Categories
Malibu Money Rant

Rate My DA: Anne-Marie Wise

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Yesterday Anne-Marie revealed her hand.  Wise by name…wise by nature?

DA Anne-Marie Wise is taking her prosecution of me very personally.  Perhaps because she’s in the employ of her ‘victim’?  Perhaps because I wrote she wore terrible clothes?  Perhaps because I had a lurid dream about her?  Perhaps she’s just an old-fashioned homophobe?  Perhaps she is pre-menstral…menopausal?  Perhaps she just doesn’t like me.

In which case: Join the queue babe.

I’ve no idea what her problem is…but she sure has a problem with yours truly.  Wise: “He writes about lots of people.” Glances over at me. I smile and nod.  The days of anonymity for anyone in any profession are over. The internet has changed everything. I am allowed to have an opinion about anyone…and I’m allowed to write it.

Anne-Marie Wise is spending your money, dear tax payer, in which ever way she can in her occasionally amusing personal persecution…oh…I’m sorry, prosecution of Duncan Paul Roy.  Yesterday the petulant, pre-menstral hag showed the world exactly what she thought of me and the case she has been specially assigned to.

A few facts:

1. Anne-Marie demanded that my friend Joy, a junior black colleague of hers…unfriend me from Facebook. Joy is now terrified that she may be fired for knowing me. Is that even ethical? Is Anne-Marie Wise a work place bully?

2. She has maintained throughout that she has been eager to find a plea deal solution but her hands have been tied by her boss Alan Yokelson. She told the judge and my lawyers that she has no desire to continue with the case but Yokelson is determined, unrelenting, unable to conclude a deal.

Since Judge Jessic pleaded with her to resolve our deal impasse…my lawyers had a meeting with Alan Yokelson and things were not as Anne-Marie Wise had suggested. Yokelson many times thanked my lawyers for coming to see him. He was amiable and helpful.

Apparently Anne-Marie turns up (previously uninvited) and is rude and petulant. Armed with a huge pile of papers, grimly detailing my ‘anger issues’ (duh) who wouldn’t be angry when they found out they ‘ve been ripped off to the tune of $500k?

The boss sits there silently as she unleashes a tirade against me. Then, when she is done…turns, leaves the office without saying a word of goodbye to anyone…including her boss.  It turns out that rather than Yokelson it is her who is determined to see this all the way into the court room.

The State of California is bankrupt and this woman is spending precious tax dollars prosecuting a case that should have been heard in a civil court. She has personally kept this case alive, spending money the State can ill afford, (fame chasing?) a self appointed arbiter of what should be a civil case and champion of some rip off Malibu realtor.

Listen, either way, I don’t mind. We can resolve this amicably or we can go to court. An amicable resolution as prescribed by the judge will not include a gagging order nor a felony. We have been eager, from November 2011, to work with the DA to find a solution. She has refused.

She continues to treat this unusual and absurd ‘letter of the law’ case as if I am some sort of child murdering rapist gang banger.  All she has achieved so far is to provide the basis for a landmark immigration case, the ACLU and NILC suing ICE and the Sheriff and, surprisingly, a great deal of sympathy for me. By incarcerating me she may have made me a very rich man.

By refusing to find an amicable solution she allows me to have my moment in court before a jury of my peers with the potential of a ‘not guilty’ outcome.

Then, the law suits will start. Oh, please…let this happen.

A court hearing with jury and all the trimmings will cost the State of California about half a million dollars…ironically the amount of money I am owed.  A court hearing will flay the ‘victim’ with lurid details of his personal life and business dealings. It will shine a spotlight into the murky world of Malibu real estate and…no one will come out unscathed.

I’ve no idea what this woman expects to achieve but what ever she throws at me…I’ve dealt with worse. I am stronger for her ill judged, personal loathing of me, stronger from having spent time in jail.   When I look into that woman’s hard face all I see is your tax dollars needlessly spent on behalf of some rich Malibu dude. Tax dollars that could be spent restoring a local school, fixing a road, prosecuting a rapist.

