Who Were Ted and Karen – Part Two

What was Ted Bundy most noted for in this Life?

View out the window in our apartment building

By Karen S. Cole, journalism major at Ohio University

MURDERING PEOPLE RIGHT AND LEFT. And leaving women behind, who left him behind also. Me, I was an illogically guilt-ridden comrade in arms, perhaps, once I contemplated things. I just don’t keep up with men and the Joneses that well, after all I’ve been through. I’m just glad Theo genuinely wanted to be Convicted. His own adulthood and compassion kicked in, over time, and that worked out in everybody’s favor except for his dead victims. Also, for everyone who made lots of money off of the commercial exploitation of these matters. Without that, though, I would never had found out about him, or been able to track him down. TV was a big help to me, and it got me started on this road I undertook.

TV helped me meet Jerry Lewis again and we made love. It helped me meet Ted Bundy for the first time, and WE made love. Nearly got a baby from each of them, closer to it each time, and finally found Reggie at last and did. About Theo, whom this is primarily concerning: he did want to make a baby with me. We discussed naming the imaginary child Ian, if it ever came to pass.

“How pregnant do you think you are?” he asked me once. I told him what he already knew, I was on my period. But you can get pregnant during that, it’s just not all that common. The Catholic rhythm method is wait about ten days after your period ends, THEN have sex and do your best to get pregnant. I was grateful neither Jerry Lewis nor Theodore Bundy got me with child, even though it would have been an honor to have borne either of their children. Well, it’s like the Venusian Church said, it often takes more than one man to make a Lady pregnant, and there was a Logical Progression in my Life. Including Theo’s. It’s pretty obvious he would have stuck around to take care of our baby if he had been able to, but with his past and the Law after him, there was no way.

Jerry and him were pretty wild and incredible people. Theo could run like a freight train while coming down from heroin. Jerry…I don’t know what to say here, but he was willing to show the American public what a Jew was made of. You could argue they both had macho complexes, but they were both Useful People. Maybe Theo almost cancelled out his own usefulness, but no. It will extend forward into the Future, just as Jerry Lewis’s more obvious usefulness will. Jerry lead the Muscular Dystrophy Association, and Theo did underground stuff like establish Conjugal Visits, it was the Era of the American Underground explains that.

He WAS sort of Batman. I’d researched him before I met him. I told him I was Catwoman, big mistake. I was more or less not his “Batgirl.” I guess I was a Batgirl that belonged to Malcolm X. I remember proposing to Theo that we rob a bank, but without using any guns. He led me immediately over to a gun shop, and I had to talk him out of buying a gun. Then he jacked cars until he found one with a gun in the glove compartment. Maybe he thought I wanted the protection, but I threw the gun away out the motionless car window. He retrieved it like a soldier with dog tags, of course. But I threw it out the window again. He didn’t go back.

I ended up judging that Theo was more or less half evil and half good. But it’s obvious as life evolves, he will evolve in his Contributions to being more a good than a bad force in this life. I have to weigh that with evil evolution, which I tend to call devolution, but it’s really progressing forward, like Covid.

How did you first meet this Crazy Character, Karen?

However, what is a judgement call? When everyone is a sinner, especially for looking the other way on things. It was a woman had to do what a woman had to do. I had no other options but to go into the Room, where Theo was lurking. I avoided his huge knife, I impressed him with “our” courage, which he hadn’t seen before much, in Real Life, and I coaxed him into bed with me. I did it all first, in a way, as he was the type at the time to blame others for his actions.

Theo almost immediately gentled down. I was suddenly his Woman. Well, I had a Weapon against him that most people didn’t have. His abilities and courage were what I found most Impressive about him. But he did turn out to have a mind, a body, and a soul. Well, I was more Racially Impure than he was. This all turned out like a Clockworks Orange, and landed him exactly what he wanted: a Murder One conviction, which otherwise was tied up in Court. If he pleaded Guilty, he would get less of a sentence. If he pleaded Innocent…dare I say it? He didn’t like being treated like a little Boy, and I keep thinking Racism was involved. Well, not exactly. I think he was trying to say something about how to treat Murderers.

They mixed his Mom up with his sister. I guess I was a kind of substitute Mom and sister, he was so worried about things. He had only Enemies in his Paranoid mind, and he really let me know he was the Murderer. Not the only one. But he was the one who had cut that wide Smile across much of the United States. Unchecked, he might continue to do so indefinitely, as his victims were “only” women and “couldn’t fight him back.” Sure, most of his victims died in the middle of the night, and had no Karate skills. He just carried their dying forms down hallways a lot. I guess there is a foregone conclusion here. I came along over a decade later, and of course I had martial arts skills. Unlike them. I thought I studied it on my own, but I look back…Theo was expecting me.

Seems he was a bit of a Genius after all. I am not one. Or so I think; my husband, who has a genius IQ, knows who we are. He’s Dr. Watson, I’m Sherlock Holmes. I had to set up my very own living myself, without a lot of background in what I was doing. Same as Sherlock. My husband primarily “fit in” and was a medical doctor, so yes, that’s who we two are comparable to. Well, seems Ted the Sherlockian was another Holmesian after all, because he did take off after other serial murderers. So that’s maybe why we hit if off; unbelievably, Ted was primarily a Good Guy, who had been the Evil One Incarnate for simply ages and ages.

So Ted my Moriarty turned out Sherlock in the end. He helped me go after a Moriarty without many chances in life, a Black one named Coleman Calloway, and his partner Fabian Frazier. Hopefully this doesn’t matter to them anymore, they have found another way or two since then. Coleman and Frazier almost burned down a huge section of King and Pierce County, in 1986. Ted saved me through teaching me a lot of lessons, he was a type of martial artist. Studied Chinese and picked up from Bruce Lee or roundabouts there. Pretty good at it, might have been entirely Self Taught, so I called him the Batman.

I guess he was technically the Leader of the Serial Killers, at the time. Gary Ridgeway, the Green River Murderer, was only local. But he ended up killing more people than Mr. Bundy did. Mr. Ridgeway was into killing prostitutes; Bundy was into killing young, up and coming doctors, lawyers, so-called “worthwhile” people. All I could see is nobody really cared about fixing anything in advance, and all were letting things go until the last minute. Like everybody hid their heads in the sand, same as ostriches.

All of these people seemed to have far too much American privilege, to me.

Hitler, his writings, confirmed my thinking about this. So did the rest of the entire world. We’re very privileged with Freedom here, in America, which sadly enabled Ted and Gary. And me in some ways, too.

Basically, Bundy was a kidnapper of white females, I was his not so white victim. Held at stainless-steel knifepoint, not steadily. I worried what he’d do to people nearby, who didn’t much care. All seemed under control. In spite of Deaths and Disappearances. In the wilds of Colorado, Ted and I got along. After a bit, fear was unnecessary, nothing for vast alarms. But I remained worried, with the point being that I should escape and go home, away from my kidnapper.

We started to have a high ol’ time, as he faced down obnoxious men, and I fought alongside him. Defending against rapists ganging up on us, as I was too available to not defend myself. While they acted like demons not people, scaring us into fighting back strenuously; it’s the first time I won against truly powerful odds. First fighting with Ted, then them. I ducked a knife thrown straight at my head, for example, by a fierce Mexican who fled away from me. Neato!

This story is relatively short, so I may repeat myself within its boundaries. I hope I’m entertaining, or informative for those of you who need info. You may be judgmental about how we had a loving relationship, considering Ted’s crimes. But I couldn’t take it, due to what happened to his real victims. Although he’d learned to care for me, even tucking me in at night, I decided he must pay at the cost of his life. Ted told me he wanted to do this, to create a kind of closure. He cared about his dead victims, enough for that. I heard his cremated ashes were scattered on a hillside, where some of them are buried.

“Give my love to my family and friends,” that was his final quote. I’ve never really had family or friends, but then again. Theo too. He was my friend, and he wanted me to tell the world he felt Remorse and wanted to die. Because he was only human after all, and loved all of his fellow victims. He was victimized himself, God only knows if he was raped by someone before all of those other things happened. Men tend not to talk about things like that.

Would you feel any sympathy for a Male rape victim? There have been many.

