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TLDR: Be liberal but pick a progressive running mate lmao to get exactly 306-232.
VP: Karen Bass (worst option at start, but that does mean it makes it extremely hard to get good RNG on states you don't want to win like OH, FL, but still leaves you with good room on the states you must win like PA, AZ, and NV)
Visits: Split between WI, PA & GA, you should try to get Georgia +2 at end, PA by like +5 or 6, and WI by +10
Q1: We're going to build back better than ever before. I'm going to work for every American, repairing our critical infrastructure at home and our standing in the world.
Q2: We're going to defeat COVID and get America working again. I'm going to push for this day and night from the moment I step into the White House.
Q3: I should be out there talking to the American people. That doesn't mean we do rallies with 10 thousand people, but we can't afford to just sit around in our basement for the next five months.
Q4: Who authorized this meeting? Did I authorize this meeting? We're telling Bernie Sanders that he'd better fall in line. We have an election to win.
Q5: I'm not going to spend the 2020 campaign focusing on 2019 issues. We need to talk about our plans to fight this COVID-19 epidemic and rebuild the economy.
Q6: I talked with a lot of people before I made my decision, and Karen Bass stood out as someone with the judgment and experience to work with me in the White House.
Q7: I'm proud of my son. He's overcome a lot to find success in life. This campaign is about the American people and their struggles and opportunities. I'm not going to spend my time talking about Trump and Ukraine.
Q8: Being a police officer is one of the hardest jobs there is, but they got it very wrong here. I have every confidence that Hennepin County will take the appropriate action against the officers involved in this case.
Q9: We need to put $2000 in the hands of every American, and we need to put forward a truly substantial relief package for our struggling small businesses and job creators.
Q10: Two of my old friends, Jimmy Carter and James Baker, came out with a great study on election integrity a few years ago, and it's time we put their recommendations into action. I think this would represent a reasonable compromise between making it easy to vote, while ensuring our elections are secure from fraud.
Q11: I'm proposing a pretty big bill, you might have noticed, around $2 trillion to rebuild our roads, develop mass transit and green energy, and repair critical human infrastructure needs as well. We must move forward as a country.
Q12: We're not going to have a national lockdown. That's just fear-mongering from the Republicans to distract from how they've mishandled the pandemic. This is something each locality can decide for themselves, based on local conditions.
Q13: The Court has had nine justices since 1869, and any attempt to change that is sure to destroy the Court's legitimacy even further. We must look at other kinds of reform.
Q14: We can sit around all day worrying about tactics, but the fact of the matter is, we need to win elections. If Democrats did a better job of appealing to all Americans, we wouldn't be in this predicament right now.
Q15: It's the debate, I don't care enough to look for best RNG lmao.
Q16: Jill and I are praying for a full and speedy recovery for President Trump. As someone who has dealt with tragedy, you never want to see this kind of thing happen to anyone.
Q17: We're going to be fair, but we're going to be tough. I've always supported the rule of law in my career, for decades now, regardless of what some right-wing websites try to say about me.
Q18: People know all about Donald Trump and the dozens of scandals that have unfolded around him. I think we're better off talking about solutions to the COVID-19 crisis and the economy.
Q19: The right-wing media wants to present me as some kind of a gun-grabber, when that couldn't be further from the truth. My only crime is not parroting the NRA's every last word on this issue.
Q20: These attacks are wrong and they should prosecuted to the full extent of the law. At the same time, we need more answers from China. Millions of lives and trillions of dollars have been lost, yet they continue to block any serious investigation into the origins of this virus.
Q21: We've got a small troop presence in Afghanistan right now, and we should probably keep it that way. I'm confident that country will continue to gradually stabilize over time, with a consistent but minimal investment from the United States.
Q22: Our relationship with China, depends on China. If they show a greater willingness to cooperate, then we can rebuild our relationship from the damage that Trump inflicted. If they continue to act in a hostile manner, we'll have to react accordingly.
Q23: If Trump thought he was going to win this election, he wouldn't be saying these kinds of things. I'm confident that we're going to win, and that the American people will have full faith in the outcome this year.