I am secure that our judge is fair and equitable, a good man who has made crystal clear and on the record that my attempts to have stolen money returned to me were perfectly understandable. He wondered who, in this case, the victim was? Me or…you know who.

Anne-Marie do the right thing by the tax payers of California. Find a solution for this problem and find it now.

Categories
Gay Hollywood Money

New Naked Boy

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In the world of nice…this blog isn’t going to go down terribly well.

I was in court yesterday.

Anne-Marie the DA…jeeze. I felt sorry for her. The super-cool judge told her that he would (without using the colorful language) have (in my circumstances) done the same.

He said this…on the record.

He said anyone presented with the same problem would have written a similar letter. Giving someone (who has so blatantly ripped him off) the opportunity of making things better.

He continued that he was trying to ‘get his head around’ the case.

Anne Marie sat at her desk gasping and pouting like a spurned little girl. Noisily shuffling her papers, comparing me with Michael Flatley.

So…Sean McFarlane, perhaps your ‘jumping for joy’ was a little premature. Allegedly Sean (the sex therapist) screamed with unbridled delight, when he heard I had been arrested, “He’s going down!” The crazy cult therapist…to his equally insane clients…to the assembled SAA meeting.

He’s going down? Let’s see shall we?

If the judge thinks what I did was reasonable…what will a jury think?

My favorite line from yesterday’s proceedings? “So, Mr Roy should have just published the blog?” It was my first amendment right.

I saw Jonathan A yesterday. He was a friend of mine once. He’s the kind of gay guy who overly cleans his room (it is spotless) so nobody would suspect how grimy his interior world is.

He heard me at a recent SAA meeting tell them I wouldn’t be back any time soon. Of course, I can change my mind. Any time I want. I can step right back into AA or SAA. That’s the way it works.

Try stopping me. I’m laughing out loud.

The tramps and the hookers and the thieves. All the filth comes out at night…

Jonathan’s head looks like it has been carved from the flesh of a rotton pear. If you bit into it: pappy, bitter…spit it out immediately.

Gay life.

1.

So, this beautiful teenager arrives at a party I’m at last week in the Hollywood Hills.

Fresh off the boat. He’s beautiful. He has a fresh, open face…his pale skin is flawless.

He hadn’t been in Hollywood for longer than a month but already he’s on the arm (unwittingly) of a so called LA ‘producer‘ who, it seems, has immediately pimped the boy out to the head of programming for a popular network.

The no name, no hope LA producer pimping the boy out…so that he might curry favor with the TV grandee.

(just to be clear…the same LA producer hires young boys to ‘read scripts’ so he has access to their young boy world)

The whores and the pimps and the fairies…

The network head ain’t no beauty. He looks like Dobby from Harry Potter.

So the good looking kid arrives and he tells me that he’s working in NYC with an equally scummy NYC ‘producer’ who always has some starstruck kid on his arm.

The NYC producer looks like he has downs syndrome, he looks like his teeth are too big for his fat, useless head. He looks like he’s wearing a wig but the fringe ain’t deep enough to cover the alcohol bloat, the never was visage.

He was a bullied kid at the expensive school his mother sent him to…signed him up the moment she heard the sperm had hit the egg.

Both of these producers have one thing in common: they have loads of inherited money and never produced anything.

They might have their names attached to invisible projects, they might have inveigled their way into the production meeting of some meaningless movie, thrown a little cash behind an artless indi. But, they ain’t never winning no awards, they ain’t never been invited to no Sundance, Berlin or Cannes.

They’ll go anyway, keeping their mouths shut to those who matter and lying to those who don’t.

Should I tell you who they are?

No.

So I’m keeping my head down. I’m not saying a word. I’m instagramming the bar man, I’m already elsewhere…waiting for something real to happen.

Dobby, the network head shows the man I’m standing with his very smart, smart phone. He’s so excited. There are hi def pictures and video of the same wide eyed teenager at Dobby’s huge house wearing just…a towel.

Yes. The kid is wearing a towel around his waist, his perfectly sculpted body on full view and standing beside him is another, equally cut young teen.

Two young boys.

The inference? You don’t need me to explain this to you do you?