My worst fantasy is he was Killing the Virgin Mary. As vengeance for ME. That is possible, if we were each other’s True Loves. Sadness. I was simply the Youngest of his Wives and Victims, that much is a near Surety. But they said two 14 year old’s, one named Anne, predominated. One on each side of Time. As victims, not willing partners, so maybe I was the Youngest of those willing. THERE. That idea will have to do, this cannot be a million page story.

I consider Theo to be my first husband, thought not legally. I was willing to be his lover, was willing for him to kill me (no, willing to RISK it), and was willing for him to die legally. He did finally choose electrocution. But I didn’t really want him to kill me, and he honored this request. How much or how little I kept him distracted by loving him, who knows. I did tell him I would probably write someday about our adventures. It’s 40 years later, now.

We had started out with him trying to torture, maim, and kill me, ending up falling asleep nightly in nonfatal embraces. He changed radically over time, learning to work with the Authorities and become better. But when I met him, he was still into hurting and killing, so I did my level best to talk him into other things. Such as hanging out, conversing, cuddling, and exploring ways to get by. Possibly by each of us cutting the other “a break,” I was involved in nailing both Theodore Bundy and through Theo’s work, The Green River Murderer. I did what I did in 1981, and I helped Theo turn around, get his act together, and face down Gary Ridgeway. So I am female but HAVE been pivotal in this small matter.

So there, world that thinks I was Unimportant.

What I was doing was mathematically figuring out things, which is both Karate and Kung Fu. I took Karate Class, and my name was Karen Cole. In the class, I was told to sit back, my actions might be important and World-Changing, but I and we were not so important. It was more important to Concentrate on learning Karate, which is the mechanics and mathematics I needed to learn. There is a little matter of having the courage to do something with your Karate skills, though. I used them to face down both a giant Black bear (for practice), and then Theo, later on. Well, it worked, and it kept me alive throughout our time together.

I loved Noble Theo, he wasn’t the pathetic loser that I wasn’t expecting him to be. He was a man, he was remarkable, and on his own he decided, after I got him off of heroin, to go after the Green River Murderer. Because he was starting to think straighter by then. It was too late to save Himself; maybe he could save Other People, at least Somebody Else. He knew (Theo) that he was doing the Wrong Thing, which he’d partially discovered through our hanging out together, and through his other important relationships, such as with the Authorities and his other wives…that he wanted to do Good in the World. Maybe this world will proceed forward, somehow, in spite of Covid, wildfires and other things. As a Buddhist under an important teacher named Bruce Lee, and as a follower (but I went against him) of Adolf Hitler’s (to do good in the world), I had decided to spend plenty of time with Theodore Bundy, and I think WE turned him around. But as his youngest Wife, I may have had the best influence on him.

Of course, Theo was simply working on his own process of Growing Up. This includes well into one’s 20s, 30s and 40s. He died at either 42, or 43. Neither young, nor old. Right in the middle, as if he couldn’t be swung in one direction or the other…at least, not at 18 in Vietnam.

It helped a lot that we were willing to die for each other. It also helped that I believed in his Lost Cause, which involved combatting sexual slavery and pornography. It helped him that I believed in him. I even started up a Blog in his and Joseph Goebbels’s honor, called Serious World Politics, which was about all types of Slavery, Abolition, Concentration Camps, and how it all interrelated with Natural Disasters, all about the worst evils in the world in General. I got away with doing this without anybody hurting me or interfering with things. Even though I was fully exposed to every “creep” and “weirdo” in the World.

Hmmm. Only a few comments, I guess because I’m female I was never taken seriously. But all those Evils are starting to END, which is good. The comment I recall the most was by a woman who decided to check out what I was talking about and she thought “no such thing” was going on. Why she swept me under the rug like that, who knows. Maybe she wasn’t my love partner? Theo didn’t do that, so I guess we really did actually love each other. So it goes.

I keep thinking most women are Scaredy Cats. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound in our very own minds. But not really, so we tend to fold up and die a lot at our Enemies. LEARN MARTIAL ARTS, BITCHES AND BASTARDS. At least it gives you enough self confidence to carry you through, honest. Pretending there is no such thing as Evil in the world can catch up with you.

THEODORE AND GARY SPENT YEARS KILLING INNOCENT EASY TARGETS. Because I was NOT such an “easy target” I got away from Theo. Without killing him. Because why attack someone and do the same exact thing they were doing? And I loved Theo, so it was a futile act to kill him, or to let him kill other people, too. During our time together, I stopped him from killing. I would like to think it; he turned around so completely, he maybe never killed anyone, ever again, after me.

But what about the time we spent together, one month in combined Colorado and then Washington State? Through Hallowe’en and well into November, the memories are coming back to me. Our “Titanic” was briefly shared between the three of us: Elizabeth, his equally Tall and hugely rich Seattle Architect Girlfriend; Theo, who was at the time something of a Kept Man with her – living at her fancy address up in the skies of Seattle, with a sunken living room; and me.

I was the youngest of the three of us, and when Theo asked me, “What can WE do to help you?” I went Insane, right there on the sidewalks of Seattle. That was enough of treating me like such a kid, but I was only 21 and those two people were in their 30s. I liked them both, but I figured they could do without me. I had left Elizabeth and Theodore to each other. It was somehow extremely wrong to me that he had raced downstairs to confront me with the fact he was now with Elizabeth while stating their need to “take care of me” further.

They say Hell hath no Fury like a Woman Scorned.

It’s because they were Two Racially Pure looking white people. That was enough of being a weird Ginger and Jimmy Olsen with freckles, at their little lily white feet. Theodore had murdered enough people. Why make Elizabeth into his accessory in Crime, already? I finally called the FBI in the middle of the day, told them everything I knew, and they came with the paperwork. Yes, I filled all of it out. I testified against Theo on paper, said he’d confessed to all of his crimes to me, not once but several times, and I signed it on the bottom, initialed it, and also wrote down the date. I believe by then it was sometime in November of 1980. Don’t recall the exact date. Because it was the Day I signed the Death Warrant, so to speak, of Theodore Robert Bundy.

It was just part of the mounting pile of evidence. I think the teeth marks that matched his dental records was “the big Deal” really. That was gathered by the FBI, and somehow that mattered far more than either Liz or Karen’s testimony. I kind of represented his dead victims named Karen was somewhat the idea, I guess, but Theo didn’t track me down because I was named Karen. To this day, it makes him look rather innocent under Nature, that he went crazy and killed people. I can’t tell, but I wonder if it was just a kind of Predestination. Theo would have had to be God to have organized everything like that on purpose.

I like to think Man is what God is based upon. Not the other way around. It’s sort of like a Woody Allen quote, which I find to be his best one: “Women are better than God.” Well, men can be too, but Theo had done some very sicko stuff. I also think his Heroin usage had a LOT to do with what he thought he chose to do. Once he cleared up off the Heroin, and felt less heroic, he was able to do things such as contribute the Knowledge Necessary to find and convict The Green River Murderer. Gary Ridgeway was finally caught and sentenced that way.

Okay, so I’M the girlfriend who turned Mr. Bundy over. It wasn’t really Elizabeth, but I bet those two got together somehow and she signed the paperwork ALSO. I believe that I signed it first, so I’m somewhat responsible for his Death. I had fulfilled my little mission at last, which was to kill Theodore Robert Bundy. But it took a lot longer than that, as he was tied up in court for several years. I felt like such a gutless coward for not having killed him Directly as a direct action myself. But that would have gotten me a Murder One conviction. The Authorities legally killed him in 1989. Why it was so tied up in court, I guess, is partly because even my and Elizabeth’s testimonials were regarding as Hearsay Evidence.

So I guess I and Theo will have to be satisfied, back there in the past, with what I actually did with him. Such as scratch his cornea, give him a good time, go out to restaurants, share my life with him (for the first time with anybody), and be willing to help him face a greater way to Die than at my hands. We did go to a restaurant in Vail, he DID ask me to choose his Execution Method.

Darn, that man was such a Closet Feminist. The torment he left me with is that I couldn’t have him as my real husband, I could only help him do the right thing and reform enough to nail the GRM and gain a sense of Closure before he died, the right way, legally. Without getting me in any trouble.

