Timesuck with Dan Cummins - 141 - Albert Fish: NY Killer and SUPER Creep

Episode Date: May 27, 2019

Albert Fish. The Boogey Man. The Werewolf of Wysteria. The Brooklyn Vampire. The Gray Man. The Moon Maniac. A sexual sadist, sexual masochist, kidnapper, con artist, cannibal, torturer, murderer, and the kinkiest mofo I have ever read about. This tale is equal parts dark and captivating. Fish is the train wreck you can't stop staring at. After his capture in 1934, he would claim to have molested and raped around 400 children. He also admitted to killing three children and was sent to the electric chair for one of their deaths. He blew 1930s minds with tales of cannabalism and sexual depravity. If you're a true crime consumer, this Suck is definitely for you! Donating $2200 this month The LEO Support Foundation. The LEO Support Foundation is a 501(c)(3) non-profit that raises money to purchase protective & life saving equipment for police officers. Based in Plymouth, Massachusetts and run by Space Lizard and officer Michael Best. To donate, click here: https://www.paypal.me/saveleos Happy Murder Tour Standup dates: May 30th-June 1st Jacksonville, FL The Comedy Zone CLICK HERE for tix! June 7-8th Omaha, NE The Funny Bone CLICK HERE for tix! June 13-15th Raleigh, NC Charlie Goodnight's CLICK HERE for tix! Listen to the best of my standup on Spotify! (for free!) https://spoti.fi/2Dyy41d Timesuck is brought to you by the following sponsors: Leesa. Get 15% off your entire order at leesa.com/TIMESUCK when you the use promo code TIMESUCK Robinhood. Get a FREE stock like Apple, Ford, or Sprint to help you build your portfolio by signing up at TIMESUCK.robinhood.com Watch the Suck on Youtube: https://youtu.be/H_fiELH45fo Merch - https://badmagicmerch.com/ Want to try out Discord!?! https://discord.gg/tqzH89v Want to join the Cult of the Curious private Facebook Group? Go directly to Facebook and search for "Cult of the Curious" in order to locate whatever current page hasn't been put in FB Jail :) For all merch related questions: https://badmagicmerch.com/pages/contact Please rate and subscribe on iTunes and elsewhere and follow the suck on social media!! @timesuckpodcast on IG, @timesuckpodcast on Twitter, and http://www.facebook.com/timesuckpodcast Wanna become a Space Lizard? We're almost 5000 strong! Click here: https://www.patreon.com/timesuckpodcast Sign up through Patreon and for $5 a month you get to listen to the Secret Suck, which will drop Thursdays at Noon, PST. You'll also get 20% off of all regular Timesuck merch PLUS access to exclusive Space Lizard merch. You get to vote on two Monday topics each month via the app. And you get the download link for my new comedy album, Feel the Heat. Check the Patreon posts to find out how to download the new album and take advantage of other benefits.

Albert Fish, the boogeyman, sexual sadist, sexual masochist, kidnapper, con artist, cannibal, torture, murderer, and well, dude who really like to eat shit, like literally eat it, so much of it. And eating shit is one of the, one of the many disturbing things this guy was really into. If you think that you're a freak in the bedroom, I'm guessing you're going to feel a little more of vanilla after today's episode. Is your pelvic region full of sharp metal pins you've jammed into your taint? No. Then you're no Albert Fish level of freak.

Do you like your ass beaten bloody? Like really bloody. And then have someone defecate on your face. No. Then maybe your little BDSM games aren't really that crazy. At least not compared to fish. Basically there was nothing this dude was above doing. And he was doing it at the dawn of the 20th century

when American society was way more prudish than it is now. I can only imagine what witnesses in the courtroom thought when they first heard about his strange dirty deeds. Unlike many other 19th and early 20th century criminals, we know a lot about today's dirt bag because he gave detailed confessions when he was finally caught from murder. Caught decades after he began.

He also wrote a lot of very, very strange letters that we can read. Rare to have as much access to the strange mind of a killer from more than a century ago like we do with Albert Fish. Today's suck is a strange one. My God is a strange. Also super, super dark, but somehow very humorous.

Dark humor, to be sure, but I laughed so many times researching all of this. May have just broken now when it comes to processing tragedy. The things Albert did and said are so cartoonishly horrible and so specifically just weird. I found myself muttering, what the actual fuck was this guy thinking so many times in this suck. If you enjoyed the Ed Camper serial killer suck, you're gonna love this one. Albert Fish

was a ridiculous human being, so over the top. I read way more about him than I needed to, just because I was darkly fascinated. So enjoy this dark, this my friends be glad it happened a long time ago. And if this particular boogeyman wasn't alive while you are. Be real glad you have absolutely nothing to do with the creep of all creeps, the Boogie Man himself, Albert Fish, today on TimeSuck. Happy Monday meet sack nation working weight time for the cult of the curious. I'm Dan Cummins, a master sucker, and you are listening to time suck, hail Nimrod, hail Lucifina, praisemode jangles, and glory be to triple M. And today's time suck is brought to you by Lisa. Lisa is on a mission to give your body the rest it needs with two awesome mattresses, plus

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I put on a pretty entertained show. So I like how it's shaping up. I'm going to record a new special October. I feel like it's coming together. Take it info for the entire 2019 happy murder tour stand up tour. So many more cities at Dancomans.tv Los Angeles, San Diego tickets, the comedy store, both locations. Those tickets now on sale. Speaking of sales, we're having one. We're having a Memorial Day sale in the store right now. Happy Memorial Day. 15% off everything. If you use the discount code, winter is over. In honor of the game of Thrones wrap up and in honor of winter, hopefully actually being over. Yeah, winter is over.

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I'm the master of combining words and the master of trying to say the word I'm about to say and the next word at the same time. A brain loves it. Now it's enough for fun, light-hearted announcements. I know this now what you're here for, at least not entirely. Time to get dark and weird with a tail about one of the darkest weirdest mother fuckers

I have ever read about. Albert Fish. No real context necessary for today's dirt bag. Other than, you know, knowing that back in the late 19th and early 20th century, it was way easier to get away with being a real life monster than it is now. If you find yourself thinking, how the hell did he get away with that? The answer is almost always because it was a long time ago. And it was a lot harder to catch bad guys. That being said, the good guy who did finally catch today's bad guy did some seriously kick ass detective work. I was beyond impressed. Dude took serious pride in his job. And if it wasn't for him, more people would have died for sure. So at least today's tale isn't only jokes and bad news. So let's get to it. Let's look at

the never ending parade of bad news that was the life of Albert, the boogeyman fish in today's time, line. Hamilton Howard Fish was born in Washington, D.C. on May 19th, 1870. At some point, his childhood, some sources say when he was as old as 15, others say his young as preschool, Hamilton begged his parents to let him go by the name of Albert. Instead of Hamilton, after other kids made fun of him, giving him the nickname of Ham and Eggs. Hard to believe someone who would grow to be such a massive,

sadistic piece of shit was once crying about being called Ham and Eggs. Based on the allegation of this type of teasing, I'm gonna say he begged his parents around preschool age, calling someone Ham and Eggs, and being bothered by being called Ham and Eggs. That's gotta be some kindergarten shit, right? So funny what bothers us when we're little my first reaction to this was who fucking cares?

What stupid nickname the kids gave him hammin eggs isn't that bad. It's not like they were calling him hand-faced or pig dick or pork nuts or Some other dumb playoff the the ham and Hamilton I guess when you're five, you know, that shit means everything is devastating. I Actually remember some older kid on the school bus back in Rickens' eye to hope, Joel Kinance. Telling me I had a giant head one day when I was around nine years old. I can still picture his face, his smug face,

as he said, I'm walk by. I'm sure he would never remember this for a second. But he said that, he laughed, other people laughed, you know, he said it looked like Frankenstein. And I remember feeling super depressed for weeks. You never brought it up again. But I worried about that shit for the rest of my childhood. Where do I decide my head?

Don't give a shit now, but horrible then. You know, kids were circling around me, just chaining, hey, it eggs, hey, it eggs, hey, it eggs. I probably run home crying too, beg my parents let me change it.

Super weird way to change it too though. Hamilton was born the youngest of four kids, Walter, Annie, and Edwin Fish were his older siblings, but he did have another older brother that he never got to meet who died as a baby, a boy named Albert. I think it's weird that his parents let him change his name to the name of his dead older brother. Like, strange to me, just to pass it on to another kid like as a hand me down pair of jeans. I mean, I guess you could be looking at like a tribute or whatever reason it feels a little disrespectful to the new kid to me. he's a replacement just good news everybody we've got a new Albert.

It's like you never even died. Yesterday we had some shitty scrawny little ham and eggs now new Albert. Yeah. Well, replacement Albert's father was Randall Fish, a riverboat captain who is 43 years older than Albert's mother. Yep. 43 years older so for sure creep. And if you years older, so for sure, creep. And if you think I'm being judgy right now, yeah, totally I'm 100%.

That is too big of an age gap. It's fucking selfish. Dude was 75 when Albert was born. Dude was born in 1795, his wife Ellen Fish, originally Ellen Haaswell born in 1838, put her around 32. I just turned 42. So that'll be like if Lindsey, and I, you know, left me, Lindsey left me and I ended up marrying somebody else who would be born next year. I mean, unless I guess you're wealthy now to provide a super nice life

for the young mother of your children after you die, I just think it's so messed up on every level to do that to somebody. And Randall wasn't wealthy. He was a poor riverboat captain, a poor riverboat captain who wanted to share his bed with some young piece of ass in the days before reliable birth control. There are no birth dates listed for Albert siblings and any of the articles online about Albert and three different biographies I found.

No date for when Randall and Ellen got married, but if he had three older siblings, and at one time a fourth older sibling, that means that Randall and Ellen had four kids before 1870. So, save to assume, I think they've been together since at least 1865, more likely closer to 1860, which would mean a 63-year-old dude started a family with a 20-year-old woman. If my daughter Monroe, when she's a sophomore in college, introduces me to her 63-year-old

boyfriend, I'm going to go ahead and say now that I for sure will not fucking prove. I'm probably gonna want to kill him. Probably gonna want to put his head on a stick mother. Get my zapples real angry, crap, a horn dog. And I think it was really uncool for Randall to do this in the late 19th century when 63 looked a lot different than it does now. Today's 63 can be fueled by modern medicine, previously unavailable nutritional supplements, vitamins, physical training programs.

They can look pretty damn good. I've seen people in their 60s to gym who are physical specimens for any age, like legitimately sexy, ripped, bulgy muscles, right? Hot little butts, hot little abs, 63 now can be vivacious, but not then, you're at least a little decrepit when you're 63 and 1870. How is your arthritis arthritis ridden ass? You're going to help Ellen raise those kids. I mean, I know you're still plenty of spying out to be a riverboat captain, but maybe

not the best time to start a big family. Turns out it really would be a terrible time for Old Randall to start a family. In 1875, Randall died a fucking old age. It was called senile debility, but basically he died, he's listed as having died of old age. It was called senile debility, but basically he died listed as having died of old age. In an ambulance after being removed from a dining saloon in Washington, DC, probably died of a heart attack. Replacement Albert claims to have very few memories regarding his father. The only two significant ones, Fishwood Later Say, was a memory of looking into his father's face and then a memory of his dad giving him the nickname of stick in the mud. Fun. First he's hammin eggs. Then he takes his dead brother's name because he's being

teased for that nickname. Then his dad gives him an arguably worse nickname. Old Randall started sounding worse and worse. Just some crusty old pervy, verbally abusive riverboat captain. Where's their stick in the mud? Look creep, hey, my last piece of bacon. Get his mom in here. Get in a Get in a hot little Pazia. Scott Irish ass in here. Sandin sugar tits. I want to talk to sugar tits about sticking to mud. When Randall died, he left Ellen with nothing and then replacement Albert and his three siblings were sent to live in an orphanage when Ellen previously a state home mom wasn't able to provide for all of them because she didn't have any any income skills. In the orphanage, a place

called St. John's Refuge in DC, on the same block where the George Washington University's summer and special programs currently is located, shit started getting real weird for the Albert. It began to exhibit the first signs of a growing relationship between sex and violence. During his time at the orphanage, fish would be both beaten and would beat other children. And unlike I'm guessing most of the other children, he liked it. He liked he liked both. Bring on those sweet beats in any form. Early in his childhood, fish began to feel aroused both by being beaten and also by beating others.

Sadomasticistic tendencies showing up very early. Fish would state years later that he felt that his time in the orphanage ruined him as a human being. Who knows if there's any truth to that? Would he have turned out differently if he had not been sent to St. John? We will never know. But we do know he had a rough time there. And we know he definitely didn't want to be there. Orphanage records described him as a problem child who ran away every Saturday. St. John's, I would tell you every Saturday, but that's what he said. At St. John's fish claims, he was talked into some sort of masturbation game by the other children, uh, just like I'm sure most of you were touched, right?

I mean, I mean, who doesn't remember playing at least one or two masturbation games with other kids in school? I have a lot of fond memories of playing hops jerk. Remember that one? It's the same rules as hopscotch, but you have to jerk off the whole time you're jumping. Uh, then there was tether jerk. Uh, it's like tether ball. When I said hit in the ball, uh, around the pole with your hand, you have to jerk off the whole time you're jumping. Then there was tether jerk. It's like tether ball. When I said hitting the ball around the pole with your hand, you have to hit the ball

with an erect penis while you're jerking it off. So so many fun games. Marigold jerk monkey jerk off bars jerk rope, caps are flag while you jerk. Pretty self explanatory how most those are played. And of course, I'm being ridiculous. Fish never went into great detail about what he meant by his reference to a masturbation game. We just know that this game was some type of recurring situation where he ended up jerking off in front of other kids at the orphanage. And then he got caught by the nuns who spanked him for jerking it, which turned him on even further, which led

to more masturbation and then more punishment and then more masturbation. It's a visual cycle of just beatings and jerks. Fish claimed to have had one non-teacher in particular who apparently really seemed to enjoy given the boys bear bottom spankings. So she's probably pedophile herself, which she doled out regularly and will see soon enough that Albert really liked being spanked, really into spankings. He took that interest to an extremely pathological level. Did these early sexual interests set Albert Fish on a collision course with future extreme sexual depravity, maybe?

