Originally written 13 years ago.
Chip Smith of Nine Banded Books said he liked it, and it should be published in a book. He said it reminded him of Peter Sotos‘ work. Interview with Sotos by Chip Smith. Nine Banded Books is his book publishing outlet for sick fuck books. Chip Smith is a sick fuck too, by the way. I kind of liked that, being compared to Peter Sotos. Peter Sotos, in case you are wondering, is a homosexual. He’s also sick fuck, a sick fuck writer of sick fuck fiction. But he was the King of the Sick Fucks, and the King of the Sick Fuck Writers of Sick Fuck Books, and you know that has to count for something. I was in good company. I’m still proud to this day of being compared to that sick sonofabitch.
In his books, Sotos examines sadistic sexual criminals and sexually violent pornography, particularly involving children. His writings are interpreted by some as commenting on media hypocrisy around these issues. His books are often first person narratives, taking on the point of view of the sexual predator in order to explore sadistic and pedophilic sexual impulses.
In addition to offering many details about the crimes of serial killers and Nazis, the text in the magazine praises them, describing them using such terms as “genius”, “glorious”, “exemplary”, and “illustrious”. The text is juxtaposed with pictures and newspaper clippings relevant to the crimes discussed, showing that the media also abuses the victims. A short manifesto introducing the first issue says the magazine “satiates and encourages true lusts.”
Good Lord, no way am I as sick as this guy!
Some of his sick fuck books:
Lazy (1999) examines the public fascination with sex crimes, and their influence on artworks such as the painting Myra by Marcus Harvey.
Selfish, Little (2004) recounts the murder of Lesley Ann Downey by British Moors Murderers Ian Brady and Myra Hindley in 1964.
Predicate (2005) explores the Dunblane Massacre in Scotland in 1996 and the motives and life of its perpetrator Thomas Watt Hamilton. Other topics covered include Operation Ore, the Wonderland murders, Russian orphanages, Megan’s Law, and non-nude teen websites.
Comfort and Critique (2005) explores the hidden motives of reporters and citizens as shown by their reactions to sexual crimes.
Show Adult (2007) investigates the experience of pornography. The book also analyzes the TV shows Supernanny and To Catch a Predator as publicly acceptable forms of child pornography.
Lordotics (2008) deals with sex offenders and the art of photography.
Pure Filth (2012) details transcripts of the gonzo movies porn star Jamie Gillis produced during the 1990s. Gillis adds an introduction to each transcript. Sotos, who was a friend of Gillis, brings his own perspective to these records. The book was completed a few days before Gillis died in February 2010.
A sample of his prose from Mine, of his sick fuck books. I think I like it already.
I have to pin the words down, cut them out and place them as far as possible from the dunce economy. I’m not an exegete. But I take the words and ideas and stutters and stick them somewhere far more successful. You’ll understand this, finally, when I demean myself enough to tell you what I do with the words that these mouthy pigs just repeat often enough to tell you that they stand behind them. It’s not what I take, or who I take them away from. But where I put them. Not rewrite them.
Not change or charge the context. I identify them. I don’t, idiot, masturbate with them. I can’t imagine wanting to do anything without having these words fully included. I wouldn’t even consider doing anything without them. The cunts that make cartoons out of their ideas. Little collages and signatures and slack versions. Strippers and songwriters and female’d max factors. I live all over them. I write through them, use them, come away with little more than a dangling possible.
What I do is inescapable.
The main characters here are some guys I knew, or maybe I never knew, or maybe I made up, or maybe they’re really me – Thrillseekerman, an all around petty criminal and moral degenerate, Internetman, an Internet semi-criminal who straddles the line between legal and illegal, and Killerdude, a truly dangerous fellow with psychopathic tendencies whose bark is worse than his bite. Of course none of these people could possibly bear any possible resemblance to me, right? Of course not! This is just stuff a bunch of maniacs told me. I’m just a journalist, scribbling things down, good and bad, right and wrong, not caring to distinguish between any of them.
They Were Committing Crimes
There were committing crimes.
And no one ever caught.