Of course, this necessitated them treating me like a Kid. Well, I wasn’t all that older and wiser like Theo and Liz, let’s face it. I had other places to go and other things to do than to take such a “rap” as being the Vigilante that murdered Theodore. I had a child to bear later on, with another man. Among other things, such as founding Rainbow Writing, Inc. and Ghost Writer, Inc. Also, fighting that huge wildfire down below 23rd in Seattle, in 1986.

Also, there was a distraction. Theodore had told the FBI that probably I, Karen Cole, had murdered somebody in Ohio. Maybe several such people. This isn’t true, I lied to Theo in order to give him someone sympathetic. Since he was a murderer, I thought by leaning on an old story about me, we would see eye to eye. The Ohio Murderer is the man who actually killed someone and dumped her body in our neighborhood, my father told me about it. I was worried it had to do with something rather complicated that I had instigated involving asking my father to have the guy from work pick me up while I was running track. This was through my High School, Gahanna Lincoln HS.

It was difficult, we researched legal methods for him to escape. I was young, but we knew there were extradition treaties, for example with Mexico. He didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell, really, so we decided to kill time together. I feel bad that I was helping a murderer, yet he seemed worthwhile to me and others.

I liked to think I was his lady, if not his “wife” due to his already being married. He conceived his daughter Rose through his real wife, in 1981 so far as I know. Through illegally and foundationally having sex with her behind a Coke machine. Rose was born in 1982. I was temporary, meant originally to be one of his chosen victims. It’s amazing that we got along, somehow; but I guess I felt sympathy, although he held a knife to my throat. I was an ex-rock-climber and used to mortal danger. That sort of thing talked me into accepting this strange situation, and also trying to get out of it; but I found myself loving instead of hating him. He did have courage, more than most people know, and he fought with men, not always girls and women. The hard part was realizing what peculiar and terrible things he’d done. And the other hard part was when he followed me back to the Seattle area, stalking me. I was deeply afraid that when he got back, he was going to kill someone else.

I met a man, he screamed and shout,

He drew a circle that shut me out.

I stepped forward, I took it on the chin,

I drew a circle that took him in.

–Christian poem of forgiveness. However, I freely admit I turned Ted Bundy over to the local police and other law officials, such as the FBI and the railroad bulls in charge of hobos, at least six times. And finally, he was executed summarily in 1989. One year before I met my second husband Reggie. We’ve been together 30 years, and we still love. Nowadays we hold hands and watch TV.

We go out, but he’s arthritic and suffers through major aches and pains. Mostly from serving in the Vietnam War. He’s in his 80s, a Black belt in all styles of martial arts, one who could hold his own against all. He stood down four big, beefy White Southerners in the 1950’s South, beating them up each in turn, setting them all to running away. He’s quite masterful, really. His voice carries substantial weight, and he would probably have liked to break Ted Bundy’s neck. Because of what he did, how awful and obscene it was, not out of hostility or madness.

My two-week long adventure in the wilds and environs of mountainous Colorado with Ted: abstruse, meaningful, not exactly laughter ridden: “You think you’re so funny” was a frequent comment of his. The important part, I reasoned, was helping him kill time “on the way to the gallows,” and in my case before I returned to Seattle and found better, more honest work. Wanted to put something miserable far behind me, and never return to it.

Ted had limited time on this painful, sinful plane of existence, so why not spend some of it with him? He did enjoy having sex with me, I was over 21, so I was free and clear to do what we wanted, perhaps. The only concern was, to me, if he was “on the lam” and I was aiding and abetting a fugitive. I had no idea what the related laws about helping him were. But I thought I was mature enough to deal with Ted; somehow, I was a sinner too.

I only remember they kept letting Ted out of jail, unfairly and oddly, and he would rejoin me almost immediately, walking down the street with his arm around my waist, or side by side. He would grab my hand and pull me along, and I would do the same. He seemed to not have any rancor against me, as we were sleeping together frequently, with my head leaning against his brawny male chest.

It’s like we grew swiftly to gaining a human understanding, away from torture, death, and illogical pain. Too late, I realize how much I actually felt for him, as he was the first man who made real love to me, at least somewhat. He also found a tampon wedged up high in my vaginal canal, too. I was probably dying of Toxic Shock Syndrome, and I managed to get the tampon out in time. This was during the time I felt like he’d kidnapped me at knifepoint, but really it was pretty consensual and I felt like I could leave at any time, honestly.

I watched Ted on YouTube recently, he’s one of the few people I know featured there, although it’s strangely magical and painful to watch. On YouTube, there are dozens of videos about him, and I saw something confirming the events I’m telling you about in this book were real, not merely me imagining things. It’s so long ago, it’s tempting to think otherwise.

I’m hoping this is all okay, without wax and thus sincere, and it doesn’t somehow defame Ted Bundy’s memory or name, infamous as it is; but I’ve been staying up late, ruining my health somewhat, typing this in. I’m hoping I can write my book, more modern perhaps than the others, well enough. It’s no longer an attempt to make money. More like trying to get it written, years after I told Ted I was a journalism student and would like to write a book about him. In a restaurant in Aspen, I asked him how he’d feel about working for me, too.

Mostly, because Ted was kind of, but not really, my “illegal” first husband. We were only together for two weeks, and I don’t want to make too much out of our relationship, which I can barely remember. But I wanted to recount our intriguing, melodramatic adventures. Thought I still wonder if that is morally wrong, to have found him interesting, useful and even entertaining to me. For a while, he seemed to actually manage to care about me. But eventually, I cared enough about getting him where he’d said he wanted to be. We simply killed some time together, the time he would have spent torturing me to death. Something changed his mind about that course of action, and it may have been loving each other. All I recall is Ted and I sitting across each other on opposite motel beds, gazing at each other with amazed eyes, and finding each other to be somebodies. Who needed the time together, to help Ted find himself after years of solitary pain.

My first legal husband was Ronald Gary Schwarz, a Jew whom I took care of while he was dying of multiple sclerosis from psychiatric meds. Meanwhile, Ted’s girlfriend Elizabeth, me, the FBI, and Ted confessing fully to his crimes, finally took care of the problem. In the manner of his choosing, with which I assisted him in Vail, Colorado in 1981. You might not believe my strange story; I am a stranger myself to you readers. Female, once young and now old, in my 60s and unable myself to comprehend everything. It’s all like a hallucination, or a dream.

Like I say later on, this story reads like fiction. I have trouble, after forty years, believing the events within it happened. In real life, not my fervent imagination. I am a professional fiction writer with published works on Amazon, Smashwords, and Google Books. But I have also authored and ghosted plenty of nonfiction, such as this story, about a miraculous encounter in 1980 with an infamous serial killer. Bear with me, my writing may not be as awful as you think. Lately, I’m semi-retired and passing on incoming jobs to my professional writing team members.

What was Theodore Bundy and why was he on the loose?

A homicidal lunatic, a peculiar and angry man, oddly gentle as he was, who thought genocide was something good, while lying and pretending that it had never happened. Due to his penchant for violence, he measured me harshly for anything he found slightly insulting. The slightest comment misconstrued was enough to set him off; he’d attack, potentially over nothing. “Don’t insult me, I will kill you where you stand, Bitch.” He was evil, but a handsome, dangerous man, a tiger burning brightly. Ugly and mysterious as well, but too capable to be allowed to go on living within his set boundaries. Which due to his name meaning Freedom, were practically anywhere he wanted them to be.

But over time, due to the Authorities talking to him, he began to change his tune for the better. His long record of killing was slowly accumulating, and the evidence was mounting against him. In response, Ted tried to find ways to become a better person, helping the police find the Green River Murderer. And also the bodies of women whom Ted buried somewhere in the woods, 35 to 100 of them. That’s a lot of corpses. To this day, I’m mystified why it took so long to convict him.

At any rate, Ted Bundy and I finally made peace, helping him alleviate my soul and overcome his crimes, and eventually something good came out of these gruesome events. Due to my managing to learn from these Life Experiences, I used what I learned from Ted and many other sources to fight fires.

