The Fall of 1980’s Future Past, about Karen Cole and Ted Bundy
By Karen S. Cole, journalism major at Ohio University
IT WAS SOME OLD BEATER, NOT THE VW BUG. With air conditioning, forever an ancient car. Too old, too decrepit, like he was getting. He sat there driving, looking a lot older than he was, major dark-hued bags appearing under his eyes. Like he hadn’t been sleeping for decades. I should’ve pitied him, if he wasn’t so mean, arrogant, merely Captain Ted “Nazi” Bundy. A sexist loser, taking it out on American women through Medieval Catholic torture. As medieval as he was, sheesh.
My former hero who had served with me, saving my life in both Berlin and Vietnam, but I should have known better: he was born a Nazi. His Dad had been in the Nazi Bund, right after WWII, and he was his Dad’s son. His real father, probably Ted Bundy, Sr., one way or another, was a minor KGB agent who had almost killed my father, a Navy man in the CIA. I and my mother had met them both in Dresden, Germany, back in 1960, when I was a babe in my bassinet.
Ted Jr. immediately stole the doll from my little carriage, running off with it. Nobody punished or talked to him about it; he was maybe 13 years old. Stealing a baby’s doll from her carriage, mine. “Are you American?” is what he’d asked me, according to my mother later on. Once he determined my sex and my heritage, stealing my baby doll was nothing to him.
What was I expecting, he was the Enemy. Yet he’d rescued my butt twice, at what would have been great cost to himself. Torture by the other Nazis, possibly prolonged. And death via Agent Orange, which I’d been willing to suffer with him. Too late, I realized he was nothing but a trap, somehow Black Magic bullshit from the past. Or worse yet, the future, which was growing polluted.
For there are worse things around than Ted Bundy and Karen Cole, including the street we were driving down. And Ted, who purportedly died in 1989, should never have been there at all, nor ever existed. He was a Nazi Swiss concoction, a high tech soldier grown in a laboratory in the 1940s, whom I’d decided to like. Born in 1947 in the States, he was a simulated human being, of sorts.
Whether I was German-American, it didn’t matter.
The lack of reality always did, for me too. Pollution, radiation, male domination, and my own mounting, insipid disgust. At there being too much emphasis on all that was bad, evil, Satanic, nonsense to me. I wanted a life of some kind, not rape, death, ridiculous torture horror stories, even the true ones. Who needed it, I reasoned. Come on Ted, be my hero again, I’ll reward you with at least sex in the park. I was still underage, but who would care?
“C’mon, you know me, Ted. Let’s go to a small park, there’s gotta be one in Columbus. Around here. I promise, no more attacking, as long as you do the same. Or I could take you out, for a beer or something to eat…”
“I can’t guarantee that.” Meaning, about not attacking me. “Hey, my money’s good, got it right here in my purse. Let’s grab a bite somewhere nice in town…” Suddenly, a rapacious, crocodile-like grin at me. Hmmm. Well, two can play at that game. “Let’s forget food, I’m getting fat. How about sex in the park? I’m game. Hey, let’s pull over, there’s a small park over there on our right…”
“I know, Bitch.” Whoops. Either he was still angry at me, or I’d just traded places with Christy and Connie. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be a rotting corpse in a few minutes. At least I had a few lessons I’d learned at the Shao Lin Monastery. Jackie Chan, and Ip Man, and Master Li. Plus Bruce. Waking up abruptly, I decided this was it, like in the song. Vietnam and basic training were all awhile ago. Now I had to be on the ball, or die.
Slowly, he pulled downhill into the Columbus Park, one which we might have fire inspected recently. I doubted it, seemed to be a new park to me. So small, maybe he’d get caught by somebody if he too his chances again, and hurt me. But I wouldn’t take the risk, so I got ready for anything. Began to keep an eye in his every move.
“Well,” I deeply breathed, as we came to a halt in the gravel. “Here we are, Mr. Bundy. Care to get out? There should be some nice grass to ah, lie down on, somewhere in the vicinity. And…” Smiling, almost feeling happy enough to do this properly, letting Ted get to third base or even Home Plate in a sweet little public park, why not? Considering how things were anyway. Why blame your girlfriend for the wretched side of things. Because we aren’t supposed to fight them back. So, what was wrong with a spot of unprotected sex, me getting pregnant? I’d ridden my bicycle for miles on the freeway, for example from Gahanna to Cincinnati. I’d taken plenty of chances in Vietnam, sailing through everything, always emerging from the quicksand with a tiara in my teeth.
I ran the back of my left hand gently, sweetly stroking my fingers tenderly across his cheek, slightly stubbly with a growing beard. Whatever did they mean, he’s dark and ugly? Must be some kind of trick, maybe by the Catholics. Weirdo anti-Semitism, in disguise as colorism. His face felt warm, soft. I dreamed thus briefly, of someone I could treat right, and be treated right by. Maybe he was something real after all, possibly I could deserve something good. Ah, I was full of it, he’s one of those idiots, not my Ted anymore, which he never was. Just another uh, cosmic moralist: men good, women evil, ugh. I needed a greater mind than that. But I was already tired, feeling old before my time too, and it felt like an episode of Gorillas in the Mist. Like I could barely see what was going on, due to serous lack of sleep. Surely what I’d been seeing indicated something wrong, not only about me, but the entire lost and ungainly world. Where was the hope, where is the love? As in your soul, as in your heart, as in your mind. Where is the love? Gone to white racial extremism. Please! My attitude was losing ground, I was seriously thinking of giving up to him…no, that wouldn’t suit a teenage warrior, Not yet, anyway.
I’d turn tail later, if it came to pass that all had turned utterly moronic. The death of anything good, real, or worth living for. Say, was this going to become my New Normal?
It was like an overlong episode of Creepshow in charge of the Universe. Think what you will of Stephen King, I don’t think I like it that way in Real Life.
Which was coming from contemplating not only Ted Bundy, but the whole of Ohio at the time. It was loaded with creeps, sex perverts, nonesuches, and murderers, and now their little Neo Nazi sidekicks, too. One of them, anyway. Who was surely into betraying my youthful trust, while waiting for my next move, possibly so he could angrily blame me for all of his own perverse actions. Oh yeah, Nazis made like they were overly moral Superbeings, Like our cartoon characters, which were invented by Jews, anyway. He was playing Morality Daddy, while being a torturing subhuman to people, like that Nazi Grampa Asshole I’d kicked out the door in Saigon. Since I was underage, and willing to have sex, especially with him, he couldn’t dig it if you handed him a shovel. Why couldn’t he recall what he’d done for me, and figure out I’d be grateful?
He’d gotten in exceptionally serious, severe harm’s way for me, twice. For a probable Republican, he sure had no memory. Rescuing me, I sighed again, it was surely just to bolster his frail, far too socially approved, way twisted up Male Ego. He didn’t actually have a mind, or a life, of his own. Only the tools handed directly to him, by others. I guess I’d hoped, like others turned out to, that there was more to him than that. But I sniffled, standing there with my pants off, my blue jeans slung over my right shoulder, like Sinatra. Why expect so much from a poor old Nazi Vietnam War veteran like Ted Bundy? I actually reached over, taking his right hand, with my own. I thought, he’s like a lost little Adam boy, and he needs his godalmighty mother Eve, just to show him something new. Like maybe genuine love and affection, I mused, if I felt up to expressing any.
I was so young, 16 or 17, and he was growing older just standing there. While probably thinking I was crazy, immoral, a “fallen woman” like even scoundrels such as Baptist minister Dr. King thought. Hoping against the wind, taking chances like I always did, I decided I would find a way to get Ted grounded again, like a needful electrical circuit. Pausing, I thought that yes, maybe some of his woes came from me. But he had rescued me on his own. for non-altruistic reasons, unless. A moment of something like altruism on his Nazi part, maybe one leading to permanent disability. But hey, I’d been exposed too.
