Timesuck with Dan Cummins - 220 - The Truck Stop Killer: Robert Ben Rhoades

Episode Date: November 30, 2020

Robert Ben Rhoades, born in 1945, started driving big rigs across America’s interstates and major highways in the mid-1970s, and he seemed to most like an unassuming and harmless trucker for the next fifteen-ish years. He wasn't. He was a monster. The Iowa native’s childhood had ended abruptly when his dad was arrested for an alarming crime and, after the way his father responded to this arrest, life seemed to spiral out of control for the man who would soon introduce himself to others as either “Dusty”, or, via is CB radio - “Whips and Chains.” Bob became a sexual sadist, obsessed with the fetish world of BDSM. Soon, he began to completely ignore the “fun and consensual” part of bondage and submission, pivoting from pleasure through pain to pleasure through rape, torture, and murder. The “Truck Stop Killer” killed an estimated fifty-plus people between roughly 1975 and 1990, most of them young women and the occasional men they were traveling with. Bob overpowered young hitchhikers and sex workers in the sleeper cab of his truck, tying them up with BDSM chains and restraints, and then raping and torturing them for days, sometimes longer, in a mobile dungeon with nipple clamps, belts, chains, handcuffs, fish hooks and more. We explore Bob's crimes, the world of BDSM he was obsessed with, and more in today's true crime edition of Timesuck. In honor of Veteran’s Day, we made a Bad Magic Productions donation of $10,000 to https://veteransfoodpantry.org/. Watch the Suck on YouTube: https://youtu.be/ydt4VBd_NSY Merch - https://badmagicmerch.com/ 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 and http://www.facebook.com/timesuckpodcast Wanna become a Space Lizard? We're over 10,000 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.

Ever hitchhiked? Would you ever hitchhike? If you're saying yes, you may reconsider. After listening to today's episode, Robert Ben Rhodes, born in 1945, started driving big rigs across America's interstates in major highways in the mid-70s, and he seemed to most, like an unassuming and harmless trucker for the next 15-ish years. The Iowa native's childhood had ended abruptly when his dad was arrested for an alarming crime, and after the way his father responded to this arrest, life seemed to spiral out of control

for the man who would soon introduce himself to others as either dusty or via his CB radio, whips and chains. He was not harmless. Bob became a sexual sadist, obsessed with the fetish world of BDSM. Soon he began to completely ignore the fun and consensual part of bondage and submission, pivoting from pleasure through pain to pleasure through rape, torture, and murder. Roge was and still is a deeply fucked up individual who sits today in a prison he will never

get out of. As it should be, for the man who became known as the truck stop killer, it's estimated that Bob killed over 50 people between roughly 1975 and 1990. Most of them young women and the occasional men they were traveling with, whom rode quickly disposed of before focusing on the compulsion that drove him to kill, sexual torture. Bob overpowered young hitchhikers and sex workers in the sleeper cab of his truck, tying them up with BDSM chains and restraints, and then raping and torturing them for days, sometimes longer in a mobile dungeon with nipple clamps, belts, chains, handcuffs, fish hooks, and more.

When he grown tired of toying with them, he dumped their young bodies in a dumpster or out in the woods, sometimes after shaving their heads and pubic hair, further degradation perhaps. The majority of women's bodies thought to belong to his victims have never been found. Their families have never been given the closure of at least knowing that their daughter or son is dead. A few victims, thankfully, were identified thanks to very disturbing photographs that Rhodes took.

How did Rhodes finally get caught? And how did he find a BDSM community in the days before the internet? When do BDSM and other fetishes cross the line from healthy kink into dangerous self-harm? Do they ever cross that line? All this and more in a bondage filled whips and chains, how much pain is too much pain? Maybe just take an Uber edition of Time Suck. This is Michael McDonald and you're listening to Time Suck. You're listening to Time Suck. Happy Monday, motherfuckers.