I had a mission to fulfill, ever since I’d read a book called Mein Kampf, which told us all about WWII’s Nazi Holocaust (it really happened and was a very sad and torturous, major event killing something like thirty million people), which was named after forest fires, to fight a gigantic, park ranger presaged future-oriented wildfire located somewhere in the Seattle area. I found out in Ohio through television that it was highly likely to happen, sometime in the future, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. So I began the hunt for where it would be.

However, my story is a Tale of Accidental Woe and Sorrows, because I had to eventually help to cause Ted’s death through execution, which only resulted due to some fierce efforts, his own mistakes, and his desire to finally pay in full for his Genocidal crimes. Electrocution rhymes with execution, for some obscure reason, and I chose that method for him upon his request.

What in the world do you mean, chose it for him?

It isn’t a pretty picture, involving my own guilt feelings, and I’m labelling this story unknown, so I will say this: be careful, stay safe, and don’t let strangers into your house. Consider buying a gun, but with men like Ted Bundy, they move so fast you can barely shoot them. A taser is probably a better bet, as it’s easier to aim and equally deadly. I must insist, I’m innocent of what Ted did, and any crimes of my own, but the absurd thing is I fell in love with Ted Bundy – somewhat. And so his death was difficult for me to face. We had briefly been involved.

But this is about Ted, a man who loved something beyond what ordinary men do, who came on as a Radical for justice, too late to avoid the trap he’d set for himself. You can only get away with Murder One for so long; sooner or later you pay the price. And this is about me, who was his woman for about two weeks. Instead of torturing me to death, we spent a while together, on a Vacation in Heaven instead of Hell. But it’s no heaven when you know your man is a vicious lout, set for Execution. And yet he managed to even the score with me, after all.

He didn’t love me or care deeply about anyone. But himself, if even that. Blood lust, he was at the top of his game when he found me, tracking me down to the cab going to my hostel in Aspen, Colorado. He was an incredibly athletic downhill skier, able to ski in a tight-fitting business suit and eyeless ski mask. He’d skied right up to me on the Aspen slopes, saying, “Hello, what do you want, Bitch?” I replied, “I thought you might be something better than a bastard,” or words to that effect. It’s forty years ago, I’ve forgotten things.

“Be careful what you say to certain people, Little Lady.” Then he skied away at lightning speed. I now had a stalking Tiger on my tail, one who’d stop at nothing to claim yet another of his mounting Victims count. Police be damned. I wondered why this would be my last day on Earth, or for a week, as I climbed into the cab, I called to take me to the hostel. I’d seen him bribe the real cabbie and take over. I was fairly sure who he was and had no other way to go or any other place to stay. Financially, I was only able to go to the inexpensive American Youth Hostel, a place for young people like me. But Ted Bundy had intercepted me like a football.

His original intent was to kidnap, torture over time sexually my most feeling parts, using highly specialized Catholic equipment from the Medieval Period, and then to kill me. If I was lucky, he’d at least finish things. Uncaring about the Authorities, who were doing Nothing to stop him at all. Gathering evidence, taking him in and then letting him go. Other than that, he kept escaping his prison cell; they stuck him in a janitor’s closet, and he made his way through an open shaft in the ceiling, the Harry Houdini of serial murderers.

He was the world’s most dangerous, effective, prolific among others when it came to a growing body count, and evil torturous murderer. Ted Bundy was a Ripper clone on a Teutonic German vengeance trip, a Hitler wannabee. Acting like slime incarnate, like the lowest living lifeform possible. He leapt through the narrow, midnight space, dark in the moonlight streaming through the closed room’s window, right through the small rectangle at the base of “my” bunk beds. In one second, sometime after gently closing the room’s unlocked, wide open wooden door. Melodramatically letting me know I had no chance in Hell.

Two people outside, whom I had fretted over due to them being about to lose their lives to this maniac, as he could not stand any such witnesses to his Crime of Murdering me: the Chinese American manager, and his gorgeous white daughter, neither of which cared to interfere. Even though their mother, the manager’s wife, had been destroyed earlier.

His daughter: “Oh, my Mom is dead,” as if she didn’t care. I had asked her if the manager had a wife, did she have a mother? Dead, like so many of Bundy’s other victims. What was his vendetta about, what was his problem? It turned out to be he was a German set on avenging Adolf Hitler, more or less. Were these people, living in Aspen, Colorado at the time Christians, who believed in the Next Life enough to disdain this one? Was that the type of reason as to why Ted Bundy’s Crime Spree was going unchecked for years in the 1970s?

I had determined, the best thing was to move directly and kill him. But I hadn’t the strength of purpose. His neck was that of a bull, his hands hairy and impossible to stop. I was surest Dead, but for some reason I calmly regarded my prospects. I’d been brave before, I’d been valorous with a black bear in Stehekin, Washington, turning it around by blocking its path into our campgrounds. I stood it down, like I’d stood down Ted. His reaction: “This is my room now, sister, and you’re dead.” He crouched over my luggage, as if examining it for its monetary value. But he had dived over to my right, once I showed him, I was prepared to fight him to my last breath. I stuck my little, left arm out, hoping he’d grab it so I could pull him over to me and hit him with an uppercut. But my ability to do that was spurious, I am sure. However, I kept right on defeating him in Mortal Combat.

“HI, I’M TED BUNDY!” he shouted blatantly from on top of me, having mounted me in less than a second really, leering broadly over my body, making his worst possible face of Death to me, his words designed to Terrorize me Dead on the spot. Or to immobilize me, so that he wouldn’t get badly injured if I fought him back. I’d loudly announced, before I leapt into bed, whipping off my top and exposing my breasts in order to stymie him, which almost worked, “I’ll fight you to the Death!” And I had taken a brave little karate stance, between my luggage, which blocked him somewhat strategically, and the bed. Once he was there with me, he was somewhat trapped within a smaller space.

Break: maybe he bumped his head on the top bunk for a reason. It’s kind of hard to speculate, but I think he was saying he’d rather wound himself than me. Being in a position of otherwise, what can I say?

The Face of Wretched Evil was to let me know who he was, before he began to slowly kill me, possibly dragging me to his infamous car. He’d been wearing a towel and was otherwise naked to the waist, after having calmly showered down the hall, with no one objecting to his being too old to be in an American Youth Hostel, age limits 18 to 24 years old. I was within those limits at 20 myself, he was breaking the law again, with no end in sight, anywhere in the USA. He’d escape their clutches, and his Evil was contagious, spreading everywhere he went.

ALL of his friends tended to support EVERYTHING EVIL he was doing. Well, we just weren’t sacred women during the Vietnam War era maybe explains all.

Again so it seemed, with his wealthy friends managing to encourage him. They’d probably been the ones who’d gotten him freed from prison in Aspen, Colorado, a third time now, and Colorado Magazine duly reported that he’d killed again. A young woman skier: the article let me know he was around. In the vicinity. He had driven me, in his disguise, to the Hostel. He was down the hall, lurking there in a towel, having showered and gotten himself ready to rape me cold.

“T. Bundy” the register at the Youth Hostel read. I signed my name beneath it, sighing, trying hard to remain calm. Probably my last night whole, before he kidnapped me and forced me into mindless submission to his male whimsies, which involved being a one-man Catholic Inquisition, with sexual tools designed by those cruel church types to maim, torture, and torment my feminine sex parts.

And to strangle me, after he hit his head on the top bunk, to let me know fighting back was useless with brave, willing to get hurt Ted. I can’t begin to describe the Awesome Face he made, smiling down at me, so curly-haired, Semitic and Jewish-looking. I knew he was Catholic. He may have been one of the worst murderers in human history, able to torment his victims out in the woods without any mercy. I had fallen in love with his Jewish face on TV, due to his loneliness and ridiculous courage, and his capacity for introspection. He looked alone.

All alone in the world, just like me. Another human being, not below me. Not someone bound for an eternal Hell, surely not someone bound once again for the Stake, yet another Jew who…wasn’t tied to the Crown.

Smiling, motioning with my right hand to signal that I found him less intimidating than he desired, I made him excruciatingly Angry. I slid my arms through his loose, slow-moving to slow down and increase my pain of death, uh, “ugly” hands and snaked them up his burly, darkened arms, as I had minor but well-trained self-defense skills. They spontaneously came into play; I was surprised how well I was handling this.