They Were Committing Internet Sex Crimes
A few months ago, or 10 years ago, or maybe today, or maybe I read it on the Net, Internetman met 15-year-old girls on the Net, and they sent him nude pics without him even asking, and said they wanted to have sex with him right now, but they were too far away. So what did he do with the pics? Delete them, call the cops and turn himself in, or keep them in an evil secret file to show it to his most evil friends? I bet they are gone now. Internetman is paranoid. Not only that, but he’s not stupid. Were they illegal? Was Internetman a criminal? He never got caught.
Internetman went into a chatroom the other night, or was it five years ago, or was it just something some friend said? There was a teenage girl in there masturbating on cam, and everyone in the room was watching the fun. Well, she was 13, but she looked like a full-grown to him. The chat room was full, mostly kids but some adults too, both sexes, including middle-aged women. They were all watching the girl on cam and cheering her on.
Some kid in the room said, “I know her! She’s 13! She goes to my school!”
Internetman turned on the cam and it was ok. It was like you take the body of a full-grown woman and then stick a little girl’s face on it, then you make it act like a little girl sometimes. The effect was jarring. Was it illegal? He got away with it.
It was seven years ago, or seven weeks ago, or seven months ago, or tomorrow, and 14-year-old girls came to talk to Internetman in the chatrooms and ask for cybersex. What’s a man to do? What did he do? I bet he didn’t get caught. It was a while back, or the other day, or some time ago, or 4-7 years ago, and Internetman did the cybersex thing with them, the 14-yr-olds, the 15-yr-olds, and the 16-yr-olds, and of course the droves of many more legal-aged women as well, and it was all in good fun.
One of them was just a friend, but she begged and begged for him to send her porn, so he broke down and sent porn to a 14-yr-old girl. Was that illegal? Now he’s paranoid, and he’ll never do it again. Or will he? Maybe he better not. Times change, you know. But then again, he never got caught.
In a chatroom, five days ago, or last year, or five years back, or yesterday, or ten years from now, the 17-year-old girl saw he had a cam and asked him to turn it on. Internetman did so. She started whining for him to take his pants off so she could see his stuff, because she had never seen one before.
“But I’ve never seeeeen one before,” she whined into Internetman’s headphones, but he chickened out again. I bet he wouldn’t have gotten caught.
They Were Committing Statutory Rape
Internetman met a girl once on the Net a few weeks ago, or was it seven years ago, or was it in a dream? She was 17 years and seven months old, and wanted sex right now. She kept demanding and demanding, and she would not knock it off. She was a lesbian, but she wanted to try it with a guy to see what it felt like.
“Why with me?” Internetman asked.
“Because,” she said. “You are handsome.”
Internetman thought and thought and thought, and he almost did it because she wouldn’t quit pestering him, but finally he worried it was an evil plot by one of his enemies trying to get him arrested for statutory rape. Good thing he was paranoid, so he never took her up. He still wonders about it. “Would I have gotten caught?” he wonders.
They Were Collecting Child Porn
Internetman went into these really evil chatrooms, just on a wild dare, and people were all trying to do horrible and illegal stuff in there, men and women of all ages, normal folks, and weird, the whole human panoply. Internetman tried not to do anything illegal. Will he go there again? He doubts it.
The Internet is the most evil place Internetman knows, and Internetman knows a lot of evil places, and he’s been to most of them at one time or another. Somehow he always got out alive. Somehow he never got caught.
You can do just about anything on the Net, and who knows if it’s even legal or what? Where are the cops? What’s a cop? There are bulletin boards right now where people are asking for child porn and bragging about their antisocial acts, and Internetman knows where they are. He’s been to them, lurking, never talking, but he didn’t do anything illegal. There was nothing illegal on the boards. Just a lot of evil talk. A lot.
He just stayed and watched the perverts perving.
“Young!” the perverts said, “Anyone got any young?”
And you know what that means.
There were men and women in there of all ages, goodlooking young couples, middle aged housewife types, the most normal people in the whole world, all trading the most evil pornography of all. Why? What gives? Was it the thrill? Of the forbidden? Of the crime, the rush of the crime, a rush like no other? Of getting away with it?
