What’s a Roman candle or a Rocket Joint in stoner lingo? They get you there faster

Stock photo courtesy Pixabay

After a particularly horrid day earlier this year, I told a high-ranking official in public education I intended to medicate myself with a Bio Jesus Roman candle.

She clearly was aghast. Her response? “I’d be careful smoking something called Roman candle. Just sayin’.”

She’s a nice, honest lady (at least I think she is, in my town NOTHING is as it seems) and probably meant nothing by it. But it freaked me out.

Indeed, it’s a bizarre name to many, a “Roman candle” marijuana cigarette masquerading as medicine.

I’m joking! I saw her comment as stigma against medical cannabis. The truth is, even where I live, a small Midwestern metro area, most people are extremely supportive of my medical cannabis.

Read more: Suffer from back pain? Been in a car accident? You may have TOS, and smoking pot could make you feel better 

But I see her point as it pertains to vernacular. So, what in the world is a Roman candle, anyway? And why do they call it that?

Hippies invented the marijuana vernacular. As for Roman candles or “Rocket Joints,” what they actually are are joints packed with shatter, terpenes, and/or kief. This wildly ups the potency and medicinal powers of cannabis, all while using the plant’s natural ingredients. Shatter simply is concentrated cannabis boiled down, so to speak,  for potency. Kief are naturally occurring on the plant. In “Rocket Joints” they stuff even more kief, or even more intoxicating terpenes, into your pre-roll.

Read my Terpenes 101 report by clicking here

So it means your pre-roll may be two, even three three or four times as potent.

Not for beginners, but great for those in between the flower and dabbing phases.

For someone with PTSD, a Bio Jesus Roman Candle, Granddaddy Purple Roman candle, or Joliet Jake Roman candle can extinguish the angry storm in even the most aggravated person with PTSD. All of these heavy indicas known for their medical uses in persons with PTSD can be made more potent in Roman candle form.

Read more: 10 great cannabis strains for PTSD

It’s no different from increasing a patient’s dose from 25 mg to 75 mg. And there’s simply no denying it’s a far safer option than opioids or benzodiazepines.

If you haven’t heard much about benzodiazepines, you soon will. These medications, also known as “benzos” are used to treat anxiety, the primary diagnosed symptom in people with PTSD. But most people with PTSD also have battled alcoholism in an attempt to extinguish the fire inside them

In reality, alcohol fans the flames.

Read more: Out of weed and pissed off? Go see Betty Crocker. Seriously 

Read more: If you responded ‘F Betty Crocker,’ my next suggestion is to mow your lawn

So the problem with Benzos, then, is that they affect the brain the same way as alcohol.

And yet they are only but a couple of Pharma options for people with PTSD, the others being antidepressants.

Why must we dope up someone who is a victim and simply wants peace, when all we need to do is give them a plant?

Illinois does it right.

Read more: Bye-bye benzodiazepines, hello Medical Cannabis 

Thank God.

Meet my chill ‘BUD’-dy Joliet Jake, he is a friend to people with #PTSD

Who is Joliet Jake?

He’s a marijuana plant.

A marijuana plant from Chicago. Joliet, to be exact.

Or it’s John Belushi in a “Saturday Night Live” skit, holy cow, buckle up folks.


Joliet Jake the plant is heavy-handed inasmuch as he will knock your anxiety flat on its ass. He has a fruity taste, but don’t be fooled into thinking he’s a lightweight.

Joliet Jake by Cresco Laboratories is a cross between Pre-98 Bubba Kush (THE standby PTSD strain for decades, high in CBD) and Katsu Bubba Kush, another, more modern-day,  high-THC content PTSD strain.

But Joliet Jake marijuana strain also is great for chronic pain.

The result?

I have not even smoked half a bong bowl yet, and I am so pleasantly stoned there is no need to take another puff at this time. I am fully functional, although I am not sure for how long. Some strains give me an energizing, creative tilt that can cause profundity (it’s a stoner stereotype that delightfully is true) and this is one of them. Strains high in profundity inducement can cause flowery writing that seems ridiculous when you read it later.

I am blown away by the cannabis reviews on Leafly. It is an art no less important than writing for the New York Times Review of Books.

So I humbly quote what Leafly has to say about my friend Joliet Jake:

“Its generous trichome density and hues of purple foliage give the strain an appetizing appearance alongside pain mitigating effects that relax the mind and body without being excessively sedative. Enjoy this 90% indica later in the day to maximize this strain’s deep physical relaxation.”

I sometimes feel guilty that I have the privilege of the cannabis card, especially when I run across fun, delightful strains like this one. I do think everyone should be allowed to enjoy cannabis. The threshold for chronic PTSD is very high.

