Welcome to the Jeffrey Dahmer School of Culinary Arts-Hell
Well hai everybody. Tis I, Stabby hater, law professor and Dean of Fuckery, blogger extraordinaire, and author or Sick Fuck Saturday. Next weekend we will be doing Jeffrey MacDonald. Jim Blackburn, the lawyer that put him away was gracious enough to grant me an interview into the workings of the trial and his thoughts on MacDonald. So, look forward to that.
Before we get to the topic of todays sick fuck Saturday, for those of you who are not aware, PV has been suspended from Twitter and from what I hear facebook as well. Expect her alternate personalities to start popping up everywhere. Lets all hope it sticks this time.
So, on to the sickest of the sick fucks I can think of Jeffrey (I never met a liver I didn’t like…….to eat)Dahmer.
Jeff Dahmer was born in Milwaukee on May 21, 1960. He was a child who was wanted and loved by his parents. At least while he was little and presumably before he started to bite. His mother had a very difficult pregnancy, but he popped out of her baby making parts completely normal at least on the outside. For all intents he was a happy well adjusted normal kid. As a young boy, he was a happy, outgoing child who loved stuffed bunnies and wooden blocks. He also had a dog named Frisky, his much-loved childhood pet. ( the whereabouts of Frisky is currently unknown, I’m hoping he died of natural causes as opposed to being spitted and roasted)
The only organic thing that stands out in his early childhood was an inordinate amount of ear and throat infections.
When he was four, his father found and swept out from under the house a bunch of dead animals that he thought had been killed by “civets”. When he gathered up the bones, Jeff got a bone of his own, delighting in the sound they made when they rubbed together. His small hands dug deep into the pile of bones. His father would say during depositions that it was that moment when he first realized there was something way the fuck off about his son.
Jeff required surgery for a double hernia when he was around six or seven and according to his parents this is the point he fell in on himself.
In the first grade, Jeff began to show a strange fear of others that was combined with an almost pathological lack of self-confidence. The little boy who’d once seemed so happy and self-assured had been replaced by a different person, now deeply shy, distant, nearly uncommunicative.
Things did not get better with time. His posture, and the general way in which he carried himself, changed radically between his tenth and 15th years. The loose-limbed boy disappeared, and was replaced by a strangely rigid and inflexible figure.
He looked tense, his body very straight. He grew increasingly shy during this time and when approached by other people, he would become very tense mostly due to the fact that to him they looked a lot like that cartoon where the cat turns into a roasted chicken.. He became completely disengaged from society. His face was often blank, and he gave the more or less permanent impression of someone who could do nothing but mope around, completely rudderless. By the age of 15 good old chef in training Jeff would ride around with plastic garbage bags and collect the remains of animals for his own private crockpot. He did have some hobbies. He would strip the flesh from the bodies of road kills and even mount animal heads on stakes that he fashioned. His fascination seemed to lie with already dead things at this point in his life, much to the relief of every animal within a hundred mile radius.
While others pursued careers, and the creation of families, Dahmer was completely unmotivated. He must have been to busy reading 50 ways to cook your lover or something. At this point in his life, he never argued with anyone, deciding for himself that whatever was said to him had no bearing on his life what so ever.
He was considered a loner and weird by his classmates as well as an alcoholic. He did manage to procure a date for his prom who was very much alive. He invited said date back to his house for a séance. She declined. Wonder who he wanted to talk to?
Turns out Jeffy had some skeletons in the closet. Like actual skeletons. And heads in his fridge, and a rotting corpse in his bedroom, and various body parts scatter about the place. One of his victims almost escaped, was escorted back to the apartment where the stink of a three day old corpse was oozing throughout the place, there was a skull candy dish on the table, and in the fridge there was a head. The cops listened to the well spoken blond man and left his almost escaped victim with him. He was promptly strangled and sodomized while dead. As with all victims his name is long forgotten so I will print it here. Everyone, I know that the crimes we talk about are horrific but please always try and remember the victims. This boys name (and he was a boy, only 17 years old) was Konerak. He was Laotian and so terrorized when he got out ever so briefly that even completely naked (which is a huge shame in Asian culture) every instinct told him he needed desperately to get away. And then the cops marched him right back to his murderer. Konerak was systematically dismembered and his head was scooped out like a melon and used as another candy dish. They never even took Dahmers name. Had they not completely failed in their duties they would have known that Dahmer was a convicted child molester who was still on probation.