We both suffered from Vietnam. What about me, LOL, not back then, no Internet yet? I took my pants off first! Took up his other hand, why was he so reluctant, I frowned. One thing, I wasn’t exactly going to scream and run away. Why do that? Still he stood there, gazing at me blankly. Why are all these people so half cocked, so judgmentally Christian. I didn’t know Islam well, but what were they like, and Ted was supposed to be one, a Moslem. What’s his problem, childhood imprinting? He stands there like someone dead, deep inside. I’d best not let him hurt or kill me, I shuddered inside myself, being very reluctant to so much as hurt his feelings. Any minute now, if he moves, I would have to reconsider that, quickly. Faster than considering, I would surely need to move.
Certainly, I wasn’t even a functioning part of the motivating force which made him become, or be born, a darkling type of Neo Nazi. Or put him into something called the Bund, which was maybe named after Le Petite Prince there. Again, why? It all seemed pretty irrational, to a thinking, thoughtful me. I couldn’t fault myself, not over this, and one way or another, he was supposed to be the adult. Or I’d need to be one, kind of fast, again. His version of adulthood, apparently, was simply being irresponsibly evil. I thought in Vietnam, he meant he was going to be a responsible adult. Who took the blame and the potential punishment for his actions. Maybe he was simply a Glory Hound.
What was glorious about torturing innocent Vietnamese civilians, while seeking no information, just because they might fight back? Nothing much. Seems he was the stereotype of a Superman, something with abilities like a regular old US Marine, but not while really being one. Pity the fool, as Mr. T used to put it, for messing around. Why didn’t he try for Reality… what was it, too polluted for hims? If he wanted, needed for Nazis to be something better, like a cut above…that expression, though. How about, more Evolved entities, and when? All I knew from the original Nazis was charnel death, violence, property theft and destruction. At least my Dad fought for our country against the invading Japanese, something legit and real. Where was that, when it came to us, Captain Ted…of course, he didn’t know, either.
About having sex with underage me in a small Columbus park: he could’ve turned me down, and we could go to an inexpensive restaurant. I’d offered to pay, I owed him one really, and there was one up on a nearby rise, I could see it up there, lit up brilliantly. But I didn’t dare look at it for very long. Thinking, somewhere back there, this man thought it was his role function in life to die for a cause, whether it was good or evil, and he also tried to explain that he was supposed to be the Human Target that died in Vietnam, to save the lives of people like me. Who were supposed to somehow “stay home.” However, fortunately, we’re neither loyal little dogs healing for our masters, nor do we have the ability to only stay home. We go out, we do stuff. Tough ditty, if he couldn’t understand girls going to college, or my own requested service in Nam. It had practically been required of me, at school and through the Navy, and I had fulfilled the request, plus all the requirements. The answer to that, my having done my level best and quite well, was for uh, “people” to pretend I didn’t exist, and that because I wasn’t tall, blonde and blue-eyed, I wasn’t allowed to have done any of the things I actually did, most of which were for the sake of saving lives. If there were any such actual lives to save.
“Well, Mr. Bundy?”
“Sure, whore. Get out, now.” Yep, he’s a serious control freak. Being willing to have sex with him was insufficient. I’d have to figure it out, a step at a time, sure that screaming wasn’t the solution. It was indeed, watch for his knife hand. I waited a minute for him to get out first. At least that eliminated his access to the gun in the glove compartment, unless he kept another gun buried in that suit of his.
So…it was wait and see. How much he’d rather have sex, with a willing participant, one he’d been willing to die to save before…twice. In two different places, worlds apart. Or, how much of a Judgement Day type he was. And he might be gay. Which could be the early death of me, unless I caught my death of the cold first. Achoo, I sneezed, covering my face as we mutually exited the vehicle.
“Got any Kleenex, sirrah?”
“What, no…”
Thought not. “Yeah, wench,” I smiled up at him, as he circled around to my side of the car. He’s a good deal taller than me. So he’s attacking our women, bright young college students. To get at our reproductive capacities. Who knows how many of these ruthless new Nazis were already in the State of Ohio? It would explain an awful lot of what was hitting the papers, every day.
“So, I gather…I’m a rolling stone, and I’m not mossy. Wanna hit the dirt, right about here?” I sighed, indicating the hard, cold, pebble-covered gravelly ground, which was partly paved with concrete. “Looks good enough for a pair of Vietnam veterans, Robert Plant.” We’d both gotten used back there to rough camping, and sleeping on hillsides. “I said Plant, Master McCormick of the smelling salts.”
Hugging him around the shoulders, I smiled wickedly up at him. I was used to surviving arduous situations. Maybe I could immobilize him, he was acting pretty stupid. Wasn’t all of their shit idiotic, anyway? Wouldn’t know. White man already done took over the country, ugh. What’s with invasion number two, ooh I can dig the sick joke there.
I had dreamed, what if these Neo types, advertising as something new, had anything creative or original in mind? Other than offing Blacks, Mexicans and Indians, like before. Something. But the Tedder stood still, as if in utmost shock that I wasn’t in utmost shocked horror.
Meanwhile, he kept standing there, as if lost in shock all by himself. I guess he has no imagination, I realized; it didn’t take much to throw him. Literally, he was too used to cooperative “Vicky” style victims. Hmm, might be able to hook a foot under his leg, and throw him , sideways. Maybe get him down, step on his…no, why be petty and cruel. Whatever he is, lost in space or no, he took his chances for me, years ago. I’d go ahead and take some for him, see where it went. While watching his sleeved arms and hands. Maybe I could kick away a knife. I was pretty good with a gun, I was a smaller, lighter opponent, so I stood a good chance to stop him cold, if I played my cards right. Trouble is, so did he, and I didn’t recall him as stupid. He’d even fixed up an impromptu shower for me back in Vietnam, using a simple bucket and punching holes in it. He was Captain Bundy, of both our side and the Nazis. I smiled much more wickedly, and knowingly, at him, for we’d had sex before. Right after he had taken that blast of Agent Orange in the face, upper body and torso, all for me. Or to prove he was a somebody, one of the two. Or because he thought he was evil; I’m “it,” he’d told me, just before they started firing globs of that horrible, chemically poisonous Nazi goo at us.
Heck, I was glad to take a chance on him, even if he decided to kill me and won, I reasoned, doffing my pants first, which necessitated pulling out my belt. Glad I didn’t have much on, and I noticed a certain lack of leering at me. Perhaps latter-day Nazi Aryan idiots are more or less businesslike, pertaining to killing off what could only amount to a few…perhaps… of our American women, before major retaliation hit home, to our suddenly enlightened Government? If I got out of this alive, I should tell them something. Given them and their lying atavistic tendencies, shoot. Hitler seemed like less of a liar than we did, since at least Nixon. Jews were evil people, rich fucks, too. What if I told him that? “Hey, handsome, you gonna rape me with your pants still on? I’ll take ’em off for you, sigh. There’s a dear, a button, oops the zipper’s a bit stuck…”
“WHAT???”
A few minutes ago, I had tried to blow his head off, with the gun I’d found in his glove compartment. He was #1 on the FBI Most Wanted List all across the country, and due to my signing on with the Feds in Cincinnati, it was legal for me to kill him.
But as he’d saved me in the past and was going to again, which I was seeing into somewhat, a strange gift of mine…I didn’t relish the idea of his death. Even though it was legal, it was still lousy. A part of me was overly used to his presence; I’d run into him repeatedly, all my life. Shared popcorn with him at a theater in Florida, where he was eventually executed. I recall, he ducked out a side door, before we could talk much.