But if so, why him? Other kids undoubtedly were being spanked and jerking off around the orphanage. What a fucking weird place this was. Why didn't they end up like Albert did? Well, for one thing, I doubt the other kid had the same amount of mental illness and their family tree that Albert did. And just two generations of Albert's family. His and the generation before him, at least seven people,

apart from fish himself, suffered from various obvious mental afflictions. One paternal uncle suffered from what is described as a religious psychosis, ended up dying in a state psychiatric hospital, a younger brother of Albert's, which regard as being feeble-minded. His mom was said to be, quote, very queer,

and was said to have heard things on the street and have seen things. And by the way, that word meant a very, had a very different connotation back in the early 20th century, late 19th century than it does now. Nothing to do with homosexuality. Mom possibly is paranoid to get to frenic. A paternal aunt was considered,

I love this, just quote, completely crazy. I, Doc, no, she was being completely crazy. I diagnosed you as being completely crazy. There's not one part of you that isn't insane. A brother suffered from chronic alcoholism. One of his sisters had some sort of mental affliction and who knows how many other family members exhibited symptoms of some type of undiagnosed mental illness lost a history. Now to be fair, this was a time

when mental health diagnostics and treatment were one hair away from the Spanish acquisition or where, which trials we've looked at early and say in the side of them's way back in the suck. The sister with some sort of mental affliction might have just sass her elders a few too many times. You know, might have had political opinions. The people around her didn't didn't care for.

However, based on how crazy fish will reveal himself to be, I do think there's actually, there actually probably was quite a bit of legit cray cray in old fishies tree. Quite a bit of blatant mental illness on both sides of Albert's family. His dad's old ass sperm probably didn't help either. Seriously, evidence from numerous studies does suggest that aging sperm plays a role in certain mental disorders like schizophrenia. From age 60 to 80, the rate at which certain genetic mutations are found in sperm has been found to be three times as great as that of men in their 20s. The old dirty riverboat captain wasn't shooting blanks, but he also probably wasn't shooting top shelf uterus bullets.

Fish also suffered from a concussion. When from falling off a cherry tree in an early age that led to severe headaches, dizzy spells and a stutter. As we pointed out in past serial killer sucks, a large number of serial killers have suffered head injuries and childhood that can add to a lack of empathy, other devian behavior. If certain parts of the brain that process

attributes like empathy and impulse control end up getting damaged. Fish was also a chronic bed wetter until the age of 11, bed wetting was thought of one time to be an indicator of future murderous behavior when combined with cruelty to animals in an interest in starting fires, the classic McDonald triad, and while that triad has been

disproven, as we've shown in previous sucks, as possessing any strong positive correlation with violent tendencies, I still think it's worth noting that he went to bed the whole time he was at that orphanage, which I can only imagine led to additional beatings, which further reinforced his sexual association with violence if he was sportin' wood throughout all those beatings. Another super strange event, a super strange event, that shaped fishes later sexual interests while he was at the orphanage was an incident

where he saw several older boys steal a horse, tied up, soaked the horse's tail in gasoline, and then liked the horse's tail on fire. As boys often do. I mean, what healthy boy hasn't lit then like the horses tail on fire. As boys often do. I mean, what healthy boy hasn't lit at least one animal tail on fire. When I grew up, that's what you had to do for graduation. You didn't get a diploma unless you torched one critter's tail. But seriously, they really did this.

Then they untied that poor horse and just watched it run around trying to swat the fire out. You know, just laugh and as they watch. And apparently witnessing this brutal incident gets little replacement birdie, diamond cutter hard. Nothing puts some steel in your underrues like watching a horse try to put out his burning tail. I'm gonna fuck the fuck.

Years later, fish himself would start. Years later, oh my God. Fish would start soaking cotton balls and kerosene. And then he would shove them in his ass and then light them on fire. Which I, I, you know, I get it. I mean, how are you supposed to come if you don't have a burning cotton ball in your colon? How weird is this tale already? We've only covered Fish's life up to the first nine years. In 1879, when birdie fire in the butthole fish is nine, his mother Ellen gets a government job that allows her to bring children back home. And Ellen quickly learns that all replacement Bert is a very different boy than he was

a few years prior, but you already knew that. And then he quickly gets even weirder. At some point between the age of nine and 12, Albert develops a number of additional disturbing interest. More than just lighting up his colon like a Roman candle. He also gains a sexually aroused interest in drinking piss, known as urolognea, and he also starts literally eating shit. It's a coprophagia.

Coprophagia, or the ingestion of feces, has been linked through numerous psychological studies to obsessive compulsive disorder, schizophrenia, schizophrenia, effective disorder, depression, other mental disorders. And I know this is messed up. When I first read about how eating shit is linked to depression, I laughed so hard because for whatever reason,

I just started picturing just some four-learn dude just like sitting alone, like a dining room table, just looking so sad and just eating from a bowl of shit as if it was like a bowl of cereal just gobbling down just one sad spoonful of shit after another hey buddy why are you in a bowl of shit over there no no just sad I guess the fuck thinking all of that is probably a strong indicator that I also have some I don't know. Just sad, I guess. The fuck? Thinking all of that is probably a strong indicator that I also have some sort of mental

reflection. By the time Fischy turns 12, he also begins to enjoy self-administering pain with the nail studded paddle, of course he does, or a homemade cat anion, cat anion tails, this type of multi-tailed whip that originated as an implement for severe physical punishment, notably in the Royal Navy and Army of the UK, the United Kingdom. How the hell he got a hold of one of those bad boys when he was so young, I have no idea. By the age of 12, in 1882, young, strange fish also starts regularly visiting public

baths, houses to secretly watch young boys and dress. Not all that creepy at 12 for young homosexual bisect bisexual to do that, but I do find it creepy here because of what I know about his later life, about his interest in a certain demo. Around the age of 11 or 12, Albert also enters into his first homosexual relationship with a local telegraph boy who may have been the first person to introduce him to piss-drinking and shit-eating. The more I learn about his childhood, the more I appreciate having friends, the friends that I did when I grew up.

Like, my friends may have encouraged me to do stupid shit, like hiding up on a hill and throwing apples at cars and trucks passing down through town on the highway, which is a real, real good way to fire up a friend's data to sleep over. But no one ever asked me to literally eat their shit. And for that, I am thankful. Little else is written about

Little Birdie Butt Buffet until he reaches the age of 15 to 1885. That year, he stops going to high school. Starts working as a house painter. And apparently, it's pretty good at it. It's a skill you'd be able to make money on, off and on throughout his life. An 1890-dagged 20-hour move to New York City with his siblings and mother. He gets work in New York as a painter and a decorator, which gives him unsupervised access to various people's apartment buildings, which is not good. He later claimed that his job also gave him access to a lot of unattended children, really not good. And when he thought he could get away with it, he claimed that he started lowering young boys down into basements where it would be less likely to have someone hear them

screaming when he was attacking and raping them. Over the course of his life, he would claim to attack somewhere around 400 kids. Albert claimed he usually targeted black children, thinking that the police were less likely to investigate their complaints. Dude was very aware of how horrible his behavior was. At the same time, he was beginning to molest and rape young boys. He also began regularly visiting brothels where he'd pay local adult prostitutes of both sexes to whip and beat the ever loving shit out of him. And I'm guessing he also paid them for a variety of other kinky sexual acts.

And there's also no way that some of those prostitutes didn't shit on old birdie but he, I mean, I don't think, I don't think they had to. To be sure, let's check in with an expert. A please welcome some time feminist activists and all of the time, pimping and prostitution expert chicken Joe into the sucked dungeon. Bok, bok, playboy, bok, bok. The defecation and sanitation is difficult combination. You can pull off in a proper sexual situation. If you want a tape arm or a rug burn, get down your knees, take a sip off the brown arm. Even bus or short car for putting collar or hepatitis and dysentery and you good food

gun. Salmonella, E-Cola, pull out of different types of fuss that ends in virus. All gonna make your body start to rush when you're month on that Nassio ass push. Shope that smut, lick a clean bulb, put your finger in, even ding a ding it. Don't never play ass-a-mouthing, you sick ass bus love half-wit. Chicken Joe, love a warm hole, but not one to be spraying.

You feel me, you dig? You hear what I'm saying? Yeah, there you go. Solid medical advice from Chicken Joe. That was Chicken Joe's way of saying that eating feces is a good way to catch a variety of bacterial viral and parasitic infections, so maybe don't do it. So much knowledge and one chickeny-pim person.

Now back to fish. Nearly a decade after moving to New York City in 1898, Albert gets married to 26 year-old socialite and New York City opera patron Edith Rockefeller, daughter of industrials in oil baron, John Davidson Rockefeller. John D Rockefeller is widely considered one of the richest people in modern history. John was worth $1.4 billion when he died in 1937, who wasn't to over $24 billion today,

and has believed that Rockefeller's money, his love for his daughter Edith, his fear of public scandal, and his enormous social influences would enable Albert Fish to do what he did for so long. Rockefeller's rumor to have once said to Albert, I don't care what you do. This is long as you don't get caught, so I have a pistol all shitting my daughter's mouth and don't ever, ever.

Like my sweet little angels butthole on fire. That of course is utter nonsense. Albert Fish did not marry a Rockefeller. Fucking deranged dirtbag. Fish did get married in 1898 though. He got married to a woman named Anna Mary Hoffman who was 19. Albert was 28. Albert's mother was the one who set it up. The couple would go on to have six children. Albert, Jr. Why not keep that name going? Anna, Gertrude, Eugene, John and Henry. Poor Anna. She had sex with his creep at least six times, as six times too many.

For the next 20 years, fish teams who have done his best to provide for his family. A court psychiatrist, years later, would say that his children did agree that he did his best to put food on the table and roof over their heads. He also, according to later, prison interviews and evaluations, it continued to rape, molest and torture, and untold number of kids and basements around New York City. So maybe he didn't exactly do his best. Or maybe Albert Fish's best is still doing really heinous things while also doing at least some good things.

In 1903, Fish turned to theft to put food on the table and got caught. A few sources report that in 1903, when he was 33 years old, he went to prison for the first time, spending 16 months in Singsing, an infamous prison in Austin, New York, before being convicted for grand larceny for embezzling money from some store he briefly worked at. Over the next several years, Fish has several more run-ins with the law, being arrested twice for writing false checks, getting suspended sentence each time. He'd be arrested five additional times before being sent away for good years later for murder. A probation report lists most of the reasons for his additional arrest as being unknown

with a petty, larceny charge thrown in there. In 1910, while working as a painter in Delaware, fish ends a sexual fling by doing something he for sure should have been arrested for. He begins a short-lived, semi-consensual, sadomasacistic, extramarital relationship with a 19 year old mentally challenged man named Thomas Keddon. And Thomas will learn that birdie fire in the butthole fish is willing to take a dangerous sexual game further than anyone in the right mind shut. Also, I say their relationship with semi consensual because Keddon, mentally challenged and I highly doubt he knew all the things Albert was about to do to him. Fish would later claim that Thomas was looking for an older man to mentor him so he could change

his life. And if he did really want someone to change his life, holy shit, wish come true. Before meeting Fish, Albert claims that Ken was riding the rails, illegally hopping on trains to bounce around, live hobo and also trading blow jobs for protection. So you know, he was doing pretty well for himself. Albert and Thomas were together for roughly a little less than a month and it appears they spent a good good deal of that time consuming each other's urine and feces and putting each other through a whole lot of extreme BDSM role-playing beatdowns. Just, you know, bro stuff.

Just standard hazing ritual stuff, just boys being boys. Fish claimed he brought Ken to an abandoned barn after about 10 days of sex in a rented room. And then he tied Ken up in that barn and locked him in a room and spent two full weeks torching his shit out of him. Said he had to bring him to this room because he just couldn't do what he wanted to do in the apartment. He's Ken would scream too much.

I'm strongly guessing he ignored Ken's say for multiple times in this barn. He brutalized into great as a student ways. I can't imagine anyone actually wanting in ways that someone should be arrested for going out. I would write about the time he spent with Ken in the barn in great detail when he be arrested many years later for the murder of a little girl named Grace, but here's what Albert himself has to say about his relationship with Ken roughly 25 years after it happened as documented in a police report.

The excerpt I chose starts right before Albert took Thomas to the barn and this is going to be a lot of really graphic sex fetish stuff. Uh, I would launch into a super scary stuff segment. But really it's, it's just more weird and kind of disgusting and scary. Fish said, I wanted to lash cut burn a nice big fat pretty bear ass like Thomas hat. Torture him here in scream with pain. I cannot do it here to only people. I began to look around about a mile away. There was an old farmhouse. It had the name of being haunted. No one had lived in it for several years, stood back from the road about 200 feet, back of it was a barn, three stalls in room for a carriage, upstairs hog loft and coachman's room. In it was a bed in a chair. The door and lock was in good order with a key. It was just a place to

whip and torture Thomas just as I wished. I put a chamber in the room for him to use. Then one rainy day, I brought a blanket and re-came to the torture chamber. I made him strip bare naked and locked him in. Then I went back to my room. Next day, I did not go to work. I brought a shop knife, box of matches, and a pint of alcohol. I went back to the old house and got his clothes and put them with the other things and one of the stalls. There was a well in the yard, nice cold water. I filled an old pitcher full of water and gave it to him to drink. Then I caught about 20 switches off some blackberry bushes. They were full of thorns.

I brought two bookstraps, they used them school. I took up three switches and the straps and tied his hand behind them, then his feet. Now I said to him, I have you, just where I want you, and a way I intend to keep you for the next two weeks. Then I turned him over on his belly and began to torture as nice fat ass. I used one switch at a time, struck him as hard as I could. Each blow with a thorn stuck in his flesh. Often I would drag the switch instead of lifting it.

Then it would tear and rip the cheeks of his fat ass. How he did scream. It was sweet music to my various old hear him and know that no one else could. Now this, Jesus Christ. This is the beginning of why I think this was all semi-consensual at best. Fuck! Did Thomas really want this to happen to him? Could he possibly be enjoying this?

I mean hardcore masks do exist, but at what point are you no longer pleasing someone sexually and instead just revictimizing someone who clearly has it, has been sexually abused or who doesn't have a healthy idea of what the right to say no is or what sex should be or have a healthy opinion of themselves or have full cognitive abilities. Again, I know plenty of psychologically healthy people enjoy hardcore massacism, but as you're going to find out, oh, shit, this is not that. Albert continues. Then I spanked him.

How the blood did spat on the blanket all over the wall. Then I took the knife and slid his fat ass between the cheeks. I held my mouth to his ass and sucked the blood. Then I filled the pitcher with water on tied his hands, locked him and I went home. Next evening I brought another blanket, a small hammer, tax and six candles. Then I went to work in the day and then I could work in the day and torture him at night I talked to blanket over window and by the light of the candle I could see him For five days all he had was water and whipping Then I brought him sandwiches and coffee. He was so hungry. I made him eat his own number two before I gave him food

Then I made him lay on his back and bed. I turned both of his legs back with on his head and strapped his feet to the head of the iron bed Then I had his nice pretty fat ass turned up to me to do whatever I could think of and that was plenty The whole package of needles and the cheeks of his ass. It looked like a pin cushion I stuck a pin all the way through his dickie and one between his two balls. What the fuck? Ah Anyone still think this is sexually enjoyable on any level for Thomas? between those two balls, what the fuck? Ah! Anyone still think this is sexually enjoyable on any level for Thomas?