Q24: This is a fake laptop. End of story. I don't know how it got passed around, but you have to strongly suspect Russian intelligence or other nefarious actors here.
Q25: I want us to focus on Pennsylvania, with maybe a quick stop over the border in Ohio.
Three New Terrifying True Scary Tales
Number One: The Pool
Now, this happened a very long time ago. I am not going to mention when or where though and I am submitting it anonymously. I don’t want people going back and finding out more about it and then lashing out of me.
I was 13 years old and my brother was 11. As I mentioned, this happened a long time ago and I think today, not a lot of parents would put a 13 year old in charge of an 11 year old. But this was not unusual at all back then. In fact, I was looking after my little brother all the time before either of us even hit 10 years old.
After a while, of course, always keeping my eye on him began to get very annoying. It interfered with my hanging out with friends. It was quite a drag when I would try to talk to girls. It was just a pain in the ass, really.
Anyway, one day during a really hot summer, our parents decided to drop us both off at the local swimming pool for the day. My dad had to work and my mom had errands and stuff to run plus work do to do for the church. It was so hot and there was no way we could afford air conditioning. We had one old fan in the house and a sprinkler in the yard that we could go play in. But the swimming pool was the much better option.
Of course the pool was very crowded. Lots of families would drop their kids off there during the summertime. And of course, even though I knew it already, my mom stressed to me, “Keep an eye on your little brother at all times.”
Some of my friends were at the pool too. I got to talking to them and they told me about this new girl who moved into town. She would be starting school that fall and supposedly she was really hot. So of course, I wanted to check her out. I knew the lifeguards would be watching my brother in the water, so he would be fine.
I went with the guys and the girl was really cute. My buddies all dared me to approach her, which was admittedly a brave thing for a 13 year old boy to do. Of course, I couldn’t chicken out in front of them, so I did just that.
She was a very sweet girl. We actually ended up talking for a little while. Her parents were at the pool though, and they called her back after too long. So I went back to the water to see how my little brother was doing.
The only problem was that I couldn’t see him anywhere in the water. This was a small town in a rural area, so although I said the pool was crowded, it wasn’t like a water park is crowded though. I should have easily been able to pick him out of the water. He just wasn’t there.
I went and searched around the area surrounding the pool and didn’t see him there either. My heart started beating faster and I began panicking. I went to the building where the showers and concession stand were. He wasn’t there either. You couldn’t leave that pool without going through that building, though. I asked the attendant if a 11 year old boy had left the pool on his own in the previous hour and he told me no.
I then went to the lifeguards and my buddies. I thought maybe there was a chance that I had missed him. It’s easy to occasionally miss someone in a crowd. The lifeguards ordered everyone out of the pool. Fortunately, there were no drowned children in the pool. Unfortunately, my brother was nowhere to be found outside of the pool.
The lifeguards had to call my mother at the church. I had never before lost track of my little brother like this before. I had no idea what to expect when she showed up. I was only thankful that the police were already at the pool or she probably would have whipped my ass right there in front of the entire pool.
The trouble I got into at home isn’t something that I want to go into very much. My butt very much has PTSD from the experience. But that was minor compared to the fear I felt for my little brother. Hell, I didn’t even have time to feel guilty although that I knew that I was. I was only concerned for him and wondered what would happen.
All day and night, I expected the police to bring him home. But that didn’t happen. I expected it the next day too. But it didn’t happen.
The town organized a search to look for him. I kept expecting to hear from them that they had found him. But that didn’t happen either.
After about a week of my brother not being found, I began fearing for the worst. I began thinking that he was dead. And I was terrified every waking moment of my life, expecting to absolutely hear the news that his dead body was found.
Nearly two weeks after the disappearance, we got a phone call from the police. They had found my brother and thankfully, he was alive. But unfortunately, that’s not the whole story.
Remember the attendant telling me that no boy had left on his own? Well that’s because the boy left with one of the lifeguards who was getting off duty. He had lured my brother out of the pool and into his car with promises of ice cream, something he and I rarely ever got. And my brother went to his house with him.