Something like God, help me. He was a Neo Nazi leader, and who knows what all he was doing. I had two older sisters, both of them the age of his usual victims, to protect. And by then, he was no longer my hero of Berlin, West Virginia, and Vietnam. He was a traitor to, or an enemy of, America. Or both, as he’d been born here.
I’d known Ted nearly all my life, so I thought I’d try to get him to see the error of his ways. Crazy me, hoping that something promising, new, or different would come to light. I’d also known Richard Ramirez when he was in the Army in New Mexico. Those two served, but became serial killers, due to losing in the Vietnam War. A lot of them did, including Gary Ridgeway, the Green River Murderer. In Washington State, but the actual Green River was in Vietnam.
Whatever could I do about all of this, which had become a mess, on TV and in real life? Was there anything possible that I was up to, including getting Ted any valid professional help, or at least away from his serious heroin addiction?
I was a Black Belt in karate, which helped. I’ve taken guns and knives away, tossing them behind me. Which I had to do, in a dangerous and equally distant Ohio, Colorado, and finally Washington State, as they filled up with early Americans.
It related to my being a Navy dependent in the US Armed Services. Like Charles Dickens wrote, it was the worst and best of times. We all got plenty of Xmas and birthday presents. Three girls, I was the last, thus an honorary boy. Just not gay, that wasn’t allowed or what I really was. I figured, it all computed to an empty chair. If I didn’t die in Vietnam, where else?
So by the time I was 18, I was helping our local police hunt for and systematically attempt to destroy “our” Mafia. In apartments, warehouses, street busts, bank robberies, elsewhere. And earlier, I fought a few big fires in the Ohio boonies, at 15 and 16. We were needed, some of us died. So far as I could tell; they vanished.
Still earlier, I had left to go serve in 1972-1974. As an underage female soldier, illegitimate but legal. They tend to let you in, if you pass Basic, and I’d been there before. Due to our military’s ongoing need to train children, I was taking their classes on top of public school. This included a Save the World class on a Navy ship, docked and loaded with kids.
Navy Seals, Marine Corps, FBI, Air Force certificates, all by the age of nine in Virginia. Through the power of flight, via the adults, I was taken to the deserts of New Mexico, outside of Albuquerque. Surviving an Atomic Bomb test by ducking into a refrigerator, and flying still further. Like I was getting ready for something much bigger than me.
Found pale, white, tall, grownup and bloody male beyond my reach Ted Bundy, serving duly in Nam, and going by the name Hans. “That’s who I am, and you have to accept it, Karen. I’m ‘it’ in this game, not you. And don’t you dare tell anyone, or I’ll…oh, go get in line.” We were swiftly hiking, at a jogging pace, along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, during an Unexpected onslaught of Agent Orange.
And also West Virginia, I found him in a fraternity house there. Actually it was a small, private boarding house for Nazis. Oh well. I liked him, was sad about our being on opposing sides. Of a continuing WWII, so I had to wonder what gives.
And in Berlin, earlier, when I was six. October of 1966, the beginnings of Batman and Star Trek.
A year before I signed on with Rod Serling, whom I knew from television. Hello to the Twilight Zone in advance, but it was still a War Zone. I gazed out a window in another temporary room. It was lined with iron bars, which a lightning flash revealed to be on the outside of my window.
I was ensconced in a place called the Bund Building. Where my Dad left me, while he went with my family to a hotel, somewhere else. To work there, on behalf of a Government agency known as the CIA. Whether he was spying on or working closely with the post-war Germans in a torn-apart, walled up with barbed wire and slightly noisy off in the distance Berlin, I didn’t know.
He rescued me from a Nazi, which made me wonder about him. It turned out he was something newer, called a Neo Nazi, a member of some middle group called the Nazi Bund. That means band, in basic German.
I used to sneak out the window, walking for half a mile to his black and white front painted house, which he shared with about six fraternity boys. I preferred to think of them all as Jewish, but they probably were not. In fact, they were all Germans.
That’s where he got his draft card, it arrived in the mail. In an official looking government envelope. Though only eight, I knew what it was, being ahead of things. In kindergarten, I could spell refrigerator and dictionary, at five years old.
“Oh God, Ted. I’m so sorry.” I tried to humble myself before him, during such an inauspicious occasion. I thought, if he’s really a Jewish Nazi vampire, I could be his Renfrew. That’s the guy who ate bugs, due to Count Dracula, whom I liked. Probably just a Daddy reference.
“Just…leave me, Karen. I’m evil.” He bent over, looking so downcast. Consigned to his fate. Like a droopy weeping willow tree. I learned, from hanging around and reading his draft notice, that he was 19.4 at the time. I had perhaps met him first in Berlin, when he was 17 or so.
I’m fondest of birch trees, since I knew Malcolm X and dared think it, as I’m covered with freckles, that’s my kind of tree.
Go Away, Little Girl
Meanwhile, Teddy B. was great at stringing intrigued women such as me along. While seeming like a capable older white man, and acting like a hugely lost Black teenager. I’m not sure what he was, nor about his purpose on this plane of existence, if any. While Covid may have rudely interrupted things, anyway, all along. Possibly even test tube babies, grownup or otherwise, have their moments of gestalt-seeking tendencies. Maybe that was my, and his, and also their problem, those Roman Empire descended Catholics. Like most other people I know, he seemed to be surrounded by friends of “theirs,” making me feel more alone than he was. I wasn’t into making him feel alone, but I sure was into having him arrested and taken away from me. From which he generally returned, while I had to wonder, if he was wanted for murder so much, why? Why didn’t they keep him there, why were they always letting him leave under his own recognizance? He just slipped away on them, every time, as though nobody cared.
I’m not a serial murderer. I’m your basic relatively Harmless Person. I’m writing this over 40 years after I was forced to tag along with Ted and watch as he “did his thing,” which was excruciatingly dismal. He set out to kill 100 people; I’m sure he exceeded his quota, legally or otherwise.
As he served the Nazis, he was stuck taking vengeance against us. By killing Americans, far across our country, while making it look like he only killed girls and women. Sorry, that is indeed Bullshit!
Welcome to the Era of the Nazi, followed by the Nixon, coverups. The 1970s followed by the 1980s, when the Unions were being dissolved by the Mob. Affirmative action not there yet, much, AIDS starting to rear its ugly head, slowing the Austin Powers style “swingers” down to a politically conservative halt.
These memories are sloppy deluxe hamburger painful, as in a bowel movement, worms-ridden McDonald’s. However, they also involve Learning Realistically about life, death, the mysteries of love, and utmost self defense. And what it means when Black Oil Magic reigns supreme, skewing my entire already gone to fossil fuels Universe.
I am praying Electric Cars will gradually save us. The world is Polluted.
Especially me, but it’s too soon to tell if it’s too late.
Thomas Alva Edison was one of the inventors of the Electric Chair, so dissimilar to the electric wheelchair. On Dead Ted Day, not a Field Day for me, they put Ted Bundy to death in Florida. After all the insanity, who knows why? The Menlo Park crew, along with Mr. Edison, came up with the Tungsten Filament, making electric lights and our nighttime, well lighted Big Cities happen.
Which includes Aspen, Colorado in October of 1980, probably around the 10th or 11th day of that month. Crisp fall foliage surrounding us, tiny bunches of pink flowers growing directly behind us. Pleasant, if it hadn’t been for Ted’s Nazi nature, that of a white racist and sexist, and his Deadly proclivities. But I still wondered if I could do anything real, to Tame this Nazi beast, get him to stop the killings…introduce him to a lifetime of road service repairs? He was actually an adequate and swift vehicle repairman. As he’d been a professional football player for the New England Patriots. Supposedly, the very first White Moslem one. They let him go, or he simply left the team. Funny; like Gary Ridgeway, only stereotypical male professions. Car repair, football, attorney, Army in Vietnam…Nazi. Didn’t those two ever do anything female, so to speak, such as cooking or cleaning?
