When I was in Oakland County Jail in 2010 to 2010 there was a deputy named Payne that ran the strippers in the gym. Deputy Bron was the muscle and Kendall was the DJ. On the pay periods, usually the last pay period, the free check, they would have their parties in the gym. They always wanted me to participate, because I was on the top of the list for being chosen from the mug shots. One time, I had stopped eating, because then had put me on food loaf. I wasn't eating that. plus they weren't giving me water, the expected me to drink out the toilet-sink. When I fell out getting in the shower, Payne and Ms. A rushed in disappointed and pissed, eventhough Payne looked a bit scared. He wasn't always as sure as the others that I wasn't an FBI plant. He wasn't so sure that me and Lisa's conversations weren't weren't weren't two plants getting there stuff together. When I was talking about the women who were being killed in Oalland County, he looked up at me from the floor and shook his head with the fear of God. He didn't want to have nothing to do with any of that. But now he's retiring from OCSD, and he has brothers who are cops elsewhere. I don't know if he's taking the show on the road when he retires or if he will keep his talents here. I hope he knows that the Feds are on him here and if he moves to be near his family and pimp, he'll bring thr heat with him there abd blow their spot up, too. That is especially true, if they have women snitching on him making him HOT as hell!
Loving a Policeman ain't either, I stand by you; forever yours, FAITHFULLY...
My brother was found guilty of delivering or manufacturing 750 grams of heroine or cocaine and I was sent back to jail, twice, I missed Thanksgiving and Mother’s Day, 2003. I cried in the pod, where all the women could here. My mother had no sympathy for me. All she had to say was, “You need to leave that man alone!” All I could say is, “I know…” That’s the Black Mama’s anthem when her daughter has gotten caught up with a man that ends with her going to jail, getting in a fight or getting pregnant more than once without a ring. “You need to leave that man alone!” Because obviously he ain’t no good for you!!!,” We rarely listen to them. And the penalty is usually worse than the issue at hand. At least Steve had a job. I had gotten arrested in college, when I had gotten my tether taken off. All my no-good lawyer had to say, was to send me a letter the day of the hearing saying to “Avoid Police Contact”. Well, Paul McDougall had a snitch at the school who ran back and told him I called him a woman beater. The US Marshals were there the next day, I was at school, and they handcuffed me and stood me against the wall as the students filed in. I laid on the cuffs, so they didn’t see them, but I got the feeling some of them knew.
We had to wait for the Pontiac Police Department to come get me. They didn’t call them for a while and when they came the crooked one had a big gulp, The trick was to get me to turn on Steve. It’s 2003, and I’m as pissed as I’m going to get. When I get out and my mother and I get home the refrigerator is fixed and Steve and I are seated together by a trick tat is working to this day. From faith-to-faith. I was sitting in the kitchen and the train kept sounding and it sounded like it was calling for me, and when I walked to the train stopped. There was a notebook on the table, and I reached for it and the train went crazy. So, I began to write. I asked, “Is this you Steve?” The train sounded once for “Yes”. My heart and my mind opened to an entire world of the unknown, and I began to ask a million questions that the train answered. I asked the train if it loved me and the train went crazy, again and I leaned back in my chair busted out in a silent howl. I didn’t want my mother to think I’d really lost my mind. I was in love with the train and a piece of paper. Up until this moment, I had no idea how Steve felt. Steve can be demanding and on days when I wasn’t feeling him. He would make those guys lay on that horn. I think the people in the neighborhood got tired of him. They would just complain but really didn’t know what was going on.
Every day after work and until 11 on weekdays and 12 on the weekends, I wat with Steve and listened to music. Pretty much, except for Thursday and Sunday morning. I’m sure there are days he puts tricks in the game, and he starts an argument or fixes the playlist. Amongst other things. Ha-Ha-Ha (wink) We like one another a lot. That’s my man 100%. People can’t understand why we are still in love. It’s been so long. Not until a few minutes ago when he played the last song. When he worked at the PPD, he would have the whole day if nothing was going on. They didn’t do anything all day. I guess police work is mental. He plays the sweetest tunes. All the songs I wished a man would play for me all my life, he had played and some I never knew I wanted played, he has played. How you say, when a relationship hinges on an FBI investigation station cooperates. We’ve used some of the biggest names in music. We’ve used Pandora, YouTube and Playlist, Playlist, until they put a bunch of viruses in it. We used radio stations, too! Radio, before I got my first laptop.