For all of that time, he kept my little brother locked up in his basement. He didn’t do anything sexually to him, thank God. But there was a lot of mental and some physical torment when my brother wouldn’t do what he was told to you. But the scariest part for him was thinking he would never get out and be with his family again.
Here is another weird part. The lifeguard wasn’t an adult. He did this while his parents were out of town for a few weeks. They came back early and caught him. And if you think I felt bad for my parents’ punishing me, what they did to him had to be legendary. The police thought he was either planning on killing or releasing my brother before his parents got home. But no one ever knew for sure.
He had to live with it without much help for a long time. Mental health assistance had a very bad stigma back then. But we’re both still alive today and he forgave me a long time ago.
Number Two: Taking the Garbage Out
A few weeks ago I went outside at around 3am to move the garbage to the curb since pickup would be in the morning. I often do this in the middle of the night. I just tend to keep weird hours and as the weather warms up for the summer I find the warm nights preferable to the sweltering days.
I’m not worried about bothering my neighbors since I don’t use noisy bins and all of the houses right next to me are currently empty. I actually find the quiet of the neighborhood at night quite relaxing.
Unfortunately since I don’t use bins animals are able to get into the bags a bit easier and while this doesn’t happen often it had happened on this night. So I was outside picking up the strewn around garbage and putting it into another bag when the silence of the night was suddenly broken by multiple police sirens.
At first they seemed distant and while they startled me it was not at all unheard of to hear sirens at night here. But usually it would be one in the distance. As I listened, still bagging the garbage, I could tell it was multiple sirens and they were getting closer. Then just as suddenly as it started it stopped again. There was just silence. By the time they stopped they sounded maybe four blocks away.
For a moment the night was silent again and I began hauling the bags to the curb when the neighborhood dogs began barking all at once. It was like every dog in the neighborhood had gotten the cue to start barking. Many were even howling. It continued for maybe a minute and once again it just stopped as suddenly as it had started.
I realized I hadn’t heard any barking or howling while the sirens were going and that’s normally how it would work. These dogs had started up separately from the sirens and just stopped all at once. It just wasn’t normal. I went back to the side of the house to grab more bags when the silence was broken a third time.
Just a single chime in the night. Like someone getting a phone notification. This sound wasn’t blocks away. This sound was here. RIGHT HERE. No more than feet away. As I said, the houses around me are empty.
I was done. The rest of the garbage would wait until morning. I didn’t see anyone close by but that just made it worse. There was someone close by that I couldn’t see. I immediately went into the house to leave the garbage for the morning.
I don’t know if these things were related. If the cops had been chasing someone who’s fleeing had caused the dogs to bark. Someone who received a message on their phone as they approached my house. Or if it was all just a coincidence. But I won’t be taking the garbage out at 3am anymore.
A Commuter’s Nightmare
Back in the 80s, I worked at the Irwin Memorial Blood Bank in San Francisco while living and commuting from Oakland, CA
My job as Registrar, took me all over Northern California, during Blood Drives at hospitals, clinics, major corporations, etc., where we would sometimes witness firsthand, the dead, being placed on gurneys, running out of the Coroner's or Medical Examiner’s rear doors, and down the sidewalks, because they simply didn’t have enough room or staff inside the morgues to process them. Mortuaries were having problems too due to the massive overload where deceased loved ones were admitted but not processed or interred for months or even years at a time.
I remember watching the News and reading newspaper accounts of E.R.s in hospitals, clinics, etc. so clogged with patients, that 1 in 10 would die waiting to just get in to see a Dr. It was a Public Health and Safety nightmare. It was a National disgrace. It was politically orchestrated mass murder. It was the B purge of the ‘80s and ‘90s.
I remember, starting work early on one of many Blood Drives (the A.I.D.S. epidemic was just getting started) and having to catch the first B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train out of the station at about 4:00 am, where morning after morning I would witness hundreds of people sleeping on the benches, or the sidewalks, or on the streets outside, waiting for it to open.
Hundreds of others would be seen walking around like zombies in the early morning freeze amid the concomitant yelling, screaming, moaning, begging, and pleading, all of it looking like a newsreel of the death camps at Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Many times, I was woken at home in the middle of the night, to the sounds of people howling and cursing outside my window at some real or imagined threat, until either the police came, which usually took hours because they were spread so thin, or some tenant, or other, ran them off.
