Bernadette

Preface: Obama keeps breaking the links to my blog posts and in my blog posts. Please type the address http://frisco-squid.blogspot.com into the navigation bar in your browser and make sure you favorite or bookmark the general blog site and check it for new posts regularly. If you all send around links to my posts yourselves, those links will not be broken. Obama only breaks links I send around. So please send around links to my posts yourselves.

Here is my latest blog post. I am tired of being harassed by Iowa locals who treat me like I write pornography for a living. Does anything about this blog look like pornography to you? I know this popular misconception comes from enduring libel concerning a book published in my name, against my will, without my permission, and initially without my knowledge that I never wrote and truly would never associate myself with.

Tying the book to my name was an act of libel and defamation and a deliberate act to ruin my brand as a writer. Also, the proceeds from the sales went towards continuing enslaving, torturing, and libeling me. It is my understanding that we already won this libel and defamation lawsuit. If not, Syniva, please take care of it.

Because I am a systemic rape victim, it is particularly heinous to treat me like I am only here to titillate you. I have never once in my life been sexually objectified by choice. I have never been a hooker. I have never been a stripper. I have never been a porn star. I have never been a burlesque dancer. What I am is a rape victim. I would never write pornography, and treating me like I would is a heinous act of harassment.

So, with Syria in crisis, with yet another presidential debate tonight, with the entire nation still ordered by Barack Obama to hate and persecute me, with a half-page of notes on world concerns I need to address, and with my next torture scheduled for 01November, I have found I need to dedicate an entire post to cleaning up my brand. Damn Iowans and their need to harass me. My time should be too precious for this. If you are at all curious as to what my writing style when I write fiction actually sounds like, just keep reading.

To start with, download my free audiobook which I put online in 2008. Some people refer to me as an oracle because of it. You can find it by clicking here. Just scroll to the bottom of the page to find the downloads. Do not worry. It is free for a reason. I even read it myself.

In 2010 I finished a short story called ‘Whiskeyless Fictions’ and sent copies to my husband and BFF. If you ask them nicely, maybe they will publish it for you along with the final final version of my novelette ‘Infamy.’ I have a novel in the works, too. I am sitting on a half-finished screenplay about Chicago. I tried creating a board game with garden gnomes and genetically-engineered monkey-crabs for a while. I regularly produce poetry that has a tendency to pop into my mind and out of my fingers with a fury.

The fictional prose work in progress I just started is called “Bernadette was in Love.” It is based on my life for the last four years and the song ‘Bernadette’ by the Four Tops. Click here to read the lyrics to the song.

Sigh,… and, HOLY KAFKA! I am going to include the rough draft version of the opening chapter now. Please remember that this is only a first draft and that it is likely to change vastly as the work progresses.

Bernadette was in Love

“Tell the afterlife I’ll be late,” I called over my shoulder at the waitress. Their nefarious wrongdoing was expected, but their method was sadly unpredicted. Luckily, the poison was detectable, so I left the rest of the enchiladas on the plate they were served on as I ran for the restroom. A few stomach emptying moments later, I was fit and ready to find my darling man.

I had spent most of my life believing adventures were found in the jungle not at the corner eatery. Thirty two years and four continents later, I realized that I had been mistaken. Now, where had that husband of mine gone off to? I had promised to meet him after lunch for a movie. Why could I never find a man when I needed one?

The movie theater lobby was empty except for a mother with a whining little girl complaining she was too young for the movie with the screaming dragons and the big guns. Even the concessions counter seemed devoid of a speckle-faced popcorn-pusher nestled between the soda machine and the boxes of candy that day. Much more distressingly, my husband was nowhere to be found.

I left the theater and tried his phone. The number was disconnected. The great mystery had begun.

I went straight to our apartment and found not a speck of dust out of place. No struggle. No burglary. Nothing missing. Nothing packed. It was as if my husband had simply evaporated and floated into the cloudless sky.

If your loved one disappeared, who would you call first? I started with close, mutual friends. No one had seen either of us in weeks… well, no one except for Raph.

“I should meet you about this,” Raph told me in a hushed tone.

I was mostly relieved, “So you know where he is?”

Raph’s voice stayed hushed, “No.”

“Then why should we meet?”

Raph’s voice became shaky. “I know things,” was all he said.

“The New York City Public Library in half an hour.”

“I’ll be by the lions.”


