if you could write a movie, or have some kind of a confrontation with the worst of the worst of the seed.
what would it be?
for me...
i'd start by kidnapping barker like they did to my sister, tie him up - hog tied, take an old rug and "rap" him in it. and then throw him in a trunk of a car. have him wonder what the fuck is going on. let him ponder a long time. keep the temperature in that trunk above 110 degrees. a black car. no ac. summer. let him feel the fear he caused to countless others, and feel the fear he has always felt, lurking around him - hiding behind his "brick" office.
after about a day, of that. i'd take him out of the trunk.
no doubt he would be crying like a baby with shit in its diapers.
we'd be drinking big gulps.
he'd beg for some.
he'd get none.
i'd throw him back into that trunk. and do it all over again.
and again, and again. as my sister has relived that scenario. over and over again and again.
then...
i'd take that fucker to the old ft. lauderdale seed, cob webbed, and broken down. like some kind of torture scene from the movie hostel.
the place would be surrounded by former seedlings. scary ass, sick tortured ex-seedlings as body guards. the victims. the minor teenage girls he fucked. the kids that committed suicide. the current death row inmates that killed their moms for sending them to the seed. debby del bueno.
he would have a hearing. his crimes would be laid before him.
the judge and jury -- all ex-seedlings.
guilty.
court ordered to the seed.
he must graduate for face a fate far worse. if that is at all possible.
i'd have rows of seats. old, iron, rusted.
i'd make that fucker sit in the front row for 3 days. and not say a word.
we'd all have gas masks on, oxygen tanks, but there would be smoking, 59 minutes of each hour, choking smoking, no joking. only one minute of no smoking.
i'd make that fucker chain smoke 59 minutes of each hour. non-stop dragging on lucky strikes and camels. filterless.
and i assure you. i'd make him do it.
when he would raise his hands to go to the bathroom, i'd tell him to shit himself. and let him shit himself.
i'd let everyone of those former seedlings stand him up. three hour sessions for each one. or last as long as they needed until they were purged of any memory of that place.
after three days of sitting in that front row.
i'd give him a moldy pj. and a styrofoam cup of koolaid.
three days later, a moldy baloney sandwich.
after three days.
i'd move him to the second row.
there would be special guest.
members of congress, the state committees that took his license, reporters and experts that constantly rebuked him. and said that he was nothing more than a psychotic danger - stealing the lives of children.
i'd let congress investigator tell of their findings and experts would talk about the comparisons to north korean prison death camps, for us soldiers, and nazi gulag concentration camps.
the mayor of miami that barker called hitler.
debby del bueno.
it would be his turn to talk. and i wouldn't let him get into his head, or cop out.
he'd memorize OUR rules, and sing OUR songs.
i'd force that fucker to sit in that chair 12 hours each day, piss in his pants after being denied the right to a god given, biological bodily function.
we'd all laugh at his inability to hold his functions.
tell him how weak he was.
i'd then bring in an oldcomer who swore they saw barker talking to one of his old druggy friends.
he'd get stood up, and go through the same routine again, and again, and again, and again.
i'd start him over.
then i'd take that bastard to a secret home. force him to write moral inventories all night long.
deprive him of sleep. and any kind of healthy food. while we ate like champs.
any question in that moral inventory that was left unanswered would be met with a barrage of questions -- why, until there was no why left in his pathetic responses.
there would be parent night.
but nobody would come to see him.
we'd let him know that nobody cares.
i'd do it day in, and day out, until he buckled and then cracked.
and oh, yes, i would break him.
i'd assure you all, that ww2 - self proclaimed "hero" and an adult, wouldn't last as long as we little kids did.
i'm telling you now.
i'd break that fucker.
i'd break him.
and i'd break him good.
and then i'd do it to john underwood, libby, anne, and to any and all of those despicable bastards and bitches.
when they graduated that program -- if they mentally, physically and psychologically survived.
they'd gladly crawl the streets of miami, ft. lauderdale and st. petersburg, from one former seed location to another -- committing penance on their flesh -- opa locka, tropical park, etc. to the next, on their hands and blood soaked raw knees avowing loudly, and shamefully proclaiming there former past wrongful deeds.
then after turning over all their personal possessions as retribution to all of their victims, for the harm they caused, each one would then systematically go home and commit their planned suicide.
details which must have been approved by the former seedlings. in order to graduate.
in other words the realization that death by suicide was a much more peaceful choice, than to continuously undergo the suffering and torture of the seed.
--
your turn!