I remember the time I woke up to the sound of a woman’s voice begging in the early morning cold for someone to help her. She kept repeating it over and over growing weaker and weaker until it was little more than a whisper.
By the time I’d gotten up, armed myself with the steel-reinforced baton I’d purchased at a Police Supply store, and ran the 5 floors down to the ground floor, I found her sitting in a taxi shivering from the 42-degree drizzle coming in off the Pacific. The cabbie told me it was alright; she was just cold and needed someplace to rest and warm up; He’d drop her off at one of the nearby shelters.
At the time, I was living in a local Residence Hall on Lake Merrit in Oakland, California which was little more than a converted Hotel from the San Francisco/Oakland Gilded Age of the late 1920s. It had 5 floors and a penthouse with a capacity of about 200. I never saw it get much beyond about 30 residents. It sported a full kitchen, dining area, big screen tv viewing room, swimming pool, and a recreation room with pool, foosball, and darts.
I lived with a friend, at the time, on the 5th floor just under the penthouse. There was an elevator, but like most refurbs, it didn’t work. That meant we'd have to climb 10 flights of stairs every day to reach our room. The best part was that we had the entire floor to ourselves. I guess nobody wanted to climb that many stairs. Because we were both runners, it was a little like running the 900 feet to the top of Angel Island, running across The Golden Gate Bridge and back, or running the 3.4 miles around Lake Merrit twice a day.
Because there was no air-conditioning, all the windows were left open during the summer months, but along with whatever cool air the San Francisco/Oakland Bay would bring through the gaping nearly wall-length vault ceilinged windows, it was always accompanied by the teeming, screaming City of Oakland street din: cabbies, buses, cars, trucks, vans, motorcycles, scooters, police sirens, ambulance, fire department, pedestrians, hustlers, druggies, break-dancers, prostitutes the homeless, et al. Day or night, winter or summer, it was like living in a jet engine test lab, somewhere on the 9th level of hell.
Of course, we could always close the windows against the noise 5 stories below. But if it was summer, with all the humidity coming off the bay, we’d roast like 2 suckling pigs in our own sweat even if we used a fan.
One night after a particularly grueling day at work, I came home, climbed Mount Everest (or at least K-2) to my steaming little abattoir, tore off my sports jacket, shirt, and tie, and fell into a coma-like sleep only to awake some 4 hours later to the sound of someone slamming a door, over and over, seemingly as hard as they could. It was about 2:00 am and raining so hard the water was pouring through the open window and flooding the floor and carpet. The sound was coming somewhere down the hall from one of the other units.
After about the 15th or 16th slam to my inner ear, I was up, as in a trance, running like a lunatic from unit to unit and window to window, covering the entire southside of the 5th floor; battening down the hatches, and getting drenched in the process. It was, how should I say: exhilaratingly infuriating. I was supposed to get up in 2 hours and commute to work in the upper peninsula.
Having unconsciously completed this Sisyphean task and realizing that there was zero chance of getting any sleep, I donned my foul weather gear, equipped my trusty baton (I used to tuck its 2 ½-foot length up my sleeve when running), and headed out the front door to Lake Merrit which was just outside the main entrance. From there, I trotted to the sidewalk circling the lake, and began to run.
As I ran counterclockwise against a torrential rain with a gale-force wind broken only by the occasional intermittent rainbow-hued lightning flashes which blinded me to almost everything around me, I almost ran into someone up ahead who was walking in the same direction.
He was hunched over against the wind and rain and wearing a long heavy winter coat. Unusual for that time of year, I thought. Whenever I would run in public, I always made it a courtesy to let people know when I was approaching especially from behind. I’d blurt out a perfunctory:
“Excuse me.” Followed by a conciliatory:
But apparently, the person ahead either didn’t hear me or didn’t care because, when I was about 6 feet from him, he suddenly turned around, exposing a darkened contorted face, jagged teeth, and a guttural growl that would have stopped a charging 600-pound Grizzly.
