Here in Peep Town
My circus adventures in the midst of San Francisco's criminal mob of homosexual Peeping Toms
Welcome to Peep Town
There may have been a time in San Francisco when large numbers of gay professionals, small business owners, and executives hadn't banded together out of fear and enlisted a gang of homosexual Peeping Toms to protect them. There may have been such a time, but if there ever was it was longer ago than the 50 plus years I've lived here.
This long-standing alliance between sexually non-conforming men and sexually perverted criminals is called by its members "Our Construct." An uninspired, unglamorous, and disappointingly anti-climactic appellation, to be sure. My guess is it's a bow to the Mafia's "Our Thing."
Like the Mafia, if you want protection you have to purchase a subscription. Unlike the Mafia, Our Construct's protection is 90% illusory. Their subscribers feel protected without really being protected from anything. Mob representatives pay them regular visits. They address them by their first name, they express concern, ask how they're doing, ask if they're having any problems and, if they are, tell them not to worry. It's a transparent protection racket, but the subscribers want to believe they're being protected. It's the same thing in their minds as if they actually were protected.
Our Construct functions across industries and encompasses much of the nine county San Francisco Bay Area. My contact with it has always been tied to the accounting profession. I once told the sexually disoriented, sneaky-nasty, and not too terribly bright criminal CPA firm partner who was, I'm embarrassed to say, my boss what I thought of him. That opened the floodgates. I was labeled a threat and, in the cowardly world of Our Construct, a threat to one is a threat to all. That's how I got introduced to Our Construct's enforcement arm.
A few months after I left that awful firm I was accosted on the sidewalk outside my home by several men yelling threats. I can't recall exactly what they were saying; it didn't make any sense, anyway. After they quieted down one of them asked me, "Have you ever heard of..." He glanced at a piece of paper he was holding and named the same criminal CPA firm partner I'd told off, except that he got his middle initial wrong.
The questioner turned out to be a retired police sergeant named John. He was one of Our Construct's most trusted operatives. One day I heard a sound outside my door, looked through the peephole, and saw hi enter my apartment building's trash room and grab a bag of garbage I'd just tossed there. I waited until he'd gone, then opened my door and followed him. He carried the garbage bag with both hands through the building parking lot and down some stairs at the end toward the apartment where he lived.
John got lucky. One of the things he found in my garbage was a spare key to my apartment. It didn't take long for his enforcer friends to break in and steal a record from my collection. For some reason they picked Shelby Flint Sings Folk.
Who are these enforcers? They're a handful of private citizens and FBI agents, all of whom are homosexual Peeping Toms. I call them "Peepies."
Our Construct couldn't function without FBI's support. In fact, it's impossible to overestimate the importance of FBI in maintaining Our Construct's continued existence. FBI provides the Peepies with hardware, software, and methodology for their most powerful weapon and favorite activity, invasion of privacy. FBI agents enable the Peepies to bug homes, tap phones, and gain unauthorized access to computers. These agents contribute their spying expertise and specialized knowledge of privacy invasion techniques in general to the Peepies' enforcement arsenal.
Surprised that FBI plays such an important role in a criminal endeavor? You shouldn't be. FBI is not "the good guys." FBI is, and has been since the days of J. Edgar Hoover, a collection of homosexual Peeping Toms who are paid by the government to break its own laws. In other words, they're professional criminals. There's no fundamental difference between FBI and the Peepies. They're all gay criminals and they all gain perverted sexual gratification from peeping. The only real difference is the source of their funding; one from the government, the other from the private sector.
The Unholy Alliance
Our Construct wouldn't even exist were it not for FBI's tacit acquiescence. FBI encourages Our Construct by refraining from discouraging it. They maintain an unholy alliance. To the best of my knowledge FBI never has arrested anyone directly associated with Our Construct. When they catch a Peepie they ask him if he'll cooperate. If he agrees, they use him to further their investigative goals. If he refuses, they let him go.
One reason FBI protects Our Construct is that the Peepies regularly recruit criminals from outside their organization to perform specific tasks. Some of these criminals have been wanted by law enforcement for a long time. The Peepies lead FBI straight to them.
More than that, Our Construct attracts a nationwide conglomeration of sexual deviants and sociopaths of various stripes. FBI wants to know who they are and what they're up to.
Additionally, Our Construct provides FBI a means of testing its agents. Those who succumb to the Peepies' recruitment pitch can't be trusted.
One more factor contributing to Our Construct's continued survival is the virtual impossibility of apprehending their FBI hirelings. These agents are so thoroughly buried in anonymity by FBI at the outset that, unless they make some stupid mistake, they can never be identified.
The Peepies and the business professionals who subscribe to their phony protective services have provided me over the last several decades with adventures that I can best characterize as circus-like. I've chronicled some of my more bizarre experiences in the list at the left. Surreal as some of these narratives may seem, they're all ridiculously true. The titles can be read at random in any order. The more adventures sampled, the clearer will become my circus life among the clowns here in Peep Town.
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