It is not at all easy to get a cannabis card in Illinois. It should be a lot easier. Here is the story of how I got my card.

Do you think marijuana should just be legal for everybody? Why or why not? Please comment and let’s talk about it.


What does my current scary situation have to do with Trudy Appleby?

Two words: Missing persons.
While I never was a missing person, everyone can now clearly see that I was supposed to be.
In the chilling words of Jane Massey, “They can’t just make you disappear. You know too many people, plus you have that social media following.”
A social media following that, in retrospect, horrified my brother the larger it became.
Who is Jane Massey? Jane was the executive director of Amber Ridge Memory Care when I chose to place my father there. While my brother was POA and ultimately responsible for all decisions, his brain was unable to comprehend my father’s illness due to being absent most of his dad’s life. Therefore, I worked directly with nursing home and state officials and John had little impact…until Jane no longer worked for the memory care institution, fired for verifiable nonsense.
I don’t know much about the Trudy Appleby case. I know I have heard a couple of wild tales as it pertains to who murdered her. But you certainly can’t believe everything you hear.
I wonder, though…this smells like law enforcement knows who snatched Trudy. Or maybe someone in law enforcement did it?
I have noticed that as I share the story of my Rock Island County Jail horror and it gains traction, the Trudy Appleby (and SEVERAL missing persons cases, in fact) have ramped up.
This is not a coincidence, I do not believe.
I do think the disappearance of Trudy Appleby somehow is related to someone in my family.
Why? What kind of family — every single member, both sides — would abandon me.
I am a good person. I only have done good the past several years.
This makes no sense. Especially on the Heitz conservative right-wing Republican Edgewood Baptist Church Christian side.
The only way it would make sense for both sides to be upset with me would be if I did something that somehow incriminated my brother.
I’m not saying my brother knows anything about the disappearance of Trudy Appleby.
I’m not saying he doesn’t.
River Rat Commando Squad, John Heitz, Chief
My brother used to be a hardcore river rat. Until he got a DUI on the river and eventually sold his boat.
His first boat was a tub. That’s what it looked like. A tub with red and yellow stripes.
I would put in the water right now and take a spin if I had it. It was a fun starter boat.
Then he got his silver speedboat which he eventually sold. He had that one a long time.
My brother became very good friends with “the River People,” as my mother called them, particularly those living along the Rock.
My brother, chief of security at Sears Northpark, Davenport, Iowa, previously chief of security at Sears Southpark, Moline, Ill., made most of his criminal friends via the river.
Some river people are scary-ass weirdos. Period.
Islands in the Mississippi River
Several islands around Campbell’s Island are key to the Trudy Appleby case, according to published news reports. My brother (and most boaters with experience) know where the islands are and which ones are which.
My brother would visit the islands in the Mississippi with his friends, as do most beer-drinking party types who go boating on the river. What better place to get ripped than an island.
I again point out that both families have disowned me for being the survivor of so many horrific crimes against me. It makes no sense, other than the fact that I have narc’d out every nasty little thing my brother did.
is he in big trouble? I have no idea.
I do not talk to anybody except my Realtor.
I have endured far too much suffering and want justice very badly. I also owe nothing to nobody and am indebted to no one on an emotional level. I am loyal to nobody and nothing but myself right now.
I think it’s odd that my Aunt Wanda “WG Harold” Kinnan Fordham showed up at my door two months ago and proceeded to tell me about the dangers I soon faced. She told me I had been born into a gang family, in so many words.
Meanwhile, it was my cousin Little Bobby Heitz who tried to kill me along with some of his friends from this neighborhood. Who did my dad buy our family home back from in 2013? The Milan Fire Chief, whose son was a meth and ecstasy kingpin and gang member, obviously. He is in prison right now and I am pretty sure it took the FBI to find him, but the Quad-City Times has covered alll of that up.
Is it possible that the same people who made Trudy Appleby disappear are the same people who have tried to make me vanish…and apparently are continuing to try to do so?
Might they be directly related to my family, or include members of my family, up to and including my brother?
Just check out these three videos from just the past few days where I discuss my scary close calls:
It’s all a terrible mix for the people who jacked with me. And as I tell my story, I think the walls might be closing in on them.
One of my mother’s last sentences to me before she died March 7, 1995 was, “David, someday Aunt Wanda may be your only friend.”
But Trudy Appleby died a little more than a year after that.
And the last time I called Aunt Wanda, three days ago?
Nasty as hell all, of a sudden. She said someone was at her door, could she call me back.
Those were the same hateful words my mom’s sister began to use after I got out of jail alive.
Aunt Wanda and Le Ella used to hate each other, maybe they are friends now.
Is it possible that someone in law enforcement themselves murdered Trudy Appleby, or at least knows who did? Why all the cover-up? Why so long?
And what does my brother know, if anything?
What do the Fordhams know?
What does Little Bobby Heitz and his friends from this neighborhood know, if anything?
The Moline Police are not playing around. Just look at these billboards they put up.
Screen Shot 2018-07-22 at 12.58.21 PM
They know that somebody knows. That a lot of people know.