I mean, even if he claims to enjoy it. Kuddy, Kuddy, really? This is cross some time of moral line, it doesn't my opinion. If I was single and someone wanted me to do to them, what Albert Face is doing to Thomas Keaton, I would for sure decline. Maybe tell them I was sorry for whatever had happened to them, that led to them being asked to be treated like that.

This isn't sex, this is just fucking brutality. The sky is the sex. And of course it gets worse. Albert says, That was a Saturday night. I left him just as he was all nights and went home. Sunday I brought some food in the bottle of peroxide. I pulled the needles out of his ass, dicky, and balls. How the blood did pull out when I pulled him out of his dicky? It was his blue zinc. I poured peroxide to his ass and dicky, then smeared him good with Vaseline.

Then I untied his feet and let him rest. I went to sleep. Then I jabbed a long needle in his belly, woke him up, and I fed him. This guy's so fucking insane. From 9 a.m. Sunday until 11 p.m., I whipped cut and burned his bare ass, except at noon and 6 p.m. when I went out for food. To weaken him and keep him so I gave him food but once

a day I gave him a tablespoon and he ate much of his own number two out of the chamber. In short time both of us got to like it and we called it peanut butter and the number one we called cider. I let him rest about an hour. Dude! It just didn't mean a brutal bastard, he was just so fucking gross. Torch on this dude and then eatin' his shit and drinkin' his piss. So grateful, I've no desire for any of that. And he's not even close to being done. Then I bent his legs over his head again and tied his feet.

I switched him hot between the cheeks of his fat ass. And when the thorns did stick in his flesh, I dragged him so they would tear his ass. How he screamed. Then I spilled alcohol on his bare ass and dicky and then set them on fire. What? He just set them on fire. What what He's set him on fire And and dickie. What's what's saying dickie all the time? Why is he saying caught it makes even creepier to me?

Even though Thomas was of age at least technically at least physically dickie adds the rig of pedophilia to this for me Ah, I want me to pour some more gas on your bottom nobody But you'll dickie up a little bit? Oh, heat up those sweet little nuts to touch. This guy was so insane. Why can't people like this be the only people who are ever suicidal? Like, if you start wanting to tie someone up,

making me your own shit, light the dick on fire, why can't you just think, or I could just throw myself off a roof? No more sweet, gentle, kind people leaving early. More Albert Fish types, please. Albert continues. I tapped my hands and jumped with joy when I heard him scream. This is from the burning. I heard like hell. All it lasts is for the alcohol burned off quick. I spanked him, switched his bare ass until I was tired out. I spread paper on

the floor, made him land his belly. I stripped naked and done and did a heap of number two on his ass. Then I turned him on his back so he would be full on it I had him in my behind and I sat down on his face and I made him lick my bear ass clean with his tongue By then I knew I had him weak so I could master him Now it takes a turn that would really surprise you. This is anyone other than out of fish Jesus Christ. It's hard to process this stuff is even real. Then I let him play papa. Everything I had done to him, I made him do to me. He spanked, switched, cut, and burned my bare ass. He made me jump and yell when he sunk the horns, the thorns

in me and then pulled them through my flesh. How I screamed when he set my ass on fire. It hurt, but I got a big kick throughout of it. Many times when I had him tied up, I was tempted to slice the wheel cutlets off his nice fat ass, take them out in the yard, make a fire roast them. My mouth wanted to see what it would taste like. I was wanted to eat a boy's nice fat ass. I also had a strong desire to cut off his prick and balls, split them open, roast them and eat them. But I knew if I did that, I would not have him to torture, or be tortured by him. I pissed and shit all of him, all on him in his mouth. Eyes, ears, he did to me. I know we ate 10 pounds of peanut butter

and drank several gallons of cider between us in the five weeks I had him. So I guess it's over a month. All things have an end. What is the most ridiculous sexual nonsense I've ever read about? I keep thinking about the poor police officer who had to write all this down. All right, face the bragging this guy back in 1935 before the internet had

completely sexually desensitized every adult. He and Thomas ate 10 pounds of Thomas' shit in between sadistic sexual beatings. Could you imagine hearing all that? If the most sexually graphic thing you'd ever heard about before was a buddy getting a blowjob By some girl when they weren't married Like I like I know not everyone was that innocent back then, but I bet a lot of people were I Like to picture something Don notz Barney 5 type character just oh gee handy This is a whole lot of information Just hearing all this for those for the hundred of you who got that Barney 5 reference and

Sure 5 was not done writing down the insanity. He keeps going. My job was finished and I could not afford to keep him realizing that I must go home. He did not want to be, uh, he did not want to put them on but open my pants. Sorry, some of the stuff I tried to correct is the way he wrote his little confuse. But he took out my deck and sucked me off of that part I get. Then I was tempted. I tied him up again, playing with his dick, you until he got stiff, then I took the knife and

sliced off half of it. I shall never forget his scream with a look he gave me, the blood gushed in a stream. At first, I intended to kill him, cut off the body and take it home. Oh, wow, really hoping that everyone listening for sure, thanks, face to take, thanks too far now. He just cut half this guy's dick off. Pretty sure even in the most hardcore BDSM circles rule number one is don't cut off dicks. But the weather was hot and I knew I had no ice. It would stink and betray me. So I poured cold water over his dickie, then

slowly poured the rest of the peroxide in the open wound. Then I took the rest of the Vaseline and a clean handkerchief and I bound him up. I untied him, put his clothes on the chair by the side of the bed, gave him $10, kissed him goodbye. What the hell? He cuts out his guys' dick off, cleans up with some peroxide, and he gives him 10 bucks, and then just gives him a kiss and hits the road. So I'm about to dick-widdling Thomas my boy.

Obviously the first to admit I was a real ding-bent. I took out a shun dick too far. She'll stop with a peanut butter. She'll stop to the side. I'm sure you'll heal up in time and we'll put what's left of that love stump to good use. Well, I got a beat of now. Getting cabin fever, spanking and drinking piss in this foul bond day after day with the bonehead like you. Your sweet snip and I wish you the best luck kid. Lay off the cider and take care what's left of yourself. Good day now. You know,

as I'm leaving this, this whole thing reminds me of a song. Well, you know, it's the best when the poop pitch your chest. That's how I come. I'll shoot my seed when your ass starts to bleed. That's how I come. That's how I come That's how I come Ah, and then uh, you know, and then he's out of there and then he So ridiculous They told the uh, police, after all that he leaves, he says, I took first train, I could get back home. Never heard what became of him or tried to find out.

God delivered Jacob and his people out of the hands of their enemies. He smoked the Egyptians in their hindipots. His command is spare, not the rod. His holy book says, purge I, selfless sin. With the rod, the Jews stripped and whipped Jesus with switches before they crucified him. Who am I? Most unwirly of sinners that I should not be stripped

and whipped Abraham Abraham offered up his own son as a sacrifice to all madty God. Another twist I did not expect did not expect after all of that for him to end you know his little dissertation on what he did with some scripture. Now just any who spared the rod and spoiled the child that's what the good book says. We had a golden rule, good time. I did unto Thomas what I would have him do unto me. And did he ever do things unto me? Heavens to betty.

I'm as hard as a Buick Roadster. And Jesus name amen. So what exactly am I in trouble for anyway? January of 1917, Fischer's wife Anna Mary, a lopes with a handyman named John Strop, who was renting a room in their home and she abandons fish and their six children.

Surprise to took her this long. One can only imagine what he has been asking her to do in the bedroom. No Albert, for the last time I'm not gonna let you time me up again. The last time I did, you shit in my mouth and cut off one of my nibbles. Fool me once Albert, fool me once. Few weeks later Anna returns complaining that Strop has been beating her and fish at the origin of their children, takes her back,, which is not really back, she just needs a place to stay.

And then just days after returning, Mrs. Fish smuggles her lover's straw back into the house, hiding him in the basement. When fish finds out, he kicks them both out, and then they later return to steal all of the family's furniture before leaving again and never coming back. How sad for their kids that Albert Fish is the most stable and reliable parent, insanely violent pervert, but at least doesn't abandon them. And his betrayal seems to trigger an escalation

of madness in Albert that will last until his final arrest. On one occasion shortly after his wife left, Birdie spent an entire evening lying on the floor wrapped up in the carpet, asked why he was doing it. Fish explained to one of his children he'd been struggling to do so by John the Baptist. Another time, his kids catch him climbing in nearby hill and watch him stand up and shout at a full moon over and over, I am Christ! I am Christ!

So totally stable, not cracking up in the slightest. Fish's episodes of self-harm also seem to intensify after his wife leaves. His children began coming home and finding their dad literally beating himself bloody with one of his nails studded paddles. Occasionally, he would even encourage his kids to beat him as he would crouch on all floors on the floor. So you know, normal dance yet. Around this time, Albert starts to stuff his anal cavity with wads of cotton, soaked in

alcohol, and set his insides on fire. Hopefully he was not asking his kids to light the match on those occasions. Albert Jr. come on in here, my boy. Father just needs your help for a second, my sweet land. Just give me one good light and then you can straddle off with your friends to the general store and buy some Rubia bells while you pop jigs around trying to snuff out a back door for fire. Yeah. Yeah. Albert also got, when you like your but hold that's when you feel at home, that's when I come. This fucking lunatic.

Albert also got into what was possibly an even more extreme form of self-multilation around this time. He started inserting sewing needles into his body like all the way in, like straight in. And he would shove most of them into his body like all the way in, like straight in. And he would shove most of them into his tank. No big whoops. There's a stressed out single dad blowing off a little steam by shoving long metal needles behind his balls into his fucking pelvic region.

He actually tried to insert them directly into his testicles, but said later that the pain was too intense. Even for a seasoned massacus like him, later in life, he'd have his pelvic region X-rayed and there were like 30 big needles inside of him. You can find pics online. It's absurd. Literally walking around on pins and needles. After, some of them have been there so long

they were starting to deteriorate. After Anna Leaves, Albert starts traveling around the country looking for work, sending enough money back home to keep his kids fed. He would later claim to have raped over 100 children during his travels, saying that most of our boys are under the age of six, and then he molested as I mentioned earlier over 400 kids.

Later claimed to a court appointed psychiatrist to have worked in 13 states between New York and Montana, and to have had assaulted kids in every state. How much of this is true is up for debate. He definitely did molest and hurt murdered children. He'd be convicted. But he was also bachelored crazy, so it's hard to take his information as being a 100% reliable. Fish told the same psychiatrist

that he felt driven to torment and killed children partially by God. Maybe that's when someone should for sure kill themselves when they start raping and molesting kids in the name of God. Sometimes fish would gag the kids, tie him up, beat him, although he preferred not to gag them, because he liked to hear their cries, because he was basically a demon and human flesh.

He also felt that he was ordered by God to castrate little boys, saying at one point, I had sort of an idea through Abraham offering his son Isaac as a sacrifice. It always seemed to me that I had to offer a child for sacrifice to purge myself of iniquities, sins and abominations in the sight of God, such a shoddum and Gomorrah. This guy was clearly, extremely mentally ill, right? He had to be. How else can someone think that the only way to purge themselves of sin, sins undoubtedly based around sex with kids is to cut another kid's dick or balls off?

In 1919, 49 year old fish may have committed his first actual murder, even though the Thomas Kedden, some people think that after all of that, he probably died. But he reportedly stabbed and killed a mentally challenged boy in the Georgetown area of Washington, DC. Numerous sources mentioned this killing none that I can find, provide details outside of what I just told you. And fish would never confess to this particular crime. On July 11, 1924, so just five years later, an eight-year-old girl narrowly avoids sexual torture and possible murder herself when she encounters 53-year-old

fish, Keel's eight-year-old daughter, Beatrice Keel, was approached by an elderly stranger with a gray mustache who offered her a nickel if she would go into the woods with him to pick wild rhubarb. Yeah, sorry, I didn't reference who this keel was before, but yeah, talk about that a second. So, yeah, eight-year-old Beatrice keel. Man, I hope if anyone makes a similar offer to one of my kids, I have the courage and strength to break their fucking jaws. No adult who approached his kid to go off and do something alone with them without first

running to buy a parent or a guardian first is anything other than a fucking creep. Fortunately, for little Beatrice, her mom saw saw Fish approach through the kitchen window and she went outside to confront Fish who promptly fled. Later that night, Beatrice's father, here we go, Hans Keel found the old man sleeping in his statin island barn back when statin island was actually full of farms and barns ran him off. Dude had a lot of self-control to keep himself

from kicking that piece of shit to death. And I keep saying this guy was fished because even though he was never caught for this crime, years later when Albert gets caught for murdering another little girl, Hans and his wife are certain that the man they chased away was Albert Fish. Also to further incriminate fish here, three days after the keel incident, eight year old Francis McDonnell would be for sure murdered, less than a mile away by Albert. On July 14th, 1924,

little eight-year-old Francis McDonald was playing on his front porch and Long Island New York while his mother sat close by nursing his sister. She noticed a creepy dude mumbling to himself while clenching and unclenching his fists. Several hours later, a witness saw a man of the same description. A man witness later would say was Albert Fish 54 watching Francis playing ball with four other boys. Fish called Francis over, while the other boys continued to play and moments later Francis and the old man were gone. And Francis would never be seen again alive. Francis' father Arthur McDonald was a police officer and pulled all hands on deck within the force to try and find his son. They searched late into the evening, couldn't find him. Francis' body was found the next morning

by three volunteer boy scouts. His body lay a few hundred yards into the woods, not quite concealed under a pile of leaves and broken branches. Francis had been severely beaten, then strangled to death with his own suspenders, which had been pulled so tightly around his neck they'd cut into his flesh and drawn blood.

The boy shorts and underwear had been violently ripped from his body, leaving him naked from the waist down, clearly the victim of sexual assault. Most of his body was covered in severe lacerations. Most of the flesh on his left hamstring was gone. Based on what we'll learn later about fish, there's a good chance that part of that kid's body was taken home by fish to be eaten. The following day, 250 plane clothes, New York police officers scoured Long Island looking for the boys killer. It was a front page news.