There were two women who were extremely concerned for Konerak and called the police on nine different occasions. Because they were black and I’m sorry but it is the only reasonable inference to be made and Dahmer was white the police assured them that it had been settled to their satisfaction. They were so positive something was wrong they even contacted the FBI who also did not have a fuck to give about a couple of fags in a lovers quarrel. (their words, NOT MINE.)
A couple of months later they would care. Oh holy shit would they care. ON July 22, 1991, two of Milwaukees less than finest were driving around in the very high-crime area around Marquette University. It was oppressively hot and humid. The smell of the neighborhood was all the more disgusting in the heat.
Sometime around midnight, as the two officers sat in their car, they saw a short thin black man with a handcuff dangling from his wrist. Of course because all black men are bad, they immediately assumed he had escaped from another officer so they asked him what he was doing. The man started to caterwaul about this “weird dude” who put the cuffs on him in his apartment. The man was Tracy Edwards. Please remember that name too, he is the only one known to have escaped the Jeffrey Dahmer School of Culinary Arts. Can you imagine that dudes therapy bill?
Edwards’ story smacked of some homosexual encounter that normally the police would avoid because of course they would, they were paid to serve and protect, but at least these two thought they should probably at least check out this man that had cuffed Edwards. The door to Apartment 213 was opened by a nice looking 31-year-old blond man.
Chef Dahmer was very calm. And rational in a Hannibal Lector kind of way. He offered to get the key to the handcuffs in the bedroom. Edwards mentioned that the knife that Dahmer had threatened him with was also in the bedroom.
Once of the officers decided to go into the bedroom himself and take a look. He noticed photographs lying around that shocked him: dismembered human bodies, skulls in the refrigerator. Once the vomiting subsided and he was sure he wasn’t going to hurl anymore, he yelled to his partner to cuff Dahmer and place him under arrest.
Chef Dahmer had been the very epitome of calm and collected up till this point. The calm, seemingly rational blond man suddenly completely lost his shit and fought as the other cop tried to cuff him. While the one officer subdued Dahmer, the other one went to the refrigerator and opened it. He screamed loudly because he had suddenly found himself in the middle of a game of peek a boo and he didn’t know he was playing. “There’s a fucking head in the refrigerator screamed cop number two because THERE WAS A FUCKING HEAD IN THE REFRIGERATOR.
The overwhelming smell of decomposition should have probably tipped off the keystone cops but they decided that maybe a closer inspection of the apartment was warranted, you know now that there was a head in the fridge and stuff. Besides the head in the fridge the also discovered three more in the freezer all neatly stored in plastic bags and tied with twist ties, because there is nothing a chef hates more than freezer burn.
Next they found a door that led to the back bedroom, and bathroom and closet. It was here that Chef Dahmer kept his cooking utensils as well as some hands and a severed dick. On the shelf above the cooking pot were two more skulls.
There were also containers of chloroform, formaldehyde and alcohol as well as glass jars holding more male parts and Polaroid photos taken by Chef Dahmer at various stages of his victims’ deaths. Maybe he was planning on serving spotted dick who the fuck knows.
Sick Fuck Chef Dahmer had been fantasizing about killing and eating people since he was 14 and nobody noticed. How nice for his victims. He killed his first victim Steven Hicks when he was only 18 years old. He apparently hit him with a barbell and then chunked him up into more manageable pieces, wrapped him in plastic and buried him in the woods behind his house. Much easier to grab a midnight snack that way I guess. This victims crime. He was hitchhiking.
Chef Dahmer was killed in prison in 1994 on November 28th. His head was crushed and he was found with a broom handle shoved firmly up his ass. He was killed by an African American, most say in retaliation for all of the African Americans Dahmer decided tasted like chicken. Edit: I do not believe I actually have to do this but some asshole brought it to my attention that mentioning an African American and chicken in the same fucking sentence is somehow racist. The POINT is that every time somebody eats something weird, be it frog, jellyfish, iguana, they say it tastes like chicken. I will not ever, EVER justify myself on my own blog ever again. His total 12 men, 11 of which he ate at least parts of. All but three were African American. There was also one Laotian, one white man and one Hispanic. Here are the names of his known victims.
- Edward Smith June, 1990
- Ricky Lee Beeks July, 1990
- Ernest Miller Sept., 1990
- David Thomas Sept., 1990
- Curtis Straughter Feb., 1991
- Errol Lindsey April, 1991
- Anthony Hughes May 24, 1991
- Konerak Sinthasomphone May 27, 1991
- Matt Turner June 30, 1991
- Jeremiah Weinberger July 5, 1991
- Oliver Lacey July 12, 1991
- Joseph Bradehoft July 19, 1991
There you have it, SFS. Hope you enjoyed the read. Have a great night everyone.