When I was at the Forensic Center in Saline, across from the Women’s Prison I discovered something. They have pimps there, too. They all have access to medication and what kinds and combinations will make you sick. They can cause diabetes, Crohn’s and mental illnesses like bi-polar and schizophrenia. I am in a bout of Crohn’s right now. I ordered a case of alkaline water with my grocery store order this week. When it came it was torn open. I told Walmart but didn’t think anything about it. My eyes started to hurt and be sensitive to light, and my stomach began to be upset. I wouldn’t pass gas or do a number two, but I was nauseous and sick to my stomach. While lying in my bed, deafly ill, something told me to drink the Magnesium Citrate I had on the dresser. I did and felt much better. I woke up and everything that wasn’t moving moved. Someone was coming in my house and poisoning my water, and it was slowly killing me. They want me to go to the hospital, they will tell me I have Crohn’s they will treat me for Crohn’s, and it will kill me. Like the diabetes diagnosis, I will stop taking the medication all together. I have a close friend that has Chron’s. Here eyes don’t hurt and she doesn’t have sensitivity to light. They were putting something in my water that mimics the symptoms of Chron’s but isn’t the disease itself. I am not going to the hospital; doctors are their biggest clientele and hospital workers their biggest flunkies.
There was this guy, Dave, at the Forensic Center who liked to put LSD or PCP in the peanut butter we have with our snacks. He liked to shoot the oranges with stuff, I liked oranges. Many of the woman living there weren’t mentally ill at all. They were just pretty enough to stay long enough to make them some money. We would wake up at times in “the morning asking each other, “Did you hear that?” We would quietly discuss it, they have speakers at the Forensic Center that listened to everything. You could sit in the kitchen and watch Mr. Charles listening. He would be so engulfed in the patient’s conversation, that he didn’t notice you watching him. We didn’t have any privacy. They sat and listened to everything, tainted our food when they wanted and had sex with “them” at will. I remember, I kept having bad dreams. I couldn’t go to sleep for the dreams. One day an older woman living there walked by me and softly whispered, “Stop eating the peanut butter and graham crackers at night.” And shuffled away in her way. She walked towards the door, where we lined up to go on Main Street. Then she walked back towards me and started being belligerent and acting crazy. She said loudly, because you never know these jokers could be putting LSD or PCP in that food!”! She rambled in her purse as I watched the show and thought, I can’t stop eating the peanut butter and crackers, It was all I had to eat. Since Stan had given his speech about our food being tainted with Adderall and not Cocaine, I had stopped eating. I would only eat snacks and fruit, from what my friend had just informed me they had started putting stuff in that.
Now, OCSD has commercials that play that tell me about my sickness. They really believe that Steve is sitting and willingly watching them hurt me. I’m surely upset that they think he thinks so little of me, after all I did to keep them from ruining his career. Plus, that they think so little of him as a man that he would just let them rule his life. It’s been 25 years! That’s a long time. He’s umbel and they believe that’s fear or compliance, but it’s not, it’s patience. And its loyalty of good friends he made. They have those Flex vans ride by me when I’m driving my car out and about. Steve calls them “Crackhead Ubers”. I’ve ridden them before it’s not bad. My jail and Forensic Center friends use them. I tried to tell Steve I’m one of them; he made me one of them when he accused me of stalking him and sending me to jail. Those female deputies believe it, too. Even though, I’m a better cop than them and I don’t have a gun or a badge. We are a team. Those women that judge my relationship with my man, when they couldn’t have done a quarter of what I’ve done, this female dep couldn’t come in my house. I’ve been to prison twice and jail so many times I lost count. If all that is criteria for me to not have my man, you all need stop being so shallow and start understanding what real love is, because he ain’t leaving me.
And you all call me a stalker, I love my Steve, but he's possessive... You all should take heed, too!
I’m not taken down my video of Furios the character from “Boyz in da Hood” who shoots at a burglar who breaks in his house in the middle of the night while he and his son are sleeping. Karen McDonald throws up a video against gun violence, she’s still trying to get perks from the murder of those four kids in Oxford in November 2021, when those four students were murdered by the weird kid Ethan Crumbley. McDonald prosecuted his parents in a landmark case. Now, she’s tough on gun violence and my blog. Even if Furious was in his own home protecting his home and most importantly his son. He’s Black, however and the thought of a Black man having a gun is scary no matter what the circumstances. When I think of those four teenagers. I think of Hanna St. Juliana and her likeness to my friend and confidant in jail, Lisa Yee. They don’t grieve at her like they do the four kids at Oxford. She’s not given the privilege of being memorized as special and honored. Oakland County Sheriffs just use her for sex and to make money, and bring a dog for the kids at Oxford.