Whatever, sigh. Nothing I could do, but what were those two men doing, being snow pea bookends? And also, Jack the Ripper clones. Ted had made an easy $400 cash, when we were on the road earlier, fixing a group of Mexicanos’ car. He could potentially make us a living that way, there was always Hope. No need to pay taxes, or to report cash money; no need to turn in his name for documentation. If I could find a job to keep busy myself, by applying around in Aspen, such as being a waitress. Maybe we could eventually purchase a small house…wait, didn’t he already own one, somewhere in Seattle? So he was able to either buy it outright, or get a loan, somehow. Possibly this very large tiger of a man is slumming with me, so that I will someday write of these mysterious doings. And he’s definitely got other plans. Come to think, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a serious Ladykiller, who does?
One noted for tormenting people, and for what reason? As the sun vanished below the horizon, which at least doesn’t belong to him and his little Catholic friends, I decided I would be leaving Mr. Bundy, who claimed to be already married and appeared to be trying to get me into some serious trouble, for potentially greener pastures. Maybe I would find a way to have my Angela at last, and he could have his Rose. I’m the long run, we’re all only going to die anyway. Why not after all that? Possibly I could eventually, hopefully sooner than later, get Ted Bundy to stop or at least to slow down on murdering people just to get his own wacko way. Way, that would be an improvement! The whole damn situation made it look like “they” were filming a movie, as there were small pots of red paint and a few exploded blood packets lying around. Or, whatever it was, in a haze of melodramas, pills, cigarette smoke and automobile exhaust fumes.
Was life imitating art, were the Neo Nazis making a Jewish-derivative fiction based on fact movie out of the actual, forced, or even staged Ted Bundy killings? I remember Ted showing me a series of phony pictures, including one of an obvious dummy. She was headless, but there was no blood underneath her, and the sawn-off head was too jagged in a plastic doll sense to have been anyone real. Too straight across, no stringy pieces of flesh, nor any blood. Nothing real, like they were filming some kind of odd horror movie. But where were all the cameras, were they early drones, flying around filming this stuff? Whatever in the world…ah, it probably wasn’t anything real. Just a bunch of Catholic horror film aficionados, overly fascinating ones at that, who had roped me into something stupid. But what I could have been doing instead, who knows. The one thing I could think of was something like either medicine, which turned out to be half evil anyway, or nuclear research, which I didn’t want to be involved with, or show biz, which I couldn’t see me entering. Too much competition, too many tall, all-white, already there types. Too much of a spoiled brat enterprise, too.
At least I did try other things for a living, such as the great Necessity of fighting forest fires, I thought. I only wanted to be where I was useful, needed, and loved, or at least somewhat beloved, like my heroine, Black and homey rag doll Beloved Belindy. In the Raggedy Anne adventures, by Johnny Gruel. She reminded me of my ten-year-old black friend, she whom I inadvertently left behind in a French mental institution. I’ve always wondered what happened to her, if she came out of there okay.
Thank the good lord, if there was one, which I doubted succinctly, for Small Favors. Years later, my daughter Angela turned out to be along those lines: a small favor, with us one minute, gone away the next. I just heard from my younger self I’m visiting. She asked, is she dead, did the Mafia or Ted Bundy kill her? “No, younger me. She only eloped with a racially pure-looking white man, much like Ted but without any such homicidal inclinations. I can’t mention the rest, and that’s a wrap-up from the hindsight of the year 2022. They did electrocute Ted Bundy. There is another Ted B. living down our senior apartment hallway, two doors away. I brought him a cherry or strawberry pie the other day, he accepted it.
He’s about Ted Bundy’s age, and though I shouldn’t mention it, it’s the same last name Mr. Bundy gave you to look up, if you ever needed any help, when you and he were in Vietnam. Your favorite tree, the one that looks grey and racially impure. In a better world, it would be okay to mention Mr. B. But I’ll help him remain private, I owe Mr. Bundy that, at least. Perhaps Mr. B. is simply an old Catholic friend of his, one who grew up with him, in New England. They both appear to be from there, back in the 1940s. Mr. B. says he served in the Navy, while Ted Bundy served in the Army. It’s all very weirdly coincidental.
I still recall spooning with Ted on a wooden park bench overlooking the beautiful downtown City of Aspen. We spent a good six hours watching as the sun came down, which was peaceful, almost holy next to the rest of what had been occurring. Folks like us, and they don’t, I thought to me while leaning in his burly, well-developed and ironically headless frame. He was a head or so taller than me, thus the accidental special effect of his invisibly headless state. Of grace, I thought, as he drew my left hand over to his, inspecting my fingernails. They needed cutting. He placed it in his lap, I figured to invite some stroking of his dark-hued sexual equipment. But he only laid it there, drawing the back of my hand over to upon his heart. I could feel its steady, calm pulsing, perhaps an exercised 40-45 beats per minute. Mine nearly the same, as I was 20 and in decent shape from bicycling.
It felt like he was trying to tell me that I was reconnecting his heart, and maybe now that meant something more, with his bunched-up penis. The male core, the one that martial arts discounts. In favor of such entities as Nazism, war, working for your masters, slavery. Everything other than love, sex, childbirth, continuance of species. And the recreational days of youth. As the sun went down, it grew cold. “Want my jacket?” That was a surprise, not too much of one by then. “No, dear, it would be too big on me. It’s warm, let’s leave, I’ll manage somehow. Let’s…hike back into town, it’s all downhill from here.” Grunting sound of agreement. I thought, we are definitely Big Moose and Midge, from Archie Comics…that answering voice in my head, so like my mother’s, said once more, that’s why Old Sparky sounds like Old Betsy, Archie Andrew’s car. It was a Ford Edsel, and I realized again that if I knew Ted was set to die in Old Sparky in Florida, not only could I see into the future, it was getting cold, during Indian Summer in October’s Aspen, up in the Colorado hills, nestled in beginner mountains.
That uncanny ability of mine, implying that I was some type of red-headed witch, came in handy pertaining to saving human lives. What could I do for Ted Bundy, though, he was surely set to die in that Florida state prison, and the date floating into my head was January 6, 1989. Via electrocution. On the other hand, the Murderer of Americans and I had enjoyed a gorgeous, gainfully employed, bitter last sunset, as Outsiders of Mankind. I was willing to take anything I could get with this man, even temporarily, and just for a little while sounded Ideal.
I have bad-ass asthma, from Western “medications,” really industrial poisons from coal-tar derivatives. They rendered it diabolical, making me breathless perpetually. I’m off them all and much better for it, hopefully all to the good. Unless my family becomes merciless, moving in for “the kill,” although I wouldn’t know why. It’s probably not in their best interests.
And finally, how about profound dyslexia, which involves mixing up good with evil among other things; not to mention hirsutism, a disease involving exponential hair growth. Why Ted had a unibrow he was always shaving. It’s a rare disorder, one oft leading to Cannibalism.
As for dyslexia, try being raised Judeo-Christian and needing to mutilate, destroy, be dark evil, and kill thousands or more of people. Then come home, to a sea of American baby killers calling out names, such as Vietnam Baby Killer, while they abort your ongoing Soul. The only one between us, immortality of Reproduction. Which sadly, is more learned than known.
And Retroactivity back to the White Fifties, the Replication of Viruses and Germs, and the continuous onslaught of Serial Murderers, publicly and privately, so more “the thing” than the simple Arts of Marriage and Baby Making. Taking away from anyone’s sense of Peace, Safety, Family, even that of the murderers themselves.
