Part 11.
The Capitol City police looped in the FBI. I suspect Kelsey's father, who golfed with his college buddy, Ohio Senator Rob Portman, several times a year, had called in a favor. Regardless, within hours the feds' tech gurus removed my personal information from every social media post they could find. Now, they didn't catch the guilty party, but by tracing IPs and phone numbers, they blocked most of the trolls.
They soon found "ground zero," the original dox from Friday on the [anti]social-media cesspool 7-Chan. The author was 'Alph@$chl0ng69.' And I'm like, 'Alpha Schlong Sixty-Nine?' If you have a screen name like that, you're either thirteen or a loser who is, shall we say, poorly endowed? And my guess is that Alpha Schlong's NEVER sixty-nined a shorty because he's got no game.
And as to being an "alpha"... bwahaha.
The problem was, though the FBI forced the site to remove my personal info, the site's lawyers fought attempts to unmask Alpha Schlong's real identity. Nor would 7-Chan's webmaster block him from posting, or help the FBI track my info. Instead, the webmaster and the lawyers whined about "free speech" and "refusing to aid in censorship," saying that "information wants to be free." As if I were a plot-point in a crap Ayn Rand novel and not a person whose life and safety they were putting at risk.
Fuck, I hate these Silicon Valley millionaire a-holes.
My info percolated from the original 7-Chan post to the nastier parts of the web. The feds found and removed posts from Read-it, 3-Chan, Collide-a-skope, and eGab. Lucky for me, none of the real powerful influencers, like Mick Cernovik, caught on and hyped it before the cyber sleuths quashed it.
At least I thought they'd quashed the trolls. Until another tsunami of ignorant filth flooded my inbox. So instead of taking the career-advancing finance classes which I had paid for, I spent the day changing my phone number but keeping the old one for free because of the FBI. Next, I spent hours working with tech support to forward calls and texts to the old number BUT from my contact list to the new number, ignoring anyone else. And then opening a new email account. And then contacting everyone I knew with my new info, fielding emails, and texts from them while ignoring their phone calls lest I had to explain my higher voice and still embarrassing sex-change. And then banning almost ninety misogynistic jackholes from posting to my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram profiles... on EACH site, so I ended up ignoring like 250 people in an afternoon. One-by-one. Tedious as all 'get-out.'
What a day.
Productive work completed: none.
Time spent dealing with the fallout caused by idiots offended by me being a female pressing rape charges: twelve-plus.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Fuck, I hate incels.
#
I visited Holtzclaw before Wednesday's therapy session at his precinct, a blocky, run-down building of brown brick, yellowed linoleum tiles, and cheap chrome and plastic furniture. We met at his desk, it's top clear save a laptop, a neat stack of files and squared-off papers at his right elbow, and a 'WORLD'S OKAYEST DAD' coffee mug filled with burnt-smelling cheap coffee.
He motioned me to sit across from him, where he handed me a folder containing a small stack of pages of Alpha Schlong's 7-Chan 'greatest hits.' Vile stuff, page upon page of middle school-level insults hurled at women: the crap targeting me, some woman programmers at a video game company or other, and the all-female cast of the Ghost Busters reboot — a movie I judged pretty funny, about as goofy as the original. But Alpha Schlong's worst posts, filled with colorful violence, threatened to string female Democratic Senators and impeachment witnesses up by their vaginas, which he'd "turn inside-out like dirty socks."
I laughed, tapping the page. "This guy's a jerk."
Holtzclaw nodded, sipping his coffee, and sighing with visible glee as the caffeine hit his bloodstream. "Yup. Typical cyberbully, a scumbag loser. Wanted you to see this, though, to know that it probably ain't personal. The guy just likes to... start shit, instigate, post threatening nonsense. Like he's a comedian or something."
I nodded, remembering my middle school love affair with the Jerky Boys, a sometimes hilarious New York comedy duo who specialized in prank phone calls, often threatening the people they called for laughs. My friends and I loved the Jerkies and tried to imitate them, taping our own prank calls. We thought they were a riot, and that we were the as-yet-undiscovered comedy duo, the next Jerky Boys.
The thing was, everyone else told us we sucked.
Which made us double-down, trying harder... and making ourselves laugh harder. While everyone else continued shrugging us off.
Oh well. I guess we all think we're better, funnier, smarter, more brilliant, etc. than we are.
As this revelation rolled through my noggin, a lightning bolt zipped through my mind. I gulped, my eyes bugging.
Because I realized that Alpha Schlong sounded like Squee.
I told Holtzclaw.
He scowled and scratched his square jaw, jotting it down. Not agreeing, not denying, just jotting down my hunch. He reached to retrieve the Alpha Schlong material. I was gathering the pages back into the folder when his partner distracted him, hollering across the busy room about a meeting. Holtzclaw shot upright, looking at his watch, excusing himself. The duo disappeared into an office, where they spoke, full of animation. with a jowly man behind the desk.
Deep in thought and distracted by idiots like Squee and Alpha Schlong and moron tech entrepreneurs who earned billions catering to bullies who got their jollies by threatening regular people, I folded the papers, snapped them into my handbag and left. Why not? I figured it was all public record stuff, and that Holtzclaw had a copy. Besides, I wanted to show Kelsey.