Ted had been stalking me all the way to the American Youth Hostel, by giving me a ride there in disguise. I was in denial it was him, for I was damn scared. This man liked to torture his victims maybe for weeks at a time, sexually in a horrifying, perverse manner. Designed for pitilessly maximized torment and agony, through the use of Catholic Inquisition sexual damnation tools. I didn’t know him well. But I threw my caution somewhat skywards.

He had palmed a condom and donned it first, possibly to keep from dying of “my” germs. Or me from dying of his. Or to keep away from yet another pregnancy, as he was getting spread pretty thin among multiple women. Surely he was too poor to be a Pasha Moslem, with many wives. Also, he’d been fornicating with his “very own” female corpses, purportedly. Ted, much later on, denied this with me, stating he had not had sex with any such decaying corpses. Whether he was trying to reassure me by lying, I don’t know. No, he may have been trying to keep me safe…I think we were both pretty confused by then, by the vagaries of good and evil.

For some reason, I was calm, as I’d been willing to fight with him before. His most horrible Jewish Lion Face, an act of Israeli MALE Vengeance, designed to freak me out and make me scream for help, hovering over me as a Death Threat. He really wanted Christian vengeance against us. Maybe as he was Gay. A poor man, willing to live off women like a sponge, steadily working his way up, able and landing a four-year degree in psychology in two years. While working odd jobs, horsing around, and steadily murdering both girls and women.

Potentially, boys and men too. Jack the Ripper had done so.

If you think you know it all, pay attention to that part. You don’t. Nobody knows who all he killed, could have been hundreds. As he was with the Nazis, sadly. I took off after him, due to a sense of personal responsibility. Somehow, if I didn’t do something, we would all be dead Nazi victims, we who were “not pure” and of course that meant anyone. Maybe I overestimated things.

Considering the wretched nature of ongoing school, mall, workplace, anywhere Deaths. It seemed to start in the 1970s, and now in 2022 it’s picking up speed. Overpopulation spake the Ghost of my television set. I wonder how much longer I have, and how much longer has this real or phony World…here comes WWIII, one which Ted was trying to either cause or prevent, by stealing “the football” from the President. Who at the time was racially impure-looking Jimmy Carter, he of the White South, a hidden rapist mien, and “nigger lips” of downtrodden unknowns.

Meanwhile, Theo was mature, at the top of his game, while I had cross-trained like a demon. I made it down the Giant Slalom in Aspen okay, landing safely, skiing well enough on very few lessons. Bicycling, jogging, both kinds of skating, but lotsa luck against a determined male white older demon, Karen. Meaning, I was still small, weak, female and defenseless. I had only one out. He was all-white and Sexy beyond my wildest possible dreams.

Why? And how could I turn the tide to my Advantage…we both had Served. Would he recall me fondly? Hope against hope, and he was not altogether Well. Neither was I.

A fully-grown adult man, with no excuse nor reason to kill any of those people. The Subhuman, Superhuman Scum of the Earth, the Devil Himself, running around our country in a VW Beetle, adding to a major or minor death toll mounting over the years. With no end in sight from the police or the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Or so it would seem. One scary, intimidating Monster, the Stranger Among Us. Maybe superior lawyer material, with a high IQ and seemingly a kind of genius, the Phantom Prince, planning to make me pay the Ultimate Price. Within limits, as I couldn’t see any such infernal, eternal Hells.

Limits are why it takes a man and a woman. I began to realize I could too easily be his Phantom Princess, one of them anyway. Because it takes two or more to tango. I’d researched him too deeply, or something like the Phantom Prince all too much desired assistance. In what, I was wretchedly yet to find out. He completed his mission of destroying 100 American lives. While I wondered why, whether or not I was involved, as of my age of eight years old.

This whole thing rapidly went in the opposite direction. Like a nice, survivable car wreck. Once I pulled his shaggy Jewish head down onto my bosom, I kindly said, “I love you, Ted Bundy. Do with me what you will.” As a woman, I was what his All was based upon; all the political garbage, sexual tension, and unreason. We were Adam and Eve, made for each other, if only nonspecifically. What politics? I had some faith in his Humanity, based on garbage though it was. Nazi shit, Jewish self and other hatreds. And some limited, sane and rational Faith in mine.

Vietnam had worked, I lived through it. The Evacuation of Alameda area had worked in 1971. Why not assume full adult status, admit I wasn’t a baby anymore, and find a way? I always seemed to, somehow, alone as I was. Taking the road. What about Ted, who was supposedly a relative?

I guess after all I’d been through, I was less incensed and simply supportive. I’m afraid I casually meant what I said, but I was brave enough to mean it. I’d been willing to kill him if I’d only been able to and had been planning on that. Back in Seattle, I had looked him up in the white pages, and he was there. Spent all night long trying to think experiment a method. Remember a vigilante is something illegal, and I’d get in trouble for Murder One.

Various fantasies about traveling to his Seattle or other address with a gun. Figured it wouldn’t work, but really just copped out. Could have taken the chance. Thought about shooting him through a crack in the door, repeatedly. Finally decided I was a dreamer, this is a dream, and went to sleep, back there in Seattle. But I finally managed to phone him, and threaten him and his girlfriend.

“Meet me in Colorado,” as that’s where my call had routed, according to the phone company operator. “If you don’t, I will find a way to kill you and your, uh, lovely girlfriend…and I have a gun. Which I’ve got tons of experience at using. Now you know.” I slammed it down, it was the days of hooks and receivers on phones.

I’d signed on to potentially kill him, legally as he was #1 on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, back in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1977. Anybody could have legally killed him, but as of nine I was in the FBI. And I was 19 when I called him, with a lot of clicking on the other end of the line. Like somebody else was listening to the call. Possibly the feds had tapped his phone. All I know is, my call to a Seattle number instantly routed to Boulder, Colorado.

In May, I ended up taking the Greyhound bus there, finally going to Aspen, where Ted magically appeared. On the ski slopes of Unearthly Delights. Wearing a frumpy old dark grey business suit, maybe the same one as when I’d stabbed him in the neck, in 1977’s Gahanna, Ohio. He turned, skied away from me rapidly, finally picking me up in a Far West taxi. He simply bribed the driver, and took me down the road, where we both signed in to the Aspen American Youth Hostel. Which was only for ages 16 to 23, thereabouts. He was 31, and came back at night to sign in separately. He lied about his age, was obviously too old…they let him in anyway, probably while knowing. I don’t think they gave a fuck about his probably killing me. Even though he was killing people all around Aspen at the time, including the Chinese hostel manager’s wife, it seemed.

The word Freakazoid doesn’t begin to describe the “people” involved. It’s like they all thought they were invulnerable Christians. Ted was a white Nazi Moslem, one to believe in Death, and I was a Buddhist, having trained at the Shao Lin Monastery. I could no longer compute Christianity, but felt I had to save “those people,” wackos though they were.

Thus, Ted Bundy suddenly acquired Karen Cole, in a youth hostel, where I was of age and he was an older, drug wasted juvenile delinquent. One who didn’t have much to stop at, given nobody much cared. Not even the federal government, feeder of Watergate Lies, being the exploder of ongoing, ever-growing nuclear bombs. That were not unlikely to destroy the Earth, unless they woke up and began to value their Lives.

Ted and Karen, wherefore Us? Straightaways to bed, then breakfast in town, after much Tussling.

And so we began to undergo our harrowing little three months of Misadventure. While being chased by hardly anybody, though the “real” white male adult FBI finally did manage to show up, about three times. And did little but put me up in an Aspen motel room, fortunately without sex; shoot at us, while we were in a car Ted stole; stab Ted, that was “other” William Webster, maybe his son, nearly to death on a motel room bed, and otherwise field my phone calls, both to the Feds and to Washington DC. I was the Phantom Princess of doubt, constantly turning Ted over to the Authorities, without them.

Our little Dance of Death in that youth hostel bed was observed by nobody. I’m grateful for that, Theo and his politics finally took a back seat to our privacy. Maybe I and this “hunk” of man could get along, not famously. Away from cameras, and towards a Destination.