All due to a general malaise of Inaction, coming from the Cold War, which drones on about a fascinated Death, boring us out of trying. Not to mention Religion, so easy. But what did a Nazi have to fall back on, or for that matter, a young girl?
While having lost two world wars, one in Reality and the one mostly in your Head, in the nearly immediate past. Of a country never once yours. And in an aging male body derived from science, not magic, possibly three genetic parents, with a tendency to not behave. While yearning to be, um, “different.” Due to being born too early, while I was born too late.
And not being allowed any errant ideas, such as being Gay. Or miserable. Or that Hitler was a human being, not ordinary, a leader and a man, not a hell-bound Misfit. While the world sees you as several dark-hued Patsies. Nobody to feel sorry for…kind of like people with freckles. While witchcraft accusations, Biblically intensive, continue as Witch-hunts via the Media, one victim approached at a time.
Maybe you’d blame the Jews. Albert Einstein, H. Robert Oppenheimer, Edward Teller, Germans all. Creators of the Atom Bomb: “I am Shiva, destroyer of Worlds.” While watching Supergermanic heroes (man is a German surname ending), our reflective answer to Hitler, and all his little Teutonic, costumed derivatives teach our kids violence in order to coax them into the Armed Services.
Did you ever see all Superheroes as Nazis? Or at least, their American children? Having witchcraft powers, copped from their accused of black magic witchcraft victims, and endowed with too many Batman and Wolverine-style Jack the Ripper talents?
And what were the actual Nazis?
Who were they, without the aspersions on whatever characters they had going? Anybody you knew? Largely, maybe the last losers against us, and then we lost in Vietnam. They were only or greatly as TV failed to portray them, from a great distance of time and space, although their Minister of Propaganda and thus their chief communicator, Joseph Goebbels, handed me a few scraps of lost hope: they didn’t know if pre-WWII Germany was overpopulated. I think it was overcrowded, and worse, with an economy so wretched it excused their every action. Leading to antipathy as usual, too many millions of Deaths, and thus War Crimes. I remember trembling in a classroom, fearing Nuremberg. My family had my father’s last name changed, to protect him at least from any potential German-American concentration camps. I found out years later, internment camp syndrome is worldwide, so they were reasonably afraid. There wasn’t much here, yet, to endanger us in that manner. Someday, perhaps.
With that as a Background…
Maybe you’d lie, claim you are only a Serial Murderer. And a Nazi too, as when I told Ted that I was “a member” of the KKK. Only to see what he said back, to impress him too. If he thought I was a fellow killer, perhaps he’d listen. Developing our camaraderie, if in minuscule ways, at first. We’d finally caught up in age, more or less, with each other.
He instantly interpreted me as inviting him into that peculiar group. Well, we were certainly into each other by then. As that condom had gone flying, disappearing beneath the wall, nearby his disrobed suit full of knives, guns, other stuff.
“Hey, I’m only a Nazi, tell me more!” I shut up pretty fast, not having any such Klan entry doors nor white supremacy tendencies. We had learned lying, in order to cover our own Morality Tracks. How does one return to normalcy, after a War in the jungle, resulting in radical aloneness?
When you’ve killed actual Vietnamese babies. So did Dahmer, Ridgeway, Berkowitz, Ramirez, thousands of others in Vietnam, and me. Who were those men, who was I? Seems I knew them all, on and off, throughout, while I never got to serve in a Unit of my own. While stuck wandering everywhere from China to France, where I discovered a Nazi concentration camp. Smaller than Pittsburgh, larger than you. Outside of Nice, a big city in France.
Everywhere to go, I’d been already persecuted as others, mostly by adults, almost entirely by War. They always turn things around on you, which could certainly lead to dyslexia, the kind that’s lifelong hard. Try approaching in other ways, alternate directions. Or, fly straight.
Geoffrey Dahmer, Ted’s odd proxy whom I also knew, was for some other reason the Human Cannibal. While his whole family appeared to have come down with Lyme’s Disease, from living out in the woods. Millions of folks get that every year. But in their cases too, smoking, drinking, and being inebriated from auto exhaust fumes was clearly involved.
In a dream world in America, where even a Crook might leap into Action, I recall Ted’s heroically coming between me and Geoffrey, trying to draw the fire away from Jeff’s rifle over to him instead. That’s when he was 31, finally at a ripe ol’ adult stature. He took the responsibility on himself, as he’d done before. Most likely, in a Nazi-muddied, Agent Orange defiled Vietnam. Invoking torture, that if a huge crowd. And possibly, what was left of his mortal conscience, as I’d been friendly and giving. Maybe he almost loved me, but I’m sure I was like his kid. Rose, who was going to come along in the future. After all, Ted was the usual military Angry Daddy type.
“Goddammit, over here, Jeff, here!” he yelled, loudly for a change, indicating his open-shirted chest. I tromped along, ignoring them. Heading down the steps of Jeff’s family’s house into the street. I turned down the sidewalk, thinking that at least the street looked more normal than we did.
An Essay on Ted Bundy, overlong and insufficient
I’m sure what we all did is far more important than this story. But do read it if you can. It depends on how sacred you think Human Lives are. If you don’t, you will soon. I’d rather have done all this than just be a Journalist anyway. Thank God for the example Malcolm X set for me, he showed me what you can do “outside the tracks.” He practically picked me up and threw me at my first Black Neighborhood.
Bear with me. I’m likely to confuse Theo with Malcolm throughout this. It took a serial murderer to break down and make actual love to me for the first time, even though he had problems…it’s just he also had heroic aspects. He was sort of a Jew born into the Catholic faith, more or less, and was Persecuted, already, by something pretty hideous. I’m not sure you’d believe me, but it involves Nazi medical experimentation. Dark attempts to make him into a Super Soldier instead of a man.
Our Hellish Vacation, about Ted Bundy and Karen Cole – in Central Colorado. Realm of liberals…such as Jack the Ripper. Too bad for Theo that Jack was secretly good. He was Dr. Jack Reinhardt. And two people, one good and one evil. I guess that’s fairly easy for an XY chromosome to do. We women are XX chromosomes…thinking we are “all good.” Well, we do half good and half evil in the world, which is forever changing for the Better. Due to Evolution, but now we have Covid, so who knows what it means?
This is by an aging woman who skirted being a Feminist, and didn’t worry about the Resume and all that, while keeping it up, references and all; and working jobs. I swept those streets, Blue Collar and White Collar ones. I had cultural advantages, I had White Privilege that I was barely aware of as I’m not really White.
Theo was in the same boat, ours, for what reason? His European family were the Descendants of Slaves. That explains it. Two people with vague White Privilege, in the Days of Yore of the 1980s. No wonder we felt like Equals, as Americans. But he was more German, and part fake, something forever hidden.
He was doomed to die soon; I was doomed to go on living.
He was trying to work his way up in a kind of Underground, one visible to others; I was trying to find a normal way to get to my current job. I was on my own, but with my second husband’s assistance, I finally founded my long-term dream, a ghostwriting services agency called Rainbow Writing, Inc. It’s now Ghost Writer, Inc. I’ve wondered if the sick joke is, maybe that ghost is me. Like I died somewhere back there. Probably not, I feel way too much. Or was it Ted, whom I offered to hire once as an Editor of books; he’d written some.
This Story is No Joke
But there is another one. They called him the Phantom Prince, and for about three months I was “his” Phantom Princess. Weird comic book names. One of us was way too old for that, and being called “boy.” As he was dark. The other one was willing to accept anything she could get, from a man who’d pretty much been her hero…but as he was a Nazi, not really.”
Well, Theo wanted us a bit more solid in Life, but he was on a dead-end road that could only lead to his eventual Redemption, Despair, Imprisonment and Death. All was temporary. We could make love, maybe even a baby, but where were things going?
