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Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.

spixxor posted:

Not Wikipedia, but a post from these very forums in the Healthcare thread. I think it fits this one as well. Insanely :nms: story about what happens if you fall and can't get up...and no one finds you for a while.

Jesus Christ.

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Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.

FrozenVent posted:

It just gets bored and move on.

A few anonymous big names got stuck in litigation for a good while after that poo poo, one of them had his cats poisoned IIRC.

There were feral cats in his neighborhood and he would put food out for them and they'd wander in and out of his house, if I remember the story. One day he found blood everywhere and one of the cats dead, and when they ran tests at the vet they found poison in the bowl of food he'd left out. It was a really nasty, painful death too, that poor animal really suffered.

I don't think he wound up losing the court case, but killed himself while the protests were still going on, or so I heard. Really scary poo poo.

Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.

That drat Satyr posted:

Are we talking "killed himself", or legit suicide?

I honestly think in this case it was legit suicide (especially considering his mental state like FrozenVent mentioned), but considering the kind of psychological torment he was put through beforehand I think they're at least partially responsible for pushing him over the edge.

Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.

FirstPersonShitter posted:

poo poo, olddirtybtard killed himself? Man, we were good friends for a while. I remember when his cat got poisoned, I was on irc with him at the time. Later on his other cat, one he actually owned , died of old age and he got really depressed. I dropped out of that community due to rl poo poo, but I really didn't think he'd actually kill himself

Pretty sure, yeah. I never knew him personally, but as I heard (from friends of friends, because I was never involved in the Scientology protests and had nothing to do with Anonymous or the old guard) from people who attended the protests, it was just too much for him. For a while people did suspect a Scientology hit, but it does look like it was just him being pushed over the edge. :(

Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.
Going back a page or two to near misses with serial killers reminded me of this anecdote I read on b3ta years ago.

http://b3ta.com/questions/decisions/post879014 posted:

Makes me shiver thinking about it even now

Early 1980s, I had an hour and a half journey to school each day, each way, and by the time I was 16 studies were starting to get a bit neglected as I discovered the bright lights of the West End and started going to three, four gigs a week. A railway strike gave me an opportunity to hatch a plan. You see, school wouldn't expect me to trudge halfway across South London, would they, so I could just tell my form master that I'd take some stuff home with me and sit it out. if I told my parents I was staying with a friend nearer school, they'd never check up. And there was one of my favourite bands playing at Gossips in Soho on an evening smack bang in the middle of the train strike.

So off I went to school the day before the strike. As it turned out I had actually arranged to stay with a schoolfriend who lived in a huge flat in Central London (but whose parents, curiously, were never, ever around) and who was happy to play along with the plan, off we went to the gig in the evening. The following day my mate, who wasn't quite so much into the whole bunking off thing, went into school, so I found myself mooching around Carnaby Street (very seedy at that time) waiting for another friend who worked nearby to knock off so we could go for a beer.

Enter Mr Plod. There's me, a youngish looking 16-year-old (though one, curiously, who never had problems getting served in pubs) hanging round on a street corner in an unsalubrious part of town, probably looking very out of place. This being the old stop & search days, his conversation opener was to ask me what was in my bag. So out come the books, all clearly marked with the name of my school on them - God knows, I must have decided I'd be doing some studying during my little jaunt - and I knew I was in the poo poo.

No point in lying, my school's name's on the books, as is my name, the only alternative to 'fessing up to bunking off is to somehow explain what I'm doing with them which would doubtless result in a trip to the station, so the policeman takes all my details, parents' phone number, school details etc. At best I am looking at an absolute bollocking from my parents and being grounded for a very long time, at worst I could be facing expulsion. I'm in deep poo poo in triplicate.

So I head off towards Charing Cross, where I may find a train or if they're still not running, I can get a bus in the general direction of home, but apprentice pisshead that I am, I decide to stop in a pub in Soho to drown my sorrows a little. I'm sitting there, probably looking pretty loving sorry for myself, and this guy starts talking to me, asking why I'm looking so down, so I recount my story. Next thing I know, we're round the corner at what at the time I think must have been the Wendy's on Shaftesbury Avenue, now McDonald's (a great loss the day Wendy's quit the UK, by the way), and the guy's bought me a burger and said, you know, if you don't fancy going home to face your parents, you can always crash at mine, and I'm kind of, you know, that might not be such a bad idea, and then...