The sheer force of the malevolence emitted from this inhuman thing almost made me stop, but because I was moving so fast, the inertia along with the gale force wind and lightning strikes propelled me past him (or it), and fingering my steel-reinforced baton, I, in turn, steeled my nerve and kept running. I looked back only once to reassure myself that he (or it) wasn’t following.
Running on the leeward side now, with the rain at my back, I ran past a group of men in a circle smoking or drinking or doing whatever noxious or illicit thing I imagined, when, feeling charged with my own adrenalin, or the anger and resentment at that woman’s searing pleas for help, or the spook I’d almost run into, or just the gross injustices thrust upon the world in that dank, dark and dangerous time, I almost stopped, baton in hand, intending to take on the whole group: I may go down, I told myself, but at least I would take one or two with me.
Just then, the lightning struck particularly close to where I and they stood and the sheer blinding flash and concussive boom shook all of us enough to break up their conspiratorial collaboration and my righteous crusade; just enough, that is, to shove me headlong around the next bend, to the long straight full out dash to the front doors, the 5 floors, 10 landings, and 50 risers to rain-sodden home.
To get to work every day, I'd have to commute to the upper peninsula by using 3 buses, 1 train, and 1 cab and after a 10 or 12 or sometimes 14-hour day, I would have to take the same to get back. This meant that if I didn’t go out, make dinner, eat, or watch tv, I just might get about 4 hours sleep. Commuting took between 2 to 3 hours, one way.
Once on the way home, almost every stop was crowded with commuters. I was told that it was because there were so many buses down for repair. The ones still running were so filled beyond capacity, that the shocks and springs were sitting on the chassis, and stop after stop proved nearly impossible to take on any more passengers. Still, and despite the few getting out at every stop, the driver would take on even more and just pack them in.
I remember him yelling for people to get back behind the yellow line over and over. By then, he was long past any semblance of reason; his patience frayed to a single maniacal thought, his voice raspier and raspier, his manner, more and more brusk.
I can still see when he finally lost it; jumping up, out of his seat, with a nickel-plated 38 Caliber Revolver pointing at one of the passengers; an elderly woman, screaming from the top of his lungs:
“Get back behind the yellow line!”
I can still hear the woman begging the driver:
“Please...” while the passengers behind were practically trampling each other to get out of the line of fire.
I remember the sad, exhausted urgency in her voice; she really was trying to move back, but how could she, an old woman, do that with all those people blocking her way? Everyone knew this was an impossible task; everyone except the maddened driver. He just kept glaring, and bellowing with his gun out pointed right at her and the other passengers.
"Back up and make room" he yelled.
‘Or else what?’ I thought. ‘You're gonna kill an old woman?'
Getting up out of my seat, pushing my way through the throng who were pushing against me to get away, I managed to get within about 6 feet from the front when, roaring through the din and my fear and anger, I ordered the bus driver to:
“Put the gun down!” And again, with even more rage and authority:
“Put the gun down, now!”
The bus driver shocked that it might be a cop, or worse, shakily, put his gun back in his concealed carry holster and hypnotically sat back down. He resumed driving without saying another word. I got out at the next stop, along with the elderly woman. She was so shaken, that she busted out crying. I held her still fuming despite the close call because I would now have to wait for another bus and after that, 2 more; the train and a cab to get home. I wasn’t going to make it until well after 8:00 pm. As soon as I got home, I reported the bus number and the driver to Muni.
Many of the commuters I'd see day to day, or share a seat with were victims of the purge just trying to get out of the rain or the cold, or the wind, or the sun, even for just a little while. For them, it was easing the agony of living on the street, even just a little. For many of us regular commuters, during those dark times, it proved to be the same.
On one of the final buses that would take me to the train and across the bay, I remember standing, with about 50 others, on Market Street waiting. Like ours, stop after stop was so packed with people, some were standing in the street because there was simply not enough room on the sidewalk. The ones in the street would stay where they were for fear of losing their place and missing their connection and having to wait another hour, or more, to catch another.
Because the rapidly descending elevation of the southbound streets ending at Market Street from the upper peninsula were so steep and the transverse angle of the turn so sharp, some of the buses would skirt the edge of the curb, sometimes rolling up over it onto the sidewalk putting them dangerously close to the commuters waiting on the other side.