No turning back, not in those days. They say there is still time to change the Road you’re on, though. His involved serious heroin usage, as he shot up that wretched junk frequently. Plus his running amok all over the USA, killing people, and sometimes I had to observe this. And try to interfere. I had only limited success at slowing him down on murdering that 100 people or so. Maybe, I stopped him once or twice. By getting in the way. And talking him into doing other things.
What do you think Cultural Advantages are?
Mine were American. Obviously also European, which made me study WWII and the Holocaust. Theo was a Neo Nazi, so he was into doing Evil too much. The Evil thing was disregarding Judaism: thou shalt not Kill, thou shalt not Steal, et all. He was a thoroughly homicidal lunatic, until he quit killing people. Like it was a bad habit he finally broke.
I’m something short of glad he disregarded it, because it also says, thou shalt not commit Adultery. Well, he sorta did, and that’s one of the reasons I was a girlfriend. I knew him too long, on and off. He grew me up a bit, from girl to lady to woman to citizen, in about three months back in the autumn of 1980.
You won’t believe this, and I know it sounds terribly, even morally wrong, but Thank God for Ted Bundy. Just understand this, he was half good, half evil. Best I can say. We served together in Vietnam, while I was an underage soldier and nurse. I think he figured he was only a serial murderer, because that’s all he saw that Vietnam was, either: murder, rape, and torture, always. The war wasn’t legal, so our being there wasn’t, somehow, right. My current husband believes the war was morally wrong, also.
Why did you love Ted Bundy, whatever for?
I was stuck, due to his having saved my life several times from others. While he was homicidal, he also was gentle, nurturing and forgiving, sometimes. And had been willing to lay down his life for me, more than once, much to both of our surprise. Once in Berlin, Germany, another time in South Vietnam, along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. But I don’t think he took it very seriously. He was unapproachable, distant, not for me.
I guess I started out with more technical advantages than Theo had, but with much less ability to work my way up in Life. Or so. Well, I didn’t get a full college degree in Psychology in two years like he did. I was accidentally removed from out of college by my parents. Not for doing anything wrong, But because they needed to move back home, to take care of their own aging parents.
So…what happened in Colorado? Or Seattle, or Elsewhere?
There were several cars, not just the white VW. I remember smoke bombs, huge Bowie knives, a foot-long stainless steel stiletto going for my throat, and handguns…and me kicking his butt, while he carried me. Up a hill or three, on his back. And watching him kill lots of people, not fun. Americans. Tried to stop him. Very angry “young” man. He knew something good was up with me; that’s why he kissed my Third Eye. A man who rose up from a kind of minor gutter, and I was definitely middle class.
To the point where he ended up almost adopting little me, with his girlfriend Elizabeth Kendall, which due to what Theo had done in the past, I could not bear. To this day, I wish I’d been able to help him escape…I am SO GLAD I DIDN’T. If I had, it’s possible that Gary Ridgeway, the Green River Murderer, would never have been convicted. And Ridgeway sure graduated from killing roadside prostitutes with “No Lives” to killing the same women, more or less, as Theodore Bundy did…women with worthwhile lives. Due to hitchhiking, which lately isn’t as easy as it used to be.
Why Ted turned out to be like the young man in the song, The Coward of the County, who knows. I think it’s by Kenny Rogers. Everyone thought he was such a coward (Theodore) for attacking we women. Boy, did I see him kill quite a few men, instead. Almost all of them white people; one guy was Brown.
He was a Saudi Arabian, how weirdly ironic, as he represented the Big Oil interests that Vietnam was about. Ted shot him dead on an elevator in the Trump Tower, in Chicago, Illinois, in 1980. On our way to Washington DC, where Ted was planning to assassinate President Jimmy Carter. As before, I called the FBI repeatedly, and they were ready in advance.
Ted Bundy killed dozens of men and women, right in front of me. It hurt me deeply to helplessly watch, unable to end it.
Mostly with knives, stabbing them multiple times. Those he needed to dispatch sooner, he shot. He tried to strangle me; his solution to almost any problem was Instant Death for his “persecutors.” At least fighting back worked, in my case. Maybe Ted loving me mattered; he said I was gorgeous, and I think he saw me as a friend. I kept trying to help him and the other people go on living.
It was a pretty dangerous time, for everyone involved. But I was sort of Expecting it. Due to my having signed on with the Feds. Also, I kept him at bay with my female charms, my martial arts skills, and my own thoughtfulness, which he held in a surprisingly higher regard than to be expected. I’d been trained by Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan and Ip Man, among others. But mainly, I did stuff like get him away from cigarettes and heroin, for awhile. And I sucked out a venomous snakebite in his right hip, from which he almost died. I risked things for him, such as my life. So maybe I paid him back.
I did have to remind him not to kill me, at first, about which he got extremely angry and defensive. And I certainly tried to kill him a few times, having signed on with the Cincinnati, Ohio FBI. As a kind of deputized informant. We each finally stopped; I didn’t really want to hurt him, maybe vice versa. Somehow he was special, maybe unique, but who is?
What was the stick up that guy’s craw, again?
He was largely a Neo Nazi. Because he was a Persecuted Quasi-Jew. Who was on a Catholic road under Protestant bylaws. Regarding his being an almost Autopilot Dad, or father of some children. Like his hero Hitler, he was into replacing at least a few of the people he killed, maybe with his own children, or someone else’s.
We were in a drug fantasy I think, maybe one caused by smoke and mirrors, and he was sure he was seeing “the sights” of Hell on the horizon. Being Protestant, I wasn’t so sure about that – and I’m basically Buddhist. So I was stuck thinking, the Hell is in THIS life ONLY. It helped me rescue people from Ted, including Theodore. He remembered this with gratitude and reached out to save others. Including Gary Ridgeway. From a life of indifference to human suffering. I think he found me Inspirational, as I cared about him enough to die defending him.
As young as I was, and he knew I wasn’t willing to dump my life; so he started to think of himself as more Worthwhile, and he found it miraculous that I loved him in spite of himself. In a dry way, rather carelessly, without any true commitment. We had enough in common, while polar opposites, that our relationship clicked. But no, he’d other fish to fry, and me too. So the whole thing was like a High School Horror Movie romance, with him as both the Monster and the Teenagers. Indeed, it all reeked of a giant Catholic plot, by sexist fools who needed to “teach you a lesson,” indeed.
My belief this is the only life, it helped me get away from Theo when he tried to make me do heroin with him. Which I could clearly tell he didn’t want to do. At least, he didn’t want to make me do it against my will, seemingly. I nearly ran away from him permanently, and raced toward Home, but I realized I could leave at almost any time, and so stuck with him. It’s hard for me to tell if I could have gotten away from him without Murder One, though.
He started out trying to take vengeance against me, and ended up vowing to take vengeance on those who had driven me into his murderous arms. He frequently went on rampages and was control-oriented and highly defensive, and I hate how analytical this all sounds. Well, things sure went mathematical and step by step, always. Just like how math and physics lead to karate and Kung Fu, which of course is more complex and tends to Win. Check it out, Kung Fu always wins against karate, which is somewhat Primitive.
So you had a Master Theo who manipulated things, somewhat, Karen?
No, but I daresay I was his kidnapping victim, once I was caught by him skiing in Aspen, Colorado. He schussed straight up to me, and then there was no getting away or turning back. Not much mercy for me, only the accompaniment of him and I to the East Coast. I figure I may have stopped him and the Neos from taking over DC, but who knows.
