CHAPTER 19
(This Bud's Not For You)
06-04-2017
This day feels so creepy. And I mean literally CREEPY! I'm starting my morning off at a Flying J in Kansas where I plan to head north. I usually keep several hundred dollars cash on my person in the event that my debit card doesn't work or I lose it. I primarily use cash all the time because I have lost trust with the banks over the years and constantly swiping that thing would cause me a headache balancing out all those transactions. It's a beautiful Sunday morning but nothing feels right. I feel like I am trapped in a movie. I'm slightly curious if I am being plagued by my psychosis and may be experiencing a psychotic episode. But how? My route today is easy and I'm by no means stressed out so why all the early morning paranoia?
The first thing I notice is an out of order paper sign placed on the ATM machine. It all seems out of kilter. WAY out of kilter. Just doesn't feel right. I'm scheduled for home time after this load so naturally I'm running low on cash. It doesn't matter because I never use the truck stop ATMs because of the lofty fees. But why do I feel like there is absolutely nothing wrong with this ATM machine?
Out of curiosity I slightly pry up the piece of paper with the words "Out Of Order" written with a black sharpie. It all seems so weird but in reality what is happening is the professionals (the alphabet people) are trying to erase my memory. (They have something big planned today for me and don't want exact dates landing in my stories as evidently they know I am an author.) I pull up the paper even farther and look at the screen. The ATM appears to be in perfect working order. I am not surprised. People have been screwing with me all week long and I know it's time to change my cellphone number like I typically do every six months. For the past year I've been highly convinced that the mental illness combatants that evoke psychotic episodes are tracking mentally unstable individuals via their cellphone numbers and creating clever road blocks just to show their ignorance. Purposely buying up all the donuts, removing all the toilet paper, camping out on the fuel island on a full tank of gas etc. Pretty much these goaders will go to lengthy costs to make unnecessary statements to the public.
This profiling team of individuals never get caught and abuse newly formed laws for their inexplicable behavior. How will good prevail over evil if these shirt tucking people have a way of using their steeples to portray their evil illegal espionage as good?
I fold the out of order sign back to its original position and head out to my truck to head north on I-35. The load I have was picked up from the BNSF rail yard in Edgerton KS. I HAVE HAD NUMEROUS BAD HARRASSING EXPERIENCES THERE OVER THE YEARS. I think the bad experiences I have always had at the BNSF rail is mostly due to all the vetting they do because of their high security and high risk loads. I think because of my criminal background I may not legally be allowed to pull loads from there and they probably know that and opt to screw with me. Unfortunately for this load I'm on that's literally what they did. They took the screw. A very important one that holds together the crankshaft to the dollies. Because of safety reasons, once I rolled up the dollies, I had to remove the dolly handle as it would have likely fallen off as someone had purposely removed the hex nut screw that held it together. It was a sick and twisted prank but I'm so used to these immature games I opted not to report it and purchase the much needed screw at the next truck stop. But what I DIDN'T Know? Somebody somehow knew I needed that screw. Possibly somebody spying on me via a laptop and a drone? I'll let you decide.
I'm feeling funny ALL day like I'm secretly being watched. Just like that rabbit feels that hides in the bushes from the hunter.
The thickets are too thick but the rabbit can still sense that you are there. The Rabbit doesn't have to physically see you to know that you are still standing there with your gun. Even not making a sound will not fool the white rabbit. It senses your spoor. Just like I was that beautiful cloudless sky. I was sensing a drone!
I drove just under 200 miles north on I-35 making my way towards Minneapolis MN to deliver my load. Between the missing nut and the out of order sign on the ATM machine I was feeling paranoia all morning long. I also didn't like that it was Sunday as I have noticed these patterns of peek-a-boo espionage patterns almost always landing on Sundays. Did they really have to fire Jesus? Should I just laugh when the Church sings "God is watching us from a distance" and shout out "No he's not he's been laid off the government watches us?
All morning long it literally felt like some sort of evil entity was breathing down my neck. Exactly a month had passed since 05/04/2017 when I petitioned with Lancaster County Courts a name change to Bob Miller. I knew once the name change went through my bouts and quibbles with the payroll ladies would FINALLY come to an end and I could eventually one day buy a house or at least a nicer car. Every time I had to switch jobs I literally lost thousands of dollars as it definitely seemed as though when the payroll ladies that incessantly browbeat my weekly paychecks learned I had quit they transferred over the the Unemployment office so they could finish me off! I could hide from these crafty little thieves and no longer have to job hop. I could be Bob Miller! Just like smiling Bob from the Enzyte commercial! I could have a bigger swing! No squirrelly girl in her right mind would have the audacity to tinker with Big Bad Bob's weekly paycheck!