Theodore Robert Bundy breathed lightly. Rather built from probably the prison gym, and gangs of running around, he resembled a large, stud-like chunk of beefcake. He told me his heart, beating softly and firmly in his ample, dark-haired muscular chest, only pumped blood. His six-foot, broad frame took up nearly our entire bed. He’d signaled me he was going to strangle me, by giving me a sidelong totally evil leer, and it was the fight of my life to calmly use my Ki and my full when soaking wet 120 pounds to slowly struggle his huge arms down. Took a good twenty minutes for me to finally win; I saw that look of vast concern cross his dark visage. When he was about to lose, at least for then, and he had to lower both of his beefy arms. Heroin usage, his, is likely what saved me from him. I’m grateful, as why should he have taken the Life he had saved before?

I was an ex-hooker who had a life as a female college student. He and others: “How much do you want for it?” Me: “Sorry, it’s for free.” I doubted their capacity to give me any money and saw their lack of desire to pay me. Why they kept asking “how much” bothered me. Meanwhile, I had money with me, plenty enough in traveler’s checks. And enough in my luggage to get me by. And no real desire for vengeance, especially anymore, against Theo. Well, it was a step at a time, and yet another new Journey. I’d learned in Stehekin that my life was not worth a plugged nickel, but then again, neither was Theo’s. Okay.

He wanted me to know he had no feelings of love for me. “Call me Romeo, and I will kill you where you stand.” Or sit. I told him I’d remember his name, as he’d said it several times. While attempting to kill me, or possibly to love and then leave me. Stranded, alone, and with child. I thought I could probably find a way to deal with it, by getting work and being a Single Mom.

The condom had slowly melted off, sliding away. It was finally thrown against the wall, by a burly arm, to the left, and it bounced. I decided I was happy with this and told him so, and that I would be sure to remember his name. In print. He’d said it so many times to me. I said it affectionately. Oh well.

“Why, you little creep?” he spat at me, wondering why I was being nice. I lay in his arms, feeling a pronounced, naïve, and mutually sad regret over us. Both of us, not one or the other. Maybe I thought I was his Mom? I’m sure that night, I accidentally told him that I too was a murderer. I wasn’t one at all. I’d almost been the victim of another serial killer in Ohio, instead. So I claimed that I’d killed some people, to a guy who had an explanation for why I wasn’t in jail: he wasn’t, either. They kept letting him in, he kept letting him out, or they did.

Ohio was loaded with murderers when I lived there in the 1970s. My Dad had LEGALLY been one, against the Japanese in WWII. On an aircraft carrier. He killed more people than most serial murderers have sneezed at, in general. As Our Side, as Master Chief Petty Officer Gerald Clyde Cole, Jr. To this day, I have to wonder if War is the main reason why serial murder is or was popular, I guess you’d have to talk to Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker, about that. He said he thinks War is much the same thing as serial murder. Dad was defending our Country, and serial murderers are basically Domestic Terrorists, though.

However, Dad was so far gone psychologically, he tried to kill all three of his girls, each in turn, on the days we each were each born, respectively. Only my mother stopped him. I knew about his attempts to kill me, he might have torn me limb from limb. His psychological disturbance was pretty profound, it must have come from killing “Japs.” I thought up until I was ten years old, that my Dad would kill me. Then I stopped thinking that, hoping life would improve.

I loved our Dad anyway.

He was at least a good provider. Maybe he was trying to tell us something. I recall his only line then was, “Don’t you dare be a Homosexual!!!” Vietnam Era stuff, about long hair and draft avoidance. But, we were three girls, making it difficult to Understand. I think I found out later why, as I ended up serving three tours in Nam.

So this helped me learn to love Ted Bundy, either, you see. We continued our Sojourn in Colorado, which was full of one-horse towns and laid back people. But my Dad was never really a serial murderer; let’s face it, he never had to feel any such Remorse. He was never instructed to do so by anyone. He was a Sailor not a Murderer. He never felt sorry for what he did, he just laughed it off.

So I guess I had learned to not take things too seriously, even with Ted Bundy. We kept traveling together, and I wondered what the point to it was.

Later on, many days later, Ted wanted me to finally kill him, in order to make him pay for what he’d done to people. He probably thought I’d done it before and gotten away with it. Oops! Death or knife fixated, hard to tell which you know, he wanted me to take revenge, maybe sorry for his crimes, offering me his long, silver switchblade. In order to slice his thick, bearded throat wide open. Blood would pour out, but there would be no guarantees that it would kill him. A hospital was a stone’s throw away, down the street, and if I tried, he might simply wrest it away from me.

Possibly he wanted me to carve a thin line down there, like a love scar of some kind? Or was it just an excuse to grab the knife away, kill me with it, and then take off running again? With absolutely nobody in pursuit, just a hall echoing with eventual female screams. In a wild west motel, while I thrashed my last.

Spent minutes examining the possibilities and permutations of killing him. “Cut my throat from ear to ear,” he said with a normal looking, big smile on his face. Which I had not the courage to do, in spite of having the strength and ability, as it would be Murder One, to swiftly slash it across in a deep, straight line. Upon contemplation, I felt deeply ashamed and totally selfish for deciding to not kill him. It would have stopped his murder sprees, which the Authorities were only validating. And I would have at least eliminated his ability to talk. Whatever for, why do it?

I ended up folding down into his left side, after gently laying his silver shiv on the pillow next to my head. And I only got up to turn around on the Wild West-style room’s little black and white TV. We watched an episode of Get Smart, a rerun, and peacefully fell asleep, after rolling away from each other. Back to back, as neither of us fully trusted the other one.

Everybody else was sitting back and idly “letting him.” My only hope was the FBI would finally move it. Maybe other William Webster would show up, soon. He turned out to mostly be into media photo ops. Instead of killing Ted; he only “cut him a new asshole.” Stabbing him in the chest, several times. Probably it had to do with political interference, from white privilege and the Neo Nazis. Fucking politics combined with extreme sexism, a lack of before-thought caring. Lots of after the fact looking for female corpses. Ted certainly fucked around with them, too.

I doubt you “Ladies” will ever do anything real about this type of thing. Including school shootings. You’re too busy having families and making money. I’m not sure what’s the point of this blog post, what it’s for, though I’m not trying quite to make money off of this…do something. In same words, which are Cheap:


Or sit on your hands, like I almost did, due to Gratitude. Go forth and discover. Set goals. Head for the danger, then dance around it. Go on living, don’t die, as then you will be useless. And never give up on Hope, the thing with Wings.

The right thing to do was surely to kill him quickly. Even though I felt love for him by then. And he obviously was feeling love for me too – maybe far stronger than mine.

Really, we fell into a kind of Strange Love with each other. Transient, but I think I know that Theo remembered me, as he was videotaped twice saying my name many times. I’m afraid of his girlfriend, I’m afraid of his wife, but not of his Rose. I figure, Rose, due to my red hair, although Theo may have been colorblind…I rest my case. Who knows what really happened back there. I just recall Theo insisting I was not the murderer, he was. And saying that I was beautiful, gorgeous. First time a man had ever called me those things, so it mattered to me. Wondered if due to my size, Theo thought of me with some limited affection. He was missing his daughter; they had taken him away from her. He wasn’t into hurting her, they took her away as punishment for what he’d done to other girls and women. I tried to give Theo something like his Rose back; I certainly had that hair color.

Whose side you are on given all this; it doesn’t matter. Or does it? I remember Theo looking for me in Seattle, and I doubt that he was trying to kill me again. I think he just wanted to be reassured I was still alive and out there, somewhere.

Prison made him a lot tougher, he had Anger Management woes on a subdued level as he got older, and let’s face it he was difficult for simpleminded me to understand. I’m not God, and what they call Biblical knowledge was all we had Between us. That and a Sherlock Holmes fannish tendency to want to fight Crime, as apparently he was Republican. Nixon shit, it came to mind; I was sort of Democrat.

I think he wanted the Neo Nazis to do good instead of evil, which struck me as Unlikely. And he was into Evil anyway. Whatever. We ended up taking a vow between us, while in bed and semi-friendly, to do at least some Good in the World. Which I had been attempting. Whether or not he actually did any…perhaps. I thought he needed to make up for our losing in Vietnam, which may have explained what he was doing as the presumed Leader of the serial murderers. That, and his leading the Neos, at the time. Like I said, he appeared to be trying for half evil, half good.