They knocked on doors, interviewed basically everyone from Arthur's neighborhood and found no one. Autops, I reports show that McDonald had raisins in his stomach, eating shortly before his death, fish lured him away from his friends with this treat. When fish later confessed to McDonald's murder, he said that he also intended to castrate him, but hurt someone coming so he's unable to complete that goal. On February 11, 1927, another child is murdered by now 56-year-old Albert Fish. He would confess to this murder months before his eventual execution. On that February day, four-year-old Billy Gaffney disappeared in Brooklyn. Witnesses saw Billy hopped on a nearby trolley with an older man fitting fishers description that evening. After fishers arrest, years

later, the trolley's conductor Anthony Barone and the trolley driver, driver Joseph Meahan, both recalled seeing Billy with an old man fitting fishers description and they remembered Billy crying throughout the journey. After seeing fishers picture in the paper, Meahan in particular was positive that Fish was the man he'd seen with Billy. Poor Billy Gaffney had just turned four when he was taken. His little best friend, Billy Beaton, another Billy, was only three years old,

the late winter afternoon Fish disappeared, or appeared and then Billy disappeared. It was a Friday and the boys were planning the corridor of the Brooklyn Tenement where their families lived as neighbors. Another boy, 12 year old Johnny McKniff, came out for a short while and joined in some little game there a plan. And then Johnny's younger sister, who is babysitting, started crying. He went inside to check on her, and when he returned a couple of minutes later, the two little

boys were gone. When Billy Beaton's father popped out from his apartment a moment later, he asked, where's Billy? And Johnny told him he didn't know. Perhaps they went to the Gaffney's, he offered. The two ran over to the Gaffney apartment, but the boys weren't there. Billy's dad then raced out looked around the block, ran around the block, you know, nothing. Then he raced up towards the roof of the apartment building. When he got to the top floor, Mr. Beaton thankfully spotted his son, Billy standing by the ladder that led to

the roof. He grabbed his Billy, asked him, where were you? And little Billy said, we were on the roof. Where's Billy Gaffney? Beaton's father asked, is he still up there? Then the little little boy shook his head, no. And when his dad asked, where is he then? The little Billy told him, the bookie, excuse me, the boogeyman took him. How creepy is that and how absolutely accurate? Albert Fish was truly the boogeyman. His boogeyman nickname likely originated with the Billy Gaffney killing, but was spread around the nation via an extremely popular comic book released at the time based, you know, there was a villain in this comic book based on Albert Fish. And this comic was was Pudi and

Juju. That's right. The May 1917 edition of Pudi and Juju issue number 46 was titled, watch out Juju. The Boogeyman is on your bed. This incredibly popular issue sold over 80 bajillion copies in the first week of its release. It's the most popular comic book of all time in American history. In this issue, Pudi became becomes convinced that someone has been eating as poop before he can flush it. And when he tries to sleep at night, he keeps hearing an old man. You know, it's just like a voice whisper stuff like, be a good sport Poodie and share a little peanut butter out of your Poodie for old Uncle Fish.

Come on, Poodie. Help her birdie fire in the blood hole straight out of his monkey and grab a paddle. Hit that sweet ham until it swallows bloody. Be a good sport out. Juju told Poodie he was dreaming. And then after a few more nights of whispers the noise has stopped Pudys poo returns and so Pudi goes into juju's room to tell him the good news only to see fish under juju's bed Licking what it looks like shit off his lips. He yells juju the boogie man. He's under your bed now And juju irritated the Pudi to woken him started the yell Put it in your lunch box, Charlie.

But then he saw fish and jumped his fish head. Right on to YouTube, be a couple of cats for jammer's babies and push from pins into my pee-bees. Grab that whip and punch my nod a little monkey. Don't be a couple of chumps. Drop off some peanut butter clumps and old fishy sweet-ween. Make him lick himself clean.

We all know the dirty bird gets to the worm. And then Juju knocked fish out cold with a hammer. Right as Pudi grabbed a Louisville slugger. Juuju, do do do do do do do. As Poodie caved in and already unconscious fish his head. Poodie looked and Juju said, not not too little, Juju, just enough to say bye bye to the boogey man. That's what a real good sport does. And then they laughed and laughed and laughed as blood poured from fish of skull, a monster who died doing what he loved, scaring people while being beaten. And that new listener was recurring characters putting you to if you are thoroughly fucking confused. There's a comic book that shows up time from time to year. Okay. Back to today's story. I got

a lightened up. I got a lightened up with some stilliness from time to time. And this stuff is just ridiculous. Also, sometime around 1917 or 1918, fish begins writing some of the weirdest, I say some of the weirdest letters, the weirdest letters I've ever read. Fish love to write obscene letters. Of course he did. Usually he'd find his targets for these discussing letters to matrimonial agencies.

When I was a thing, just like dudes essentially order Russian brides now and brides from other countries, full of women desperately trying to get out of those countries. dudes used to find women in the US in need of a man's income or just desperate to avoid the stigma of being an old maid or desperate to have kids. In the early 20th century, some equivalent of Tinder or some other hook up app would have been, you know, those would have been socially unacceptable, like Tinder, you know, the other things, but you could advertise for, for matrimony.

You just couldn't advertise for booty calls. So, fish will get the mailing address of random women. Either through one of these agencies or you'd find women in need of, of work or helping for marriage or he likes to find like landlady's looking to rent out rooms and various classified ads, the newspaper. In his letters to these women, fish would often present himself as a successful Hollywood producer, looking for a place to board his teenage son. He would typically present his fictitious son as a well-built, but mentally handicapped young

man in need of constant discipline. Here comes the Saddamaskism. Fish would go on to describe exactly how and how often he expected this fictitious boy to be beaten. If the landlady was agreeable in many were because he would offer the promise of large sums of money to whoever would do this, fish with it to follow up with another letter and then another and another and another becoming more graphic and depraved every time. Eventually he introduced his own dark desires into the deal suggesting that he would like to drink to women's urine, eat her shit, be savagely beaten by her, all that kind of stuff.

Before we dig into some of these letters, let's take a quick sponsor break. Time stock is brought to you today by Robinhood. Robinhood is an investing app that lets you buy and sell stocks, ETFs, options, and cryptos all commission free. While other brokerages charge up to $10 for every trade, Robinhood doesn't charge any commission fees. So you can trade stocks and keep all your profits. Plus, there is no account minimum deposit needed to get started, so you can start investing at any level. The simple and intuitive design of Robinhood makes

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Here's an expert from one of his letters. Sent to some poor woman he'd contacted via a classified ad in 1929. He says, I wish you could see me now. I am sitting in a chair naked. The pain is across my back just over from my behind. When you strap me naked, you will see a most perfect form. Yours, your sweet honey of my heart. I can taste your sweet piss, your sweet shit. You must peepee in a glass and I shall drink every drop of it as you watch me. Tell me when you want to do number two. I will take you over my knees, pull up your clothes, take down your drawers and hold my mouth to your sweet honey fat ass and eat your sweet peanut butter as it comes out fresh

and hot. That's how they do it in Hollywood. That's how you wrote. That's how they do it in Hollywood. You see, this is in dollar. I'm a big shot, I'm a big shot Hollywood producer. Did you see the cameraman was buster Keaton? My picture. And do you know how that cake eater became a big show of his star, Yugu Fie Gau? Well, he dropped a hot douche a peanut butter and pop his pie hole.

Let me munch on that sweet sauce when it was still steaming. Fresh out of his back alley oven, that's showbiz. That's how they do it in Hollywood. Now, over it continues. Talking about his made up son Bobby. Bobby does not wet a musty clothes with a bit. He will tell you when he has to use the toilet number one and number two. For number one, his pants must be unbuttoned at the crotch in his monkey taken out.

His pants and drawers are all made with a drop seat. All you have to do is loose three buttons in the back and down to come. Saves a lot of undressing. Handy when you want to spank him. Just drop the seat of his pants and drawers. You don't have to strip him except at night for bed or to give him a bath or switching. The doctor says 304 good spankings a day on his bear behind will do him good as he is nice and fat in that spot. It will be an aid to him. When he don't mind you, you must strip him and use the catanine tails. Say you won't must strip him and use the catanine tails. Say you won't hesitate to use the paddle or catanine tails on him when he needs it. The doctor.

You guys, he writes that a doctor has prescribed all of this. Listen, you silly, Dame Bobby's doctor insists that he have his nice and fat bear bottom spanked with the catanine three or four times a day. No more, no less. No need to SWAT his monkey. Our doctor has not advised any sort of monkey business at this time. Stay tuned for more legitimate medical information. I have to get back to my talk here right now. I'm working on the coconut with a mox brothers. Why Mary eaten his minutes away from cleaning me up with a golden shower and shitting on my chest. That's showbiz. That's how they do it in Hollywood, my last. My God. In the fall of 1934, 64 year old fish really goes back and forth to some poor lady named

Misha. Dude loved the long con. He was dedicated to this game. Before his letters with Misha, he sneaks in a very quick marriage, I want to mention, on February 6, 1930, 59 year old fish marries 46 year old misses Estella Wilcox in Waterloo, New York. Fish and Wilcox met through a matrimonial agency, and they remain married for 10 days. During that short period of time, he played some very strange games with his stepchildren

that rightfully creep her the fuck out. One game was called Buck Buck, How many Hands Up? I'm sure you've played it at least once. It consisted of fish dressing and just a tiny pair of brown underwear while closing his eyes. And then he'd have the kids, and then he would guess how many fingers

the kids were holding there. If he guessed wrong, which he normally did, probably because he was cheating, the kids would have to use a paintbrush to spank their new step dads ass with the difference. Like if he gets three and they were holding up nine, they'd have to spank him six times. Yeah, I get it. Sounds normal.

Some families play monopoly, some families play buck buck. How many hands up? Joe Paisy, Reverend Dr. Joe, he asked to play buck buck. How many hands up at least once a week here in the suck dungeon. Once a month, he just breaks out into song just hello, Madalyn, hello, my baby, take a share of my chest. Uh, another game fish would play was called sack of potatoes over. In this game, a shirtless fish, rules or rules. Now, take your shirt off of this game, would throw the kids over his shoulder and they

would slide down his back and they were supposed to dig their nails as far as they could into his bear flesh as one does when you play sacramentatus. The third game fished like to play with these kids. He introduced on day three of his marriage. It was called how many needles can you shove under your fingernails? Pretty self explanatory. The kids didn't feel like playing. So fish would just play this one by himself until his hands were covered in blood.

And for some reason, these games fucking weird out his new wife and she bolted. I can only imagine what games he was asking her to play privately. Oh, come on, don't be so elastic. It's a typical showby stuff. It's all home, it's fun. I'm sorry if I didn't ask you if it was okay to stick kerosene cotton balls in your bottom. Of course, I don't think you look like a horse.

That's not why I asked you at all. Just if you could just knee, if you could justay, will I like your butt hole on fire? Now on to those 1934 Miss Shaw letters. Here's his first letter. Day to September 30th, 1934. He built these up. He built these ones up a little slower. He writes, my dear Miss Shaw, I am a widower

with a son of 19 who is a semi-involute. I am a director in the movies. And must back in Hollywood, California, by October 15th. Before I don't mind that so funny to me, the Hollywood detail, I just typical show me stuff. Before I go, I wish to see him place an incompetent hand in a good private home, one that does not look or smell like a hospital or institution. I am well able and quite willing to pay a good price for Bobby's care. But my instructions must be carried out. Here is the case.

When five, he fell down the cellar stairs, sustained a brain concussion. He's never been really normal since. Though going on 20 good looking and well built, fully developed, he has the mentality of the age of when he fell. Every part of his body has grown but the brain. He is harmless and just so easy to spank or switch as a child of five. When 12 he had an attack of an infantile paralysis, he can walk, run, jump, get in and get out of the bathtub alone. No lifting to do a wheelchair to push. He has very little use of his hands or arms. Has to be washed, dressed, undressed,

given a bath. Rubbed all over daily with alcohol and assisted in the toilet. What? Rubbed all over daily with alcohol. He gets cross and. What? Robbed all over daily with alcohol. He gets cross and cranky at times, don't always mind. I am trying out a European treatment in such cases. Professor Cairo of Vienna Austria recommends it. He says when he gets a spell, he must be whipped. They are having great success over there in cases like it. So you see, as his own father, I would soon have him whipped anyhow, then have him lose

his reason entirely. Should you take him charge on the first occasion, he shows temper, spank him soundly, as you would a small boy. Don't hesitate to use the cat or nine tails on his bear behind when necessary. I love how he's trying to manipulate this poor lun. Don't feel guilty for one moment, dear Meshah. Your whippiness ever loving shed out of my sweet handicap, boy is the one thing standing between him and certain further mental deterioration.

You'll be doing God's work by dear. Why recently in Vienna, one DSM was drooling in a corner when first brought to Professor Cairo. And after a year of so much whipping and spanking and beatings, he now teaches advanced mathematics at the University of Budapest. Ain't that the cats meow? Then Albert continues, if interested, state your terms and when you can receive him. He is now in Philadelphia and charged with a colored woman, I have known 25 years. She says whipping is the best, is the best mess and she's ever used. I will call on you, sincerely yours, Robert E. Hayden.

Oh, well, it's crazy, it's all sounds. It was the 30s and a lot of people were struggling financially during the Great Depression and they also didn't know what real medical treatment looks like. Like if you're wondering what anyone would entertain this stuff. I mean, at this time, actual doctors are still giving people in-home lobotomies with fucking ice picks. Good old doctor, ice pick, McBrain Stamber.

And with this context in mind, Ms. Shaw is interested in Albert's offer. We don't have her letters, but we do have Albert's side of this entire correspondence. His next letter to Ms. Shaw is dated October 2nd, 1934. My dear Ms. Shaw, just got home and found your letter. I'm so glad you are interested. Before I call on you, will you kindly advise me? Are you a widow? And if so, would you consider another marriage? That's fast. Will the presence of your daughter in your own home prevent you from taking care of my son? You know there are some women who think a demotus, a stripper boy naked, who is over 10 years

old unless he is their own son. I know you are not ashamed to strip, bathe, rub, spank, and switch my son, or you would not have answered my letter. However, I shall feel much more at ease if you will say you are not in your next letter. Would phone but don't hear very well. We'll call you as soon as I get your answer. Yours very truly are E. Hayden. And it just keeps getting weirder.

The lengths he goes to find someone to fulfill his very specific sexual desires is hilarious to me. Uh, Miss Shaw, not put off by this letter. As referenced in the third letter, dated October 4th, 1934. My dear Miss Shaw, just got your very nice letter. I am much pleased to know you are not one bit ashamed to strip Bobby naked and bathe him. I'm also glad you spoke to your daughter

and she is willing to aid you in taking care of him. There is no reason why either of you should be. You know times have changed and so have people. What in times past was considered immolences now very commonplace. Then again, look at what young girls training to become nurses, see and touch in hospitals. They're in mind that it is for Bobby's own good that he has to be whipped. So don't let your hearts stay your hand. Do you know that I feel that in part I am to blame for

the condition Bobby is in? My conscience says that for being careless, I should also be whipped in this same manner and place. You will whip Bobby. Somedayeday I will hope you I hope you will be able to accommodate me. Oh yeah, here we go. Here's where he starts to make his pivot, right? You and your daughter are already helping my mentally handicapped son by beating the shit out of him. So why not spread more joy around and throw a few lashes my way? It's how they do it in Hollywood.

The show is Albert finishes this letter writing. I would give a nice new hundred dollar bill for a good old fashioned spanking and a taste of the switch once again. There is a place on 42 street called Fleischmann's Baths, where naked men are rubbed all over by women, white, black, Chinese, most women will get a kick out of spanking a naked man. But I prefer some privacy in a home. I am a 33 degree Mason and will be busy the next two days. Oh, he's legit. He's like, no, we're just Mason, just normal to...