As I tried to ponder about Bob Miller to distract my paranoid thinking I came up with a genius idea in the event that I could realistically be under the scrutiny of an Air-Force One drone hovering over me. If it had been indeed shadowing me for a while the operator may have been studying my daily routine so I had an idea to throw off the drone and give it a curve ball. I could change it. I could change my daily routine and get this thing off my back!
I'm a morning pooper. It was definitely my poop hour however because my cash was low I didn't purchase my morning coffee that typically pushes out my morning poo like clock work. I figured of the Air-force one drone spying on me had infrared cameras then it would already know my morning poo had not been released so I came up with a genius idea of how to withstand a chance of catching for once my Peek-a-boo transgressors. I could create a poo poo fake out! And that's just what I did!
I pulled into the next rest area and immediately parked and shut the truck off. I pranced towards the rest room with a harried look to suggest I had a serious number two about to come out and might need a long time in there. I even went as far as to sit on the toilet knowing that the infrared drone would know I take a long time wiping my own ass cuz I like to look for the Cracker Jack prize at the end of the roll. But I had no intentions of using any toilet paper today. I was hoping to catch my intruders red handed!
Within less than a minute I was headed back out to my rig. The parking of the rest area was filling up and there was a truck parked on both sides of me. I thought nothing of it as that's very typical at this hour of the morning. I get inside my rig and start it up. As I look down at the automatic shifter I right away notice something shinier than my brand new 2016 116610LN Rolex Submariner wrist watch that I purchased for $8500.00 just months ago. I gape at what I am staring at right below my gear shifter perched nicely in plain view on the floor. A nut has crawled up into my tractor!!! I am not the only nut sitting in this tractor! There are now TWO nuts in this rig!
I'm completely taken aback. How in the hell is this possible?
Do I not lock the doors EVERY time? How could someone have planted this brand spanking new hex nut into my tractor in just under two minutes? How could someone possibly know I needed the nut in the first place if I never reported it? This was just as freaky as when I was sitting in my car in Kentucky after the 2014 KY derby leafing through hundreds of horsey tickets looking for that trifecta. It was as if someone was watching me from afar and miraculously the radio station turned into some pastor speaking on the radio. How was this even possible? How finely tuned were those drones that they could see something as small as a nut needed? This was all creepy and weird!
I looked at the truck parked to my left and saw a sun blocker up with a big Texas license plate. I immediately thought to myself Not Guilty If it's one thing I leaned while working that year at PTL was those southern folks don't have the time, money, or means to play peek-a-boo games with electronic equipment and exacerbate the minds of a Schizzo. They simply don't roll like that. No reindeer games from the good southern folks. Taunting you by marching in their BDUs possibly yes but that's as far as they typically go. 99% of the time if you rub them the wrong way they're not shy of letting you know to your face how they feel about you.
I turned to face the truck to my right whom evidently was awaiting his lookout partner whom thought there was extra time in between my purported poo break to do a little sit down squirt of her own. The first thing I noticed about the man in the light brown trench coat is he appeared to be pacing around and looked quite nervous as if he was about to be caught in the act of something. One thing was for sure is he definitely didn't look any thing like a truck driver other than his beard helped him fit in just a little bit. He seemed to be anxiously pacing around the front of his truck and gasping up towards the sky as of contemplating some sort of imminent decision. As if looking way too overqualified to be a trucker wasn't enough, I was sure that light brown trench coat was overkill for the warm weather of June and it looked super expensive. Definitely not a coat that would be worn on a trucker's salary!
I fondled the shiny brand new nut in the palm of my hand a bit longer and watched the nervous trench coat man pace around.
The Old man looked very familiar but since he was possibly the only former attorney out there knowing of my driving record starting at the age of thirteen I couldn't place him in my mind as over twenty years had passed.
Suddenly a Caucasian red headed woman in blue jeans appeared out of nowhere and quickly made her way into the trench coat man's truck. I could tell that the couple weren't real bono fide truckers by the way she failed to do the official three points of contact entry when she climbed into the rig. Instead she appeared to slither her way into the rig almost like she skidded on her belly like getting ready to worm her way into a penguin's igloo. Who were these people? How had they gotten into my truck? Were they indeed the ones that planted this much needed nut into my rig? How did they know I needed it if the crankshaft is located on the other side? How would they even know to look at my crankshaft to see it's missing?
Before I could get out of my rig to question the couple they quickly started up their rig and took off. I didn't have my dash cam hooked up to the windshield but I managed to take a picture of the side of their rig. The truck belonged to a company from Minnesota that I never even heard of. Stencel. Stencel Trucking? Never heard of them.
