Welcome to the mind of John Scott Ridgway. Beware falling rocks and angels.

YOU ARE ABOUT TO ENTER WHAT THE INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY CALLS THE 'WITTING.' The implication being anyone who doesn't know what is truly going on in the world is 'unwitting.' I have an academic/artist background that includes three books, oil painting, radio and tv... though mostly, I write on the web and give the words away. Better read than dead, I always say. I studyied military intelligence, cults, english, history, and philosophy, among other subjects that I took in my quest to have something to say in my work.... I am proud to say I studied under peaceful warriors, like Dr. Danial Stern, an icon in the sixties who hung out with the panthers, dealt with agent provocaters, spies.


Find me on facebook at john scott ridgway... there are two of me... one is active. I trust you can figure it out. Doing a lot of stuff there. Basically showing my daily trek throughout the dozens of papers I peruse while waiting in some bush, pr parked somewhere, you know, out stalking, or whatever, you know... hunting humans, maybe... but not in an illegal way. Really.

I urge you to try out my new Jesus, blog, too. He is nothing like you have read before. This creature from the planet Heaven is mistaken for an alien, a cult leader, a terrorist.... Military intelligence agents and secrets are thrown all over in this blog.... please spread my writing whereever forfree... The book is not just for Christians. I am almost an agnostic... I, Christ... will lead you to heaven, or at least give you a lot to think about. After years of getting mostly a's in college, I can at least parrot a few things you have not heard.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005


Bled him to death.
by Scott Ridgway

10:44 PM
I met Bear in Wicker Park, back when the gang bangers were still holding open air markets where they called out, "You need anything' as they came up to the window and slid a good day into the windows of passing cabs. Bear was in a gang himself, but he was getting ready to be sentenced to prison, for the second time, and couldn't afford to be seen hanging out with other gang bangers or he could be charged under RICO (the anti-rackeetering law the FBI uses to put bangers away until they are middle aged). So he was stuck going down to a dealer and scoring like every fucking day.

The Bear was happy to have me as his cab driver, because I was one of the few who would take junkies to score. I always figured they were going to do it anyways, and since they paid twenty bucks extra for the service, I went ahead and put up with the little hassles of doing business with junkies.

Bear went out and bought a few eight balls now and then, at this tiny house on the west side. He would make me drive through all these alleys and shit so he could make sure no cops were around.

I liked him from the get go, because he jumped in my cab and says, "Oh, a white boy, huh?" Bear, like most of wicker park/Humbolt park, is mexican indian.
I laughed and came back in a flat, corporate voice, "Man, I am as white as they come."
" I stopped a white guy from getting raped in jail once."

He then told me the whole story and more as he nervously chattered away and looked here and there and everywhere for copse. He was extremely paranoid, because he had a lot to lose at that point...

Bear went to jail the first time for two years, for a murder rap. He cut the balls off a guy who he caught raping a little girl. The guy was a known pervert to the cops and the neighborhood, so law enforcement in general did their best to give Bear an easy time of it.

I knew Bear though when he was getting ready for round two in the pen. This time the FBI was taking him down for big time cocaine sales. He wasn't a braggart about this, just mentioned various trips to europe he took woth his beloved wife.

I never knew Bear'sname. He's somewhere in prison now, part of a gang, doing his eight balls and hanging around watching tv, working out, occasionally kicking some ass.

I think Bear should be employed to take care of rapists and child fuckers. No, something that cool, I am sure that people would demand to take turns.

So, if you feel amorous toward kids, housepets, or the cursed wombat, and are not a kid, a pet or a cursed wombat... cut your balls off now. It won't hurt at all. Actually, it makes you really high, like crack. Seriously, it does. And come on, face that part of yourself that is honest enough to know you could massah jack-off-your-sons balls with a grim smile of satisfaction over the knowledge that no more children were going to suffer... This act would make you the Catcher In The Rye. Any Hinckley-think-alikes out there who want to be the Catcher In The Rye? Then don't shoot a fucking beatle, you idiot, let alone the cool one.... go find the list pedophiles in your neighborhood and stalk them until you have the evidence you need to eviscerate them, or whatever....

yea, right... if I thought any of you (or me) had the balls to do this deballing, I suppose I wouldn't to write this... probably have to change my motto, too -- KILL YOURSELF AND OTHERS...

Bear claw
oh, bear claw
Where for art thou bear claw?

William Hatesclear

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