Him: Increased campus security. More attention over to serial murder. Much more attention, a better kind, paid to Sexual Slavery and the growing menace of Pornography, especially kiddy porn. Legalized conjugal visits in jail, for reproductive purposes. Further attention to Disability Rights, around that timeframe. Broader Investments in the Seattle area and worldwide, upon my advice. The building of a series of senior apartments…potentially including the one I’m living in right now.

Me: Got him into getting Ridgeway the GRM arrested and convicted. He helped with that, at least. Helped to get Bundy the PP arrested also. Got them both punished somewhat, at some cost to me. Kicked both their asses, literally. Earlier, saved lives evacuating Alameda and Los Alamos, NM. Got word out about the Bomb to the Media, which may have slowed the US and the world down in exponentially increasing the size of the Hydrogen Bomb, until it blew a chunk out of our Planet.

We were almost in love, but he was gone on himself, apparently, from being too alone. And filmed.

He’d made his own attempts to kill me, but something stopped him. Maybe his own compassionate soul, maybe…Freud was right, he would have liked to make a baby with me, but all was long and slow Death instead. At a later point in time, he was nonetheless willing, after several days travel, to fight to the death with twelve huge hobos armed with Bowie knives. In my honor, as he was mystified as to why “your kind isn’t welcome here,” referring to me and not him. Everywhere we went, it was assumed we were homeless, and I was the one constantly under attack. They kept referring to me and not him, which finally disgusted him. He stood up to those clowns, swearing vengeance against those who offended his Woman. He was very protective of those he loved, and showed it. I don’t think he ever hurt his Rose or the rest of us, thus the statement he made about:

“I am the murderer. You’re innocent, Karen; you don’t know these things.” He was always giving the Authorities his real name. He wasn’t that scared of much, but he didn’t like the thought of those he loved being in trouble. Still, as he thought perhaps I had killed someone, he did try to get me turned over. So he figured I was too innocent to be a murderer, but he still had his doubts. That’s me all over, I have trouble believing I know it all either. Smart people know they don’t. Know it all, all the time, although this blog post/book/article is sure an attempt to lay out what I’m trying to perceive with this. One thing: why “your kind isn’t allowed here” kept being directed at me and not Theo. He looked strong, I looked weak.

Why didn’t they attack Theo? Sexism. It Killed my Beast, that tendency to look the other way on things. On murder in general, that of anybody. But I think it is Changing. Life was racist to him, sexist to me, and it’s altogether an Ableist Universe.

Later on, he assumed like I did that it might have been my skin color. As to the knife, he either wanted it flowing with mine or his blood, calm and peaceful about it to the extent of asking me to do him the honors. I declined, placing the FOLDED silver knife onto the pillow next to me, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms. This actually occurred in a Western-style hotel we stated at for one night. We ended up with the usual popcorn and lemonade, lying in each other’s arms watching TV. You see, he was too big for me really and I never wanted the Caesarian section.

I figured his baby would require that; he honorarily named it “Ian.” After Caesarian, perhaps, as he needed to blame me so much for his problems. Perhaps. He seemed perfectly willing for me to either carry it to term or for me to get an abortion. Usually was a reasonable man. It stood out when he wasn’t, but like I said, next to my Dad, Ted was practically a Hippie. Not just the long hair, I had a feeling Ted was more pacifist than warlike. Might be wrong, but I have to wonder why he never enlisted during Vietnam.

He had a sharp Bowie hidden away in his old suit also. Lots of pockets to hide knives in, maybe a zip gun for all I knew. So very defensive, a powerful man. He reminded me of the boys at my school who couldn’t seem to see girls going to college. Like all the authorities, who treated we girls as though something was Wrong with us. We got the message that we were an eternal Number Two. I think we were joined by Theo. He felt like a blatant Nigger, and he had to prove he was like we women. Somehow. Maybe by being the Scum of the Earth, he could be Number 2 as well. I think that’s why, we separated us, we girls and boys, and then the boys had to join us somehow to ask us out.

And he was sliding beneath the dignity of we Ladies. MAYBE this is all Captain Obvious. I guess he had a sexist thought or two, something about being on our level. He could run like a jackrabbit, slip out a window…he thought Men were Number 1. Well, I guess if you so much as turnaround, you swiftly find yourself Number 2. Blacks called the Deity back in those days, “The Man,” not the woman. Ted knew he wouldn’t always win in a fight, he just wanted to win. So that man had a great deal of courage, calmly most of the time.

I’M…wondering what it is with knife fascination. Sexual frustration. I have too much of that myself, every second with Theo alleviated it somewhat. Seemed to take a serial murderer to make love with me for the first time. But I looked back, it had been there, but my boyfriend was gay. Not Theo. So the problem is at the time, only Mike Hagan was in my life otherwise, and yes, he turned out to be Gay. Theo was more masculine, macho and attractive. I was very Sunk!

Why knives, why a boxcar named Desire?

Excellent for gutting him in seconds, he’d be gone surely. Without mercy, except for it being swift. Not like the plans he seemed to have for me, two weeks’ worth of Inquisitional torture. So he planned to go out in a blaze of glory, his luck holding due to hobos seeking work. We’d hopped the boxcar and were immediately confronted by these gang rapist men, one of them being friendly and offering me his beer to drink. His name was Frank, and I took his offer as a sign of friendship. In spite of Theo, who yelled, “NO, Karen, don’t!” when I tried to take Frank’s proffered beer bottle. Maybe Theo cared enough about Us. He saw Frank moving in on his woman, and he also saw Frank threatening me with a knife.

Theo’s eyesight may never have been all that good, you know? His teeth were jagged, and I never had them fixed. It costs too much money. They were the type of teeth with which you could rip out a human throat. If needed.

“I’ll die fighting you ALL! I’ll kill you, all of you, and her too.” A ploy, perhaps he had no intention of killing me, but I was suddenly “safe” and with Frank. Probably in order to save me from the Gang Rape of not so idle threats, which were entirely of “that redheaded cunt, we can RUIN her, little weenie boy,” referring to Ted. Insulted, he was more than ready to die defending his lady, whom he had called a variety of awful names. Half were bitch, whore, cunt, along those lines, the other half, lady, woman, wife, Karen. This on a freight train boxcar, wooden walls and floors, shifting and moving.

Hopped by a six-foot heroin addict, and short little five foot me. The life of adventure. Better than a cubicle office. Theo couldn’t have planned it strategically, could he? No, he had no idea what would be on those trains, but I did believe a bit more in Black magic from drug use that way. He seemed to really mean it when he looked to one side, at the scene of Hades. I wondered if he and I were superstitious, full of cigarette smoke and auto exhaust fumes. He used drugs; I used less drugs…we saw something similar over there.

Theo held two huge Bowie knives, which he’d collected from those men with my assistance. He threatened one of them named Frank, until that hobo managed to give me his knife, and Theo found another one in time. When he had seen Frank reaching for his Bowie knife, held in Frank’s right hand, Theo had bounded a good twenty feet across the boxcar, to hold his knife against Frank’s throat. “Stay away from my wife, or I will kill you!” It was all thrilling, I must admit, but tiring and defeating for me as well. I was a kidnapping victim of sorts, who willingly traveled with Theo, hoping to give him something in return for having made love to me.

Writing only works when you’re able-bodied, able-minded, at least enough to have your “act together,” perfection is impossible. This piece I’m trying to write has no home. Just like me and Theo back there, which shouldn’t lead to Black Magic being the order of the day. I have to wonder what it means. And I may have been responsible Indirectly for the death of a girl in Ohio, back then, before I met up with Theo. I told him I killed a girl in Ohio, to get his attention and to chummy up with him, and maybe to keep him at bay also.

It’s whether you win or lose, which determines how you play the game. I was willing to suffer and do Self Sacrifice, but maybe the only thing that talked me into it was Chicken Pox, for all I know. I am heading straight for Neuralgia. My doctor husband, an enabler, is trying to help me the best that he can.