Internetman went to chatrooms where sex perverts traded porn pics. Internetman, being a pervert, was right at home. Mostly it was fun, but some people sent Internetman really illegal pics without him even asking, and he freaked out and deleted them about as quick as they hit the screen. Was that illegal? Did Internetman commit a crime? Internetman trembled in his seat. Trembled with excitement. With terror. With the rush. The rush of getting away with it.
They Were Raping Women
Internetman went to this chatroom last year, or eight years ago, or yesterday, or just some lie he told the cops, and met this guy in Kentucky, a psychopath I guess, who wanted someone to rape his wife.
“I’m looking for someone to rape my wife.” he announced.
Well, that was about the weirdest thing Internetman had ever heard, so he was intrigued and stuck around for the ride.
The guy would be gone. You had to break in, tie her up, rape her, and get away with it. Well, actually you didn’t have to get away with it, but that would certainly be preferable! He said you could not hurt her in any way.He described the sex acts he wanted Internetman to engage in with his wife.
“Fuck all holes,” he said.
Internetman was worried. “What if she doesn’t like it?”
“Don’t worry,” the guy said. “She’ll love it.”
Getting away with it was Internetman’s business, he’d been doing it his whole life and he’d never been caught for any of the crimes he’d ever done, and here the guy said would not call the cops and report the rape.
“How do I get away with it?” Internetman asked.
“That’s your business. Your problem. You’re on you own there,” the guy said.
So Internetman sat there and wondered whether or not he could be a criminal rapist and try to get get away with it, under special circumstances of course in which at least the victim’s husband consented, but he chickened out at the end. But he used to think about it sometimes? Could he have done it? Would he have done it? What if he got caught? What if he got away with it?
They Were Killing People
Killerdude came over a while back, or 25 years ago, or the other day, and said he was considering taking an offer to kill some guy, from a woman who was offering big money to have her husband knocked off.
So they, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude, sat around for hours blasted out of their minds on dope and talked about whether or not you should murder someone for the money. They discussed Christianity, as in whether or not a Christian should kill, and whether or not the would-be murder victim deserved it since he was a wife-beater, and Thrillseekerman tried to spy on Killerdude for the cops, but it did not work.
Thrillseekerman didn’t like the idea of killing for money (even Thrillseekerman had some basic values, if only a measly few) and thought his friend was degenerating morally. Even though his name was Killerdude, Thrillseekerman had never taken it literally. He thought it was all for show, like most things men do.
What if Killerdude did it? Would it corrode his mortal soul? Could he ever look in a mirror again without smashing it? Would he make his peace with God and the Devil both? Could he keep it a secret? Would the guy have deserved it? Is there a universal morality, or nothing beyond the ether? And most importantly, would he have gotten caught?
They Were Serial Killers
They took lots of drugs, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude did, while they talked about all this insane and evil stuff. It was last month, or was it 15 years ago, or it was something he hallucinated while he was on acid. They sat around for hours at night stoned out of their minds on chemicals.
Killerdude exclaimed, “Yeah! I could play the role of the insane serial killer! I could play that role! I could play any role! I could play as many roles as you could, Thrillseekerman! And that’s a lot of roles.”
They shook their heads and laughed demoniacally. It was fun to be evil sometimes. You can’t be a choir boy forever. Sometimes you need a bit of rough.
But Thrillseekerman didn’t really consider it, just fantasized about it. About what? Being a serial killer? How many people do that? Could he have done it? Could Killerdude have done it? Could they have gotten away with it?
It was really weird back in those days, or the other day, or whenever it was, or maybe it never even happened, but not too many actual crimes happened. There was just a lot of talk. Cheap talk. Talk is cheap.
They Were Selling Drugs
Thrillseekerman sold dope for 14 years, and the cops never caught on. He finally quit, and now he’s scared to do it again, but the temptation is always there, because he so loved the outlaw dealer life where you never get caught and outsmart the law. He also loved being a dealer because he loved being a criminal. As a dealer, you can be a criminal without hurting anyone else, so if you have a shred of guilt left, and Thrillseekerman does, but only just a shred mind you, it’s a great Catholic profession.
They Were Robbing Stores and Driving Getaway Cars
One of his drug addict friends, Killerdude, came over the other day, or was it 22 years ago, or was it a lie his enemies made up? He asked Thrillseekerman to be the getaway driver for an armed robbery, and Thrillseekerman considered it, but thank God he didn’t do it.