So I take this kid to one side and I ask him if he’s gay? He’s not. I ask him what he thinks of the network head showing everybody his new naked body to anyone the network head needs to impress.

‘They are good guys.’ he reassures me.

No, I say…they are anything but good guys.

You know, all he wants (this kid) is a job, a chance, an opportunity, the dream of celebrity…freedom. He can almost taste it. He knows that these men make all the difference.

His desire for a better life is palpable.

He’ll drink the drinks. Undress, get into the hot tub.

You know, I love beauty. I love it. Look, I’m surrounded with beauty.

My ex-friend might say, oh your just jealous. You’re just jaded because you want what they’ve got,

Believe me, I do just fine. But on terms that do not compromise my integrity.

Would I show random strangers the body of some boy who stands feet from me? Knowing that those artless, semi pornographic images suggest that we are more than just…innocent friends?

The network head winks, smiling…dribbing over the screen on the smart phone. Dobby’s nose is dripping from undisclosed snorting.

He says, without saying anything: That teen boy…the boy with the perfect abs. He’ll do anything..because he thinks I’m going to get him a role, find him an agent…make him the next teen sensation. LOL.

LAUGHING OUT LOUD!

He lets seasoned Hollywood gays believe that this boy will do just about anything to get on.

Dobby wants you to believe he fucked the boy. Dobby is powerful. Dobby can get whatever he wants. Even the virgin ass of a young boy fresh off the boat. Particularly…the young ass of the boy standing feet away from us, oblivious that he is now the victim of rank objectification and intrigue.

Proud to be gay? Not today.

So I wrote a short email to the NYC ‘producer’ guy. I told him what was going on with his protege. He wrote back immediately…he thought it was hilarious. I reminded the fat, vodka marinated, creep…that the boy…has parents.

Today Bradley Manning is in court again…his fate predetermined…the rest of his life in jail assured…for being a hero. Nobody I know in the gay community gives a damn. Of course, if he looked like the beautiful teen age boy at the gay hollywood party…things might be a whole heap different.

I saw Jonathan yesterday and he reminded me why I am alive. What living is all about.

He has a job in marketing and a spotless room but he has a filthy, miserable interior world. A world that shames him. A world from which he cannot escape, a world that will never include anything of which he dreams.

Categories
Dogs Self Sufficiency

Santa Barbara Farmer’s Market

Categories
Hollywood

Mike Manning Birthday Project

Categories
Hollywood

Lady Rizo

Lady Rizo in LA for a few glorious days.  Listen to her on NPR here.

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Categories
prison

MCJ Violence and Cruelty

Ivan

This is my deposition for the ACLU.

Reading it makes me nauseous. It infuriates me that incidents like this happened and continue to happen.

They are happening now in the MCJ.

The gay press, of course, are not interested in reporting what happens in our jails to our LGBT brethren.

White, gay elitists control our media and are paid by big pharma.

Our media know that the prisons are full of black and transgender people but choose to ignore it.

They, of course, are those with the least (perceived) sexual currency in the lgbt community.

Even my most liberal and informed friends think it is perfectly reasonable to say “I could never find a black man attractive.”

The gay press scarcely acknowledges the presence of black or trans let alone write about the way they are continually targeted by the police.

That, my friends, is another story.

I was recently introduced to a self proclaimed ‘champion of the gays’, a ‘spiritual’ gay with a huge blog following.

He told me yesterday that he was only interested in helping the gay community with his good works, that the trans community did not interest him.

His bare faced dismissal of parts of our disparate community galls me as much as the vile behaviors of the deputies listed below.

A good looking, white, young, gay man preaching love and kindness…but only to equally good looking…white…young gay men.

Here you go:

My name is Duncan Roy.

I make this declaration based on my own personal knowledge and if called to testify I could and would do so competently as follows:

I stayed in the Los Angeles County Jail system from November of 2011 to February of 2012.

I was housed at Men’s Central Jail (“MCJ”) in Modules 5200 and 5400, which are the gay inmate dorms.

Though I was able to be released on bail, I had to stay in jail because the Sheriff’s Department refuses to release on bail anyone on whom the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (“ICE”) has placed an immigration “hold.”