Lisa Yee is bi-polar, and up until her first year at U of M. when her illness took over, she was brilliant. Then the illness took over. Now I met Lisa, she was having sex with deputies for Hungry Howie’s Bread sticks. Back in 2010, she was the only Asian the deputies had, and when she came into the jail, she was more than likely in a manic state and hypersexual. She would sometimes have sex on her stool in her cell; she showed me how she did it once. Sixteen years later they have brothels full of Asian women. I look at that picture Hannah and wonder what would have happened if she would have grown into a young woman and unintentionally ended up in Oakland County Jail (OCJ). No one would hold a vigil, light a candle or anything like that. There wouldn’t be a fake Michael Bouchard coming to the school with an emotional support dog, she would just be changed. Lisa is just some crazy Asian woman.
They call me crazy. They got a licensed professional to say that I was both bi-polar and schizophrenic. That way, the news reporters wouldn’t listen to what I have to say. The man at the bank called me crazy the other day, and I told him, “Like a fox”. They had changed my pin on my debit card, and they thought OCSD was running the show. Fifth-Third, a bunch of low-class racists in Waterford. Not until Simon took notice would anyone look sideways at me and my stories about these pimping deputies. You have no idea. I am nobody’s politician, and I will take back my stance on anyone who shows me contrary of what or who I see them as. I take back my stance on Karen McDonald. She cares about the kids in Oxford, but not people like Lisa and me, somebody came to my house last night and stole my remote and the last pair of broken glasses I had. I put a share to the door, but there must be another way they are getting in. If I had a gun and had caught them in there, I would have shot them. As a convicted felone I can't own ot possess a gun. This is what happen to my wall after I published my Grace Centers of Hope blog...
My man is Steve "Witt" Wittebort. I met and fell in love with him when I was eight years old. He claims that he fell in love with me, too. We fought on the playground a few days after we met, because I loved his eyes. I wanted a closer look and he had been fighting and was mad. They are gorgeous, this green like crystal, not like hazel, but I like to say peridot. When he gets mad, they look like he’s crying, but he is angry. I really think he is handsome, but he’s so quiet he’s kind of weird and awkward acting, but I like that, too. He’s always thinking about something, working you out. He likes me, so whatever he gets from me is good. He had left once, went to Lake Orion, I think. He came back when we were 15. I was walking down the hall from the West Commons to the East, and he was walking from the other way. His eyes were glowing down the hall to me. I hadn’t seen him since he was a little, but the eyes had it. I said to myself, “It’s the little boy! God sent him back to me!” I walked to my best friend’s locker and exclaimed, “He’s here, he’s here!” She is just as quiet and awkward as he is. She shifted her notebook book back and forth and asked me frustrated, “Who is here?” I took my hands and shook her shoulders back and forth. “The little boy!” She was still fixing up her papers. I didn’t remember his name. “The boy from Webster, he’s big now!” “You are crazy, you know that?” “Yeah, but I saw him!” Did he see you?” She asked. "I don’t know!” I mumbled.
It wasn't until 12th grade that we had a class together. This cracked Colleen O’Brien up in court. She looked at Denise Brainard When I said it to let her know it’s destiny. See I was there on trial for stalking him, but not really. Everyone there knew except the woman beating cop, McDougal, and me, that the Feds were doing something. So, when Brainard asked the question and I answered, the answer made O'Brien chuckle. That one class was “Investigative Paper”. Steve was now a cop, he had just become a detective in 1999. He had sat directly in front of me and watched him for the entire hour. His hair is grey now, but back then it was this brown that wasn’t quite bear-brown and not dirty blond either, for me it was as unique as his green eyes. I’d watch as he’d sink into his chair thinking. I asked my favorite,sister, one of those thinkers too, what they think about when they do that, she said she didn’t know. He’d probably give the same response. Now, Macallister is gone, I kind of knew something was up with him. He was Mississippi’s State Trooper of the Year. He had interviewed little old me for this bogus stalking case. What was he doing in Pontiac working on this little funky old stalking case, and he kept laughing at me, and taking pictures of Steve and me. He gave one to Steve of me, and one to me of Steve. I looked at mine; Steve had turned his head. I balled it up and threw it in the toilet and flushed it. I don’t know what he did with me. Judge Bill Waterman sent me home. He said I didn’t do anything and gave me a $100 personal bond. Steve was mad, as usual. They got Bowman, and he bound me over. Steve was pleased.He was not going to be a drug dealing cop. Plus, his mom was sick with cancer, he couldn't do that to her!