A few months back, or 18 years ago, or just some lie he told, one of Thrillseekerman’s doper friends drove the getaway car for an armed robbery, and he told Thrillseekerman all about it. Then the armed robber himself came over to Thrillseekerman’s house with his girlfriend, and they sat around and took drugs. He seemed like a smiling psychopath, and those guys are always charming in a way. Later Thrillseekerman called the cops and told them the guy’s name, but there was not much they could do.
They Were Turning People In to the Cops
Last week, or 21 years ago, or while he was daydreaming, Thrillseekerman called the cops on his friends and tried to get them busted. Once for selling heroin because Thrillseekerman thought that was shitty. The other time because Thrillseekerman was mad at his friend who sold pot and wanted to burn the guy.
Dealers work with narcs all the time, and Thrillseekerman was a dealer like a lot of thrillseekers. Why? Mostly for revenge reasons. Most people don’t know that. Without dopers to work alongside them, every narc in America would be unemployed.
They Were Stealing Cars
Once, 11 years ago, or a few weeks back, or in a movie he saw once, Thrillseekerman stole Killerdude’s car, not to be a criminal or anything, but just because he was furious at him, but he brought it back when the cop’s son across the street was going to have him arrested.
They Were Vandalizing Businesses
One time, it was last month, or last year, or it was 20 years ago, or long ago in another world, and Thrillseekerman drove by a business at 5 AM with a slingshot and blew out a window in a business because he hated it and it was evil.
Committing street crimes like that, which were actually a revolutionary acts in favor of People’s Power and against the crooked businesses that rip off the People, is one of the biggest rushes that Thrillseekerman knows. You will shake like a leaf. You will shake so hard it will be hard to steer the car after you do it. You will be terrified and thrilled all at the same time, and when you get away with it, there will be no better feeling.
They Were Setting Off Bombs
Once, in another country, or on the run or the lam, or just for shits and giggles, or maybe just as an urban legend, they got loaded and made some bombs. It was a few months ago, or 13 years ago, or back in the 80’s, or I made up the whole thing. Thrillseekerman had these antisocial maniac friends, some of whom seemed like they might snap, but Thrillseekerman wasn’t worried, and they liked to make bombs, like all maniacs do. It’s so fun making illegal bombs! The psycho dudes showed Thrillseekerman how to make bombs, which is so easy it’s scary.
You take some Piccolo Pete fireworks, take them apart, and there’s gunpowder inside. You take a softball and hollow it out and fill it with the gunpowder from the Piccolo Petes. You patch the hole but leave a small hole for the string. That’s your fuse. You put a string down in and fasten it. It’s not really a bomb. It’s more like a giant firecracker, like an M-80. It’s not a shrapnel bomb.
Then they took the bombs and blew up this dude’s windshield (who deserved it) with a fused time bomb, and they slashed his tires (he deserved that too) and never got caught. Then later they went to his apartment complex and they got a bunch of guys and they all turned his car upside down so it was sitting on its roof and they never got caught for that either! He’d been ripping off the local dealers. The street has a thousand eyes and thousand ears. The street knows everything. Nothing gets away from the street. The thing about the street is the Paybacks. The paybacks are a bitch, you know? Believe it.
Then they took another bomb, this time sort of a firebomb that shoots up a flame, and threw it on some other guy’s lawn (who deserved it), and it burned a hole in the lawn. They got away with it.
Making little bombs is the easiest thing in whole world to do, and every revolutionary and maniac of any age might want to make them and set off them in the street at least, that is if you have the nerve, just to see what an explosion looks like and to piss off the boring neighbors.
They Were Waging Gang Warfare
Once, when they were young, or maybe when they were old, or maybe they just read it in a book somewhere, they called themselves a gang and sat on the front porch of Thrillseekerman’s house and shot BB pellets and rocks and dirt clods at the neighbors’ house (who deserved it) and dared them to call the cops. The people did call the cops, but the cops hardly cared because they thought Thrillseekerman was doing a civic duty by getting rid of the real criminal (the neighbor) he was attacking. In other words, Thrillseekerman was a public service vigilante ridding the neighborhood of scum as he saw fit. So they got away with it.
