10:30 am
Gordon Peterson.
So you would think Charlie might get a clue that he stepped into the hornet’s nest but bless his ignorant belligerent ass, he replied to my artwork involving his wife as follows: “I will fucking kill you muther fucker (his spelling), bring it on.” Ok then, bringing it on. I picked up his trash last night and while there, I poisoned his dog.
Calm down, I didn’t kill the dog, but they most certainly have a nice vet bill now. Don’t blame me, I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen. Besides, I wouldn’t kill an animal, I have much more respect for them than I do for these fuckers. I sent him a photo of two bloody bodies with his son’s faces photoshopped onto them and added the following text: “I tried to warn you, are you sure you want to continue to push me? I can play this game all I want, I know who you are, do you who I am? How’s your dog?” Let’s see how he responds.
Sure enough, he called the cops and guess what they did, they took a report and left. I am sure he is fully comforted now that he has pissed off the devil and is standing alone, naked and helpless. Just how I want him. Now it’s time to put some pressure on him. The trash was a gold mine. I found copies of his bank statements. Why do people have them delivered in paper and then throw them in the trash for me to find. Thank you. I have already hacked into his accounts and moved all of his money to a numbered account in the Cayman’s, and I haven’t even had my breakfast yet. I found his insurance information and found that he has a large life insurance policy. Perfect, the family will be just fine. I found his electric bill and I was bored so I called and had the service shut off, I know it was petty, but it was fun to watch.