Greetings fellow, patriots.
Speaker 1:Welcome back to season two of the Crossing Guard Tapes. We are coming to you from an undisclosed location. What you are about to hear is true. This is an unauthorized account taken from the diary of Mike Limbo after he was kidnapped and forced to join a deep state organization known as the Guards of the Realm. Since then, mike has been hiding in the shadows, living underground. He desperately longs to resurface and tell his side of the story. Help us to help Mike re-emerge from the darkness. Help us shine the light. Join us as we bring you episode seven of the Crossing Guard Tapes.
Speaker 2:It's dark. I can barely make out any shapes, maybe I can't. It's frustrating because my eyes can't seem to adjust to the light. I have a dark, whatever. A deep, rumbling sound is pulsating far away somewhere. It's a vagina slamming a 10 ton sledgehammer against the walls that'll slab at the bottom of the ocean. Oh, it's far away. I can feel each and every thud in my body. The sound doesn't go away, though. It builds faster and louder. As the sound becomes clearer and more intense. Soon it's taken over all my senses and I can't escape it. Pounding, pounding, pounding. The giant is smashing my brains to bits with this god damned hammer. Stop it. That's when it dawns on me that I've been sleeping. I wake up and the light hits me like a freight train right between the eyes. Ah, fuck. I look around the room and I have no fucking clue where I am. How did I get?
Speaker 1:here, Disturbing.
Speaker 2:What the fuck? Lying on a cot in a room that looks an awful lot like a jail cell, complete with bars and a tiny slit window high up on the wall. Everything else the floors, the walls, the ceiling are all concrete. There's a toilet in the middle of the room too. Funny thing is, I didn't even remember getting arrested, but then I noticed the dead silence. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, no signs of life, as quiet as a tomb, not a single solitary squeak or peep or creak. Nothing, not a. I called out to see if anyone was out there, but no one answered. Hello.
Speaker 2:My mouth was parched, drier than a desert. God, it hurt to speak, but I did anyway A little louder. Hello, is anybody there? My voice must have echoed for about an hour, sounded like a huge gymnasium, but it felt more like a huge, empty concrete prison, cold, miserable. Finally I began screaming at the top of my lungs hey, you fuckers, I want my phone call. Nothing, that's the law you know. I know my rights. Everyone gets to make one phone call and I want it now.
Speaker 1:NOOOOOO.
Speaker 2:My vocal cords were totally shredded. I couldn't have screamed again if I wanted to. I coughed and a little blood trickled out of my mouth. Eventually, a guard appeared around the corner, followed by a few orderlies dressed in white. One of the orderlies aimed a gun at my thigh and fired something into my leg Not a bullet, but something. I remember giving him the finger and then getting very, very sleepy. I told him where he could shove it. Shove it up, yeah. And then I took another nap, november 3rd 1988.
Speaker 2:I have no idea how long I was unconscious for, but it felt like years. I kept dreaming that I was thirsty as hell. My mouth was parched bone dry. I would get up, go to the sink, get a glass of water, but no matter how much I turned the faucet, I could only get a little drop of water to come out. I kept turning it and turning it, but nothing would happen. Finally I turned it so much that the spigot broke off. Water went shooting up in streams, but for some reason I couldn't get my mouth in position to drink the water. No matter where I moved, the water would shoot off in a different direction. It was driving me crazy. But then I remember seeing a light. It was very dim at first, but then it became very intense until it was practically blinding me.
Speaker 2:I woke up with a bunch of doctors peering down at me. The fuck are you looking at? They had some kind of spotlight shining right in my fucking face. They were mumbling stuff to each other that I couldn't understand. I remember seeing a hand pull away from my face. It was holding some sort of gas mask contraption. I have to get out, I have to get up, I have to go.
Speaker 2:Suddenly, I was wide awake. I tried to escape, but my legs and arms were tied down with leather straps. I struggled a little, but I gave up. It was no use. They had me good. I felt like screaming for help, but they had already gagged me and strapped a muzzle on for good measure. After a while, one of the doctors asked me if I was hungry. Hungry, I'm hungry and thirsty, thank you. I told him, in the best way that I could, that he could go fuck himself. Go fuck yourself. He nailed me with an elbow to my face. This will help. It hurt like hell and blood gushed out of my nose. Pretty sure he broke it, motherfucker. I had the last laugh over that one, though, thanks to me, his elbow was covered with blood. Who's laughing now? Fuckface, fuck you, fuck him, fuck all of them.
Speaker 2:November 4th 1988. When I woke up, I was in a straight jacket, hanging by my feet from the ceiling of myself, just like a deanie. I had a headache before. There was nothing compared to the one I'm experiencing now Fucking head, feeling extremely nauseous and hungry and thirsty at the same time. My brain feels like a hundred Chevy pickup trucks are driving over it again and again and again. Fuck.
Speaker 2:I tried to get the attention of the guard, but he pushed a button and the orderlies reappeared. One of them had a cattle prod and the other had a taser. You want some? I decided not to fight at this time. I'm in pain, a lot of pain.
Speaker 2:This time, when the guard asked me if I was ready to cooperate, I nodded yes. They untied my feet and dropped me onto a gurney. Then they wheeled me into a different room where they fed me chicken soup and apple juice. Since I was still wrapped up in the straight jacket, an orderly had to feed me with a spoon. I asked for an aspirin and they gave me a couple of Tylenols. I swallowed them and fell back to sleep. November 10, 1988. After a few days of doing nothing but eating, sleeping and shitting in a bedpan, a doctor came to see me. Pretty sure this was the same guy that knocked me out with his elbow. He looked and acted more like a fucking prison warden than a doctor, since huge is a wrestler and just by his tone of voice he let me know that I better not try to fuck with him again. He asked me if I was ready to calm down enough for them to take the straight jacket off.
Speaker 1:Are you ready to settle down? I'm warning you, pull any more crap and you'll be back in your cell in a straight jacket hanging by your feet again. Got that?
Speaker 2:They had me beat for now. I promised myself that I would make these fuckers pay one day, but for the time being I need to chill out and play for time. November 20, 1988. I'm finally calming down some. I have no other choice really.
Speaker 2:Anyways, the people here are taking care of me and all the weird thing is that no one will tell me where we are or why I'm even here in the first place. I think I'm in some kind of prison hospital, but none of the doctors will tell me anything. They just come in to check my pulse and jam a thermometer up my ass. Just my luck, None of the orderlies that come in to bring me food or to change the sheets are allowed to speak to me either. I just hope my trial is safe. I really don't want to spend the rest of my life here. I have to admit, the food here isn't half bad. If I could get a TV in here I wouldn't mind it so much. The lady that came in this morning to change my sheets was fucking hot. I'll be looking her up when I get out of here. I wish someone would tell me what the hell's going on.
Speaker 1:You have just heard episode 7 of the Crossing Guard tapes. We are shutting down our transmitter now to prevent the DOJ from tracing our signal and, dear listeners, due to the FBI's unrelenting effort to recover the tapes, there is a risk that they could be monitoring our site. So be sure to keep a low profile when sharing, subscribing and liking. Until next time. Co-conspirators, stay alive and spread the word. The Crossing Guard tapes was written and produced by Jim Waters, featuring the voice talents of Tommy Nicolai, pat Waters, johnny Glenn and Jazz Garowall, with original music from Pendulum Incorporated Technical support and marketing. Courtesy of Jazz Garowall. Deep State Chronicles.