After the Stencel truck rolled away I then took a picture of the nut that had crawled up into my rig. I placed it right smack into the palm of my hand and used my phone to take a pic. I then texted it to my little brother, Officer Steidler, followed with a text message.
"A REAL professional would have placed a rusty nut that wouldn't get noticed right away so I would never know how it crawled up into here."
I say crazy things to my brother all the time. Mostly because I have crazy evidence to back up my crazy talk. My brother wasn't buying into my bizarre story but I almost expected him to act naive. He does this all the time when he's guilty as sin. He even once stated to the family "The government teaches us to lie all the time."
But Officer Steidler is not the first to admit that. I'll never forget the former military man working as correctional officer at Allenwood Low Security. One day we were mad that it was hot outside and didn't like pushing a self propelled push mower for twelve cents an hour. The handsome chiseled former Marine was ribbing us inmates one day and openly stated to us while smiling "Why not? Were told to lie to you guys all the time!" As if he had done it so much he was getting rather good at it and quite proud of the fact.
My little brother that was constantly playing the role of "Big Brother" never told me to file a police report for whatever really happened that Sunday on June 4th, 2017. I'm still convinced to this day that the man I saw in the trench coat was in fact the very man that used to represent me as a thirteen year old juvenile in court and now gets to swing the gavel right there in the Lancaster County Courthouse. I ascertained this when I stumbled across his stamped name in my name change petition and pieced it all together when I googled him and noticed he had finally cut that long hair that he had back in the 90's. I guess the cigarettes got put away too but with a pay increase like that who wouldn't?
21 assailants I faced in the summer of 1999 when long haired "Bud" was paid nearly $500 to represent me for criminal charges bestowed upon me for merely sitting in my 88 Jeep Commanche pickup truck and eyeing one of my attackers from the bru-ha-ha from the night before. I was the forgotten mental patient only to be remembered when the entire Rodney King Style beat down case some how got the bill and charges for the entire thing. I was the poster boy to eradicate any possible rumors of closet racists forming into our judiciary system. A perfect patsy for the alphabet people to hide their conviction numbers from.
I was Blake Ryan Steidler. The man forbidden from any constitutional rights.
The day our people in our judicial system coin the name "Bud" is a BIG sign that our Judicial system has gotten so lazy to the point that it could stoop to a new low and assume that each and every alphabet Human is infallible that they can cut corners of trust and create their own "Bud" system.
Has the U.S currency been changed? Does the almighty dollar now read "In Police We Trust?"
Should there ever have stemmed a "Bud" system or do we just assume that irrefutable Lancaster County has an indelible history of telling the truth?
Was there a book written titled "Love, Murder and Corruption in Lancaster County by Michelle Lambert?
Did the "Bud" system apply within the Feds too? Had that package really not been intercepted prior to making its way to the Youngstown OH mailing facility?
After I returned from my home time Stan Koch and Sons trucking were sure to right away send me to pick up a load just a few miles from the BNSF rail to thwart the dates from my memory that might ensue months later. I believed my banking history portrayed me as a "cash only" only kind of guy and that's why the ATM had the out of order sign posted as my peek-a-boo stalkers would know my cash flow was low as home time was approaching and didn't want the proof of June 4th in my bank statements. After one of the older mechanics at Stan Koch and Sons trucking purposely gave me the wrong key after a tractor repair I ended up quitting with that Minnesota company and purchased my own flight home. I'm still waiting for the three days layover pay from those unpaid last three days of sitting in their lot.
After completing 14 months of impeccable employment with Stan Koch and Sons trucking I knew I was financially being ousted once again and flew home on my own dime. They were sure to have their dumpster empty and squeaky clean enough that you could eat off it. It was funny when I dumped two lap tops, a cooler, tools and a whole lot more right into their dumpster because their goofy drivers went dumpster diving like there was no tomorrow. I had had enough of the Kochy Monster's harassment (pronounced Cookie) and it was time to drive for someone else more savvy to law. It took me literally five minutes to locate the pinhole spy cam that one of Koch's mechanics had illegally installed one day. I really do love that black electrical tape that darkens things for the peek-a-boo people.
Even after I left Stan Koch and Sons Trucking the phalanx of witches in there were sure to throw me a few more parting jabs for good measure. 14 months of putting a fur coat on those Viking fans only for the witches in there to tell Western Express that Bob Miller (me) had only worked for them for two and a half months.
So it may be true that virtually EVERY truck stop out there tends to air CSI on there TVs over a good episode of The Big Bang Theory the question still remains.........
Who was trying to kill Smiling Bob from the Enzyte Commercial proudly flourishing a Miller Beer can?
Who out there was trying to kill Bob Miller?