but for some reason I found myself sitting alone at the table and I was approached by a gentleman looking somewhat nervous.

“How much for one of your girls for the night?” he asked.

I nearly spat out my beer.

“Excuse me?” I responded, incredulous.

“Oh, I’m not a cop or anything. I’m just looking for a healthy and honest girl for the night.” The fact that he felt he needed to add “healthy and honest” makes me think he had about as much experience at this as I did at the time.

“I’ll just be a moment,” I said, with the wave of a finger, and excused myself from the table. Resisting all urges to sprint to find the doorman (who was actually a door woman at the time), I casually walked around the corner. Finding her, I rushed up.

“*****, this guy thinks I’m a pimp.”

“What does he want?” she asked.

“What do you think he wants?”

“No, Baron… What does he want?”

It was beginning to dawn on me that my days of never having dealt in the flesh trade were officially over. I explained his request, including the “healthy and honest” part.

“Ask him for $1400.”

As I walked back to the table, I was thinking of all the stuff I could buy for $1400. A young woman wasn’t on the list.

Arriving at the table, he stood and I gave him the figure. He appeared to be doing math in his head for a moment then headed for the door.

“I’ll be right back.”

I’m never going to see him again, I figured. Unless, of course, he was going to give evidence at my upcoming pandering trial. “Officer Smith, so lovely to see you again… asshole.”

He wasn’t a police officer and he did come back. He handed me the money. I took it and gave it to *****. She took $100, gave me $100, and handed $1200 to the pro who left with him.

I could never put that on a resume, but it fits quite nicely in The Notebook.

3000 Lunches

“If a guy likes you enough to pause his video game and text you back, marry him!”

I cannot begin to explain how fucking depressing this is. Seriously.

Eight years is a long time. It is longer than the span between a determined sperm and the first day of school. It is longer than the average career in professional sports. Eight years is a long time to put up with someone’s shit.

I didn’t know he complained about the lunches she made him. I didn’t know he complained about the way she did his laundry. I only knew I wanted to kiss her. So i told her that was exactly what I was about to do.

“I’m going to kiss you so I don’t have to spend the rest of my life wondering what it would be like.”

I heard that in a movie once. It’s a stupid line. It’s like a hammer: blunt and simple. But, like a hammer, unless you’re a complete fucking idiot, it always works.

She glanced around the club then took me by the hand. “Come with me.”

Shortly thereafter, we were locked in a furious kiss against the door of the storeroom. I reached down and grabbed her perfect little ass, then slid my hands further, digging my fingers into the back of her thighs. When I pulled her legs up, she instinctively wrapped them around my waist. I leaned into her, pushing my hardening cock upon her pubis mons. Her arms tightened around me. I reached up and two took two handfuls of her long, dark hair, pulling her head back, exposing her beautiful white neck to my mouth.

I nibbled on her ear then whispered, “I’m going to go down on you so I don’t have to spend the rest of my life wondering what it would be like…”

The Roomie Wager

I told her not to close the door. She knew why and agreed by pulling my ear to her mouth and whispering, “You asshole.”

I never lived in a residence when I was a student at the university though I’d seen a lot of the individual rooms in one fashion or another.  Somewhere on campus, probably walking home from the library, was The Student’s roommate, a virginal blonde whose mind had been fucked by this university, this city. The size and speed of life here was alien to her. She knew that good grades and better graces were her only chance of escape from the tiny town, the roadside attraction, she called home. To that end she behaved. She always behaved.

The Student’s head hit the wall when I slammed inside her. She bit her lip and swiped back at my face with her perfectly maintained, claw-like, fingernails. The sting on my cheek made me push harder because I knew she’d been trying for my eyes. A piercing banshee like shriek fell to a whimper as she gathered the strength to push back against me and knock me to my side. She jumped on top and planted her teeth in my neck and my cock in her burning pussy with one quick play. She kept her balance with five fingers around my throat and three more inside her, aiding the effort.

Would The Roommate hear us? The Student wanted to know too. For a week, it had been a race between us to see who could ruin her studious new friend first.

But how studious? How curious? How much of the scientific experimentation that filled her academic world did she bring home with her?

Would she investigate if she heard us? We’d seen the way she’d study us when we so rudely misbehaved in front of her, both of us trying to secure a positive return on our common bet.

Would she be shocked by the sounds? Had she ever smelled sweat like that? What would she make of The Student’s bruised legs and the thin red line separating my cheek, the product of The Student’s almost always impeccable aim. Was The Student biting her own lip because of pain she wanted or pain she felt?

We never found out that night. The Roommate did, however, come home and sat in the dark, listening to our “lecture”, taking personal notes.

Two nights later, a bottle of gin disappeared, The Student quite handily won our bet and never let me forget it. Which is fine by me; I love hearing the story.

All the night’s questions

She held a knife to my throat and mumbled something about cumming inside her but I don’t know if it was a request or a dare. The booze had made me charming, the drugs had made me daring, but both combined to make me quite useless and when all was said and done she came with my three fingers inside her and we called it a draw. We managed to get our deeds done later on in the evening as the morning approached but with little fanfare from either of us.

It was obvious from her expression that I was the oldest guy she’d been with. As the light from the hallway hit me on my way to the bathroom, she discovered for the first time that men have a profile different from the boys she was used to. I was still drunk and high and she was also pathetically less than sober when we did it again before both of us passed out completely. The events of that evening have done nothing to bolster my desire to sleep with girls half my age. They did, however, spur thoughts of necrophilia for the very first time in my existence.

We woke the next morning, naked and sticky. Feeling the viscous bond between us, and using her fingers to investigate, she asked if she had anything to worry about (she’d find out mere days later she was already pregnant by another man); I replied, “no,” to her inquiry, but that small word was a resounding answer for all the night’s questions.

Breakfast

It’s like those times when you’re walking down the sidewalk on a January morning and a ridiculously happy, morning person, friend comments on how wonderfully brisk the air is and finishes off by saying how invigorating it all is and all you really want to do is punch them in the tits because it’s damn cold and no one should ever be that joyful that damn early in the morning.

But then she smiles at you and and you decide right then and there that you won’t punch her tits; you’ll just stick her with the bill at breakfast.