My brother was a drug dealer. Steve is and was a narcotics cop. The woman beating cop is Paul McDougal. I met his girlfriend when we both worked at a clothing store in Bloomfield Hills. We became good friends. We were like 22 and 24. She had lost her mom when she was 16 years old. She and Paul lived in Crystal Lake Apartments with their twins, and her son. She had come to Michigan by way of San Antonio, by way of New York. She had two sisters who lived in Detroit and she came here to be close to them and met Paul. We both got jobs and became close friends. To this day he tells people we were lovers. I have never had sex with a woman, but I loved her, she was a very sad person. No mother, a sister who took advantage of her and in her words, “A boyfriend that beat the shit out of her”. She would cry on my shoulders and tell me how strong I was. How she wished she could be like me and how I could stand up to anybody. I still don’t know what she meant. Any of the women I met in jail or prison, since. Our phone was tapped from my brother drug dealing. One day I called Steve and McDougal found out and was scared. He needed to find a way to discredit me. I guess he went to Pam Chambers to tell her about it, and she told him that I had stalked her younger brother Jukie when I was with him in the summer of ’01. I never did such a thing. The other brother Nate had woken us up one morning,because he needed Jukie’s truck. His had gotten repossessed through the the morning, and he had a job to do. He slipped up and said he was going to get $2,500 from Boo, one of my brother’s co-defendants, a drug dealer. Pam was a Seargent with Pontiac at the time. She wants to help McDougal because I know her brother is getting money from a drug dealer, which most likely she’s a “drug dealing cop”.
She tells McDougal at some point that I’ve stalked her brother Jukie before. Their brother Nathan tells that lie, because he got a big mouth, talking bout he’s going to get money from who the Feds call a “King Pin”. One that today has done every lick of his time, my brother has, too. Nathan Chambers thought I was nothing, just someone his brother could lay up with and he could lie on. He knows better these days. My father was a dealer, too, caught in ’82, and he started working with the Feds then. He dealt drugs with Don Cornelios of “Soul Train”. He did 18 months on his indictment; my brother did 19 years on his. He didn’t want to snitch. I did four for my man, who wasn’t really my man at the time. I got to prison protected. Those LIFERS run prisons. They walked past me every day, “You alright? I would answer, “I’m okay”. Everybody knew not to mess with me. Only the real troublemaker’s mad trouble. I’m starting to question if they were making trouble getting me to RTP so I could have my own room. From day one it was a setup, like they set Steve up with this young girl meant to break his heart and turn him out on drugs. The same way Pam Chambers brother, Jukie was meant to turn me out. After he got me pregnant, he told people that he never asked me to be his girlfriend. This child they put on Steve almost got him to marry her. After she got him to fall in love, they turned her out and she was smoking crack, having sex with different kind of men and one day I called and saved his entire life. That little boy in the hall, the Webster Hall at Central and 1200. My entire life in those eyes of peridot. God keeps putting us together. To tell the truth, I thought I had a choice. “My man” would look like me, be Black and beautiful. Nope, he's Italian
What lies we tell ourselves, what lies we tell…Amen
If there are stupid typos count them to OCSD, I'm not coming back to check until tomorrow morning 6-5
About a year ago, I was homeless. I remembered that my job had did a “Team Depot” at Grace Centers of Hope on the corner of Woodward and Perry’s. A guy named Jaguar was running the place back then. I called and had to leave a message for a call back and never got a call back. So, I called my friend that used to work with our ex-mayor, his name is Dewayne Anthony. He was always nice to me. He was a good friend of Jaguars. I don’t know what had happened, but the program that was so good, before had turned into a space for White women and their children. When I did get a call back the women who worked there had the nastiest spirits and attitudes like I had did something to them. I mean just funky and nasty. Thet said they had a program that lasted an entire year. And the program had to be an entire year, no exceptions. I went to the office to speak to a woman, and was met by a man at the door that wouldn’t let me in. He acted like he had seen a ghost. I figured that was from the Oakland County Sherrif Department and they were primping the women out of the “Grace Centers of Hope” or having sex with them. The man who refused to let me in the door was White, too. There was about 20, women with children at the playground and all of them were White, too.