Augustana College, St. John Lutheran Church, and why they scare me

Image of Moscow Square in winter courtesy Pixabay. 

Never have I seen so many dishonest narcissists have the same two Rock Island institutions in common.

The institutions? St. John Lutheran Church and Augustana College.

The narcissists? Let’s start with Rock Island County Board member Kai Swanson, my former Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor.

I do not trust him one bit, and I never will. Why should I, as my therapist used to rhetorically ask?

What kind of AA sponsor leaves you to rot in a jail he partially controls, held on no charges for reporting sex crimes? Especially when he knew you had been sober an entire year?

Kai, was it revenge for saying, “No thanks, Kai” and then staying sober on my own?

But it goes beyond that. With Mr. Swanson’s superior intelligence, he was able to manipulate facts and then spit them back at me in ways that were dishonest, gaslighting, and downright hateful.

He did this all the time regarding my brother, who at the time was in an active methamphetamine addiction and regularly hiring Bill Boom prostitutes. My brother has harbored countless criminals through the years. Former Quad-City Timespolice reporter Ann McGlynn, now PR diva for St. Paul Lutheran Church, Davenport, knows all about this. I used to give her letters from prisoners at my brother’s request (Ann and I worked at the Quad-City Times together….there’s that filthy newspaper again…but Ann and I worked great together…Ann, maybe when they lock up/fire some QCT filthies we can be a team again, that would be tits).

Together, Ann and I earned this first-place award right before my departure. Ann was the editor on this story here:

Panhandlers pepper interstate off-ramps

Kai should have known better. I am just as intelligent as he is.

But with street smarts.

The streets of Maxine Waters and Adam Schiff taught me well. You can read all about that right here.

Scary St. John Lutheran Church

I always thought St. John would be a great church, because I always thought Pastor Stacie Fidlar was a great person.

Now I’m not so sure.

Stacie, from the git go, knew something significant and horrible happened to me. She ran to the memory care institution immediately when she saw my FB post:

“Help! He’s going to kill my dad and I both!”

The entire Quad-Cities saw it (I had more than 2,000 PERSONAL Facebook friends at the time…now I have ZERO…my journalism FB page is a business/political/journalist/public figure page).

I totally anticipated the mass exodus of the page. If it gets down to ZERO it’s worth it entirely as long as the kingpins of the depraved sex abuse and methamphetamine ring are LOCKED UP.

Pastor Fidlar told me she asked one thing of the memory care institution, which had installed a Per Mar guard (Antifa DNC Showbiz Machine): “Did David leave here on his own?”

The answer, “NO,” alarmed her.

And the next thing you know that filthy church, run by elders of the filthy college, sent her on a “sabbatical” where she was not allowed to accept calls, but could make them.

Stacie Fidlar, by no means, did not start out an evil, corrupt person who withholds information about human rights violations committed by powerful politicians. Cheri and Gerry Bustos never used to be corrupt either, believe. I had cocktails with Cheri all the time when I wasn’t even old enough to drink.

Oh, Cheri, let’s delight in those Pat McGuire’s days. Or the drunken parties at staffer goodbye galas! Indeed, the Quad-City Times had me a hardcore drunk before I even was 21 years old.


Stacie has been my only friend, too

Stacie listened to me for a long time regarding my jail terror and made me feel better. But then it changed. She started saying, “Cheri Bustos doesn’t have time for you, and she’s running for Senate, and she’s going to have you committed.”

I used to see my therapist screaming in terror over this.

The gaslighting and harassment by Pastor Fidlar only got worse as the months went by. I have not spoken to her in well over a year.

As a graduate of Augustana College in 1992, I served as editor of The Observerstudent newspaper my junior year in 1991. Stacie and I worked together my sophomore year (Stacie served as entertainment editor, I was ‘Special Report Editor.’)

We never got along.

I was happy, she morose.

But we came to be friends when I returned to corrupt Quad-Cities from Los Angeles. I enjoyed her company very much. I took her to Johnny’s Italian Steakhouse on my birthday a couple of years ago.