Hope none of you went into full cardiac arrest from a gluttonous thing to give you feast. Hail Nimrod, Hail Lucifina, praiseable jangles, and triple M, you better tour again in 2021. At this dark and dreary time of year in the Northwest, I am craving the outrock and sunshine. Dan comments, suck master D, king of the suck, sir sucks a lot, kept in Whisk or horn, peanut butter taste test, uh, JK, and you are listening to time suck. No real inspiration this week like last week, but we do take some interesting side roads and posts.

Interesting questions today is I tell a darkly fascinating tale. For those of you who are quick to jump on the suck, the moment it releases, we're having to sail the rest of today, 30% off, everything at BadMagicMarch.com. Now until midnight tonight, November 30th, use the code bad magic at checkout BAD MAG IC no spaces not K sensitive. Also thanks to everyone who made it to sucks giving. Hope you had fun. Sorry about my allergies towards the end. Stupid eyes. Hey, don't when they water up in my voice breaks because of the allergies. I had a great time, though, for real. Getting a little lit, getting a little, uh, little tipsy with our bingo drinking game. And it was nice to see some of you again, uh, virtually during the pre-show tours and to meet others.

I said I'd talk about the cult of the curious giving tree this week and holy shit. Crazy how much bigger this was than last year. The Queen of the Suck has a lot of holiday shopping ahead of her. I'll announce more specifics later. I want to know exactly how much we get after our Patreon payout clears. But the code to the curious donated almost exactly $15,000. That was about $10,000 more than we thought would be best case scenario. So good on you, meat sex.

And we said we'd match. So now Lindsey and I are giving another $15,000 to raise that total to $30,000. And we have the 20% bad magic patron donation to give, which will bring the total to a little over $40,000. And all of that money, big chunk of money is going back into the community to our listeners to call to the curious families. It's been spent on bringing holiday cheer to little space. Newts who otherwise might have had to watch Santa fly on by this year. Sorry, we couldn't make the holidays better for every single family who sent in very touching emails expressing their needs. But we are going to buy presents, lots of presents and send them to 80 different households. So special, 80 households, hail fucking Nimrod.

So that is super fun, super proud to be a part of that. And now before moving into the show, let me use a new recent concern that was brought to us as a reminder that I'm not the only one who needs to fact check multiple sources when sharing information. We all need to. A lot of misinformation out there, getting a lot of people worked up all the time. That's the way of life now.

We got a ton of emails and direct messages last week asking us to denounce our association with Black Rifle Coffee Company because many thought mistakenly that Black Rifle Coffee had either sponsored or posted bail for Kyle Rittenhouse, the Kenosha was Constantine who shot and killed two BLM protesters during an August protest. They did not. And while we don't have more ads lined up with them at the moment, we may in the future get more ads, hopefully, and I'll still be drinking black rifle coffee. Because here's the truth.

A podcaster, Elijah Schaefer, whose podcast has been sponsored by Black Rifle Coffee in the past, tweeted a photo of Rittenhouse wearing a black rifle t-shirt with a caption Kyle written house drinks the best coffee in America, and then black rifle contacted Elijah, and he deleted the tweet, and the deleted post also apparently pointed to a discount for black rifle coffee, and then black rifle severed their sponsorship with him and his podcast and black rifle CEO Evan Hafer, released a statement saying they have nothing to do with written house at all. Black Rifle can't control who wears their t-shirts anymore than I can control who wears time suck t-shirts and the emails we got made me wonder if Kyle had been wearing a time suck shirt

how many people would be calling for time suck to be canceled. I bet quite a few. Cancel culture is fucking out of control. Now Black Rifle is under attack, from the left and from the far right for not publicly supporting written house. Attacked on the left from thinking that they're supporting him, attacked on the right from not supporting him publicly. It's fucking crazy.

How quickly many have forgotten all the good Black Rifle has done for veterans. This is very peak 2020. More of us need to stop looking to places like Reddit and Facebook and tweets for our news. Important to look at multiple outlets to confirm a story. I think Reuters, the AP Axios provide some of the best journalism today currently. Maybe that'll change soon, sadly. It's getting harder and harder to find the news without spend, which makes it more important to seek it out. It's annoying and time consuming, but I think logically your best bet is not to implicitly implicitly trust any one source for your information.