At least we slowed down Mr. Ridgeway from killing more people. I guess this works out to being the Never Again Movement…again. There is a murder on the news, and a new young “burgeoning” serial killer. I don’t like that, I don’t think anybody does. He will spend forever ducking things until he is caught, and he may never be caught is the problem. I bet he will be. Overpopulation has changed; we don’t need serial murder anymore. Maybe, we never did.
We’re already underpopulating, and it’s being widely promoted, the Covid-19 thing. I keep thinking this sort of thing, serial murder, is the reason Ted Bundy was always into using his real name. He was somehow not afraid of things. His macho helped, but he was pretty insular. So we didn’t get to know a lot about him. Mostly, he was planning on being caught eventually.
Since he was Catholic, he was stuck facing down Eternal Hell. Sorta. Don’t think he really believed.
My Protestant family didn’t believe in that, somewhat. We believed in Eternal Rest for everybody, and I’m hoping for it too. I just don’t want to believe in the Heaven/Hell philosophy. I need rest in my future. There is no such two-way split. Meanwhile, Ted Bundy tended to look like a big strapping Jew. So he was a Radical, and he basically aimed straight for being Burned Alive at the Stake. Through Death in the electric chair. But I wonder, how real it was.
He ended up taking vengeance against a lot of “hot Catholic girls”…I was something different. Some of his victims must have been “us” somewhat. No martial arts skills, though. Theo attacked me in broad daylight, which was calculatable by me. His little plan: to rape me on Sacred Saturday, then kill me on Sacred Sunday. So I saw things in advance, getting ready.
It was Expect the Unexpected. From the Far East. I’ll wager Ted was thinking someone like me would come along and fight him back. Then we talked, and began to open up to each other somewhat. Mostly just sexually. The best thing was getting him off heroin, because I think he managed to stay off of it. Perhaps. They gave him Methadone at the hospital, he didn’t turn back. His heroin usage had stuck with him, though, and kept resulting in that eerie grin of his. I’m sure that twisted look had to do with heroin and at least its Aftereffects.
Well, due to being in on this Faith, but also not believing in anything but THIS life, he was somewhat on the side of the law. Because he kept insisting on us keeping track of him, all along. It did work out. So well, he dragged down the Green River Murderer right with him.
I helped talk him into that. Ted was overly documented, he began to think he was a Jesus of the Media, and he knew he was more the Satan type. So when I “savagely attacked” him, he was willing to suffer it somewhat, being brave, foolish and relatively easy to communicate with. His foolishness was the most attractive thing about him – it made him Creative.
Like he needed to get out of being a mortal, extraneous detail. Creativity happens when you’re Trapped, you know.
And to not succumb, either to Fate, or Death. As an excess lawyer, an excess football player, an excess German, an extra white racial purity pawn in the scheme of things. For serial murder, though attention-getting, is surely Nothing New. Death, where is thy Invention, hmm?
He didn’t start the show, but he must have insisted upon its maintenance. Becoming a media prostitute led him over to being a money-seeking gigolo…at least he had a life. He wasn’t really Death fixated, he wanted to live. But he knew where he was going, so in my case, he ended up wanting to go there. Before he did it to me some more, and others, as he was getting away with it.
Somehow everyone wanting to take my life gave him something to rebel against, as others were threatening his woman, me, with too much destruction. I think me being the youngest of his “wives” had a lot to do with his listening to me. But really, I kept picking up that something was Fake, unreal, something Gone.
Jerry Lewis taught me that a Jew is willing to die for his woman. Well, Theo too, as a Catholic. He was willing to kill for me. Including me, to save me from the oppressions that were engulfing us. Mostly, that Coward of the County was dying to save me from Gang Rape. Even though he was one of the world’s worst serial rapists himself. And one of the world’s most brutal murderers. He just couldn’t believe what was happening, so he took a hand in it.
To this day, I don’t know how much of what occurred was staged. What was real, and what was a movie-based nightmare, by the “friends” of Ted Bundy. Like they were making a horror movie.
So anyway, that’s how one of the World’s Worst, due to some practice on his part at killing people, became one of the World’s…hard to say. I don’t recommend his methodology, I would rather recommend Hunting and Fishing. Theo was trying to cross over into a better realm, instead of what he’d been doing, but I wouldn’t let him kill my so-called oppressors. I had better ways of dealing with things available to me, but was learning as I went, also.
My main “oppressors” turned out to be my family, but I was into keeping them safe. Greater reality was too all-white for me to get work the old fashioned ways. Thank God for that too. I learned about computers at Ohio University, had to leave due to my parents failure to pay for things…Ted earned his own degree, which seemed to happen with men back then, I had no way to earn the money. Eventually I made it to this gig, running Ghost Writer, Inc. I first discussed it with Ted Bundy. He was so Outré, he managed to be the first person to hear about my Business.
Hopefully everyone with homeostasis has something going. But prostitution doesn’t lead to worthwhile lives, or does it…I had that problem for all of four days In Boulder, Colorado. I think it helped me, that I never went back to it. Taking money for sex isn’t something I would advise the maintenance thereof. But although it was mysterious, people were attacking Ted and me because they “knew” we were Homeless, too much resonation there.
I’m military and he was stuck traveling forever, trying to evade the law. Two “murderers” of sorts. I didn’t wear makeup and people thought I was hooking. I wasn’t, and Ted found that out too. My not wearing any makeup must have determined about half of what happened. Ted stopped asking me if I wanted the money for sex fairly rapidly. We found out we each had enough on us to keep going for a while, until we both headed for Seattle. Separately, me via the Greyhound, Ted possibly via his VW bug…I think he got rid of it. Maybe he hitchhiked there. Ted got office jobs and manned the Suicide Hotline, for a good deal of time. You know, both he and Malcolm X were rather videotaped. A lot. Not me so much, but I now have an Internet presence under a reputable Business.
I’m grateful that I was never videotaped. It would have interfered with that 1986 incident, where I was able to intercept the house fire by getting there before it was set by the two arsonists. If that had been videotaped, it wouldn’t have worked out so well. I did get raped, but it held them there until the Police showed up. So it all worked out, and I’m grateful for the training in Martial Arts I received from Ted Bundy. Also, the exercise, and the sex, and the feeling loved.
So he moved to Seattle because of you? Yes, somewhat. I had asked him to go home to his wife, but the Police probably prevented that. He was a Stalker, made it obvious he was trying to stalk me some more. But in a weirdly caring manner. I will never know if he killed people in Seattle, after heading there for me. It’s not unlikely that he did, maybe I only got him away from heroin. But a lot of people think he didn’t. He implied that he had Bowed Out on looking for me.
But I still remember: “Have you seen Karen Cole,” which was televised, and the rest of what he said, because unfortunately he was under the impression that I had murdered somebody in Ohio. If he lost whatever inspiration he had gotten from me by thinking that, yes, he may have continued to murder people in Seattle. He may have thought I was faking that being my real name, too. Or had gotten married or something. I think we worried about each other in Seattle. Way too much. Hopefully, he was busy going after Gary Ridgeway and gave up on me. Thus the “bowing out,” but I did meet with him and Elizabeth later.
He may have put me on the same level as he put Gary Ridgeway, the Green River Murderer, and thought I deserved to be taken to the courtroom too. It sure seems like it, because eventually the FBI came by, after having been contacted first by me, which probably helped me considerably, and the FBI tried to do two things: let me file the Murder One report on Ted Bundy, and to arrest me for those “mythical” Ohio murders, which in fact I had never committed. The Ohio Murderer, a man, is definitely who committed them. He killed 100 people and then turned himself in as the 101rst, or the 101rst Dalmatian in other words. Somehow I almost took the rap for his murders, through Ted. He honestly thought I had done something back there and tried to get me collared:
“There is a woman who belongs in this courtroom far more than I do…her name is Karen Cole…” Things got cut off, even if I had committed Murder One in Ohio, I wouldn’t have belonged there more than Murderous Ted did. Well, he was trying for a maximum sentence for himself by then, so he used the opportunity to make himself looks wrong in public with the “far more than I do” part. Or at least I would like to think that, but women were unfair to him in this life and he was out to take vengeance against us.