Stacie plunged into extraordinary anxiety and then “went missing” herself shortly after my capture and torture by the corrupt Rock Island County Democrats. I had just told Rock Island Police Department Officer of the Year Doug Williams and Rock Island County Sheriff’s Deputy Steve Rusk about Bill Boom’s suspected human trafficking ring.

Next thing you knew, I was in jail. No charges. Poisoned. Tortured.

Disabled. Chronic PTSD.

You either know the story or can poke around my website. The search engine is very helpful.

Pastor Stacie Fidlar also has been the only person there for me.

There is too much more to this to be publicly discussed.

I know she is in a horrible situation. I hope she is freed from it soon so she can be the great person she is.

My friend Sam Davis…click here to learn more about Sam

My friend Sam Davis, who in retrospect we now all know, it was bizarre for the entire LGBT community, but I flipped out when Sam died.

Because I knew it could have been me or that I was next. And that’s how this all started.

One guy I still have a HUGE crush on (I’m SO bi OK) asked me to go to Sam’s visitation with him. It flipped me out.

Maybe I should have gone with him.

Just an odd thing I thought of just now. I do think that guy must be good, but he’s got somebody now so I hear.

At any rate, Sam and I came to be good friends hanging out at his place by Augustana. Mostly we had silly drama-free fun (YouTube videos) and acted nothing like the outspoken big mouths both of us are.

So that was odd. But also fun, because Sam and I used to dig at each other

At any rate, Sam told me he enjoyed playing around with Augustana guys. The only reason I even bring it up is because I think that college is evil, something very, very evil is going on down there. Ask David Harker’s widow, who I spoke with at length. She told me she learned more from me than from the Illinois State Police in four years. What dots were connected? Dots that cross Augustana College.


The scary Rock Island Police

The scary Rock Island Police is a chapter in and of itself. TO BE CONTINUED ….



If US Rep Bustos is spying on me, why? My life is boring. I do this back at ‘spy house’

UPDATE: The cameras were removed on Sunday 7/15 after my post. The cameras had been up since at least December. It is unclear whether the Tennessee spies remain, although I saw them packing their car up yesterday.  

Let me tell you about the scary house across the street. I have to look at it every time I look out my windows.

It never used to be scary.

But that all changed about two years ago.

It all started when the elderly woman who used to live there by herself had her daughter (or is the son?) and son-in-law (or is it daughter-in-law?… Neighbors have heard both versions) arrive. They proceeded to tell a handful of us in the neighborhood that their mother was being harassed (people banging on her windows and such) and for us all to be on the lookout.

A short time later, another man claiming to be the son of the elderly woman went door to door with his daughter, handing out his sister’s phone number in the event they see anyone harassing his mother. But the other son (daughter? Daughter-in-law?) who arrived said THAT MAN actually is the bad son harassing his mother (mother-in-law?)


The long and the short of it is that the elderly woman’s relatives from Tennessee moved in with her well over a year ago. Mr. Tennessee began to visit me regularly, spending hours at a time visiting me with my living room. A time or two, he asked to smoke my weed. I told him no, I could lose my card over that.

I liked the guy from Tennessee, as it is no secret I am a down home Republican, or at least have become one. I am about the furthest thing from a gay Yankee that you could possibly get, in fact, after my shocking abuse at the hands of the mentally ill, criminal Rock Island County Democratic party.


I told him all about the corrupt, FILTHY Rock Island County Sheriff’s Department and all about Gerry and Cheri Bustos. He ate it up.

When I would ask him a few months later why RI County Sheriff’s Deputies would respond to their distress calls instead of RIPD, he would say, “Oh I know those guys.”

That became to be his mantra for everything. For example, he said, “Oh yeah, I know that guy” when I told him about the woman up the street, Barbie, who was out walking my elderly neighbor one day. Barbie suggested I write a parody about drugs and lawmakers.I came up with this piece that I think is really funny. Click here, but read it later. Don’t let it distract you from the seriousness of the situation (maybe that’s what ‘Barbie’ was trying to do, who knows).

Over the course of the summer, I, too, was harassed now and then. When I would wake up to commotion, I often would run to the window, look outside, and see a White Ford Explorer fleeing the house across the street. A time or two, I saw bald man chase after cars.

Weird stuff. Was bald man a cop?

The Hunter Collins and “Team Ryden” factor 

Apparently so. And according to my self-proclaimed SECOND FBI victim’s advocate Hunter Collins, who I went to high school with, I would be “safe” if I let the house across the street see the “Team Ryden” SUV when it polled up. His SUV is marked “QCREALTOR.”

Collins is retired Air Force. He said he used to get the flight manifests at Quad-City International Airport and he also searched the C17s. He said he knew I was telling the truth. You can read about my shocking nightmare in the Rock Island County Jail by clicking here. 