However, it is my understanding that immigration holds are only requests – not mandatory orders – that local law enforcement hold people for ICE for 48 hours, thus it was the LASD that refused to release me even though I could make bail.

While I was in jail, I witnessed numerous incidents in which deputies verbally abused, humiliated, threatened, and even physically abused inmates – particularly transgender inmates. In addition, we regularly were denied things like hot water and outdoor recreation time.

Processing into Jail

After I had been asked about my sexual orientation at the Inmate Reception Center (“IRC”), I was whisked away from the general population and placed in a light-blue uniform.

Those inmates, who stated that they were gay, were then taken to the Twin Towers Correctional Facility (“TTCF”), Tower 2. We were placed in a pod with other gay inmates, “green lighters” and those who were given a “K-6Y” wristband.

Inmates who are considered green lighters are targeted by other inmates for either participating with law enforcement, for snitching, or for being a gang dropout. Inmates with K-6Y wristbands had been charged with a sex crime involving a juvenile.

While I was in this pod, I recall deputies asking the K-6Y inmates how old they were and how old their victim was.

One inmate said he was about 28 years old and told the deputy that his victim was nine years old, the deputy said, “That’s disgusting!” Or words to that effect.

Another inmate said he was 22 years old and that his victim was 16 years old. The deputy said, “Well, that’s okay. I understand that. Anyone would.”

This type of questioning was not done privately, but in front of everyone.

After I had gone through IRC, I had to be assessed again for my gay status by the deputies who handled the “K-6G” housing.

There were about 50 inmates in this small room, Module 9400 with beds squished together.

There was also only one toilet for all 50 individuals to share. I was in this cramped room for about five days.

After about five days, I was transferred to 5200 where I was housed for the rest of my stay in jail.

LASD Personnel Repeatedly Verbally Abused and Threatened LGBT Inmates in the Gay Dorm

During the 90 days or so I spent in MCJ’s gay inmate dorm, I witnessed countless incidents of violence, humiliation and retaliation by LASD personnel against inmates as well as by inmates against other inmates.

There were several times when a deputy assigned to the module would escort a new deputy, one who had never been assigned to work with gay inmates, into our dorms and make us cheer for him.

For example, there was an occasion when Deputy Polovich brought in Deputy Gonzalez into our module. Deputy Polovich said to all of us, “Give it up for Deputy Gonzalez!”

All of the inmates inside the dorm then had to cheer and applaud for Deputy Gonzalez. Deputies would then tell the entire male to female transsexuals to lift their uniform tops to expose their breasts to Deputy Gonzalez.

I felt like this was not only humiliating for the inmates to be forced to applaud these deputies like we were circus freaks, but I could only imagine what it must have been like for those inmates who had to outwardly parade their sexual parts.

Hearing deputies use slurs and homophobic comments was quite common. I cannot begin to count the number of times some deputies used the phrase “faggot.” I certainly remember a few examples of deputies’ being particularly hateful.

For example, on one occasion Deputy Gonzalez was escorting the other inmates and me to the visiting area. He told us, “You faggots have a sick lifestyle.” He’d also said that he’d “cut off our cocks” and then we’d need to go to a different place.

When I was housed in Module 5200 a male to female transsexual named, “Rosemary” was transferred into my dorm. Rosemary appeared very feminine, had breasts and looked very pretty. Because of her appearance, she received a lot of negative attention from the deputies.

There were several occasion when deputies would bring other deputies into my dorm and would force Rosemary to roll over from her stomach to her back.

By doing so, the deputies would be able to see Rosemary’s body.

There was also one occasion when I saw Rosemary talking to another inmate about a deputy, Deputy Juarez. She was not aware that Deputy Juarez was standing behind her while she was talking about him.

He forcefully grabbed Rosemary and dragged her over to where the escalators were located. I heard him yelling at her in Spanish. I also saw him aggressively kick the insides of Rosemary’s ankles and then search her very roughly. When she came back to the dorm, I saw and she looked very shaken up.

There were also numerous instances when the deputies would threaten us for minute things. I saw the deputies take out their tasers and pretend to shoot them at inmates or hit their flashlights against their palm to intimidate us. It was quite unnerving to see this.