He may have thought I deserved such a Fate more than he did, as I joked around with him about having committed Murders in Ohio. It was to keep him at bay, and in fact I never did commit any murders at all. I was simply hoping to get on Ted’s “good side” by having something in common with him. But he must have taken me seriously about the murder idea, he was a serious type of man. Too serious in some ways; he didn’t Kapeesh my joking around.
While looking for me. He may have been hunting me down to destroy me, either angry or worried sick. Or both. I finally let him know I was there. By calling him and Elizabeth and going over to their Penthouse Apartment. But the two things happened: I filed the report that he was the Murderer, and didn’t let myself get arrested by the police for the Ohio Murders. Because I hadn’t committed them. It’s hard to explain why I got involved with those murders, and was almost one of the Ohio Murderer’s victims. He came along and asserted himself by dropping a girl’s body in my neighborhood.
It’s a long story, and too detailed for this.
It involves me being 14 and then 17 and thinking the right way to handle Overpopulation in Ohio, which seemed to be very real at the time, and is still a problem today so far as I know, was for me to lead off a series of serial murders. Which could have ended up being any length at all, including longer than Ted’s victims list or even Gary’s. God only knows. With me being the first victim of “the guy at Dad’s work.” Well, that man was innocent, and the Ohio murderer swung by in a white car to kill me while I was running track. Which may have been a sheer coincidence. To this day, I have no idea how HE found out about “the guy at Dad’s work,” who wanted vengeance but learned to leave it alone.
It’s weird, all I did in Real Life was walk up to my Dad, who was sitting in his accustomed chair relaxing, but who had taken orders back in WWII, and who was mentally ill frequently, and say, “Dad, have the guy from work come pick me up.” Meaning, while I was out there running Long Distance on the girl’s track team, way out in the country. Like a line in a play, back in 1977. For some reason, due to my other track running friends, I escaped the Ohio murderer. He never forced me into the white car, and drove away like a bat out of Hell. Once my girlfriends running track raced at the car and made him leave. “No thanks are necessary” when I tried to thank them. They meant, they were protecting me, them, other girls, whoever. I felt like an Idiot, you know? The guy from work never seemed to turn out to be the Ohio murderer, who turned himself in, so it’s a mystery to me exactly what happened back there.
Poor Ted, I left him languishing and wondering about me. That is what happened to all the relatives of every one of his dead Victims. So it’s Justice for Ted Bundy back there, one way or another. I’ve experienced severe Injustice in my life, so it’s kind of like what Omar Khayyam said once: Justice is only the thing that rhymes, there has to be a Victim in order for there to be an Oppressor. So I’ve been primarily a victim of sorts when it comes to murder, but I’ve been escaping it except for I ended up on lots of psychiatric meds due to Pollution, loneliness, even missing Ted and thinking I was partly responsible for his Death.
I ended up feeling responsible for the Death of Ron Schwarz too, the man I loved that Fate made me practically torture to death. Ron may have suffered more than Ted’s typical victims, maybe the whole lot of them COMBINED. That’s what I meant about A Tale of Two Cities, Ron almost suffered through what Ted should have gone through. I really think I’m not responsible for any of it, and that they were both Men and managed, somehow. That’s what I meant about illogical guilt feelings. Ted really did deserve his chosen fate, probably Ron did either for leaving Angela pregnant like that. I don’t think my unchosen fate is what I really deserve. Not yet.
When it comes to Seattle, I was willing to lay my life down for it, just like Ron Schwarz.
Possibly so was Ted, it’s a beautiful place here. But he was also willing to kill for it. Basically, I’ve had to put this together on him, out of a lot of information. I think he just wanted to know how I was doing. His penchant for killing people like me, unknown at the time. So he was called the Phantom Prince, and people began disappearing from Seattle office buildings. They may have simply been leaving once they found out what Ted had done before, but unfortunately there may have been other killings.
Poor Ted must have died thinking I either got away with Murder One, or that I was arrested and taken somewhere. Well, I’m glad of this, because he then had to suffer like the Relatives of his Victims. Thinking that someone he loved, namely me, was in Dire Straits. Eventually, I did have some problems in another court system, the Mental Health one. I hate thinking I caused Ted Bundy undue sorrow and stress, but it WAS due to his very real Victims back there. I had no such victims, it was indeed the Ohio Murderer, or maybe “the guy at Dad’s work” who did the crimes. All I know is I never murdered anyone.
Probably the Ohio Murderer was the guy from the Nazi Bund who was training Ted. Ugly but “pure” looking white male him traveled all the way from that Berlin, Germany gym he was “dominating” to Ohio, just to kill people and park himself in our living room, sitting there gloating. He murdered over 100 people, men, women, teenagers and children, by shooting them from his car windows. Then he arrived the same night Ted Bundy dropped me off at “home” in Gahanna, just to gloat and leave. I thought about attacking him, then I just laid there on the family room couch and sighed. Let him go, I dreamed. He’s there to collect Ted’s head, if I killed him. But I didn’t, and I let things slide. Like the glass doors. I calmly called in Ted Bundy, and they came and got him that time, out of our living room.
The German saber meister, whose name I don’t recall, John something I think, left through the sliding glass doors. Like Ted, he left our house and yard a muddy mess. Grass and dirt and mud everywhere, inside and out. I still remember how it cost us over $4,000 to clean the whole house after those two intruded. The whole thing was like a dream or nightmare, so long ago it’s barely memorable. I wiped out my teenage bank account trying to make up for what the US Government and Nazi Germany had done: WWII. Etc. Nowadays, Russia is in the forefront of blame, as we tend to only blame one person or country for everything. I’m tired of the Biblical premise; groups are to blame, not individuals.
The proof is that Nazi Bund misery John was there to collect Dead Ted.
It’s like a serious Tragedy of Errors. I’ve had mental health “issues” (proceeding from being a rape victim due to being alone a lot) all my life, which I now have under control without taking medications. I’m not of harm to myself or others, and never really was. I took the smoking gun away from a shopping mall shooter in 1976, and prevented a house burglary in progress that would have turned into a giant spreading Arson Fire in 1986. I always swore to do Good, not Evil, but poor Ted somehow fell into doing even more Evil because of Pornography. I’m sure I’ve done Evil in my Life, but not Murder in any form. Maybe that’s interpretable, when it comes to you yourself. All I know is, I never killed anyone without it being government sanctioned, somehow. Signed for, and sealed with US Government blessings. Ted, who knows. Maybe Germany forgave him, as that was his truest country of origin: Nazi Germany. Believe it, it all happened and continues forward, in peculiar manners.
Whether or not you “believe” in anything, it is there. And not stoppable by lack of faith. Or religion, or your own tendency to laugh at other people’s misfortunes. Including Rape. Move on it, Mack and Shirley. Just stand there clowning around or thinking that strange or familiar others will always only “behave” for you…later is inevitably MUCH sooner than you think.
Jack and Jill the little ripper kiddies…wheeeeee. Don’t be them, be you. Anything else is just serious or serial regression, going back to when you were a baby boy or girl or whatever. Look up regression, it is the fine art of reentering your childhood and trying to live in it, due to Fear of Death. So believe you ARE going to die someday, not live forever. And ever. As a weirdo Little Kid. And NOBODY is going to die your death for you, as you know. Quit ganging up on people, they are real. And not you. Acting all alike will not save your ass; moving it might, but that’s all I’ve got to say for now.
And you could try believing in me, for a change, too.
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