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?"

There's been twice in my life that I've heard those words shouted at me from within my own head, drowning out any other thoughts; the only other time, more recently, was the night before I stopped drinking which, in all probability, saved my marriage and a shitload of other problems. I really can't explain where it comes from, but it's a voice you can't help but listen to and act upon. And if the second time I heard it was a turning point in my life, I'm pretty convinced the first time was, too.

Alarm bells stated ringing in my head. What the gently caress was I doing here, with this strange man, who, come to think of it, was making me feel uneasy, though with everything else going through my head, I hadn't really picked up on my intuition. I didn't just need to get home, I needed to get the hell out of here right now.

Well, thank gently caress for Routemaster buses is all I can say. The countless times i'd hopped on and off the platform at the back paid off and - poo poo, it is moving a bit quickly, isn't it - I just managed to get a foot on the boards and a hand round the pole and off down the road I went, my erstwhile benefactor's face blending into the crowd as the bus sped off.

It was a face I remembered, though, and perhaps the glasses had something to do with that. I certainly recognised that face when I saw it on the news a couple of years later, and whenever I hear the name, it sends me cold.

Length? Dennis Nilsen got 25 years, later increased to life. He'll never be paroled.

PS - Just checked his Wikipedia entry for when he was arrested and some of the facts really do make me pause and realise just how lucky I was. The Golden Lion, I'm pretty certain, is the pub. He bought one of his victims a hamburger. Originally, I'm from Scotland, as many of his victims were. Thank gently caress I listened to that inner voice (and apologies for lack of funnies)

The idea that you could get so close to being another statistic on Wikipedia is really unnerving to me.

I was at a bus stop about a year ago and some guy started a conversation with me. He was pretty aggressive in his tone even if he wasn't particularly physically threatening, but it was more what he said that unnerved me. A lot of stuff about how humans are inherently bad and there's no reason fighting it, we're all just violent, selfish beasts and so on. He brought this up specifically because I'd mentioned I volunteer full time for a nonprofit, so y'know, that was kinda unnecessary. Anyway he kept going, deliberately picking apart what I was wearing, the book I was reading and so on; I'm a slim 5'5" woman and was starting to feel pretty vulnerable. It was starting to get dark, my bus was now ten minutes late and I decided to tell him to go gently caress himself and went to a nearby store to call for a ride. I'm 99.9% sure he was just a lonely weirdo with absolutely no social skills who didn't realize how seriously creepy he was coming across, but it still sends shivers down my spine and I started carrying pepper spray after that.

Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.

Rondette posted:

There was an article a few years ago, I think it would have been 2009, the twentieth anniversary, which had survivor accounts. They were absolutely harrowing, and I remember reading it on the train and nearly crying. I can't imagine anything worse than what those people went through.

http://hillsborough.independent.gov.uk/repository/docs/LCS000001110001.pdf

Read it and weep. Awful.

loving hell. I was in tears reading that, what a horrific thing to have to witness. I knew about the Hillsborough disaster in passing, but I was young when it happened so I never knew much past it being a tragedy at a football game.

Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.

Rondette posted:

Go and watch Nightcrawler also, This guy sounds a bit like the character at the very start.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8kYDQan8bw

I didn't like Nightcrawler when I first saw it, but the more I read this thread the more I'm realizing that it really was an excellent movie. It just seemed too unrealistic to me at the time. :(

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Otana
Jun 1, 2005

Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into.

Vladimir Poutine posted:

Art critic Tom Lubbock kept a journal of his declining ability to communicate as a fatal brain tumour developed in the speech center of his brain. As his symptoms progressed, his writing style also changed.

This scares the poo poo out of me because I was diagnosed with epilepsy a few years back, and when I was coming around from my first seizure I couldn't understand what my ex was saying to me. I could repeat the words back exactly an hour or so later, but right then it might as well have been a different language for all the sense it made.

Since then, my language skills have deteriorated. I struggle to find the right words for things, and I'll use the completely wrong word in a sentence sometimes without realizing it until someone points it out (like Lubbock's "police steakhouse/police stakeout" example). It's really scary to just completely lose a word, it doesn't feel like it's "just on the tip of my tongue" or anything, it's just gone. And it's even worse when people laugh at my mistakes because they don't realize it's not just a simple accident but a very real deterioration that I have to be hyper aware of all the time.

Brain disorders suck. :(

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