Deputies Pepper Spray and Physically Attack a Transexual Inmate without Justification.

I saw another incident of abuse occur when I was housed in Dorm 5200. A male to female transsexual named, “Sunny” was standing in line for her medication during pill call right outside the door to the dorm, which was open.

I heard Sunny tell a deputy that she didn’t get her medication. The deputy immediately pepper sprayed her in the face and then five other deputies rushed over to them and threw Sunny on the ground. I was watching the scene and Sunny didn’t attack, threaten, or spit on the deputy who pepper sprayed her.

Shortly after throwing Sunny to the floor, the deputies closed the door to the dorm, so I was not able to see what happened after.

Soon thereafter, someone opened the door between our dorm and the hallway where the incident had taken place. A female Senior Deputy arrived and interviewed the nurse who was passing out the medication and an inmate who was standing behind Sunny.

The nurse who was Asian and wore glasses was very upset that the deputies had reacted the way they did towards Sunny. She said that the deputies overreacted.

I was able to hear what the nurse was telling the Senior Deputy because it was conducted right outside the entrance to the dorm. It was also conducted not only in the presence of the inmates, but also in front of the deputy who had pepper sprayed Sunny. In fact, that deputy was about four feet away from where the interview was taking place.

Denial of Basic Necessities Such as Hot Water and Recreation Time

During the approximately 90 days I was in LA County Jail, we were regularly denied basis necessities and had to suffer through barbaric conditions. For example, there were significant problems with the plumbing, and for more than two weeks, we had no access to hot water. Work orders would be placed, however, I felt the way that the work orders were handled deterred inmates from making complaints. The reason why is because when the maintenance staff would complete a work order, all of the inmates in that particular housing area would have to be taken to a very cold holding area with no blankets and no property. We would have to sit there for almost an entire day until the work order was completed.

Also, trying to get outdoor recreation time was very difficult. I felt like the deputies were trying really hard not to give us this time. The deputy who would escort the inmates out to the roof would mumble incomprehensibly that he was here to escort us to the roof.

Even worse, if fewer than three inmates wanted to go to recreation time, the deputy wouldn’t take them. On a number of occasions, other inmates and I were denied the opportunity to go to the roof because there were not enough of us who wanted to go.

Overall, it was nearly impossible to go to the roof. One would have to understand the rubbish that came out of the deputy’s mouth and then one would still need to get more than three inmates to say they wanted to go for outdoor recreation for us to get escorted to the roof. Even when we did go to the roof, we did not get the three hours of time we were supposed to get or there would be other times when those who were allowed to go to the roof would be taken at odd hours, such as at 9 p.m. It would be incredibly cold but, the deputies wouldn’t allow us to take blankets to keep warm. It felt like the deputies would try to discourage us from having our outdoor recreation time.

I hereby declare under penalty of perjury of the laws of the State of
California and the United States that the foregoing is true and correct to the best of my knowledge and belief.

Executed this 18th day of April 2012 in Los Angeles, California.

Categories
Hollywood

Dog Breath

Benoit Denizet-Lewis has been staying. He’s writing a book about dogs. He has driven from Boston in a huge RV with his dog Casey.

In Northern Arizona he found another big, black dog, a stray he called Rez on an Indian reservation. Her nipples torn from a recent litter, she had a bladder infection and a bad ear but he, with Cesar Millan‘s help, put her back together again.

It’s been very busy at Chez Duncan.

Lady Rizo is in town so we saw her show on Sunday night. Her debut LA show, she had to quickly tailor it for the austere LA audience. By the end of the set she had them eating out of her hand.

Sans follow spot, her work cut out for her, she did a miraculous job. Special guest Moby had the audience rippling with excitement.

Twins had their birthday…can’t remember if I’ve already written about that? Anyway, it was a miserable afternoon (storm clouds) but we had a great time and I cooked a huge feast. They moved out of my house the following day and into their new apartment in Hollywood.

I’ve seen quite a bit of Robby..of course..since then but little of Miles who is busily writing a documentary about (from what I’ve been told) attraction.