If there were any people in the street, especially the old or the infirm, they would either have to get out of the way and lose their place in line or hope the bus driver stopped before completing the turn. Most of the drivers would. Once there was one who didn’t.
I remember the television and newspaper account about an elderly woman waiting at one of the stops during the pm rush hour. When the bus made the oblique turn way too fast at 25 miles per hour she was either too close to the edge or standing in the street when she was hit by the side view mirror across the face and the left side of her head.
She went down under the wheels and her body got hung up under the chassis. The bus driver too full of passengers to stop, or late for his break, or just too coked up to notice, kept on heading for the Embarcadero before he realized something was wrong. By then, the woman had been dragged over a quarter of a mile. No one knew for sure whether the concussion from the mirror or the relentless dragging was the cause of death. I guess it didn’t matter to her anymore, one way or the other. It mattered to a lot of those who witnessed the whole thing though; screaming and yelling, block after block, trying to get the bus driver to stop.
To get across the Bay to San Francisco from Oakland or back, one alternative to the nightmare bus commute was the B.A.R.T (Bay Area Rapid Transit). It was quiet, clean, air-conditioned, and fast. Traveling under the Bay, it could span the 13 miles in minutes. Once I’d reach the train station, by bus, from the Oakland side, I’d descend one of the many street-level entries to the below-ground turnstiles which led to the train platform. Of course, there were always hundreds of derelicts, homeless, hustlers, etc., hanging out by the turnstiles waiting for their chance to slip through and get on any one of the many trains that serviced the Bay Area, but sometimes, especially after a scuffle with B.A.R.T. Security or the San Francisco/Oakland Police, they’d scatter to the winds (or the shadows as it were) until everything calmed down and then they'd be back at it again, day and night.
Almost every week I'd hear about someone falling, or being pushed, or jumping down onto the third rail, which would either short-circuit the line and knock out the power or if it was particularly grisly, halt service entirely. Because service resumption could take hours, waiting passengers would have to go back up and out onto the street and catch another train, take a cab or a bus or just walk or, as was often the case for me, run.
Once, I remember running to the next stop when I was ascending to the upper peninsula because the previous connection didn’t show up which meant it would have added another 45 minutes to my commute. The choice was obvious and inevitable: I could either
“wait to be late” or go for it. I chose the latter.
You just can't imagine what it’s like to run at a 20-degree angle uphill for about 2 miles while wearing dress slacks, dress shoes, a white shirt and tie, and a sports jacket, in San Francisco, during the summer, with the humidity until you’ve tried it. It’s, how should I say: exhilaratingly infuriating.
Running, I came upon a stand-alone, transmission shop, right in the middle of a residential area. The owners must have paid a pretty penny to get away with that one. There were police cars, the fire department, a metro ambulance, the San Francisco Chronicle, and a marked County Coroner’s Office vehicle scattered around the shop.
Some people along with some of the employees: their first names embroidered on their shirts, were standing on the sidewalk just outside the property watching. They’d been there for about an hour when I stopped to ask one of them (Bob) what happened.
Wearily he said:
“The girl who worked in the office answering the phone and typing up orders was shot to death by her boyfriend. The boyfriend got away but she was still down there being processed. God, she was only 24 years old. They’ll catch him, though. He hasn’t got a chance.”
'Nope,' I thought.
'In this town, I don’t expect he would.'
I was late again when I got home. Vaulting the 5 floors to reach our loft, I held my friend close, the entire night. She was ok with that. So was I.=
Interested in getting my private pilots license and wanted to see if someone may be around vs going to one of the schools. Thanks
I got an unsolicited letter from a law firm based about 400 miles away, though in the same US state. The letter stated that Wells Fargo was suing me, and they were offering free consultation, blah blah. I would have trashed it without a thought, except they included a case number. I searched for the number on the county court site for the county listed (the same very distant county), and to my surprise, there is an open law suit titled something like "Wells Fargo vs. [My first name] [My middle initial] [My last name]".