That includes me, right? Cross reference, cross reference, cross reference. Look at the left, right, and middle. The truth is going to be in there somewhere. Hail fucking Nimrod. We need you now more than ever. You insane puppy stomping space ass watch. Okay, so all of that out of the way,

let's dive into some show. Let's dive into this week's deplorable dirt bag. Gonna look at someone who decided to cross one of the worst moral lines you can cross. Someone who should have been and was canceled, at least in the public freedom space. Now this guy decided to torture, rape, and kill

innocent human beings to kill those who had never done anything to wrong him. Those who meant him no harm, he chose to dehumanize and sexually objectify young women to the point that he reduced their lives to nothing more than being worthless, sacks of flesh that served no purpose other than to temporarily satisfy his extremely depraved sexual needs. Robert Ben Rhodes, the truck stop killer. A life out on the open road is a perfect place for an independent minded person, someone who has a mind spending hours and days alone. In the early years of my stand up comedy touring days before I had kids, I drove

to gigs instead of flying all the time. And for a long time, I loved it. Not for everyone, but for someone who's naturally introverted like me, not bad at all. I really enjoyed driving around alone, driving anywhere from a few hours to eight or 10 hours a day, doing a show and Lewis and Idaho one night, maybe Elko Nevada the next, out on the highway or freeway, as long as you're not driving through a major city during rush hour, there's very little traffic for the most part, pretty easy driving.

I could listen to whatever I wanted to listen to, and I did. I could make 10 phone calls if I wanted in a day, or none if I didn't feel like talking, maybe just enjoy the scenery, let my mind wander. I love to daydream about whatever I felt like daydream and about with no interruptions. Having all that time alone undisturbed, it gave me a chance to really think about how

to write jokes, how to tell stories. It was good for me, it worked for me. But having too much time alone to think, maybe not good for everyone. If you like to daydream about sexual torture instead of funny stories, the open road can give you way too much time to dwell on your dark fantasies. Really cement them into something more than a fantasy and do a compulsion and obsession, something you feel like you must, you need to do. Pulling off certain dark fantasies is something the open road can give you a much better opportunity

to do as well than many other careers would. The open road is a good place, maybe the perfect place for a serial killer to roam from state to state or from country to country, picking up raping, whatever sex workers and hitchhikers, they don't think will be missed. Young women who often have already cut off contact with family and friends, women who routinely go missing, even when they have not been kidnapped or killed. Robert Ben Rhodes may have used America's open roads to do this for about 15 years. The US has a lot of open roads, the most. In terms of mileage, the United States has the longest and largest road network in the

world, with over 4.2 million miles, over 6.8 million kilometers of paved and unpaid roads. More, much more than any other nation, more with the nations with higher populations like China, India, Russia. The US has more roads in the entirety of the European Union. The US is known around the world for its vast network of interconnected highways and interstates. Our interstate system is arguably the best in the world, at least for such a large nation.

The US is the third largest country, over 9.8 million square kilometers, over 6 million square miles, in our national roads. Uh, in the trucking industry today's dirt bag was a part of got a major upgrade to, uh, to make us one of the best, if not the best, uh, nation for roads in 1956. June 29th of that year, President Dwight Eisenhower signed the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956. And that bill created a 41,000 mile, quote, national system of interstate and defense highways

that would eliminate unsafe roads, inefficient routes, traffic jams, and all of the other things that got in the way of speedy, safe, trans, continental travel. Now, the highways had a second darker purpose as well. Experts wrote that in case of atomic attack on our key cities, the road net would permit quick evacuation of target areas.

