I started this series in September of 2017 on Steemit with no real goal in mind but to tell the truth about what I witnessed and saw during my involvement in the Occupation of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, also known as the “Oregon Standoff.”
If you’re reading this now and have time and the inclination to read something unlike anything else you’ve ever read, the first four parts of this series are linked here:
How Did I Get Here (Part 1)
Misfortune (Part 2)
Abandonment (Part 3)
Militia Resurgent (Part 4)
This will be the last post concerning Malheur. I wasn’t going to write it, to be honest. A conversation about a week ago with 
Glamor shot
Why tell my story? Isn’t that dry snitching?
Well, no. It isn’t. What I’ve said was already told in federal court by others who were there, perhaps a bit untruthfully. These are the events as they unfolded as I witnessed and experienced them. The second reason is that I wasn’t sure I would make it to trial so I began to do what they least expected: tell the truth.
It was originally planned that I go on MSPWaves with 
I’ve served my time and promised part 5...the last part...so here it is.
February 20, 2017
It wasn’t a pistol that caused the cut to Leo Martell’s forehead. The pistol never left my holster. The 1911a1 on my hip stayed in the holster under two layers of clothing. Added to that is the fact that a 1911a1 does not have a sharp barrel crown. It is actually very smooth and rounded. The barrel bushing is what could cut, if it wasn’t for the fact that the weight of that gun smashing into that part of the face would have crushed the orbital socket and exploded his eye like a hammer smashing a grape, which coincidentally is a nickname given to a 1911.
It was me slamming his face into the door frame when he attacked me that caused the cut. I think his chain lock cut him.
I released the DNA test from the state crime lab in 2017 and it shows that:
- the barrel of the gun was never tested and that it was well oiled with a little lint present (proving I didn’t wipe it down nor was a sample of skin taken from the barrel)
- only the handgrip was tested which came back inconclusive (they can’t even prove I held it in my hand)
- cross referenced with the police report which says only two swabs were taken, the two swabs sent to the lab with the gun came from Leo Martell’s mouth (no swab of the barrel was ever performed)
- I am innocent of THOSE charges (duh)
This will crush your orbital socket
This is why the judge suppressed the DNA report. He must protect his nephew from perjury charges.
Am I guilty of another felony charge? Yes. I knew he was no match for me and after shoving him away I chose to take it further and slammed his head into the door frame and kicked him to the ground. He bled because I made him bleed. Had they charged me with THAT crime instead of lying, I would have pled no contest. I’m not a liar. I have voluntarily pled guilty twice in my life, when charged with a crime I actually committed. The rest I cut the best deal I could if I could not win outright, like a normal person would. (Take that “innocent men don’t take pleas” shit and stuff it in your cunt. You’ll plead out when it happens to you too, you pussy.)
My mugshot
There is not much of a moral high ground on my end aside from the fact that the government chose to frame me on gun charges because a jury would acquit me for the actual felony assault based on the fact that Martell assaulted me first and nobody can prove (aside from myself) that he wasn’t injured from me pushing him off me, which would legally exonerate me. Fat people fall down easily and they fall hard-especially those over 450 pounds. Martell was pushing 550 by the time the first trial date came and went.
The government only hires people with sociopathic tendencies to enforce their laws and generate revenue by twisting your words and lying about events. This is why it’s important to exercise your right to remain silent. Had I been anyone else and not a political target I would have walked away without a single criminal charge because I did not talk to the police. It might seem hard to remain silent but it’s actually very easy to shut the fuck up.
Could I have done worse to him? Let me put it this way: I am very well known for breaking bones in fights. Even my own. I’ve broken my hand twice punching people, and fractured my arm once driving through a kick. I have scars on my scalp from all the places where I was hit with a baseball bat in a fight with an entire baseball team in 2008. What ended that fight was being tazed twice by police while I choked out a cop’s son. I was abused as a child, as most adopted children are, and as a result I feel little to no pain. I often don’t know I’m injured until I lose the use of a body part. Even in elementary school that was my reputation. If I hit you, you will know you were hit. If you hit me, I won’t feel it but you will make me even angrier. My anger never culminates in wild attacks: I get mean and everything I do is calculated. It’s part of who I am- a product of the environment I was raised in. (THANK THE US GOVERNMENT FOR MY UPBRINGING: THEY DID THIS.) Jeffrey Kemp, the district attorney who presented false charges against me and former dojo mate and friend of mine, knows this very well. He had trained longer than I had been alive at the point we met and began training together and we were on most days an even match. For all his skill and precision, he knew my aim is immaculate, my skull is made of steel and even with a freshly cracked rib I will pound you into submission, throw you across the room or wear you out and beat you down. You might make me bleed but I won’t feel it.