By the way, Collins was my SECOND FBI victim’s advocate, the first being a woman named Amie Lohman.

When QCREALTOR arrived, he began to take pictures of the inside of my house, including a framed front page my boss Bill Lobdell gave me. The page from Glendale News-Press was headlined “What Kind of Human,” and the paper, under my leadership, won an award. The paper dedicated that edition to coverage of when a man in Glendale burned his family up while they slept. His entire family.

When I mentioned Cheri Bustos name (I’m sneaky that way) he said, “OH I love Cheri Bustos!!” He later told me he said he simply knew her as a lobbyist in Washington.


Tennessee’s wife very unfriendly, never liked me

Tennessee bald man’s wife never much cared for me. She’d make a nasty, “You’re conceited” face whenever I would express pride in my own. She was an extraordinarily unfriendly woman who seldom spoke; nothing like her friendly husband.

Once, Mr. Tennessee told me it would be “defeatist” for me to leave.

They left for the winter, and the man who is over there now moved in. That happened a couple of weeks after I was threatened by the FBI and my house was shot up the first time. However, he left a while back and Tennessee Baldy moved in again until about a month ago.

It’s like the investigation gets called off and re-started, and different people move in and out of that house. Every time I begin to cooperate with authorities AGAIN, I feel like I am telling the story from scratch all over again.

Because I am.

It’s mind f*&$, it is.

You can read all about the FBI threatening me by clicking here.

You can read about my house being shot up by clicking here.

‘Tennessee Baldy’ is out, ‘Stunt Double’

For me, the bottom line is this.

The house across the street clearly is NOT the FBI house. The FBI house looks like any old house. I know which house is the “FBI House” because my neighbor told me. She is not crazy. She saw the sweep last month when, in night gear, the FBI came through the neighborhood and arrested 17. I did wake up that night and saw what looked like a government people loading people up from the Dipple house.

The Dipple house has been the site of almost constant police activity since I moved here. That used to be Dolores Fox’s house, where the neighborhood children attended Vacation Bible School for Bethany Baptist Church.

But back to the Spy House. The equipment on it is from Walmart, and sometimes they even post what to me look like IEDs on the stop sign (correct! Public ROW) A neighbor saw this violation recently and was aghast.

Silly me, I told her, it’s the FBI house, they can do what they want.
She’s smart and did not respond. I feel silly that I let that house fool me as long as I did when my neighbors knew the truth.

As I wrap this up, I took a final lap around the block and now none of the cameras are NOT fixed on my house but fixed on the house next door to me. Where they should be pointed.

Tomorrow’s blog.

When I asked Tennessee baldy if their cameras got the shooter of my house last May, he just shrugged his shoulders.

That was the night I jumped online when I was woken by the house alarm. Twenty minutes later, one Timothy Michael Madigan was taken into the Scott County Jail.

It wasn’t for shooting my house, and I’m not saying he shot my house.

And I’m not saying he didn’t. Bill Boom used to talk about the Illinois speaker having a gay son.

This is scary stuff, folks. The man over there now looks like Tennessee Baldy but is not. He’s a stunt double, I guess.


If it weren’t so scary, it would be slapstick. Just look at this editorial cartoon in which I delight, so much so I paid Quad-City Times $20 for a print and framed it.


Here’s what that’s all about. Yes, Cheri likes to spy on constituents and voted to give herself those powers a while back. Check it out for yourself right here.

Not even the neighbors on each side of the “spy house” believe a word of anything that comes out of the mouths of anyone in it.

I know this to be true.

Indeed, the home is now known as the Bustos and Bustos “Spy House” harassing the sober caregiver who was jailed for going to police about human trafficking.

There is NOWHERE for the SICK people who hurt me to run, even if the FBI and DOJ do give them a free pass.


Until next time.

Coming tomorrow: All about the house next door, from which twice my home was shot point blank

Please like my Facebook page by clicking here!

Check out my celebrity interview

Check out my portfolio of paid addition/recovery content

Check out my portfolio of paid mental health wellness content

Am I the American #FreeTommy? No, because I’m not in jail. God bless America

There is one big difference between UK journalist Tommy Robinson and me.

He’s in jail, and I’m not.

I pray for Tommy every single day, and I praise God this July 4 that I live in the USA.

Tommy has been jailed for reporting sex crimes. The British media is largely covering it all up and spinning stories sympathetic to Tommy’s radical liberal detractors, but you can check out the coverage in the Independent of the UK here.