For all these reasons, 1956 law declared that the construction of an elaborate expressway system was essential to the national interest. President Franklin D. Roosevelt had tried to enact this bill into law back in 1941, but then material funding and manpower shortages created by US involvement in World War II delayed that project at that time. Today, thanks to this act, the US has over 47,600 miles of expressways. And over 273 million registered vehicles use these and other American roads. And back during the 70s, when roads likely started killing, it was a lot more common than now to see hitchhikers looking for a free ride or a relatively free ride across

all these roads. According to historian Jack Reed, author of Roadside Americans, the rise in fall of hitchhiking and a changing nation, hitchhiking was really common in the 1930s and 1940s. And then there was a bit of dip in the 1950s, big resurgence in the 60s and 70s. Jack says in the 30s and 40s, Hitchhiking was really associated with necessity. In the Depression, there were people out of work and trying to find opportunity. And not everyone owned an automobile at that time. So people would take to the road and search of opportunity and work. In the 1950s, Hitchhiking's popularity and acceptance waned a little bit. But then in the 60s and 70s, you had this whole generation of young people who kind of felt

confined by a sense of suburban comfort and wanted to explore, get a more authentic sense of what the world is about. And so you have young people hitchhiking for adventure. People reading on the road and wanting to get out and explore the world and meet a whole cross section of people that it wouldn't otherwise meet. Some people seeking this adventure found, you know, a lot of misadventure. Then starting the 80ss hitchhiking fell out of fashion again, partially due to the perception that it was a good way to get raped and murdered

by a serial killer. And sadly, that is, of course, exactly what happened to some of the characters in today's tale. But don't let the story make you think that truckers are, by and large, a group of rapier killers hunting hitchhikers. That is not true. They're not. Robert Ben Rhodes was by far the exception to the rule. I feel like truck truckers get culturally maligned a lot, at least here in the States, and I don't want to perpetuate some baseless stereotype of long haul truckers been especially pervian bloodthirsty group of people. Also, while I don't personally endorse or recommend hitchhiking, it doesn't seem to be statistically as dangerous, at least not now, as today's story might make

it seem. Let me lay out some stats here. From 1979 to 2009, there were 675 reported victims of sexual assault and murder along America's interstate highways. The FBI reports that over 500 of these crimes were murders. The interstate accommodates roughly 24% of the nation's road travel. If we assume these types of crime take equal place along both interstates and proportionally other highways, we get 2700 estimated victims of sexual assault and murder in 20 years.

Over that time period, the average annual population of the US was over 303 million, which equates to a 0.00800 nine percent chance of any random citizen being raped or killed then being left on the side of a random highway or interstate you have a point zero zero five percent chance of accidentally falling down and dying from your injuries so looking at it this way more likely just to randomly fall down and die than be murdered or raped by someone picking you up hitchhiking. Kind of. The stats I just shared were put together for an article in wanderly magazine.com, a very pro hitchhiking website, and they don't lay out a perfect comparison.

They can't. We don't have the stats for that. They can't lay out a perfect comparison because not everyone in the US hitchhikes, not even close. And there doesn't seem to be any stats regarding what percentage of the population hitchhikes, at least not that I can find. If we had that number and we were able to take that number into account, that number could spike the hitchhiking murder and rape rate, maybe considerably.

And within that number, we don't have what percentage of hitchhikers are women between the ages to say 14 and 25. The general age range of Rhodes victims, how many of them are raped and killed hitchhiking. Taking a further, how many female sex workers statistically, the favorite target of serial killers, how many of them are raped and killed Hitchhike. Taking it further, how many female sex workers statistically, the favorite target of serial killers, how many of them between the ages of 14 and 25 are killed Hitchhike. That percentage might be a lot higher than the percentage of people who just randomly fall down and die. Still, looking to gain at that total number of 675 rape and murder victims in 20 years

across America's freeways, doesn't seem to have been an epidemic during those years. And I just want to throw that out there because I don't want to perpetuate any, you know, irrational fear of hitchhiking or a rational fear of truckers that is not statistically justified. Last thing out of those 675 reported rapes and murders committed around US interstates, we don't know how many of the perpetrators were truckers as opposed to literally any other type of driver. Regardless of how dangerous hitchhiking actually is or was the perception of it being dangerous

changed around the time the truck stop killer started killing by the mid 70s, people's attitudes towards hitchhiking. We're changing as a number of hitchhikers did disappear. Their bodies were found, got a lot of press. According to then Los Angeles police chief Edward M. Davis in 1971, 22% of all of L.A.'s rapes and 4.7% of all of its robberies were related somehow to hitchhiking. Yikes, those are, those are pretty scary numbers. The California case of serial killer Ed Kemper, you're getting my samples rolled up mother, went a long way to making people afraid to hitchhike.

