David Parker Ray & the tapes I'm thankful I'll never hear

...I know, but have finally got a spare ten minutes to chuck an update together to say that although it's disappointing for some, I have not slipped off this mortal plane. What I have been doing however, is spending months working continental shifts, a work pattern that was surely implemented by the devil himself. I mean really- a week of nights, then a week of mornings, followed by a week of overnights? Nobody can do those shifts without it affecting their sanity and physical health and after a couple of months of shuffling down like a freshly transformed zombie, I was glad to start at Job 100, where I work week days only, like normal people. 

Anyway, despite the fact I've not been writing, I have of course been delving around the internet on breaks- huddled in a corner, plugged into my mobile with my headphones on and falling down wormholes like my life depends on it. Lately, I've been dallying in the world of crimes and missing people, and today's story is a horrific combination of the two. Without further ado, are you sitting comfortably?

Then I'll begin.

It's worth noting that this post is to some NSFW and to others, NSFL. I trust that you, the reader, is reasonably used to the kind of weirdness I write about here, so as always, I'm not going to butter up the facts. 

David Parker Ray is probably one of the most brutal, twisted killers I've ever read about. 

Now I love studying crime; from serial killers to autopsies, crime scene photographs and interview transcripts, it's all brain food for me. As I've said before, I consider studying crime as a way of being some use. I'd like to think that if I ever was involved in an accident or came upon a corpse, I'd know not to panic and would like to think I'm a little more experienced in viewing the gory than the people who's only foray on the internet starts and ends with Facebook.

I've seen more autopsies and suicides than hot dinners, and chances are I won't lose my bottle if faced with a corpse or two amongst injured people in a road traffic accident or whatever catastrophe I could potentially find myself in. Equally, I'm a strong believer that we should be teaching kids first Aid as standard, and this should be continued into high school. But whatever, I'll just rein in my leash and let's get back on-topic.

One night I was up late, reading about serial killers- as you do- and I'd spent the last few days digesting the stories of Aileen Wournos and Charles Manson, and I happened upon the name David
Parker Ray. Never heard of the bloke; and so began a wormhole which scared the bejeezus out of me.

David Parker Ray Toy Box KillerAs always, with my little wormhole missions, the first question is 'who is that then?' followed rapidly by 'OHMYGOD-why did they do that?! What was their background? What was their lifestyle?' and finally 'How did they get discovered for committing such horrific crimes?'. David Parker Ray's story was a relatively quick (four hours) and simple wormhole, which I've since mentally filed away in a box called 'What The Sweet, Shuddering F*k'.

Once upon a time in 1999, a naked woman was found in chains at the edge of a road in New Mexico. She reported a horrific story of torture and humiliation by a man and a woman whom she had escaped from.

The police quickly found and arrested David Parker Ray and his girlfriend Cindy Hendy, and the case against them began to grow like a snowball. Ray would select women- either by kidnap or by using prostitutes- and they would be knocked out and/or drugged, before coming to again and coming to the grim realisation that they were naked and bound tightly to a chair. They were blindfolded and headphones placed over their ears which played cassette tapes Ray had made, explaining exactly where they were and what was going to happen to them. In case you hadn't worked it out, it wasn't a nice pedicure and a back massage.

He had spent upwards of $100,000 on a trailer in his yard to be modified especially for his crimes, which he referred to as the 'Toy Box'. He is, on some websites, referred to as 'The Toy Box Killer' as a result. Inside, his victims would be strung up and tortured using medical implements and common household stuff for days on end. He had a gynae chair, bondage equipment, chains and fifty shades of crazy in the Toy Box and when him and Cindy were bored of their victim, they would be disposed of. Simple as that.

It would all be recorded- both with microphones and on video- as there's nothing this sick f*ck enjoyed more than torturing women who were clearly scared out of their f*cking minds. Dependent on which sources you read, Ray was responsible for up to 60 murders, but there could be many more, and no-one will ever know for sure. 

For those about to go on a wormhole of their own to digest this case, I'd suggest you get a bucket and certainly not delve into this last thing at night. I did- and slept with the lights on. 

#Blackburn Royal Infirmary on Derelict Places

This evening I was going through my bookmarks, and I happened upon a link to a forum I found years ago, where some people had managed to get into Blackburn Royal Infirmary and taken a load of photographs of the place. I don't go to Blackburn very often, but the last time a few weeks ago I was gutted to see a Pizza Hut and a Morrison's built where the pedestrian entrance once was, encased in a cheaply made (and designed) retail unit. Behind there was a few new builds, and behind those loomed the old infirmary building. Beautiful once, but now dilapidated and vandalised, and presumably tied up in metaphorical red tape which neither allows it's demolition or potential re-purposing.

Have you ever typed your named into #UrbanDictionary?

Eve on Urban Dictionary
I did today. It made me beam!

Utherverse - or how I weirded myself out more than ever before

Last night I fell into a wormhole that weirded me out like no other. As always with wormholes, I start off looking for one thing in particular and before I know it, four hours has passed and I'm gazing at something which has absolutely nothing to do with my original purpose.

Last night was no different. 

I was online (as per usual), looking for a job like a good little job seeker. After going through the usual job sites, I ended up on Gumtree (or as Peta rather aptly calls it, Scumtree) and it was somewhere there I was perusing the jobs in the 'Miscellaneous/Other' category.

Oh how the world of blogging is changing!

Today I've been ill, so most of my day has been spent sat in bed feeling sorry for myself. Standard fare when you live with cats and they couldn't give a monkeys whether you're dead or alive- as long as you can spoon meaty chunks from a tin, they're good.

Anyways, I was bobbing about online, submitting my blog to a number of blog sites. It's something I do every year or so, partly to up my traffic, and partly because I like to see what other people are writing about and now, more than ever, I feel like a weirdo blogger out on her own.

Apparently I'm on Bloglovin now......

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Fact of the Day: The Death Whistle

Contrary to popular belief, it's not the high pitched noise Mariah Carey emits during 'Dream Lover' - instead it's an instrument used by the Aztecs which was only discovered by archaeologists twenty odd years ago.

Scared of flying? Prolly best not read this then, eh?

Plane Crash Info

On another one of my late night internet travels, I happened upon Plane Crash Info- a website dedicated to cataloguing all aspects of those rare occasions when planes just drop out of the sky. Personally, I don't fear plane crashes and never have. I went on my first flight in 2004 from Manchester to London, and my second from London to Bangkok on the same day. My dad, who was with me, was more nervous than I was (although he was trying to hide it), but I remained unfazed, mainly because I knew statistically the chances of a plane crash were incredibly slim.

Ten ways that you may have pissed me off on Facebook

This week, I spent the evening sorting out my Facebook friends into lists to prevent the annoying issues from..well, annoying me. If you haven't done this already, and you and me get annoyed by the same kinda stuff, I suggest you spend an hour or two doing this as well. Since I've made my friends lists, my news feed is no longer clogged with the annoying, and I can use Facebook without getting the urge to punch myself in the face through sheer frustration.*