More than three years after it happened, I remain angry as hell for being jailed for reporting human trafficking in the 17thCongressional District of Illinois, where my once-dear friend U.S. Rep. Cheri Bustos is married to the appointed sheriff.

And now, my house is even shot up. Click here and see for yourself.

And it’s for sale. I’ve done what I swore I never would do: I have given in to harassment by thugs, corrupt politicians, community sex nymphs who hire enslaved prostitutes, tweakers, gangbangers, and more.

Organized crime has chased me out of my filthy hometown, which for years has been a mafia hotbed. They even made a movie about it based on a true story called Road to Perdition. You can watch the trailer here.

But…I already have had two FBI victim’s advocates (even if one was fake…two people have claimed to be my FBI victim’s advocate, anyway) and I also have received almost $1,700 in insurance money thus far for my shot-up house.

How did I get hooked up with the FBI? You can read all about that by clicking here.

Both of these accomplishments would previously have been considered “impossible” in my town previously. I am not the first victim of terror against LGBT people who know too much. Indeed, many are now dead or missing.

Read more about Sam Davis, pulled dead from the river

Read more about David Harker, pulled dead from the river

There are many more, but these two cases I am most familiar with. I have spoken with family members of the deceased several times, and I have left them scurrying back to police demanding more information.

Chronically angry after witnessing corruption beyond belief

I am chronically angry over the torture I endured in the filthy Rock Island County Jail, which is run by a sheriff who was not even elected. But then, he’s married to U.S. Rep Cheri Bustos, who, in all my years of reporting, have I ever known a politician to be so wholly corrupt as I believe she is.

And indeed, in Rock Island, Illinois, when you write about such matters you are putting yourself in grave danger. Check out my report about what happened while I was tortured in that jail, stripped naked, held on no charges at all.

I know Cheri because I was her undisputed pet at the Quad-City Times for many years. I know way too much about a whole lot of people in my filthy, corrupt town. I am writing a book about it. You can read an excerpt from my book by clicking here.

And we were friends for years. We got cross-wise when I moved back here and she offered me the corporate writer job at the filthy local hospital system. I turned her down.

You can read all about that here.

So who was working in the jail while I was held and abused there, ON NO CHARGES, mentally tortured and given poisonous food?  Indeed, it was hateful LGBT people with drug problems who had been fired from the gay bar who were working as jailers.

And I had just gone to two filthy cops, Rock Island County Sheriff’s Deputy Steve Rusk and Rock Island Police Officer Doug Williams, about Bill Boom, human trafficking, drugs, the LGBT community and Mary’s on 2ndStreet. Mary’s would be the local gay bar.

Mary’s since has been plowed into by teens in a stolen car, I suspect possible MS13 gang members, and nearly destroyed. See it for yourself right here.

Fast forward: Bill Boom is now a convicted felon, having admitted he gave money to his houseboy to buy meth, who then dealt it to the LGBT community, which has harassed me daily for many years.You can learn all about the meth operation that was happening at the Boom-Wenthe house by clicking here.

Sick-in-the-head Democrats assault me in my house

We now know that my house, my childhood home, previously was owned by Democrat loyalist and high-ranking official Milan Police Chief and Moline Firefighter Todd Fitzpatrick

I was “arrested” in Moline at FILTHY Amber Ridge Memory Care, and I don’t mean filthy by appearance, but by the way the previous executive director ran it. Praise God she has left the institution.

And my brother? Despite years of well documented drug addiction, he works at chief of security at Sears Northpark, Davenport (previously he worked at Sears Southpark, Moline).


He knows all the cops and nothing ever will happen to you. Once, after I was assaulted, my cousin called him up at his house. He started giggling that his grill had set his house on fire, that the Moline fire department had shown up, and that he was cooking them all a hamburger.

When my cousin Cindy relayed this to me, I relayed it to officer Pat Richter of RIPD. I thought his head was going to explode in anger.


Today, Frank Fitzpatrick is serving a four-year prison sentence for dealing and manufacturing drugs. You can read all about that here, and please click on the link to the court record so you can check it out for yourself.

You see, the Quad-City Timesis nothing more than a mouthpiece for U.S. Rep Cheri Bustos and the filthy corruption going on by Democrats all across the QCA, but especially Rock Island County, Illinois.

Many are going to prison in the days ahead. Those in the know already have canceled their subscriptions and recognize the Quad-City Times for the filthy, corrupt disgrace that it is.

Indeed, it was a Quad-City Timesreporter who said to me, direct quote, “Dave, you’re going to be having a GOOD OLD TIME. Be patient.”

We no longer speak.

Happy Fourth of July, especially to all the patriots out there, and the men and women defending our Constitutional rights.

I appreciate you.