He'd be apprehended two years after chief Davis throughout those numbers. We sucked camper and he has cat heads on a stick back in episode 123. And once camper was released after spending a few years in cars graded for killing his grandparents as a teen, he quickly returned to killing and he primarily did target young female coeds who were hitchhiking around central California. And while he was killing at least seven unsolved homicides involving female hitchhikers also took place in Sonoma County in Santa Rosa of the North Bay area of California in 1972 and 1973.

And these were hitchhikers he didn't kill. Besticators floated the possibility that the Zodiac Killer Ted Bundy, maybe the hillside stranglers were responsible for these murders. So hitchhikers were dying. With the rise and subsequent publicity of these crimes, some of the first laws against hitchhiking against hitchhiking, excuse me, were passed in a national fear of hitchhiking then began. Local and federal law enforcement agencies began using scare tactics to get both drivers in hitchhikers to stop doing it. Agency's warned people to both not hitchhike and to not pick up hitchhikers.

A 1973 FBI poster, for instance, warned drivers that a hitcher might be a quote sex maniac or a vicious murderer. I love that they use the term sex maniac. Ed Kempah, the state of California has found you guilty of being a sex maniac, which is actually accurate. The FBI wrote the term into the caption at the bottom of one of their old posters. They wrote to the American motorist, don't pick up trouble. Is he a happy vacationer or an escaping criminal, a pleasant companion or a sex maniac, a friendly traveler or vicious murderer. In the gamble with hitchhikers, your safety and the lives of your loved ones are at stake.

Don't take the risk. A robert bin Rhodes, aka the truck stop killer, while not a hitchhiker himself was certainly both a sex maniac and a vicious murderer. He would retrofit his long haul truck into a mobile BDSM torture chamber. So let's look into the life and times of Robert Rhodes now. After laying out a little lay of the land and our road trip from Hill, Asseless Chaps Clad, time suck timeline, right after a word from today's sponsors.

Thank you for listening to our sponsors, Meet Sex. We are lucky and proud to have them. Now we hit the road on our sponsors, Meat Sex. We are lucky and proud to have them. Now we hit the road on our truck stop killer timeline. Shrap on those boots, soldier. We're marching down a time suck timeline. On November 22nd, 1945, just about six weeks after the end of World War II, Robert Ben

Rhodes, born in council bluffs Iowa to Ben Rhodes, 32, and Fey Rhodes, 31. And immediately, there were concerns that he might grow up to become a sex maniac. A sex maniac who would first become obsessed with the BDSM sexual lifestyle and then become a criminal sadist who kidnapped young women, turned them into unwilling sex slaves and murdered them. The doctor who delivered him noticed something unusual about baby Robert. He's not evil glint when it was baby eyes. Glint, he couldn't see it first because young Robert's eyes were completely covered up. He saw it after he unzipped Robert's baby getmask. Yes, dear Midsack. Robert Ben Rhodes was born wearing a black latex sensory deprivation gitmask. It was an unsettling sight to be sure, and it wasn't all he was wearing.

Robert was also born holding a little baby-sized leather whip in his right hand, little black riding crop, in his left, and leather-assless chaps and motorcycle boots. And his little baby penis was pierced, prince, Albert style, and connected to one of his little pierced baby nipples, with a stainless steel chain that wrapped around his umbilical cord. Most disturbing of all, immediately after being born, he tried to force his way back into his mother's uterus. He yelled his first sentence,

the pain stops when you say the safe word, and not a moment before slave. Yes, he had a deep scary voice as a baby. Obviously that didn't happen. Obviously this is also gonna be very weird, very dark episode. Ben Robert. Robert, Robert Ben, there we go.