How about Sunday afternoon or night? Let your daughter read this letter. I'm a man of the world. And she can get knowledge of the world through, through it. What? I feel that we can be fast friends sincerely. Robert E Hayden, clearly angling for the daughter now as well. Do it with love for a mom daughter combo. Just together whipping him silly tag team shit on his creepy face. Based on the next letter. None of this is too much still from his shot Sunday October 7th 1934 he writes again. My damn is Shah. I have been called to fill it out for you on some very important business While there I shall make arrangements to have Bobby transferred on here And will then turn him over to you and your daughter for his treatment when you are ready for him

I have paid for his board and care of to October 15th. You see, I am never sure just where I will be until December 31st when my contract expires. I have always made it a custom to pay several weeks in advance. Now in your letters, you have made no mention of your financial condition. You may be short of funds. If you are, you not hesitate to say so. You can give me your answer through Mr. Pell, the bearer of this, and I will then advance you as much as you may require. Mr. James W. Pell is a friend and ward of mine. He has been declared incompetent, and I have $32,500 of his money in a trust. He had a nervous breakdown and was in a nearby sanitarium for 21 weeks at $100 a week. He is without a living relation, and I don't see why you can't take him and earn some of his money as

well. Two of his money as well Two of his sons were blown to pieces in the war at times. He imagines he is a boy at school Has been naughty and must be spanked everyone. He's be spanked Dr. Lam said to humor him that him be a boy all over again and spank him if you get short of breath and his subdued two fits when in when in water keep spanking So yeah, so he just like it and then at the end of it, he just goes, uh, he will say, teach a whip me. I shall not leave for Philadelphia until Jimmy returns with your answer. Hope someday you will call me by my first name. How about my spanking?

Do I get it? Oh, how I hope sincerely Robert D Hayden. So fucking, I mean, it's easy to see what he's doing here. There's no Bobby. There's no Robert Hayden. There's no Jimmy Pell. It's all Albert Fish. He just want, he just wants to get Miss Shaw to a mental place

where she will spank anyone who comes to her house for whatever reason, if they, and think it's somehow following medical advice. Think that she's helping a little, you know, somebody, and some way, even if it's some old guy who wants to pretend to be a boy and also reminds me of the none in the orphanage. Clearly, he's reliving that on some level.

My God, maybe that orphanage really did ruin him. And clearly she considers doing all of this based on the next letter, dated October 8th. My dear Miss Shaw, I have a friend of mine. I had a friend of mine drive Mr. Pell or Jimmy to Little Neck. They stopped at Little Neck Parkway asked the policeman where your street was. They spent nearly an hour walking up one street

and down another. It was so dark they could not see the numbers. Some one told them of a Mr. Chas Shaw an electrical engineer and a doctor's Shaw but Jimmy got tired out. When I returned home I found him all in. He had the other letters with him and was all set for a good old fashioned spanking from both of you. A good old fashioned spanking.

They were both more than ready for you two damn dig out some wholesome family bear bottom fun. It would have been the bees knees Then he writes This is of course when the mister is not at home. You can arrange that I shall be in Philadelphia for a day or two May go to Washington DC before I return Meanwhile, you can write me Bellevue strafford pa and if you If you are ready for Jimmy write him at the same address in New York City

I am very sincerely yours Robert Hayden PS in 19, Mr. Pell was operated on for a hernia. When you have him stripped, you will see the mark of the incision. Look on his left groin from his penis to his hipbone. He was prepared for another operation 10 days ago, all hair shaved off. That is why he looks like a pitch chicken. He was found to have a bad heart, so it was called off. When you or your girl spank him, don't use your hand. If you have not a paddle, use the back of a hairbrush or get a few switches. There must be plenty of them near your home. What the fuck is this madman talking about now?

Listen, Donald Pell has got a bad ticker. And as monkey has been cut from tip to hip, so I implore you for the sake of Pellie's health, please whip him with a switch as hard as you would if he were a dirty goon trying to steal your virtue. Pretend you are bugged, but a cutting age, a cutting age European doctor saving some man's life. Because this is exactly what you will be doing. Fish continues. I know Jimmy would give you a hundred dollar bill for a good sound spanking. So I still take it out of his money for you.

So spank, spank, spank. Harry K. thought gave a hundred dollar bills for girls for a spanking. Only he done the spanking on the girls' barbie hines. He met them at the stage door. Showbiz, typical Hollywood stuff. Took them to his room with the Astor house, stripped them naked, turned them over his knee, used a paddle. Many of them came two or three times a week to be spanking.

Get that hundred dollars. Show me a girl who is nice and has some modesty, but not too much. It don't pay your rent or taxes or buy the baby shoes. Out in Hollywood, Laura LaPlance came in my office dressed in her birthday suit and sat in my lap. We have an old Romani gypsy woman who tells all the girls that if they can catch a man naked in his home, whip his bear behind with switches and then kiss him, she will surely marry him. Now they all carry switches.

It just keeps getting more ludicrous. Laura LaPlan was a huge silent film star, by the way, appeared in over 60 films during the 20s. And he is telling this woman who has to be a little crazy herself, to still be entertaining any of this. There's Laura, or this, uh, uh, uh, Ms. Shaw. He's telling her that Laura, this big star, just walked into his office,

tried to catch him in the nude, tried, and then wanted to whip his bear ass based on the insane advice of some mysterious gypsies woman. I keep imagining Mishat reading all this shit and somehow in some way take it seriously, just huh. Really? Laura LaPlanet? Well, I guess if Miss LaPlanet is spanking old men out of switches, I certainly shouldn't feel ashamed

to do so this way. I guess I'm just being silly worried about it. So Albert then finishes the letter with Jimmy has a habit of painting his behind red or in gold. When you strip him, you you will see I have told him just what to expect to your home. He is pretty tough. Don't be shy or slow and laying it on his behind. Limber up your arms for Bobby and his daddy, Robert. Fuck. After all this mishaw's still not out. That's too crazy. This guy painting his bottom gold who needs to be viciously beaten.

She is gonna bail before long, but not yet. Albert sends another letter in October 24th, 1934. My dear mishaw, you have struck the nail on the head at last. You've been too modest. Take 100 women, give each the same chance I gave you 99 of them would have jumped at it. I got it. Bobby is still in Philadelphia.

In the charge of the same colored woman, I am paying her $50 a week. It is on a question of price but service. He seems to like colored people, and I have found that a colored woman and girl enjoyed the job of spanking and switching and naked white boy or man. Ha, ha, ha, ha, especially it is so with the girls regardless as to their age or size.

There are many things about Bobby of which I have never written, not because of modesty, but because I well know you would find out. I may as well speak of it now. He has a strong tendency to play with himself masturbation that I have been advised to have him altered or sterilized. Now as to Mr. Pell or Jimmy, he is not a bit loony, he is hobbyist to be whipped, whipped, whipped. I just want you to try your hands, I just want you to tire your hands out on his bear behind just as a sample of what Bobby would get. I love when he writes the sentence, he is not a bit loony. He's not a bit loony, Miss Shah,

he's just as right as the rain. In fact, we show these types, like to say, Jimmy's a real sheik in the sack. We don't take no hub off of any prudes or saps. He'd be plum-gitty to take a not loony at all within' from a bare cat lookin' like yourself. It's showbiz, it's how we do in Hollywood. And then Albert writes, he could come to your home and be stripped to well spanked, so much fuckin' spanking talk.

My God, she's astute. Put on his clothes and return him to me. He is able to do so. Now, if the mister is at home in the evening, it would embarrass both of you, but it can be done in the daytime. Any hour you say, take him to the house, go to his bear behind with the will.

He's a fucking one trick pony. Now, my dear, I think I deserve the came. Don't you think so? I have the money to pay for it, and I'm not stingy. So, any hour and day you say for Jimmy, daddy, later on, now you just drop modesty and speak playing Robert. P.S. I can almost hear the smacks on Bobby's bear behind as those colored girls spank him. Your turn next. I like others. I like how there's no more pretence of medical treatment in this letter. He doesn't say anything overtly like sexual, like how this will

make him come or turn him on, but he's no longer pretending this is medical treatment in this letter. He doesn't say anything overtly like sexual like how this will make him come or turn him on, but he's no longer pretending this is medical treatment. He continues his non medical spanking talk clearly moving towards the sexual realm in his next letter, date of October 29th, only five days later, they're writing back and forth quickly. Miss Shaw probably just wants to spank these fuckers silly now for making their weights along for her money. It's been four weeks of nonsensical back and forth. October 29th, my dear Mishah. Just now I'm so busy I've scaly got time to really enjoy good meal and wish you had room for the daddy as well as for the son.

I know I would enjoy some good home cooking with the prospects of a good spanking now and then thrown in. I have a sort of an idea that you and the mister did not pull so well together. I would just love to give you a royal good time and I'm capable of doing it without his knowing it. When I wrote you last of spanking Jimmy, he had just been shaved for an operation. It looked like a pick chicken. Now the hairs began to grow again. He has a strange habit of putting on his underwear backwards. So you will no doubt find it that way when you strip him. Both of you warm his behind and tell it is good and red all over. He will come down on the bus from flushing and have a letter from me to his hand. So you know him. Black coat, gray Fedora. Have your daughter meet him. Once you have him in your home and your home upstairs,

I am sure both of you know what to do. How about Sunday between 2 and 4 p.m.? Have you a nice, heavy paddle? Have a nice cat or nine tails. You see there are three behind to be spanked and switched. So don't be bashful. Don't be modest. Either of you, just say yes, Robert. Dear ex, if you, if you want ex, you should get a plenty until one here from you. Bye-bye, Robert Triple X. PS, if Jimmy Kicks, or puts his hand in the way when you spank him, tie his hands.

And then finally, on November 9th, Albert pushes Misha too far. He writes, My dear Staling, sweetest little girly grace. Just got your little call of me, dear Robert. Dear Honey, honey heart of mine you have captured me. I am your slave and everything I have is yours. Prick, balls, ass, all the money you want. If you're my own sweet wife you would not be afraid of me all girly of my heart I would love you. And how hugs, kisses, squeeze you, spank you and then kiss you just where I spanked. Yes, six weeks of letters to build up the inevitable poop eating conclusion.

He writes, you're a nice pretty fat sweet ass. You won't need toilet paper to wipe your sweet, pretty fat ass. I shall eat all of it. Then lick your sweet ass clean with my tongue. This last letter, unbeknownst Albert, was sent by Ms. Grace Shaw, a middle-aged housewife from Queens under the direction of the police. They had asked her to send it. In late October, fish aka Jimmy Pelidge, shown up, you know, as we he wrote about, to

Mrs. Shaw's home, bearing the letter of introduction from the other fish, Ailes Robert Hayden. Mrs. Shaw refused to administer the beating, fish requested, saying that based on his age and frail physique, she was afraid she might kill him. Grace Shaw finally also realized she'd been the victim of a scam and gathered up all the letters. Fish had sent her, went to the police a short time later, a postal inspector named camper was assigned to this obscenity case. And he encouraged Grace to continue to write fish in order to lure him out under campers instruction. She added a tone of intimacy to the last letter when Albert asked her if

he could lick shit off her ass. Grace wanted out, but Kemper convinced her to write one more letter encouraging Hayden to visit her at the home. Fish wrote back a green to the rendezvous, but they never showed up. Maybe he spotted the police nearby waiting to ambush him. Wow, crazy, right? All that weird letter writing shit. Almost exactly a month after not catching fish for writing dirty letters to miss Shaw Albert fish would be caught by police for writing a far nastier letter. A letter to the parents of a young girl he'd kidnapped killed and eaten grace bud. That victim would the victim that would finally send his pieces shit to the to the electric

chair. We'll look at that letter right after we jump back in time for a moment and look at Grace's tragic murder and we'll look at that murder right after a final word from our Lisa sponsor. Lisa's been a huge supporter of TimeSuck and I hope you become a huge supporter of Lisa mattresses. Lisa believes that a bed is more than just a place to sleep. It's a place for relaxation and rest.

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So get one, get 15% off your entire order at Lisa.com slash time suck. Use the promo code time suck. That's L E E S A dot com slash suck, promo code time suck, link in the episode description, button in the sponsor section of the website and app of time suck on May 25th, 1928. Edward Bud rode the subway, two men had to pay for a small ad in the Sunday paper. It read young man, 18 wishes position in the country, Edward Bud 406 West 15th Street. Edward had been working part time as a truck driver, but was getting frustrated, was not being able to find full time employment. He wanted to get out of the city for the

summer, find some work in the country for a few months. His mom suggested placing a classified ad in New York, in the New York world, and Edward thought that was a great idea. And that ad is how Albert Fish found his poor poor family. On May 28th, a Monday, 58 year old Albert Fish shows up at the Bud family home pretending to be farm owner Frank Howard. Howard, aka Fish, told the Bud family he'd spent most of his working life as a painter and debt creator in Washington DC said he was able to save enough money to buy a small farm on Long Island. Said he had chickens and milk cows that provided him with a nice steady income, allowing him to employ a cook and on Long Island. Said he had chickens and milk cows that provided him with a nice steady income,

allowing him to employ a cook and five farm hands. But one of his workers had just decided to move on and he needed to replace him. What fish was really doing at the bud home was sizing up Edward. He wanted to recreate the experience he'd had with that 19 year old Thomas Kedden back in that hot peanut butter fuck bar.

Fish told Ed Bud he'd pay him $15 a week, an extremely generous amount like more than double what people would normally make. An amount sure to make him very interested, not quite enough to make him think he was for sure being scammed. Ed asked his friend Willie could also have a job and fish agreed. Fish told him to pack up some more clothes. He'd be back on Saturday June 2nd to take them to this farm. And when Saturday comes, Fish doesn't show up. He sends a Western Union message saying he was delayed and will be there the next day.

Fish is stalling. He needed a little more time to put together the bondage and torture materials. He felt would allow him to subdue and tie up two strong young men. Fish was almost 60, only 5.5, about 130 pounds. Tough for his size, tough for his age, but he couldn't take one of these guys in a fair fight. Let alone both of them. But the thought of tying them up and torturing them excited him terribly and he wanted to give it a go. On Sunday, June 3rd, Albert shows up to the butt home again. He gives Ed's parents, DeLia and Howard a basket of fresh strawberries and cheese.

He purchased at a local market telling them he'd bought it or brought it from his farm. He has lunch with the family while he's waiting for Ed to return home. Ed was having lunch at his friend Willie's place while having lunch. Fish sees 10 year old, Gracie, but Ed's little sister and he changes his plans. He comes up with a story about a sister throwing a birthday party nearby for his niece. And when Ed and Willie return, he gives them money to watch a local movie. Apologize for the further delay says he just has to go to this birthday party. He'll return in a few hours to take them to the farm. Then he thinks, hey, why not bring little Gracie.