I testified downtown at City Hall before the city deputies. Prison Violence. I told them what I had witnessed at the Men’s County Jail. They, in turn, asked questions.  They looked at me very curiously, peering over their lecture.

One of them had read the Richard Rushfield piece in the LA Weekly and quoted it.

I left down town, the fierce heat, drove over to Robby’s house and fell asleep on his sofa. I found it all very exhausting.

On Saturday I went to Honor Fraser‘s galleryon La Cienega to see the hightly anticipated Kenny Scharf show. He was in fine spirits. Showing good new work, performance art by Ann Magnuson and a great crowd.

Sam McEwan flew from London. We are all looking old….apart from Honor who just looks more wonderful and chic…wearing Alaia.

“Hodgepodge,” featured paintings, sculptures, and a Cosmic Cavern installation.

The centerpiece, a gaudy customized Cadillac served as Ann Magnuson’s stage for her performance work “Finism”.

First performed in 1984 the piece was fresh, enticing and, of course, very funny.

I liked the picnic table with an atomic mushroom cloud exploding from it that forms a parasol.

“Hodgepodge” runs until May 19.

Wish I hadn’t sold my Scharf. What a moron I am.

Then, rather amazingly, I bumped into Marius Bercea the artist showing next door at the Francois Ghebaly Gallery.  He reminded me that we had met at the Cluj Film Festival in Romania a decade ago.

He was just a kid who took me back to his studio.

I remember being impressed, writing about him in my diary, now look at him. We sat outside the gallery and smoked cigarettes and ate doughnuts off the Cadillac parked at the back of the Scharf show.

Lunch with Mike Manning, his super smart sexy boy friend and Fielder. Mike has tiny eyebrows.

Thankfully, since my AA Big Book burning tirade most of my AA friends have unfriended me on FaceBook saving me the time and effort. I think my blog has caused some amusement and consternation…judging by the number of people reading it. Fuck AA LA.

I’ll write at length some other time about my years in LA AA, the cult with a smiley face.

Look at the gorgeous things from the Out of The Box Collective vegetable delivery. The spring flower box. Delicious.

Categories
art

Warhol in The Sittingroom

There’s a Warhol in the sitting room. It’s a big pink cow originally bought at the Leo Castelli gallery in the 60’s.

During all the time I knew Fred Hughes I only spoke two words to Andy.

I was Fred’s odd teenage ‘friend’.

Andy only once initiated a conversation with me. He asked about gay life in London.  When it became obvious I didn’t really know…he looked vaguely perplexed and walked away.

From that moment on we considered each other from afar, suspiciously and never exchanged another word.

I think Fred preferred it like that.

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Categories
Death

Instagram I Love You

It’s my new obsession.

Court today.

Spent rest of morning with ACLU.

Breakfast with Ivan downtown.

Lunch with Robby. We ate octopus.

Love this picture of me.

Oh yes, I seem to have pissed off the cult. AA people…in LA.

Freaks.

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Categories
Hollywood

AA LA WTF

I just put my AA ‘Big Book’ in the trash.

Does this mean I will die? Well yes, eventually.

Does this mean I will drink again? Maybe, but not immediately.

Does this mean that I’ll stop believing in god? Definitely not.

“Like any cult, religion or philosophy, AA leans heavily on the good will and participation of its members. I like the saying “if you like everybody you meet in AA, you aren’t going to enough meetings“. People should not be accountable for ideas, only for their actions. I have never had high expectations of AA, and so they are usually exceeded by the results.

“Faith without works is dead.  The book is overrated, Duncan, everybody knows that. But the Love in AA is palpable.”

Dan my friend wrote the above. Men like him initially convinced me AA was good. I was attracted to the nuanced reasoning, the warmth of the members, their ‘spirituality’. I was not wrong, people like Dan were the reason I kept going back.

Explaining AA to the uninitiated is like teaching a baboon how to knit.

Writing this, even now, I can convince myself to haul the AA Big Book out of the trash…that things weren’t that bad, that I should look at ‘my part’, that if only I had worked the 12 steps just a little bit harder.  The reason I moved to LA?  The reason I uprooted my home, my life…myself? Alcoholics Anonymous.