Please like my Facebook page by clicking here!

Check out my celebrity interviews

Check out my portfolio of paid addiction/recovery content

Check out my portfolio of paid mental health wellness content

Check out my portfolio of caregiving/aging/dementia content










Who shot up this journalist’s house after he wrote about human trafficking?


Boy, I sure wish I knew the answer to that question.

Nothing ignites my PTSD like someone asking, “Who shot your house up?”

Or, “Why would anyone want to shoot your house up?”

Screen Shot 2018-07-09 at 3.46.47 AM

I don’t know. Here’s one threat. I’m related to the Dusenberrys. Joe Dusenberry worked for protection for Obama, or so he used to post on Facebook. He offered to introduce me to Obama a few times but I passed. I met Obama several times.

They all would come to the Quad-City Times, all the candidates, both parties, every election season. Iowa caucuses you know.

Bill Wundram’s eyes rolled up inside his head the day Hillary Clinton came. I saw it myself.

As a sober person who essentially lives the life of a monk, with not even a cat to talk to (she’s dead, too, now, just like a Country Western song) there is no SIMPLE answer to those questions.

Or maybe there is.

About four years ago, I went to police after my friend Sam Davis’s dead body was pulled from the Mississippi River. I told them I thought Sam had been eliminated for possibly knowing too much about something. I told them Sam had urgently been reaching out to me wanting to tell me something, but that I had avoided him because I was newly sober. I told them I had sent his Facebook messages to Chrissy Minor as screen shots.

A few days before talking to Kevin Winslow of Illinois State Police on the telephone, I had taken Rock Island County Sheriff’s Deputy Steve Rusk and Rock Island Police Officer of the Year Doug Williams to Mulkey’s for lunch on my dime. I was nosing around for a Healthline story about people who make their own dabs and blow their houses up in the process.

Consequently, I was attacked by the marijuana community for that, which is ironic given my marijuana advocate self. Want more irony? A house down the street blew up last year when someone was trying to make dabs.

It’s true. Ask an RI cop or firefighter.

I basically told the cops about an active human trafficking ring that day at Mulkey’s, and later to Kevin Winslow on the phone.

And I was in jail on no charges at all a week later.

The Frank Fitzpatrick Factor

What have we learned since?

Well, my neighbors told me my house was illegally searched while I was illegally held in the jail. Then, finally, we found out the son of the man my dad bought the house from was a drug kingpin.

He is now in prison.

His daddy was the Milan fire chief.

The Quad-City Times, where I worked many, many years and for which I won several awards, has completely ignored all of this.

Here’s what I remember about the nights the house was shot at. The house alarm went off both times.

I think all of this has to do with my reporting on human trafficking, even if others will say it’s about gangs and drugs. That too, no doubt, but I think the real story revolves around human trafficking.

I first wrote about human trafficking way back in March 2016. You can check out that LinkedIn column here. The tipster? An LGBT person who works in law enforcement.

I have since written about my own experience, which is scary as hell and haunts me some nights to the point of screaming, sweating, headaches, falling out of bed, etc.

Bullet hole No. 1

The first time my house was shot at was two weeks after the FBI threatened me in October. I was too scared to call the Rock Island Police Department at that time, so I didn’t. But in a weird twist of luck, I sent this to Verizon. Verizon had randomly assigned me an advocate because I was having strange problems with my service.

In an email Nov 9 to Verizon customer advocate Bill Craft, I reported:

Bill, something just woke me about an hour ago. It sounded like something hit my house.

Moments ago my neighborhood was swarmed by RIPD with their headlights off and flashlights.
Bill, I have no telephone service whatsoever. None. No voice. None.
I am freaking out a bit but I know you will look into this and make it right. Under the circumstances, Bill…ouch! Seriously this is exactly the type of thing that happened with AT&T.
I can only guess it has to do with my number change?? The system says neither the old number nor the (new) number exist.
Bullet hole No. 2
Photo on 5-18-18 at 6.47 AM #2

The second time my house was shot at was in May. Twenty minutes after my home was struck, a young man named with the biggest political name in Illinois was hauled in on the Iowa side of the river.

Not for shooting my house. I can’t remember what he was hauled in for. And I’m not saying he had anything to do with my house.

But I did hear somebody say once that this person is gay. They said it a long time ago.

And I am sideways with a bunch of criminal gay people in the Quad-Cities, many of whom I now have learned either belong to a gang or are a big daddy to a gang, or so it seems to me.

Then, later, someone came to rip the siding off my house, apparently in an effort to retrieve the bullet. Twenty minutes later? A common street criminal name (also associated with the gay criminal community) hauled in on the other side of the river.