You know, said his niece was Gracie's age. She thought Gracie would have a great time at this made up birthday party. Back in the more trusting days of 1928, Gracie's parents who were poor, didn't make it too many parties. We couldn't afford to send their daughter or, you know, throw a birthday party for their daughter and their friends, you know, daughters didn't have these kind of birthday parties. Thanks. Okay. This probably would be fun for her to do. Delia would later say of Albert why he was such a gentle sort of man. You wouldn't think he would step on an insect. He was so kind and fatherly how he fooled us. So they trust him. Let him go and then Ed and Willie go to the movies and a few minutes later Grace Bud walks out of the Bud family home with Albert Fish and no one in her family would ever see her alive again.

Throughout the summer of 1928 thousands of people searched for Grace Bud. Her disappearance made the front page of papers. Thousands of flowers were distributed. Search parties come to neighborhoods and forests. No one could find a trace of information. Authorities quickly came to believe that Frank Howard was a fictitious alias, but they couldn't find out who Frank really was. Suspects were gathered. One man convicted felon Albert E. Cothroll was even charged with grace as kidnapping after her mother to Leah positively identified him. She was delusional with grief. Charges were later dropped.

A man named Herbert J. Sherry was briefly investigated. A man named Charles Howard, a 50-year-old guy from Florida, who was on the run after defrauding his new bride of $2,800 briefly investigated. I'm in named Charles Howard, a 50 year old guy from Florida, who was on the run after defrauding his new bride of $2,800 was investigated. This woman contacted the police to report the crime, adding that she thought Charles was Frank Howard, the kidnapper of the bud girl. Charles got arrested, placed into a lineup. He was also identified by D'Aliha Bud as her daughter's kidnapper. Charles Howard, however, was able to provide a watertight alibi and was off the hook for the kidnapping. On September 3rd, 1930, a woman named Jesse

Pope tells police that her estranged husband, Charles Pope, had done it. Another Charles, a lot of the same names in the story, a couple of Albert's, couple of Charles, nobilies. According to Mrs. Pope's story, she had received a telegram from her husband on the day of the bud kidnapping, asking her to meet him on the corner of high and Smith Street's a few blocks from her home. When she arrived at the rendezvous point, she found her husband waiting with a pretty brown haired girl of about 10. He asked her to look after the girl for a few days. She refused, Pope then left in a huff, taking the girl with him.

Delaya Bud brought in and yet again, third time now identifies the wrong man as her daughter's kidnapper. I mean, you would think at this point they would have anyone but her come in and identify a suspect. Like, she just identifying everybody. He did it. He's for sure the man who took grace. A man, that is the officer who brought in the suspect. Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Well, then he did it then. That's the man who took grace. Ma'am, ma'am, that is your husband. I'm terribly sorry. Well, then he did it. I'll never forget a face. And that is the man that took my grace. Man, that is your husband. I'm terribly sorry. Well then he did it.

I'll never forget a face. And that is the man that took my baby. Man, that's a mirror. Man, that is your reflection. How about we have your son Eddie come in? How about you go sit over there and just kind of stay quiet. Poor woman, man. She just had her fucking mind.

Poor Charles Pope endured hours of interrogation, stuck steadfastly to his denials, saying that his wife had it in for him, that his wife has had it in for him ever since he was made executor of his father's $30,000 estate. And then it goes on to add that Mrs. Pope had even tried to have him committed to an insane asylum and attempt to get her hands on that money. Pope has charged anyway, sent a trial on December 22, 1930, the judge listens to testimony

from only two witnesses in Charles's case, Delaya Bud and Jesse Pope. Mrs. Bud surprises the court by stating that her earlier identification of Pope had been mistaken. Of course it was. She will pick anyone they put in front of her. Mrs. Pope squirmed and contradicted herself numerous times in a cross examination eventually admits that she did indeed hold a grudge against her husband.

The judge reprimanded her and struck the jury to return a verdict of not guilty, which they do. After more than three months in custody, Charles Pope is a free man. Meanwhile, the buds still have no idea what happened to Grace. And then six years after she goes missing, something happened that would finally lead

to finding Grace's remains and also lead to the arrest of Albert Fish. On June 4th, 1934, six years and one day, after she disappeared, the daily mirror in New York runs a photo of two soldiers posing with their dates in Manhattan. That month, New York City played host to the US Navy. On May 30th, the entire US fleet comprising 185 warships sailed into New York's harbor.

Over the next two and a half weeks, the city rolled out the red carpet for 22,000 elisted men swarming across the city, taking the delights of Times, or Chinatown, County Island, New York's other attractions. And one daily mirror reader, a Brooklyn housewife named Adele Miller, became convinced that the girl in one of the photographs was Grace Bud. Took a pair of scissors, sniped a picture from the newspaper, drew an arrow pointing to the girl with a caption,

this is that girl Grace Bud, and then she mailed it to the Bud family, whose address she was able to get, you know, because it had been in the press previously. And of course, Delia thinks this is Grace. This poor grieving woman continues to see what she wants. It's not Grace. The following morning, Delia and Albert Bud take the subway

to the Missing Persons Bureau, show the picture to Detective King, with this guy as the badass I mentioned, much earlier in the show about being the guy who would do an incredible place police work to solve this case. With an hour as the newspapers get wind of the story, they reprint it along with copy that suggests that the bud girl had finally been found. And then the woman from the photograph, 16-year-old Florence Swinney walks into a police station

in the Bronx on Thursday, June 14th, and identifies herself. It's not grace, it's me. The bud family left without any clues as to what happened to grace yet again. But this mixup would not turn out to be a total loss. The false identification leads to renewed interest in the Bud case. More articles appear in New York City papers wondering what has happened to Grace Bud. November 2nd, 1934, Walter Winchell, one of New York's biggest gossip columnists, runs the following piece in the New York Daily News. I checked on the Grace Bud mystery. She was eight when she was kidnapped six years ago. I think she's actually 10. It is safe to tell you that the Department of Missing

Persons will break the case or they expect to in four weeks. They're holding a a cookie now at Randall Island who has said to know most about the crime. Grace is supposed to have been done away with the lime, but another legend is that her skeleton is buried in a local spot more anonymous. Now, the story was false information. The story was the false information given to Winshel by a New York City detective, Detective King, that William King, the hero of today's show. He hoped that more articles about grace would encourage the killer to eventually reach

out, and it did work. Albert Fish, as we know, based on his classified ad scams, was a reader of the paper. And he'd been reading everything about Grace's disappearance over the years and this crazy fuck for whatever reason, probably just to inflict more pain on innocent people, decides to write the bud family and set the record straight regarding what had happened to their daughter. Obviously, this letter is going to be horrific. I'm going to read it in its entirety. Here we go. My dear Mrs. Bud, in 1894, a friend of mine

shipped as a deckhand on the steamer Tacoma, Captain John Davis. They sailed from San Francisco to Hong Kong, China. On arriving there, he and two officers went ashore and got drunk. When they returned, the boat was gone. At that time, there was a famine in China. Meat of any kind was one to three dollars a pound. So great was the suffering among the very poor that all children under 12 were sold for food

in order to keep others from starving. A boy or girl under 14 was not safe in the street. You could go in any shop and ask for a steak, chops a stew meat. Part of the naked body of a boy or girl would be brought out and just what you wanted cut from it. A boy or girl's behind, which is the sweetest part of the body, his soul is veal cutlets, brings the highest price.

John stayed there so long that he acquired a taste for Schumann flesh. On his return to New York, he stole two boys, one seven, one eleven, took them to his home, stripped them naked, tied them up in a closet, burned everything they had on. Several times every day, a night he spanked them, tortured them to make their meat good and tender. First, he killed the 11 year old boy because he had the fat ass and of course the most meat. Every part of his body was cooked and eaten except the head, bones and guts.

He was roasted in the oven, all of his ass, boiled, broiled, fried and stewed. The little boy was next and he went the same way. At that time, I was living at 409 East, 100th Street. He told me so often how good human flesh was and I made up my mind to taste it. On June 3rd, 1928, I called you, I called on you at 406 West 15th Street and brought you pochies and strawberries. We had lunch. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her.

On the pretense of taking her to a party, you said yes, she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester, I had already picked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped on my clothes off. I knew if I did not, I would get her blood on them. When all was ready, I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in the closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked, she began to cry and tried to run down the stairs.

I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mama. First I stripped her naked, how she did kick, bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces so I could take the meat to my moot rooms, cook and eat it. How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me nine days to eat her entire body. I did not fuck her though, though I could have if I wished she'd eat a virgin. What the fuck? though I could have if I wished she died of virgin. What the fuck? What kind of cold blooded disgusting son of a bitch?

Could A do this and then B send that letter to Grace's family? No idea by the way if this Captain John Davis character was a real person, I doubt it. I mean, he could have been, I mean, I mean, you know, if he could have been real, he could have really eaten someone in China. Historically, cannibalism not as taboo in China as it has been in the West, not kidding. I read a number of articles on this and various famines in China.

As recent as the Great Chinese Famine in the 1950s and early 1960s, there have been numerous reports of widespread cannibalism. But none of the reports took it to the cartoonish level of, you know, every kid under 12 being sold for fucking meat. I love how he felt it important to point out that he didn't have sex with her, you know, just, uh, just killed her anator. That's all, you know, like he's some kind of fucking weird gentleman. Listen here, gals and ghouls, to have it face as many things, but above all, he is a gentleman. I never once considered death of creating a penetrating no innocent lady parts. I was just hungry and wanted to snack. Well, you may find my choice of

meat, uh, shocking and vile, I can assure you that it would be a normal lunch in Hollywood. Not a single movie in picture gets made without a thousand plus children eaten and at least a metric ton of hot steamy peanut butter dispensed from sweet little butter bottoms. Some producers get their own films on chunky or even extra chunky. I myself make movies with nothing but extra creamy peanut butter butter. It's fucking terrible letter arrived at the butthomb November 12th, 1934. Luckily, D'Lia, borderline literate couldn't read it. Instead she handed it to her son Eddie, the young man who was fish's original target, Ed's face went pale, contorted with anger.

He refused to tell his mom what it said, bolted out the door within an hour, he was handing it over to Detective King. And it was all King would need to bust this piece of shit. He compared the handwriting of this letter to the Western Union message fish had sent to the buds back in 1928. You know, saying he'd be at he'd be a day late to see Edward. It of course was a perfect match. Then he looked into the address fish had claimed to live at and letter back when he got the taste for human flesh. 49 East 100 Street was the author of the letter really dumb enough to include a

former address or former residence address. He was. And this address was inside the main zone where King had directed search party efforts back when Grace originally went missing. King was now certain that whoever wrote this letter was indeed Grace's killer. And then upon further examination, Detective King realized that the writer of this letter had made another mistake. On the back flap of the envelope, the letter came in. There was a six-sided symbol with the letters NYPCBA, arranged around it one to each side. Underneath this emblem was a two-line address,

which someone, presumably the sender, had attempted to obliterate, using a magnifying glass, Detective King was able to make out the word six, two, seven elections in Avenue, New York City. NYPCBA turned out stood for what was at this address, the New York private chauffeur's benevolent association. After making a call to the Union President, Arthur Nis of this association, King sets

out across town with the envelope in hand. Yes, Nis said this envelope was definitely official NYP, CBA. He convinced this Nis to call an emergency meeting. At the meeting meeting he asked, has any member removed stationary from the association's offices? Did any member know someone who might have done so? After the meeting, a young man named Lee Sikowski

said that a few months earlier, fucking, this is one of the nicest things that Polish persons have ever done. This is the only time that Polish persons helped in one of these stories. No, but he says that Sikowski said a few months earlier, he had taken a few sheets of writing paper and some envelopes from the office for personal use.

Said he'd taken the stationery while he lived at 200 East 52nd Street, room seven, and he thought he had left some behind in that room before he moved. Well detective King goes to this room, goes to East 52nd Street, finds a land lady, Frida Schneidner, tells her his grace bud story, including what Frank Howard, aka Albert Fish was known to look like and Frida did say why that sounds like Mr. Fish. She told King the Fish was no longer living there, but still stopped by once a month to pick up a check.

One of his sons was sending to him at that address and King knew he was going to fucking get this guy. King immediately sets up 24 seven surveillance at 200 East 52nd Street and is so dedicated he rents a room and stays there himself. He stays in room number seven. Fish is old room. I fucking love this guy. Rest in peace, detective King, you beautiful, glorious bastard. Time sucks one-eyed three-legged pipple, sometimes crime fighter Bojangles pants heavily in approval. Bojangles loves to kick ass cop. Good boy, Bojangles.

King Trace's fish is son to North Carolina, the one that sent in the money, where he's working as a civilian conservation corps, one of the programs set up under President FDR's New Deal, making sure that fish juniors not tipped off King and Strux, the CCC paymaster to let him know as soon as the next paycheck is mailed out. That call came into King on December 4th with an envelope addressed to Albert Fish intercepted at the Grand Central Post Office the following day. On December 13th, 1934, Fish shows up at the boarding house to collect his mail. King who had to attend a meeting at police headquarters that particular day receives a

frantic call from Miss Schneider, asked her to stall fish until fish can get there until I can't get there King literally runs to find fish seated at the kitchen table sipping from a teacup the old man dressed in a mismatched outfit It stripped striped trousers, tweed jacket vest and tie black overcoat battered for door rest on a chair And he says your Albert fish as he walks into the room fish Finally stares at King for a moment kind of of measuring him, then pushes back his chair, slowly rises to his feet, his King crosses the room towards fish. When King gets close, fish reaches into his vest pocket, whips out a fucking razor blade,

slashes his detective King. The dude really is the boogie man. King dodges the slice of Fish's blade, grabs his bony wrist, you know, with the hand that's holding this blade, fish cries out, sums back into his chair. The razor goes skitter across the floor just like you'd hope what happened. If this was a scene in a movie, King tells the old demon, I've got you now. The fucking boogeyman, the werewolf of Westerri, the Brooklyn vampire, the gray man, the

moon maniac, the man of many other nicknames, the press gave him back in 1934, 1935, finally caught. And he would never harm another child, all thanks to Detective King. Yeah, yeah, yeah, hell no, Ron. Fish was driven to police headquarters, taken to the office of Captain John G Stein, head of missing persons bureau, for his interrogation to be conducted by Detective King himself. King could hardly believe that the man seated before him to sell five foot five hundred thirty pounds of shrunken, wrinkled meat sack Was the criminal who had eluded him for over six years

Fish quickly admitted he was the author of the nasty letter to the bud family But wouldn't admit he killed grace until King told him he was gonna bring in the bud family to to spot him To you know to point in him and tell him that that's the guy and then this weasley fucking coward wants to know part of that and Amidst I killed grace but Then King starts confessing all kinds of shit. Tells King he originally intended to kill Edward and Willie, but was disappointed when he saw how strongly looked, but then he decided to at least give it a shot, bought some murder and torture items from a local pawn shop, a cleaver, a handsaw and a butcher's knife.