The comfy Palisade stag meetings, the jolly Rodeo social, the stoic recovery center.  I loved UTA owner Jeremy Zimmer’s Saturday morning industry meeting where the producers, writers, actors and directors came to flay themselves before the UTA grandee.

I was rapt by the harrowing story of child sex abuse and violence therapist Sean McFarlane dramatically told when ever he was asked to testify.  I watched ‘Big’ Robert gather his flock of new comers/sponsees at the 7am Bank meeting and take them diligently through the twelve steps.

It took five years to see through each of these scam merchants.

Jeremy Zimmer uses his meeting to ensnare and compromise celebrities in trouble. Fellow alcoholic industry folk, realizing that Jeremy is a sick man do not risk leaving the meeting, nor do directors and actors who want his patronage. Jeremy Zimmer is a sadist. Laughing and joking as men cry pitifully about their ‘rock bottom’.  The only men he has compassion for are men that mean nothing to him professionally.

Sean McFarlane, perhaps the worst scam artist in the AA SAA organization, effectively getting rich men to pay to sponsor them.  Sponsorship is a service supposedly supplied ‘for fun and for free’ from elder AAers to the new comer, helping them understand the 12 steps, helping them understand the Big Book of AA…a sort of bible written by Bill Wilson the founder of AA.

Sean thinks nothing of taking huge amounts of money from naive new comers for his sponsorship services.  Sean (pronounced seen) McFarlane, provides counseling as a sex therapist but I have no proof that he has any formal training nor counseling himself, nor support, even a sponsor? If anyone has proof that this monster has any training… please provide it.

Sean oversees the fate of cheating celebrities who routinely fall from grace and into his Wednesday morning SAA meeting… needing their family back, their reputation saved, their need to disguise their pedophile peccadillos… putting humpty dumpty back together again.

Sean thinks he is a very big deal, a super hero, leaping over imagined cars to save his clients from tranny hookers bent on destroying his clients.

As for Big Robert, the multimillionaire ex basketball player…well it turns out that this self-proclaimed AA guru is in fact a compulsive liar who, whilst banging his sponsees heads with the big book bible… is in fact gorging on un-prescribed prescription meds. He routinely tells his group of sycophantic male followers that AA does not ‘shoot its wounded’… which is patently untrue.

I thought, when I moved to LA that finally… I had come home.

It is evident from the 2006/7 blogs that I loved it and it loved me. A family of men and women who could always forgive, would always forgive.  Well, that was the first of my mistakes. I was wrong about them. Perhaps when I moved here AA was different, I was different?

AA is a cult. Like scientology it trades on the secret lives of its members. Like scientology it requires devotion. Blind devotion. Like scientology there is a vile abuse of power. Those who want to wrestle the leadership, become gurus, lie and steal… all in the name of recovery.

Most so-called addicts and alcoholics are mental patients with no mental hospital to go to.  Look at the beautiful man at the top of this post. His name was Evan Landry. He was a friend of mine. An AA friend. Wow, I was bowled over with Evan, his aggressive, sexy ways… his vulnerability. He served in Iraq, he was an MMA fighter, I saw him fight.

He had a sexy girlfriend he shared with Mike Tyson but wasn’t above going to… how shall we say… the dark side.  Well, last night Evan Landry killed himself. Another AA tragedy. Today his friends think it is ‘sad but not unexpected’. They have buried so many friends, their indifference is as unexpected as Evan’s OD.

People like Sean McFarlane will remember him, use his death as evidence that we must never, ever leave AA.  His PTSD unaddressed, all he needed (according to his AA friends) was the 12 steps.

Like prescribing leaches for terminal cancer.

In the USA there are a hundred treatment centers where addiction can be fought with the ubiquitous 12 steps… if you have the money. In my experience getting help with any other mental condition is almost impossible.  Evan Landry put his faith in AA like so many of us did… but our problems were complicated by AA and sadly may have killed dear Evan and many men and women like him.

I don’t go to AA funerals because they are a sick joke. I might, however, go to this one. Just to laugh at the hypocrites who killed Evan with their medieval prescription for a better life.