And that is exactly where he was. I found Raph next to the nearest lion looking around himself on constant guard in case of danger. I knew that feeling well. We found a table inside with a reading lamp and sat among the stacks of books abandoned and in need of reshelving.

“Bernadette, I know about them,” Raph began.

I was confused, “You know about who?”

“I know about the people trying to kill you,” was his explanation.

I was shocked, “But I haven’t told anyone.” There was a constant threat of mental health commitment or worse retaliation on my head if I spoke up against the system, so I had kept the last year of constant death threats and attempts on my life pretty much to myself. My husband was the only one who had discussed it with me until now.

“It is spoken of now in some circles.” The content of Raph’s coment was consoling.

“Even though…?”

“Yes, Bernadette, even though.”

My stomach began churning, “So they’re the ones who took my husband?”

Raph gesticulated knocking a tome of quotes from Supreme Court rulings off the top of the nearest stack of books. “Not literally. It is more as though they created a physical barrier between you.”

“How do I get him back?”

There was only one honest answer he could give to that question. “Trust me. He is trying to reach you just as passionately as you are trying to find him.”

“Who are these…?”

Our conversation was cut short. “BOMB!” came the screen from behind the stacks. Alarms started blaring, and the stampede as mass exodus from the library began. Raph grabbed my arm, but I ran in the opposite direction. I made it to the bomb a good five minutes before the bomb squad came it.


I knew the make of the bomb and could have sworn I had seen the maker herself at a café a few months previous. I dug the screwdriver out of my purse and pulled the display panel off the explosive.

The library was in a state of bedlam. Shelves were pushed over as the screaming masses were making their disorderly way to the exit. No one seemed to notice me there among the encyclopedias.

The bomb squad in their protective suits and with their robots did not make it to me and the bomb until after I had already disconnected the green wire, waited five seconds, and then cut the yellow wire.

“It’s disarmed!” I called out just before they tackled me to the ground.

The sniffing dogs swept past me looking for more explosives. The bomb squad inspected my work, and I realized that I was about to have a very interesting conversation.

The SWAT team climbed off me, and I rested against an overturned shelf of books from the non-circulating reference section. The head of the Bomb Squad sat down next to me, pulled a flask out of his protective gear, and offered me a nip of amaretto.

“That was pretty good work you did there,” he said resting an arm on a pile of SAT study guides.

I tossed back a long swig and thanked him for calming my adrenaline and my nerves.

He continued, “Where did you learn to do that?”

I blushed a little before answering, “I’ve seen it done a number of times.”

“I’m just sayin’,” he smiled, “It’s not every day a cute, younger woman in a skirt and heels does my job before I can get to it.” He paused, lowered his voice, and leaned in to me, “Are you a spy?”

I could not help but giggle.

He kept going, “You know, CIA or something off duty and in town for a birthday?”

At that point I had to laugh.

He was impressed but serious, “No, wait. Are you KGB and on duty? May I ask how many languages you speak?” His voice was hushed but energetic.

“Look, Mister,…” I began.

“David. Bomb Expert David Let Tourmaline,” and he held out his hand.

I shook it, “Bernadette DuMonde.” Too proud of my New Orleans roots, I had kept my last name after marrying Romeo. “Look, Bomb Expert Tourmaline,…”

“Call me David.”

“David, I’m just a civilian with an unusual life right now.”

“We’re going to have questions.”

And they did have questions. No, I did not know who put the bomb there. Yes, I did know how to diffuse it. No, I had never been formally trained in any of this. “Yes, I had learned on my own. The questions went on for hours.

I was completely honest about everything except for how many times I had almost been blown up by the still nameless nefarious wrongdoers, and they could offer me no help with finding my husband. He had not even been missing twelve hours yet, and it took twenty-four before anyone could file a report.

I left the police station with Bomb Expert Tourmaline’s business card, though, and a job offer. If I had not spent all day dodging death and sleuthing, it would have been a comical and endearing experience.

END OF VERY ROUGH DRAFT OF CHAPTER ONE


For examples of what my writing style looked like before I was subjected to four years of persecution, rape, torture, attempts on my life, and reality deprivation, please refer to this very old blog post of mine. Click here to see my more natural writing style.

Sweetness, I like to keep track of when you make the news. Click here to see some latest news. Would you like me to spruce up and consolidate my memoirs for you? I have a lot to add to them. They have been sitting dormant for so long. Once I have a way to write without the whole world seeing every word I generate, I have a treasure trove of interesting and highly artistic works you can publish. Yey!