Photo on 5-18-18 at 6.47 AM
Coincidence? Maybe.

What happened to the video being shot by ‘FBI house?’

So who shot my house up?

I don’t know. The so-called FBI house across the street should have had it on camera, but it turned out that was not the real FBI house, but the now so-called Rock Island County Sheriff’s Department spy house.

You would have to ask my most recently former FBI victim’s advocate (or was he as faux as the house across the street?) to explain all that.

I’m not lying! The house across the street is affixed with all sorts of lighting and surveillance cameras.

And I am not going to discuss the FBI any further because that’s just stupid.

What do the police reports say about the bullet holes?

I have not seen the police reports on the bullets in my house, if they even exist. What a debacle getting a report filed was. I never will call RIPD again because they are not here to protect me anyhow, they clearly are here to protect those who are trying to hurt me.

That really is how it looks to me.

One young woman at RIPD (city police) who acted about 13 said, “Bye-bye” and hung the phone up on me when I told her I nearly was mowed down by a black Charger in the St. Pius parking lot.

Sheriff Gerry Bustos (county cop, appointed to elected position, married to US Rep Cheri Bustos) even sent his boys (deputies) up here for a “welfare check.” I do not live in Gerry’s jurisdiction for such checks and they know I am afraid that I could be murdered by a Rock Island County Sheriff’s Deputy.

And I truly believe that.

And they know that, because the RIPD made a video of me stating as such last winter.

And they chose to perform this “welfare check” the day after another high-ranking Quad-City cop who I had been sharing information with had retired.

Dirty. Filthy. Nasty. Hateful. Mean. Fear-inducing.

And they know I have CPTSD.

I told them to leave.

Please like my Facebook page by clicking here!

Check out my celebrity interviews

Check out my portfolio of paid addiction/recovery content

Check out my portfolio of paid mental health wellness content

Check out my portfolio of caregiving/aging/dementia content

My kush life: What is it about kush marijuana that keeps me on the level?

Even for those who consider themselves lifelong stoners, when you get a medical marijuana card, suddenly you learn you didn’t know a thing about cannabis.

The selection can be overwhelming. And there can be a great deal of trial and error before you figure out what works for you. Our government allows only very limited research on medical marijuana, after all, and is a long, long way from actually allowing research that examines the benefits of various strains.

But for me, I learned right away that all things “kush” are the medicine I need. Lavender kush, Huckleberry kush, tangerine kush, banana kush.

If it’s kush it brings relief. Always.

But what is kush?

Peaceful plant grows native on Afghan-Pakistani border

“Kush” actually is stoner vernacular that refers to a variety of indica plants that grow wild along the Afghan-Pakistani border. Leafly, the Bible of cannabis, explains that Kush generally can be broken down into five varieties: Bubba, Purple, OG, Skywalker and Master.

I have not tried the last two, but will very soon. I know the dispensary has several Skywalker strains.

Kush indica plants are short, squatty, and, apparently, easier than most to grow, several sites explain.

In a nutshell, kush strains refer to those heavy indicas that motivate stoners to save the world. These strains induce profundity, introspection, appetite, and finally, sleep.

Kicking back and enjoying life on the kush

The kush nug is a mighty little nug, These nugs tend to be tiny, but dense, heavy, and powerful. Never underestimate the power of the punch that lies behind a kush nug.

Kush isn’t just a type of cannabis, I think it’s fair to say it’s a type of cannabis consumer. You can find a lot of “Kush” apparel directed at people who pride themselves in being heavy cannabis users. That’s not to say “kush-tistas” are typical tie-dye stoners. They are, however, a group who openly admits they enjoy life better stoned — sex, music, food…everything.

I wonder if those of us who enjoy kush and the kush life — the so-called beach bums, those who put experiences ahead of “things”– I wonder if many of us have just been through so much, we have decided that life is better stoned.

And that’s not sad at all. Thank God for that sassy little marijuana plant.

Until next time,

Yours in cannabis.

My story: Jailed on no charges for reporting human trafficking in FILTHY Rock Island County Illinois

My story: Nearly loaded onto a C17 (and maybe I actually was) and human trafficked out of SCARY MLI Airport (same airport being sued for wrongful death by family of Prince)

My story: How I know about human trafficking and male prostitution in corrupt Quad-Cities

My story: Treated horribly by extremely hateful, unprofessional director of Family Resources, Inc.

My story:  Threatened by the FBI

Check out my celebrity interviews

 Check out my portfolio of paid addition/recovery content

Check out my portfolio of paid medical cannabis content

Check out my portfolio of paid mental health wellness content

Check out my portfolio of caregiving/aging/dementia content