Two, the first name in the middle name being both seem like first names, throw me sometimes. But Robert Ben was a seemingly normal baby born the natural way. Council Bluffs, Iowa. Not wearing any BDSM attire. Council loves an industrial city just across the Missouri River from Omaha, Nebraska. Been around in some form since the 1840s, officially in corporate in 1853 when less than 2,000 people lived there. Group quickly, by the 1930s, they

had grown into the nation's fifth largest rail center with over 40,000 people just across the river. Another roughly 215,000 people called Omaha home. That time it was a big metro area for America at the time. The railroads and proximity to over 30 million acres of farmland and Iowa alone helped council bluffs become a major center for grain storage. Other industries in the city that existed when Robert Ben Rhodes was born in 1945, included blue star foods, dwarfy cereal, Frito Lay, Georgie Porgy cereal, giant manufacturing, Kimball elevators, Mona motor oil, monarch, reliance batteries, Woodward's candy, world radio.

I tried so hard to find a vintage commercial for any one of those companies. No dice. You let me down internet. I wanted to hear me a sweet dwarfy serial jingle. Robert's father Ben was an officer in the US Army was stationed in West Germany at the time of his birth. He was the second of four siblings. Info on this guy's childhood very thin. I don't even know the names of his other siblings or their genders. He would tell future wives very little about his childhood. His family didn't seem to give any interviews about him after he was captured, even digging

into genealogy databases. Very little information exists about his parents. Both of them have long since died and you can find death locations, death dates, but you can't find any information about their children. Feels like that information was intentionally hidden and if that's the case, I can't blame the family for doing that. I wouldn't want anyone reaching out to me if I was Robert's brother or sister. Robert was raised at first exclusively by his mom in a two bedroom home at 2400 Avenue D and

council bluffs until his father was discharged. When Ben returned to council bluffs, everything seemed normal for the Rhodes family. It may not have actually been normal, probably not, based on what we're going to explore later, but things seem normal to others in the community. The family took trips to Colorado about which the council bluffs daily non-parell, it's local paper published accounts, including one about how young Robert wanted to operate a lawnmower riveting hard hitting council bluffs news, breaking story. Young boy would like to operate a lawnmower. Send us your thoughts. The daily non-parallel also published stories about Ben Rhodes daring workers a driver for the

council bus fire department. The daily non-parallel has been published in council bluffs continuously since 1857. Pretty cool. And just hoping that's how you pronounce it. Spent literally a half hour trying to find someone fucking anyone saying the name of that damn paper online. Nope. Even on the daily non-parals own tutorial video describing how to sign up and use their e-version of the paper. They somehow managed to never say the name of their own fucking business a single time. It's maddening. Uh, I'm saying the word non-paral like it's uh, or non-paral like it's supposed to be said. It means the in the context of the paper, uh, it a person or thing, having no equal according to dictionary.com. Not sure if that's how it's pronounced and counsel, but also because America, I realize

no one probably cares about all this, but you know, I just the longer I looked, I even watched a fucking super boring 10 minute tour of old buildings, downtown counsel, bluffs, they're no longer there. The more annoyed I got and I felt compelled to share on that. May 17, 1973, the non-parole publishes an article on Robert Stad Ben. It reports that Ben, 40 years old and 53, was a veteran firefighter. Ben talks quite a bit in the article about how folks in Omaha will pull over for a fire truck, but not folks and council.

Bless. He thinks it's because the Omaha police will give you a ticket more often for not pulling over, but the council bluffs law enforcement doesn't really take it seriously riveting hard hitting council bluffs news breaking story. Local firefighter feels like Omaha motorists pull over for fire trucks probably more often than council bluffs motorists. Senes just us.