I tried calling the court house, but they literally don't have a phone number that reaches a human. I sent them a question via a form on their site, but it's been around 10 hours and I still haven't received the confirmation email that at least says they received my message (yes, I checked the spam folder). I emailed the webmaster around 9 hours ago, and also no reply.
The law suit documents are available, but only if I pay, which I'm not willing to do on principle. I have never interacted with Wells Fargo let alone banked with them, and I'm fairly certain I've never set foot in the county in question. So, this is ridiculous, right? If it was actually me, I would have received something directly from Wells Fargo or the court, right? They can't possibly expect hundreds of millions of people to search for their names on the court website for every county in the country every week. I feel like there is nothing left I can do.
Kristi Suzanne Krebs was born on December 29, 1970 and lived in Fort Bragg, California with her parents. Kristi graduated from high school in 1989 and went straight to work at a local Round Table Pizza full time. Little else seems to be known about Kristi's early years.
Kristi was usually an upbeat person that worked very hard, and this extended to her workplace. However, it soon became clear that Kristi had begun to develop a very unhealthy obsession with a male coworker who was married. Unsolved Mysteries referred to this as an "unhealthy obsession."
On April 30, 1990 (three years prior to her going missing), Kristi's coworkers described her as "unnaturally euphoric," and was fantasizing about a wedding and having kids (presumably with the married male coworker, but this is unclear). After work, Kristi drove around town aimlessly and eventually ended up in a forested area. Kristi's car ended up being stuck in the mud. Kristi kept gunning the engine to get the car unstuck, which caused the engine to overheat, which in turn caused the car to catch on fire. Kristi obviously became panicked, causing her to have a trauma educed mental breakdown.
The morning after this event, railroad workers found Kristi wandering around, dazed and disoriented. One of these railroad workers recognized Kristi and called her parents. Kristi's came to pick her up, initially wanting to take Kristi home, but while in the car, Kristi kept chanting, patting herself and just "acting weird." So they took Kristi to the hospital, where according to a Medium article, "she spent the next four weeks recovering in a private mental facility, though it would take several months before her memory completely returned." But after this initial hospital stay, Kristi was in and out of the hospital where doctors would diagnose her with a trauma educed psychotic break. At one point in her treatment, an occupational therapist recommended that Kristi start off her recovery by only going back to work part time, about twenty hours a week.
At first this arrangement seemed to be going well, but then Kristi began working "more and more," even taking on a second job at a local Burger King. Due to the two jobs, sometimes Kristi was working up to 12 hours a day. Kristi's parents also noted that she didn't seem to be sleeping very much and was going to the gym a lot. And again, Kristi began seeming very happy with her life. Kristi's father would state that these things made him wonder if Kristi's mental health was going downhill again.
Despite this new hectic pace, Kristi seemed
okay, so her parents didn't want to worry. At one point, one of Kristi's managers asked her why she was so happy, and she responded "it's not what you think." Kristi did not explain further and went back to work. At around 10pm on August 9, 1993, Kristi left work in "high spirits," and told her coworkers that she'd be heading home. However, Kristi did not end up going home and began driving around.
The next time that Kristi was seen was by a park ranger at McKerricher State Park, just north of Fort Bragg, at around 10:30pm. He spotted Kristi's red Toyota Tercel parked in the lot, so he went to go speak to the driver--which was Kristi. The ranger asked Kristi if she was okay and that the state park's lot closed a half hour before, so she needed to leave. Kristi told the ranger that she was relaxing after work and if she could stay. The ranger replied that she could not stay, and Kristi said she'd leave. This ranger would later tell police that the interaction was friendly and that Kristi seemed okay.
After this encounter, Kristi drove south through Fort Bragg, headed towards the small town of Mendocino. Kristi ended up in Mendocino Woods State Park, where she continued to drive a remote dirt road near a creek bed. And like three years before, her car became stuck and she began revving the engine to make the car start again, which again caused the car to catch fire. A car jack would later be found near her car, which lead authorities to believe that she attempted to jack up the tires to get the car going (admittedly I don't drive, so I don't know if I explained that correctly). When this didn't work, it apparently made Kristi angry, and she began bashing the car hood with a rock. She then took out her wallet, shredded the pictures inside and ripped out the car stereo.