Says he brought these tools wrapped up and hidden back towards the bud home the day he took Grace. Hit them near where he bought the family that strawberries and cheese. So when he had dinner with the family, he changed his mind to go after Gracie. I said, Gracie was excited to go to a birthday party, was happy to board a train with him. Said she got so excited, said he got so excited to kill Gracie. He left the murder weapons and a little wrapped up in cloth

on the train when they departed. And then a little Gracie, oh my God, this poor girl was the one who reminded him, hey, mister, you forgot your package. She ran back and got them for him. How fucking tragic is that? She ran back to grab her own murder tools. Fish watch Grace or walked Grace to an abandoned home, a place that looked like a straight up haunted house. I've seen the pictures known to locals as Westeria Cottage. Grace played amongst the wildflowers in the yard. Well, fish went upside and got ready. Fish went up to the upstairs bedroom where he could watch Grace play. Undress. Got his

weapons ready. It's like you stated in that letter, called his tools, the his implements of hell by the way, called out to Grace, came inside. You know, he hidden way, didn't you know? And then he choked to the death as he, as again, he wrote about that letter. Then he cut her head off with a saw. King asked if he raped or he assisted, he had not as he has stated in his letter to the butts. He would, however, later admit to having two involuntary ejaculations while strangling her, echoes of Chica Tilo here. Fish said he cut her body in two, separating her at the waist. He then threw both sections of her body in the closet, placed her head on some newspapers

on the floor, cleaned himself up and left. Said he came back four days later to hide the body in his tools, throwing them over a wall in some bushes. Later he would also admit, as he stated in the letter, that he took parts of her body to take home and eat. The following day, December 14, King, fish and some officers go to his stereo cottage to find graces, remains. Fish seemed excited as he led officers to where he had tossed her body parts and sure

enough, that's where they found them. The bud family was notified. Edward came to the police station to positively identify fish. He had to be physically restrained by multiple officers when he saw him and physically removed from the building to keep from beating fish to death. I bet he did. Can you imagine how you would feel

if you were Edward and Grace was your sister? In mid-December 1935, fish tried to claim insanity to avoid a murder trial but the court wouldn't let him get off that easy. The DA was able to prove that while he was undoubtedly a deeply disturbed individual, he understood the implications of his actions. He tried to get away with them. Therefore, he was legally sane. He was indicted for the kidnapping and murder of Grace, but over the next several weeks, various detectives would interrogate fish in hopes of solving other local unsolved murders. Numerous witnesses

came forward, identified fish as the man who'd attacked or tried to attack them. One of these witnesses was Benjamin Isman, a 26 year old Isman encountered fish 10 years earlier when he was 16. Isman sent a bead sitting on a bench in Battery Park when fish sat down beside him in a struggle conversation. He told Isman that he was a house painter and could use a strapping young lad like him as an apprentice.

Unemployed at the time, desperate for any sort of work, Iseman had agreed to accompany fish to a job in Staten Island. Along the way, Iseman said they passed by a deserted cabin where fish instructed Iseman to remain outside while he went into the house to fetch his tools. While he was waiting, Iseman was approached by an elderly man who'd warned him to leave. I've seen many kids go into that house, the man said,

but none of them ever came out. Iseman was alarmed enough by the strangers warning to take his advice and bolt. Oh, man, once he heard what Albert had been charged with, I bet he was a little more than overjoyed to have made that decision. And how many other kids went in there and never came out? Like, we'll never know the real number of Albert's victims. If it's just only put on trial for what he did to Grace Bud, for no other crimes, because

her murder charge carried the death penalty and he had confessed, they found the there was eyewitnesses to him kidnapping grace it was a slam dunk case and the only one they needed against him. Fishes only hope to stay alive now is to again try and prove he was insane and you know maybe be get committed to a psychiatric facility instead of being sent to death row. On March 11th 1935, Fishes trial begins the trial would last less than two weeks again it's a slam dunk case. On Thursday, March 21, the second to last day of the trial, assistant district attorney, Gallagher,

calls his expert witnesses into rebuff the insanity claims of Fischer's defense team. First up was Dr. Maines S. Gregory, former head of the psychiatric department at Bellevue. Gregory, who had examined Fischer 1938 when he was an inmate at the hospital. Yeah, because fish, he did in his story too, he gets sent to a psychiatric facility a few times.

Obviously, always released. He intended that fish was abnormal, but sane. A diagnosis that clearly annoyed fish as attorney, James Dempsey, who contended that no one who ate, because they did argue that some court, he contended that no one who ate as much shit as our fish could be considered sane. And he said, is it a common thing, doctor, for a man to drink urine and eat human feces?

Gregory countered, it's not as uncommon as you think I know of successful people, artist teachers, financiers who have the same perversion. Another prosecution when the psychiatrist Dr. Charles Lambert would add, I know individuals prominent in society, one individual in particular that we all know and then Dempsey interrupts, who actually ate human feces. And then Lambert continues,

who regularly uses it as a side dish for his salad. What the fuck? It's shit eating really that common. And again, if I sound like I'm being judgy, yeah, I sure am. We all judge certain things. And if you like to eat shit, yeah, I think you're pretty fucking weird. Are people really just casually

hitting aside a human shit with their salad? What a strange compulsion. On the list of things you're not supposed to eat, I feel like shit is pretty high. Somewhere below poison and somewhere maybe above fire. On March 22nd, Fish just found guilty of the mutilation of premeditated murder of Grace Bud. He'll be sentenced to electric chair three days later on the 25th. On the 24th, Fish decides to come clean about the murder of Billy Gaffney.

He clearly hoped that confessing to more insane shit would sway the judge's decision about whether he should be committed or fried. Fish told a group of lawyers and investigators assembled into the courtroom. I took him to the public dumping ground and riker avenue in Astoria. There was a house near the air that I painted for the man that owns it. I took the boy there and stripped him naked and tied his hands up and feet and gagged him with a rag and I picked up that I picked up at the dump. Then I burned his clothes and threw his shoes in the dump. Then I walked back and took the trolley at 59th Street at 2am and walked from their home.

The next day at 2pm, I took tools and a homemade cat-on-line tails. I whipped his bear behind to the blood ran from his legs. I cut off his ears and nose so that his mouth from ear to ear. I gouged out his eyes. He was dead then. I stuck the knife in his belly and held my mouth

to his body and drank his blood. Fuck Jesus Christ. And again, it's hard to say if he was just saying this to try and be like, I'm crazy. Please, I'm crazy. Look how crazy I am. Or if you really did this shit, which based on what we know about him, it's very possible.

I picked up four old potato sacks and gathered a pile of stones. Then I cut him up. I had a grip with me. I put his nose, ears, and a few slices of his belly in the grip. Then I cut through the middle of his body, just below the belly button, then through his legs about two inches below his behind. I put this in my grip with a lot of paper. I cut off the head, feet, arms, hands, and legs, blow the knee.

Then I put in sacks, weight with stones, tied the ends, and threw them into pools of slimy water, you will see along the road going to North Beach. The water is three to four feet deep. They sank at once. I came home with my meat. His monkey and peewees, a nice little fat behind our roasted in the oven, deat. I made a stew out of his ears, nose, pieces of his face, and belly. I put onions, turnip, celery, salt, and pepper.

It was good. Then I split the cheeks of his behind open, cut off his monkey and peewees and wash them. I put strips of bacon on each cheek, put it in the oven, and I picked four onions and when the meat had roasted for about a quarter hour, I poured about a pint of water over it for gravy and put in the onions. At frequent intervals, I basted his behind with a wooden spoon so the meat would be nice and juicy. And about two hours, it was nice and brown cooked through.

I never ate any roast turkey that tasted half as good as his sweet fat little behind it. I ate every bit of the meat in about four days. His little monkey was as sweet as a nut, but as peewees, I could not chew. I threw them in the toilet, fuck good God. He is describing about the darkest shit you can describe here, the kidnapping murder and consuming of a child. With the language he uses, it just fucking,

this shit just kept making me laugh. Like, my brain doesn't know how to process it any other way. This suck made me question my own sanity numerous times. Just the way this weird old man in the 1930s apparently spoke. It just made, there's horrible shit he did. So much more comedic for me than it should be. Like if he had said something like maybe today, somebody would say, so I fucking killed that bread, could have fucking dick off, ate it, which I could do it again, Hill Satan.

No humor, there's no part in this life, you know? But instead he is talking like, there's a nightgates that a lot of you blue nose, just can't wrap your nuggets around this, but a lot of us show these types, enjoy a sweet little monkey, and some chewy pee we used to snack on. Why Chris crafts applesauce? I do declare that I do enjoy a tasty behind with some onion gravy, even more than a choice bit of calico's hot, sweet. I feel bad. He said I was expecting Matt one, which is the New York State hospital for criminally insane at that time.

In the aftermath of the Bud case, the press tried to play up Albert fish's massacres desire to be executed, but that is not entirely true. He was desperate to escape punishment. During the trial, he fired his original attorney. He carefully begged the jury to show him the mercy. He sure as shit showed no one else. He carefully begged the jury to show him the mercy. He sure as shit showed no one else Speculation that he was looking forward to being electrocuted does seem to come from a quote of reply fish gave to a reporter once He was sentenced to the chair the reporter asked him how he felt about this decision and fish replied What a thrill it will be to die as the electric chair. It will be the supreme thrill the only one I haven't tried And I do wonder once he accepted his fate

He probably did look forward to it on some level. Albert's execution date was originally set for April, April, April 29th, before this date, fish admitted to another murder. He admitted that he had Lord Young, Francis MacDonald, the police officer's son, into the woods, strangled into death with his own suspenders in the summer of 24. He'd been about to butcher the corpse when he thought that he heard someone approaching him flit.

Directly after his death sentence, Albert Fish was sent to sing-sing to await execution. On April 3, 1935, his attorney James Demsie filed an appeal siding among other things the judge's definite hostility towards the defense and the jury's failure to consider that there might be a reasonable doubt as to Albert Fish's sanity. The judge quickly dismissed that appeal, hail Nimrod. On the morning of January 16th, 1936, Fish has moved to his cell in the death house at Singsing, an area referred to by inmates as the dance hall. He eats a hardy lunch, a tea-bone steak, orders a chicken dinner.

Although by evening, he appeared to have lost his appetite. He barely picked at his final meal. It's really realizing that this is going to happen for sure. At around 10.30 p.m., the Protestant chaplain of the prison Reverend Anthony Peterson arrived to pray with fish at 11 a.m., a couple of, or 11 p.m., excuse me, a couple of guards entered his cell. Fish showed no emotion as he caught his first glimpse of the electric chair. He simply allowed himself to be led towards the apparatus, slumped himself down in it,

brought his hands together in a plane gesture while the attendants busy themselves with strapping his legs torso and finally his arms into place. His face appeared drawn and gone in the moment before the execution of Robert Elliott dropped the black hood over his head. The leather cap with his attached electrode was then placed on fishes closely crop tail with the chin strap, chin strap fashioned to hold it in place. Elliott then dropped onto one knee and secured the second electrode to fish his right leg. Elliott stepped away and positioned himself at the control panel.

There have been suggestions in the press prior to the execution that the needles fished inserted into his pelvis might short out the chair. Afterwards there will be rumors that they had generated a cascade of sparks in the moment fish was put to death. Neither of those things happened. What happened was right after midnight, Elliott threw the switch, sending a surge of electricity through fish's body. And as the current flowed, fish became rigid, his slight frame strained against the bonds,

his fists tightly clenched. The current was switched off, causing him to slump in the chair, activated then for a second time. During the second jolt, Albert fish did briefly regain consciousness just long enough to sing his famous last words. Hello, my baby. Hello, my darling. Can someone spank me now from my mouth? Let's repeat about a cut off my dick. No. Good night, everyone. That's how they do it in Hollywood. Zap. Of course, you didn't sing that. He just died. He just died. I precisely, sorry, a few minutes later, the attending physician step forward, placed his

stethoscope to fish his chest. Moments later, he announced that Albert Fish, the murderer of Grace Bud, Billy Gaffney, Frank Tismagdonal, and perhaps countless other children was gone forever. Good fucking riddance. And that takes us out of today's timeline. Good job, soldier. You've made it back. Barely. I'm going to correct myself really quick for anybody sends in any letters. January 16th, 1936, I said that he was executed right after

midnight, so it would have been the 17th. That's actually not true. I didn't see that in my notes, and then I just, I assumed what you should never do. And actually he was executed precisely 11.09 PM. So he was executed for, for anybody who's, you know, wants another exact moment. It did happen on January 16th, 1936 at, yeah, at exactly 1109. That's when he sang his song. That's when he didn't do that. But what a tale, huh, man, so messed up, but I didn't find it so darkly fascinating. What a strange, strange as peculiar, horrible person

before we bounce to our takeaways. I wanna share just a few more quotes from those who knew him that I just found interesting. His son Albert Fish Jr. had the following to say about his father after his death. That skunk would do anything frequently. He used to undress in front of small children and once someone found him nude in his bedroom, beating himself with a whip. Up to a couple of months ago, I worked with him in an apartment house at 1883 Amsterdam Avenue, Amsterdam Avenue, Manhattan. I did all the work and he collected all the money.

He used to wake up often in the middle of the night screaming. Usually it was something like bud, bud. Naturally, I didn't connect it at the time. He quit after the tenants got a petition against him. There were a half dozen complaints that he had abused children. So it appears that his kids, while they may have agreed that he provided, at least a home for them didn't think he was a good dad.

Also appears that these sexual abuse of children not taken seriously enough in New York City in the early 20th century, like petition? What? Not, not police, a petition. Just people just, I am for one second tired of one Albert Fish molesting and raping the children of this building. I'm sick of him walking through the halls, nude, face covered in peanut butter. It's high time we think about a petition to have this scoundrel removed from the premises.

Also, Frederick Wartheim, a German-born psychiatrist who spent a lot of time with fish after his arrest, who was used by the court to help determine if fish was insane or not, had this to say about fish. Fish's life was one of unparalleled perversity. There was no non-proversion that he did not practice and practice frequently. I really think that quote still sums him up today. Fish's life was one of unparalleled perversity.

Now let's recap his perversity with today's top five takeaways. Time suck. Top five takeaways. Number one Albert Fish was born on May 19th, 1870. It was electrocuted by the state of New York on January 16th, 1935 at the age of 65. By the time he died, he had literally eaten shit for over 50 years. Number two, Fish confessed to the murders of three children, but may have killed many,

many more than that. He himself guesstimated in the last months of his life that he'd harmed over 400 children in some terrible way. Number three, 29. That's how many large needles were found in fishes growing after he was arrested for the murder of Grace Bundt. And that's the quote from the police. They're large needles.