I’m just a Nobody who managed to use Ted’s ideas, in a way. Not his, mine, and I fought to the Death with those two-House Burglars. Because I’d fought to the Death with him, and unenthused, he wasn’t that into killing a me that loved him. The house burglars finally raped me; I didn’t think of that slick Phantom Prince having done so, I tried my best to turn his sword into a ploughshare of consensual sex, as I was 21 and of maturity age. But one way or another, it was rape.

Studying him, he saved my Life, damn him to the Death he suffered. And no further, God of the Jews. He did at least fish out my swallowed tampon, which occurred either due to my own Ineptitude or a simply act of a disappearing string, one which I left inside of me, and turned my back on mentally. I knew it was still up there, so I must have been attempting a long, slow suicide. Theo found the things up there, had me take them out…he did save me from Toxic Shock Syndrome, like I knew he was going to be there somehow.

I waited and waited for a reasonable man to show up in my life. I did everything I could, finally Reggie, another Unreasonable man, showed up. I at least had Angela, this is disintegrating into a blur. Because Reggie said, “I want to stalk you with my truck,” but at least managed to make it sound like a joke. For once. I guess I compared him to the real Theo, and it seemed so lesser and more approachable, the fact that Reggie had made a joke out of Jack the Ripper.

I’d hate to be monitored all my life like that. Is it the Catholic Church? Something leads to such undue worrying. We have overly monitored my behavior now, put me on a Suicide Watch, and it’s all due to a lengthy Misunderstanding about how I handled overcoming a giant spreading wildfire in 1986 by answering a house alarm. They thought I was the leader of the house burglars.

Damned me we did, I ended up in the “other” court system.

Damned him we did, and somehow, I avoided taking the rap.

I’ve already stood next to him and defended us.

Hallucinations are a hard cross to bear. I don’t like being told I’m going to Eternal Hell, it ought to be a temporary Hell in this Life. Something has learned to put me into a State of Gracelessness, all my life, which is going sour. I don’t recall what turned me thus, I’m one long struggle to feel better, I guess. I was always putting the good of my existence into the future, which will never arrive. Not the Future, when I die, but the Good. It’s forever inaccessible, and it’s not due to my actions, my background, “a trauma” when I was young…they say life is a bitch and then you die. Well, life might as well be a bastard and then I die, why not.

Maybe electric cars will save us. Whoops, Covid.

I fled an FBI team of four strong men, all white and well paid, with lives and families of their own, who were sitting on their asses complaining about Ted’s abilities to escape them, clearly NOT doing their jobs, and who blamed me for his Crimes. He had wanted to take the blame himself, he knew who the murderer was. Then they came to arrest me anyway, as though he had talked them into something obscene: blaming me.

I’m glad that you’re Dead, you Rascal you.

But I’m sad too, as you Tried to be a Good man,

And you literally laid down your Life for me.

By former ghostwriter Karen S. Cole, stubborn female entity, who fought like a dog to find a man who’d make her pregnant while working for a living. Once, Reggie finally located, and the deed finally done. No sexual diseases on record about me, not even worms. But my daughter Angela is nowhere in sight, having eloped with her dream man, never to return. Estranged, from her family of origin, and I have told her things I never should have mentioned, about Ted.

Due to my mental illnesses, which were deeply exacerbated by Ted and the psychiatric establishment, western medicine in general; to this day I remember him as both an evil and a good man, whom I fought with in Mortal Combat. But he observed what others did to me, or said they would do, and then he defended me. He thought of me as his lady, his woman, his wife. So temporarily there.

I had problems long before I met him, so I’m ambivalent, but I did finally blame him for my woes, on the streets of Seattle, where he announced he cared about me. And seemingly was leaving his girlfriend for me, ready to embark again upon adventures with me, after having been more than willing to lay down his Life for me. It was Mutual. Calmly, like it never mattered to him, but it finally mattered to me somehow, about his dead victims, and I called the FBI during the day, failing to file the report. Due to their need to arrest me instead of Ted, due to their holding my arms behind my back in our apartment hallway. Their getting a call about another case took them away.

They left, vowing to return and arrest me, which I immediately fled in daily nerve-wracking increments, leaving NO return address, and I had not committed ANY of their crimes. My only immoral act, done from Dire Necessity: Sleeping with Theodore and Promptly Falling in Love. THE FBI MADE ME MORE NERVOUS THAN TED BUNDY HAD. Too much television sexism had trained me to think for myself as nobody else would. My mind expanded, and grew too busy with calculations to take chances. I couldn’t afford to let Ted continue his wanton pathways of Destruction. But I did, for the lack of attacking him directly, also which nobody else was doing. It took bite marks and testimonials to finally convict and execute him.

Many long years later, giving him plenty of opportunities to Murder people in Seattle, where I had directed him to go as he did follow me “home” there. May WE rest in Peace. He pumped me to reveal where I was going, and promptly followed me. I knew at the time it endangered people there to tell him Seattle, but it was crowded there and where else was he supposed to go, Chicago? I could not give him no for an answer, so I said Seattle. Too bad. Any place he went, where he would have to go, he would then be killing people. “Seattle.” I heard reports of disappearing people, while he continued to search for Karen Cole. I found him in the phone book again under T. Bundy, once. I quit on him. He never did kill his girlfriend, wife or child, so I often assumed he would not kill me.

He must have tried to kill me over four times, maybe about as many times as he tried to save my life. He kept holding back, I kept holding back…I think we tried to kill each other about the same amount of times, and we tried to save each other about the same amount of times. Covid and match come to mind, something like Einsteinian equations in physics.

Thus we have people wanting him Merrily Blazing Away in HELL.. I don’t want any such Afterlife, I can only hope he suffered enough to make up for things. I chose Electrocution, and it surely was something real enough for him. He asked me, that is the method he chose: being burned alive at the modern stake.

So Ted Bundy pretty much caught Ted Bundy, not me. I would have at least testified for or against him in court, and was torn as to which. I could have given him a good character reference: he was willing to work for me. I didn’t know really any details on any of his crimes. There is probably a body or two buried out in the woods near Vail, Colorado, but I don’t know where, not me.

Nineteen seventies thing, where they arrested the woman instead of the Man, Chairman Mao getting his wife in trouble instead of him, similar stories on the News, the extreme Sexism that led to Ted Bundy’s crimes. And that also made me dream of Feminist Empowerment, and to take on Ted directly, as nobody else had, as a Black Panther should; but I was never able to make it past his or my defenses. I was either a Coward or could see too well down the road, where I always Lost to him. If I did, I would simply have been yet another of his Female Victims. At one or two points in time, I could have either killed or wounded him. I took it upon myself exactly once, and the most that resulted with his scratched eye. From bouncing on a bed, so I am decapitated from violence now, instead of him.

Maybe the right thing is to always face your deepest fears?

I do not like to think of me as a Crook or Bad Person. Nor as a Lynch Mob of Upright Citizens with Families. Like Theodore, who thought of himself more highly than that. If I had NOT gone on Living, or been put into Jail, or otherwise distracted from work, I believe a good section of Seattle area would have burnt down. Perhaps I simply should have gone with them and testified, but as to what? My innocence, yet they manhandled me. By luring me out into the hallway and attempting my arrest. Probably Ted had informed them that I had stated I’d killed someone in Ohio. Just to fool him, he did not know I’d not.

I can’t blame Ted for any of this, except for the part where he had me doubting my capacity to escape False Charges: If it had been some elaborate plan of his, He would have been God, it would have taken that. He was just a man. I spent that summer with the boyfriend I’d hidden from Ted, Mike Hagan of San Francisco.

But like Ted thought, doubting the entirety of my family and my boyfriend, and he was eventually proved Quite Correct, as they either deserted me or tried to have me Put Away for Life; Mike deserted me, being Gay. I hitchhiked home to Seattle, and the only thing that saved me was getting a ride from a female friend. Along the way, sex with Montana park ranger Jim Huter, in a tent and at his house.

Men always expected sex from me, women were willing to be friends. So Ted fits in, not in a good way, but into an overall, based on being ridiculously Sexist reality structure. Let’s break free. I’m voting for Kamala Harris for President if she’s running.

And you could try believing in me, for a change, too.

For something else more pertaining to hiring ghostwriting services, if you’d like to consider doing so, and we do happen to be eager to work with you and available: CLICK HERE