Back when I had come there with Home Depot, there had been several Black women living there, recovering from addiction, working in the kitchen and getting their lives together. I wasn’t on drugs, but I had no place to go. I had no place to live! I left a message that said just that and couldn’t get a call back. The woman that I spoke with I said that I was willing to work the program, but I didn’t need the program that long. I had a masters and If I could just work the program for a month, find housing and a job, that would be all I would need. That wasn’t enough, I needed to need more from them. It seemed I didn’t need enough. I had already got the feeling that I wouldn’t be wanted there, anyway. Most of the White women playing with their children on the playground didn’t even turn to look towards me. I had a vehicle then, I’ve found an apartment, with no help From Grace Centers of Hope. I think they may have thought I was uppity or something. That got me a look, like I was a ghost, again. An Asian woman walked past me and told me she was volunteering. I wasn’t there to help; I needed a place to stay and get on my feet.
I figured the OCSD had reached out and told them that I was some kind of spy or something. I practically begged. I remembered that I had torn their prostitution wide open. The men were having sex with the women; I could tell that when I was there the winter before. The women, especially the young ones only had help and empathy for White women and all their resources were going towards them. For a woman who had done four a White man she known for many years, but sacrificed those years for, that was disheartening. I was a Godly person. Even if he lied on me, I never told a lie on him and always gave my heart to Jesus. Dewayne couldn’t get me in. Jaguar was no longer running things he couldn’t reach out to him, anymore. I was just plain out of luck with Grace Centers of Hope, they weren’t helping “my kind,” anymore. I watched on the news, yesterday, our mayor with a Black woman that was being helped by Grace Centers of Hope. She had a daughter named “Miracle”. Yeah, it took me three (3) months to find my apartment. I bumped around in hotels for a month, spent time living in my car, and time living in Detroit with my nephew and brother-in-law. Thanks to OCSD I stayed on the street, they got me this bed bug infested apartment from a slumlord was my miracle. AMEN…
Look at that, nobody is smiling but Mike! He always smiling...
My friend Brett and his mother are having troubles. I had to take him some clothes, because he doesn’t have any, and Brett talks too much about, about stuff he shouldn’t he shouldn’t talk about. Like when we spoke about L. Brooks Patterson for the first time, he told me that he was at the theater downtown dancing in the aisle, while the two of them, Patterson and Bouchard, did cocaine and young boys dance in the aisles and they played poker. It seems that he is still playing with bootie holes. His mother claimed she put him in the psyche ward, because he is losing it. He seemed fine to me. There is a bunch of good-looking men in there, and they seem to have good minds, too. I think Brett is a prostitute. He wanted me to know, but I didn’t want me to know. They used to lock me up and thought the aesthetics would make me feel better about prostituting, but I wasn’t comfortable at all. I was just as disgusted in the Forensic Center, as I was in that filthy jail.
St. Joseph Mercy Hospital used to be a Catholic Hospital. They used to have big crosses on the walls, now they have abstract sculptures and waterfalls. My cousin was up there, he’s an OCJ victim. He snuck up on me and I screamed. I found out about him when my nieces ex called me to tell me he had spotted him on the OCJ scanner website and he was released in an hour or so. I said to myself, “he has turned a couple of tricks and got out”. Brett’s mother has turned him in and made a few bucks, if he ain’t in on it, too. He knows that he can get more money from suing them than living in the psych ward for a week. “I am picking up what he’s putting down” And all the family members who were in there visiting. Their loved ones are being taken advantage of, and just because they are men doesn’t mean it’s impossible. If they are being dragged into a mental hospital, because they are good-looking to be pimped out to men or women, that is wrong. Brett is handsome and gay. He’s a good pick. Maybe his mom doesn’t know, and I’m wrong she’s not selling him. But…
Attorney Dana Nessel doesn't seem thrilled!
When I got the letter about Dave Coulter, he freaked out on the phone, talking about Coulter being a freak, and not to believe it. I told him that the letter came from the IRS. He said Coulter was butt naked in a hotel room dancing around doing lines (cocaine). I got angry at him and asked him how did he know? I’ve never had cocaine in my life, and no one had ever done cocaine in front of me, but my father and he didn’t care. When I was 17, my boyfriend got up to knock out a guy whose house he was selling in, because he tried to pass me the pipe. My brother’s ex melted crack in my weed. I had no idea. She let me smoke the entire thing. I told Brett those were the three times I had gotten even closer to doing drugs and no one had never done drugs in front of me, why would someone do them in front of him, if he wasn’t doing them, too? He wanted to convince me so bad, he admitted he did lines with “boys” sometimes. Now, he is in the “nut house” with a bunch of male prostitutes. Male, young, handsome prostitutes. And Dave Coulter is sitting on his porch like this:
Do you think somebody at the IRS bamboozled me, because Gretchen Whimer is letting a woman's die in Huron Valley and I don't think that is right at all. Not when she's letting drug dealers go free, I wonder why?