The defense hoped this evidence would prove he was insane. Some of the needles had been stuck inside him for so long they'd begun to corrode. Number four, peanut butter. Are you ever going to be able to think about peanut butter the same way after today's suck? Sweet, fresh, piping hot peanut butter. Good luck with that. Number five, new info. I have loved the satirical humor of the onion ever since I first heard about it many years ago. And in 2018, the onion did a satirical fake news story that involves Albert Fish. After what you've just heard, I thought you might like this. The fake news story title is serial killer annoyed by young

murders with no appreciation for Albert Fish. Seattle, Washington saying they had no respect for the luminaries who had come before them and helped pave the bloody way, serial killer Gerald Pinkney expressed his annoyance Wednesday with young murderers who held no appreciation for innovative child rapist and cannibal Albert Fish. Man, these millennials think they invented wholesale homicide, but they haven't got a clue about the revolutionary work Fish was doing his sanctuary before they even came onto the scene, said pink knee 52

Expressing his frustration that the most recent generation of killers barely seemed aware of the notorious torture killer who terrorized New York in the early 20th century That man did more using the saw meat cleaver and butcher knives and these youngsters could ever hope to do with their power tools and dentistry instruments But you try mention in the moon maniac or the were walls of will hysteria to them and they just give you this blank look. They're all don't are this and gain that. Just no idea whatsoever that those guys were following in the fish's footsteps. It's total bullshit. And that is all for today's top five takeaway. Albert Fish has been sucked and Albert Fish would have loved this suck if he himself could hurt it. Yeah, he would have fucking probably just been whipping

himself and just eating someone's shit and pissing on somebody and just happy to clam. As much as he sucked as much, he could be in one episode. There's other details of his life out there. If you curious, several other podcasts have done numerous episodes, you know, part two, three, four, Justin Albert Fish. You can go on and on about this guy. I'm good with one. I think you have a pretty good fill for who this dirt bag is.

Plenty of horrific trivia to impress other true crime of Fishy Nautos if his name comes up. I don't think we need three more episodes about somebody eating shit. Fucking weirdo. Big thanks is always to the time stock team. Thanks to Queen of the Suck Lindsey Cummins, high priestes the Suck Harmony Vellic Camp,

Jesse Gardy and a grammar dobner, Reverend Dr. Joe Paisley, time stock high priest Alex Dugan, the guys at Biddelix are danger brain, Axis Apparel. Thanks to Kai Beamer and Nick Wenzel for providing me with a good jump on fish's nonsense today.

Had Zack script keeper flanery. Sit this one out jump over to next week Darwin award suck. That's right. Next week. He's getting that one ready. I'm getting that one ready myself now too. We're going to take a look at the discoveries of Charles Darwin, given overview of his theory of evolution and how that has shaped our scientific understanding of the world around us.

Talk about natural selection, other scientific things, and then we'll have a nice long look at some various Darwin Award winners. Who has checked out in the most avoidable and unnecessary of ways life is naturally hard, who has taken it upon themselves to make it impossible? So a lot of dark humor coming next week that'll, I think, be a lot lighter, even though it's still involved with deaths

in today's episode. Now let's take a peek at today's Time Sucker Updates. Updates, get your time, sucker, updates. I'm going to open up some critical feedback today. I don't want you to think that all I get is fluff stuff. This comes in from sucker Brandon, who writes, I've always thoroughly enjoyed this show. Unfortunately, the quality of the content and preparation has gone down considerably. Seems Dan is sometimes reading a script for the first time during his show. I got this

a few weeks ago and I appreciate the feedback Brandon. First off, let me just say that I've always been reading from a script since episode number one, always every single show. A script that I write for myself and one that I try to write and make it as conversational as possible, I could never just wing this show. And as it's evolved and gotten more detail-oriented, oriented, excuse me, even less possible to do it just to wing it.

Like, do you think I butcher words now? Oh my God, if some people are annoyed by the, the, the occasional, uh, now, imagine one person trying to tell a very detailed story full of lots of dates, facts, names, other details in this, uh, you know, I, I think pretty, pretty nice narrative form by just kind of fucking winging it. Like, there's no way, or just kind of glancing at notes. There's no way anybody could possibly kind of glancing at notes. There's no way. Anybody could possibly memorize

and regurgitate that much information smoothly. I could just kind of glance at notes here and there, but then there would be no more show because you guys, for sure, would stop listing. Maybe you, Brandon, maybe you would continue to listen, but no one else would. However, I do agree with you. I do agree that I've come out to scripted

in moments recently. It's because I've worried too much about being perfect, about pronouncing a word perfectly, about saying, oh, not too much, and worrying about other technical aspects of the press preparation, presentation. And I worry too much about technicalities. I stop having fun instead of just thinking about what I'm saying

and enjoying it, I'm in my head thinking like, oh man, I can't say, oh gosh, I gotta hope that I pronounce this next word. I gotta say nuclear right. When that really for what this show is, it really doesn't fucking matter. I like to work on that stuff because I like to be an example of trying to improve yourself

and I think that's important in life, but also you can take that shit too far. There's other more academic podcasts out there about all the subjects we do. If you really wanted to get every last detail, and you could listen to something else. This is a nice primer for information, a nice way to, I think, engage people's curiosity and hopefully inspire some curiosity, learn about new things, get a lot of facts, get a lot of details, but also have fun. It's supposed to have fun. So if I lose having fun, I'll

lose the whole show. So Brandon, you reminded me of that. So I thank you. I hope the show felt a little more spontaneous and fun today, as weird as it was. Now for some positive feedback that also includes another chance for me to address some critical feedback coming in from Shannon Wilk. Hey, Dan, it's your loyal spaces, or Shannon Wilk here,

is an honor to meet you Saturday at the early show in Boston. Not sure if you remember us, as I'm sure you meet a ton of people, but I was towards the front of the line and totally fangirled out when we met. I was so excited that the Polish came out in me and I completely lost the ability to talk and all I could do was hug you and smile.

My husband, who was looking forward to some updated remarks at Walmart, which I'm gonna give here, is never going to let me live that down. My only regret is losing the ability to speak because I had so much to say. I wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed your comedy over the years, how much I've been listening to Sucks

and it's almost the beginning. Amazing what you've done with it and how far it's grown. I'm honored that I've been a part of making that happen by being a space as you sure have. Yes, thank you Shannon for being a space lizard. I want to tell you that you've taught me so much, mainly that I really enjoy serial killers. And your thought provoking rants

have expanded my world view in a way I didn't realize was possible. I truly appreciate everything you've done and the time suck and everything the time suck team is put into every show. I can't wait to see what's next. Hopefully next time you come to Boston Nimrod will bless me with the ability to speak praiseable jangles hill Nimrod long live the suck

I was all very nice and thank you. I hope you enjoyed today's serial killer suck Now your husband yes did tell me he thought I'd been a little unfair with the Walmart suck way back when And I told him I agreed I was still really fine in my way early in the show. And the Walmart episode is one of the sucks. I do regret the most. I don't regret a lot of things I said. I do still think the Walten's are greedy bastards. I still think they destroy small towns with what I consider to be some unfair business practices.

However, I don't think they're as alone in doing that as I made them out to be in that suck. I think it's a little hypocritical for me to to den announce them, but then also have an Amazon affiliate button on the website, just because I like Amazon more. When really, they're part of the same problem. You know, it's a little bit hypocritical

to to announce them and then go shop a target. Maybe big businesses like Amazon, Target, Walmart, are just an inevitable part of capitalism. Maybe they can coexist with monposhops. I don't know. My main regret is that I didn't do a more thorough research on what is necessary economically. And I still don't know if it's better to have a nation without big box stores or a nation with them. They can cut, you

know, they can outpriced, excuse me, smaller competition who pay their employees more, but they can also provide cheaper products for those already in the poverty line who's quality of life would deteriorate rapidly if they had to try and buy all their goods from expensive local businesses. And I know not all local businesses are expensive, but you know what I mean? They can drive down prices. And for some families, they truly rely on that discount to kind of get by. And again, it's more complicated than that.

You can go back and listen to my rant in that episode if you want to hear more of my thoughts. It's just tough. I still don't have the answers I want. But I would have taken a very different tone with that episode if I did it again now. Instead of making it an obvious fuck the Walton's hatchet piece. Okay, next up cool Vietnam related update from Anthony Dugan. Anthony writes, Hail Nimrod, Lord Sucker. This message may not fit exactly towards the Vietnam War, but I lost your great uncle in Vietnam. And I feel both jangles telling me to tell this Nazi killing story. My grandfather

took me to a VFW or veterans of Foreign Wars Club in Florida after I came back from Iraq. He was a Korean war veteran and felt the need for me to meet these people. There was a quiet old man at the front of the place who said nothing until I left. After Mingling and talking to all types of vets, this man looked me dead in the eye and said, what, oh, this quite old man at the front of the place who said nothing until I left. Must have been before you left, because you're talking to him.

Anyway, I don't know. Anyway, I get the point you're making here. After Mingly and talking to all types of vets, this man looked me dead in the eye and said, what unit are you in? I replied to 325 AIR. He smiled and said, you are welcome for the A. Now, most people don't get that,

but for the reason the 325 has an A is because during World War II, the 325 was the only mother fucking unit to jump into combat in a giant metal plane called a glider. The gangster old man had a set of glider wings on his veteran hat with four combat jumps. That's all of them. I don't know if most people get that, but that means this man sat in a metal casket, fell to earth, and mass occurred Nazis four times like a boss, which gave them the airborne infantry regiment moniker instead of the rest having parachute infantry regiment of the 82nd

airborne division. Sorry for the long message, Hail Lucifina, but the Vietnam War time so got me thinking about the absolute legends I have met who will never get talked about. Yeah, thank you for sharing that nice, uh, nice old man's story. Man, that is, that is intense. If there was only four of those missions and he was in all four of them and I'm sure there was a very high casualty rate for each and every mission. Wow, shit, that guy saw another Vietnam update from Red Simpson who writes, hey, they're

master Holy Sucker. My grandpa was drafted into the infantry when he was 18. He had shared a couple crazy stories and photos with me. He fought mostly in the Drain Valley. One of the stories he told me involved him and 51 other men in his platoon. They were walking across a rice paddy when the Viet Cong came out of their tunnels

and shot at them from every direction. Two men made it out alive. My grandpa was one of them, the other man was wounded. That's how he was promoted to Lieutenant. Another, he was fighting in a trench, and the Vietnamese were infiltrating their trenches. Long story short, he went around a corner of the trench, then blacked out, woke up breathing out of a hole in his chest. Luckily, he lived and received a purple heart when he got home after being treated for this,

for his GSW, not so fully recovered. He was beaten so badly by three guys. He was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. The reason they did it was apparently because people, they knew didn't come home, but he did. He showed me pictures from over there. One was a pile of dead Vietnamese literally 10 plus feet tall, probably 30 feet in diameter.

I asked him why they did that. He said casually, they were easier to burn that way. Holy shit. It's crazy what war will do to a person. My dad fought in Desert Storm also. They were both Marines, I should probably add. They both get that look in their eye when they're woke up by somebody There's nobody in there to look I can't explain they instantly go into self defense mode I've woke up my dad a few times to have him grab me before his eyes are even open

Hope you find these stories interesting. I literally cannot imagine what my grandpa saw over there the ones He's shared with me are hard to imagine let alone the ones he can't talk about and he keeps boxed up I asked him how many people he knew and numb, ended up on the wall and he said all but three. Wow, I know another guy who fought special forces. He said they would shoot people in the knees so they could see an American killing them all while casually laughing.

He tells stories of people being blown up in front of him like he's talking about a normal day at work. He also fought with a guy who would sneak out at night and kill the enemy. Then he cut off their ears, hang them on a string. I guess this guy had an ear sash, basically at one point. That wasn't nom-no. Thanks for having the best podcast ever, give me something to look forward to every week. Hail, Nimrod, Rhett, Simpson, holy shit, Rhett. Wow, man, yeah, war is fucking brutal and fascinating. It brings out the behavior that parallels

what we cover in serial killer sucks. And otherwise healthy meat sacks. I hope it's a long, long time before the US is involved in another conflict as big and bloody as the ones you just described in this. And finally, one last nom update from Tyler Mentiink, an interesting perspective on the protest back home that I loved hearing. These are some nice ones I think as we talk about these of a more than a day. Hello, Lord Suckington, title rights. I write to you today in regards to Vietnam sucks, specifically my family's experience with

the anti-war protest in Davis, California, about 45 minutes east of Berkeley. During the war, my great uncle, father's uncle, rose from Sarge to lieutenant of Davis Police Department, retired as chief of police. Davis was and still is a very liberal college town. Uncle Vic took his oath to protect and serve his community very seriously. One of the primary forms of anti-war protest was to block the railway that ran through town

preventing box cars for the guns, bombs, ammo, and supplies for making it to their ships in the San Francisco Bay in time. Uncle Vic recognized the students' right to protest towards that they disagreed with. However, as a Korean war veteran, as LEO, he believed he had a duty to protect and serve all of his community members, especially those deployed. The protest got so bad at one point that they were walks about bringing the national, there were talks about bringing the national guard

into prevent the protest. Uncle Vic volunteered to resolve the situation without him fringed on the students write the protest. He went to the newspaper, had them publish incorrect train times, so a train carrying rice would be labeled as arms. Students would block the track thinking that the train was full of guns, but in reality, they were holding up a rice shipment. The train's full of military supply would later pass in the dead of night. Wow. I wanted to share this for two reasons.

First, Uncle Vic was a badass. I love his stories. Went from growing up in a one-story dirt floor house to full ride, this for two reasons. First, Uncle Vic was a badass. I love his stories. Went from growing up in one story, dirt floor house to full ride scholarship for college football, crashing my grandpa's first car, the first car anyone in the family ever owned, drafted in Korea to a Jeep accident that crushed his knees, preventing him from playing ball when he got home.

After the war, he joined the police force, founded multiple narcotic units, became police chief in his town, retired a teach police, and community relations at the local state college a curriculum they still use today Second, I feel like he demonstrated something that is very rare and was often now a very black and white society today The ability to support both sides of a conversation while serving the needs of both sides

As a veteran he could have called in the National Guard and tear gas those rotten good for nothing, pinko-comy hippie bastard students, sarcasm. And as a member, and leader of an affluent liberal community, he could have stopped those weapons from getting to the cogs of the war machine. But as most meat sack suckers know, no conversation is ever that easy. If you took the time to read this, thank you. If you took the time to share it, thank you again. Meat sack and training, Tyler. Thank you, Tyler.

Love this. Yes, as most meat sacks know, life is gray. The truth is often in the middle of two opposing thoughts. Two opposing ideologies. Life is nuanced and complex. Not simple and black and white is a lot of people want to pretend it to be right now. So keep on sucking my man.

Hail Nimrod, and hail the fuck out of Uncle Vic. Thanks, time suckers. I need a net. We all did. Have a great weekend everyone. Go easy on the peanut butter. Eating peanut butter is gonna make it harder

to keep on sucking. I'll shoot my seed when your ass starts to bleed, that's how I come. That's how I come.