Yes- I could have done worse and he is fortunate that I didn’t. The thought of killing him crossed my mind and he did not know how close he came to losing his life at that moment. In fact, his entire family screaming for mercy did not influence me one bit in my decision to get in my car and leave. I left because after all that and even though it is fitting for a piece of shit like him to die as a direct result of his own arrogance, he is a worthless fat tub of shit and I want him to die a horrible death. He is a string of heart attacks and strokes waiting to happen and his shitty family’s final humiliations when the fire department needs to remove a wall to get his disgusting fat corpse outside and when he must be cremated because he cannot fit in any coffin or mausoleum and they must have two urns that they will never be able to afford on a folding table at a funeral nobody will come to: that is enough for me.
Back to the point:
Martell’s daughter was a sexually assaulting, thieving, lying little troublemaker and unfortunately I met the idiot that taught her to be that way. She no longer has those specific behavior problems from what I hear. Morgan Martell saw what will eventually happen to her when she runs into a real man whilst acting like a man. I do believe that she had nightmares after, which may very well be the grain of truth in the government’s string of lies. For a child that fat who uses her weight to prey on other children, she witnessed first hand that it means absolutely nothing when a fight is picked with a FIGHTER. She saw how fragile her life is and was terrified at the result of the stupidity of what she had been taught. She probably does not realize this as she seems to be mentally handicapped as well, but that is what happened to her.
Would I do it again? Fuck yes. When meth addicted nephews of sitting judges are allowed to assault or steal from anyone they want without fear of police intervention the intended victim must show the barking dog that he is a wolf and barking is meaningless without a bite to back it up. A man protects his family. That is what I did.
In summation:
I cleaned up a neighborhood in less than 5 seconds.
And no this isn’t the first time I’ve committed a felony assault but it is the first time I allowed myself to be arrested for it and the first time I left the loser conscious.
Glass house
The unfortunate circumstance which has been prevalent in my life is that I am only ever truly desired by those who are afraid to die and that once the danger has passed I am seen as a threat to the same cowards who could not for a moment fend for themselves. I have a habit of telling the truth when it is most needed, but it is completely unwanted that I should do so. I am celebrated by those who hide behind me up until the moment that it becomes apparent that they made additional mistakes and that I am only human and cannot protect them from everything. At that point everything becomes my fault.
I stood shoulder to shoulder with many who proved themselves to be my enemies. Oddly enough I was gifted a ballistic plate by someone who told me “put this plate in the back” a month before he turned on me; almost as if he intended to do it all along but had a momentary bit of remorse for what was intended to happen to me.
One person provoked and taunted the FBI in radio interviews and videos posted to social media; all while posing with my pistol he promised to return (and didn’t.) When that behavior resulted in his indictment on federal charges he gave me more attention than anyone and out of 11 pages of information given to the FBI in his Proffer Agreement, I received an entire page while the rest got just a paragraph or less.
Although I witnessed many federal crimes I kept my mouth shut. When they came to question me I purposely escalated the encounter to scare them away. I could have told them that this fine individual attempted to create IEDs from the dynamite, blasting caps and flares the government left behind. Recently, the thought of exchanging that information for something I want has crossed my mind.
It’s not a stretch to say that I could maintain the moral high ground while obtaining something I need when those I am speaking about attempted to create IEDs, had sexual contact with a minor, smoked meth and tried to weaponize a publicly owned fire truck. I’ve held my tongue. Why? I’m clinging to my honor. And I don’t have a clue as to the reason why I still keep it to myself.
The real truth about Malheur is that I went knowing it was overrun with snitches, informants and criminals. I intended to be “one more good guy.” I intended to die there. In the end I left because I could not justify giving my life up and having to die next to that kind of human trash. At the time, I saw the final four, was unimpressed and shocked how quickly they gained control. I saw a man writing threatening messages on his magazines and taking photos. I saw meth and cocaine in plain sight. I saw a man fire a 12 gauge shotgun at a drone that was six miles away and when it was taken away he returned immediately with an AKS-74 and tried to do it again.. I saw a man take a joke I had made and try to turn a fire truck into a mobile flame thrower. I saw a 24 year old man coming out of a dorm room with a 16 year old girl shortly after I heard him making sexual comments to her.
There is much much more that I saw. This doesn’t even touch the tip of the iceberg.
To what end did this protest gone wrong contribute to my own demise? Although I committed no crimes during my involvement, it resulted in my demise. My honor and mostly my pride-were my downfall.
So what now?
I made a lot of mistakes and now I’m moving on with my life.
Final statement: for the record, I’m not “right wing.”
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