They Were Smashing in Doors with Baseball Bats
Once upon a time, today, or happily ever after, Thrillseekerman grabbed a baseball bat, laughed maniacally, and ran across the street in broad daylight as a joke so the whole world could see it and to dare the coward neighbors cowering in their sissy kitchens to call the cops. When he got to the scum’s door, he smashed it in with his baseball bat! Bam! The door caved in! Then he ran back home. He laughed because he thought he got away with it. The cops paid him a visit on the phone, told him to watch it, and told him to spend $10 to repair the door.
Moral: If you’re doing a public service crime, do it in broad daylight.
They Were Flashing Women
It was just the other day, or long, long ago, or it was just some made-up bullshit. Thrillseekerman sneaked into the ladies room to take a crap because the criminal, feral, 13 year old Black youths were in the men’s room threatening with their eyes to attack anyone who came in. He thought he could do it quick and dirty and simple without anyone seeing. He thought he could get away with it. He was wrong. A woman called the cops, and the detectives threatened to kick Thrillseekerman’s ass if he did not confess to a perverted crime he did not commit. He only wanted to confess to taking a crap in the wrong place and the wrong time, which was the only crime he did.
Well, he was also trying to see if he could get away with it, so there was a thrillseeker aspect. The detectives quickly figured out he was not a pervert, but they kept on torturing him anyway and trying to get him to confess. Don’t you just love detectives? How many people in the US just confess unless the cops beat the shit out of them?
They Were Molesting Children
He was 20 again, or was he 50, or was he 35 or was it some lie his enemies made up? He was jogging in the park, and Thrillseekerman met a 12 year old girl he had known from an old job for a long time, and they chatted a bit and smiled and laughed, and then she flat out asked Thrillseekerman to have sex with her and smiled when she said it, just like that. Not only that but she was beautiful, brilliant, wise, and athletic.
And Thrillseekerman considered becoming the ultimate criminal that you can be, a child molesting sick evil scumbag piece of dirt, but then he decided against it. There are Lolitas and teenage girls that want it, 12 and up, with adult men, 18-65. And if you do it and get caught, you are going down in the worst way. Is it worth it? Will you do it? Can you resist it? And most of all, will you get caught?
They Were Having Gang Shootouts
It was yesterday, or long ago in another world. A whole crowd of gangsters came in the door. There had just been a gang fight, and people were hurt. The gangsters were underage, some of them, but they used an 18 year old girl to get in the door because they knew Thrillseekerman’s fatal weaknesses.
Later there were shots fired 50 yards from his door, and the cops didn’t even want to take any witnesses. They never do in gang crimes, and besides, in Greater Tijuana, here in California, there are pro-gang Hispanic spies everywhere. Thrillseekerman’s White, and he claims Norteno, or does he? Or does the whole neighborhood? After all, he lives in a Norteno hood, so everyone more or less claims in a way. Thrillseekerman wears jogging shoes with N on them for a reason, or does he?
They Were Doing Drive-by Shootings
Three weeks ago, or nine months ago, or 12 years ago, or never, someone came by and flashed a United Farm Workers shirt – Do you get it? Nortenos! – at Thrillseekerman and asked him to go out with a shotgun and kill some Surenos.
“Hey Thrillseekerman, let’s go get a shotgun and shoot some Scraps!”
Thrillseekerman had to think about it for a bit because nothing would be so thrilling and dangerous, and Surenos probably deserved it anyway, being scumbags after all, but thank God he declined. In the barrio anyway, no snitching was the rule, so you might even get away with it, but you could still get caught. Thrillseekerman didn’t like to get caught. He liked to get away with it. After all, he’d been getting away with it his whole life. Which, after all, was the point of it all. All the crime. All the bad behavior. All the bad boy fun and games and shit. The getting away with it. The not getting caught.
They Were Committing Crimes
There were criminal opportunities all over the place for decades, right under your nose, people enticing you here and there to break the law and commit serious crimes, some of them felonies, if only one was psycho enough, and they seemed to dare you and egg you on. Will you do it? Can you resist it? Will you get away with it? Will you get caught?