Kristi had been wearing jeans and her work shirt when she left her job, but both of these items were found in the backseat of the car. It is believed that Kristi took them off because they'd gotten wet in her attempts to free the car. Kristi kept gym clothes in her car, so it is believed that she changed into those. When Kristi didn't come home, her parents reported her missing and a full scale search was launched. The Mendocino County Sheriff's Department searched the area surrounding Kristi's car and even an air rescue squad helped in the effort. The search of the park went on for a week, but nothing was found.
Kristi's family and authorities believe that she may be out there somewhere, with memory loss. There have been sightings of Kristi after she vanished, one of the first sightings was by a woman who claimed to have seen a woman resembling Kristi attempting to hitchhike. There were also sightings from Texas to Salt Lake City, Utah. However, there are two sightings that the police believe are the most legitimate. One occurred in March 1994 in Humboldt County (north of Fort Bragg), a woman who's daughter was a classmate of Kristi's claimed to have seen Kristi along Highway 101. When the woman called out to "Kristi," she turned and walked back into the woods.
The other sighting happened in June 1994. An off duty highway worker named Mike Case picked up a female hitchhiker in Visalia California, 300 miles south of where Kristi vanished. According to Mike, this woman "didn't seem to have it all there," and was in "a world of her own," and at first thought she may be on some kind of drugs. But as he began talking with her, Mike noticed tow slash marks on her wrist. When Mike asked about it, the woman responded that she'd had a breakdown and a boyfriend that "wasn't very nice." Mike and this woman were in the car together for about 90 minutes where the woman spoke about a boyfriend that seemed fake, having relatives in San Jose and liking the ocean. These things seemed true to Kristi's parents. Mike dropped Kristi off in Hanford, California and didn't think anymore about the encounter until he saw Kristi's picture in a trucking magazine. Mike contacted Kristi's parents, who sent more photos of Kristi and it was the woman Mike said he saw.
There has been one more sighting of Kristi, also by a woman named Alicia who picked up a hitchhiker in August 1993, two days after Kristi vanished. The woman who picked up this hitchhiker woman told authorities she picked up the woman near Salt Lake City, Utah. Alicia said the woman identified herself as "Kris," and Alicia only picked her up because she was standing at a dangerous spot on the side of the road. When "Kris," got into Alicia's car, she said "you're looking at the happiest girl in the world!" Apparently this was something Kristi said on a regular basis. Kris also began telling Alicia that she'd fallen in love with a trucker and she was meeting him in Amarillo Texas so they could get married. And when Alicia dropped off this woman off at a McDonald's in Park City, Kris said "Burger King is better."
There have been no other confirmed (or unconfirmed) sightings of Kristi Krebs. When Kristi vanished, she was 22 years old, 5'2 and around 140 pounds. She has brown hair and blue eyes and her thumbs curve inward. Kristi had been suffering from emotional distress with symptoms like amnesia before she vanished.
Unsolved Mysteries episode: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8l0JCuG_UVY&t=1177s https://medium.com/@jennbaxter_69070/the-bizarre-disappearance-of-kristi-krebs-ea93de24cd23 https://www.advocate-news.com/2019/05/09/where-is-kristi-krebs/ https://charleyproject.org/case/kristi-suzanne-krebs https://www.doenetwork.org/cases/808dfca.html https://www.namus.gov/MissingPersons/Case#/1268 https://www.pressdemocrat.com/article/news/fort-bragg-parents-use-technology-to-look-for-missing-daughte https://unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com/wiki/Kristi_Krebs https://archive.sltrib.com/article.php?id=53441147&itype=cmsid https://www.advocate-news.com/2016/04/21/missing-but-not-forgotten/
Basically the title, the officer searched his vehicle based off smell, I’m just wandering since it’s his first charge and doesn’t seem to significant will the outcome far significantly better with an attorney over a pd since he is currently tight on money. County of Douglas GA Edit: to clarify he may just be able to add an attorney by going without and asking family for help it’s not as though he has the money sitting around and doesn’t want to spend it, his only job is currently in the reserves