Roberts father was apparently well liked in the council bluffs fire department gave to charity, played horse shoes. At Christmas time prepared a nice meal for the men at station two. Then after being injured while fighting a fire, Ben was promoted to captain and he appeared more often in the paper. One picture of him is of him smiling behind the wheel of a fire truck big right up. Ben's son, the future serial serial killer Robert actually made the cover of the non-Parella 1957, laughiness he attempted to get his pet dog to pull him on a sled. Riveting, hard-hitting council bluffs news, breaking story.

Local boy thinks it's funny to try and convince dog to pull him in sled. Send us your thoughts. School was pretty easy for young Robert. He was apparently a good student who was an engaged learner, involved in all sorts of extra corrected activities. While in grade school, we can only find one report of him getting into any sort of significant trouble. On May 13th, 1957, 11-year-old Robert was suspended from Mrs. Kennewick's fifth grade classroom

for walking into class wearing a leather body suit and zipper mouth muzzle. He had spreader bars, dungeon irons, hospital restraints, and other BDSM sex toys in his backpack. When other children saw his near naked body and some girl started screaming, Mrs. Kennewick demanded he run to the principal's office immediately, addressing him as Bobby. Legend had it. He stood his ground, demanding she address him as, Incubus, sexual demon of pain. Before being suspended for five days, young Robert was first paddled by the principal.

He was supposed to have been given 30 swats, but the principal stopped after just five strikes, when Bobby began screaming, is that all you've got? Give me that switch and incubus will show you how to hurt so good, slave. And of course, it never happened. He just gets so, so into BDSM later.

I like to pretend there were over-the-top warning signs in his childhood pointing towards where he was heading. After not getting into any trouble that we're aware of in grade school or junior high, Robert attended Thomas Jefferson High School and council bless where he played football, wrestled. There's also a member of the boys glee club, the choir, also excelled in his French classes as part of the French club. No fires, no abuse to animals, no abusive behavior towards people that we're aware of.

According to his peers, others who knew him interviewed later by local journalists. There weren't any indications that Robert was abused either. However, Robert would later tell a few people in his life that he was abused by his father. And while a lot of serial killers do seem to lie about that sort of thing to bolster their defenses in court, we'll soon learn that in Robert's case, good chance this was true. In addition to being a military veteran and distinguished and brave member of the local fire department, his dad Ben Rhodes was also a child molesting piece of shit. 1961, when Robert is 15, he has his first known running with a law.

In his sophomore year of high school, he's arrested for tampering with someone's car. He thought that he was trying to steal the vehicle, but was caught before he could actually start up the engine. A year later, at the age of 16, he's arrested again. This time for fighting in public, despite these two run-ins with the law, he continues to get decent grades. It feels like this was just a fist fight, nothing crazy. The spring in 1964, 18-year-old Robert is set to now graduate from Thomas Jefferson High School, and he will graduate. Immediately afterwards afterwards inspired by his father's military service, he was close to his dad, he will enlist in the Marine Corps where he will be sent to San Diego for basic training. But first, something terrible happens. On May 5th, 1964, the

Daily Non-Parelle reports that Ben Rhodes had been charged with sexually assaulting a 12-year-old girl. Some other accounts say this girl was Robert Cousin. This really is a breaking story, a bad one. Ben was immediately fired from the council bus fire department. Of course, he received a suspended sentence, was then placed on parole while he awaited trial. Then nine months later, a second girl comes forward. Perhaps another cousin, according to some sources, and now a municipal court judge issues a warrant for his arrest. Then while Robert is in San Diego with the, with the Marines, he gets more horrible news related to his dad.

On February 25th, 1966, shortly after his arrest, according to some sources, just two days after his arrest, while awaiting his trial, Ben Rhodes out on bail, kills himself with a gunshot to the head, while in council bluffs, Faremont Park. The arrest and death of his father, Deva State's Robert. According to those who knew him as personality change and he immediately lost interest in the Marine Corps. Fuck. Not good.

On the following year, 1967, possibly in early 1968, Roberts' change in attitude culminates in him being dishonorably discharged from the reins for participating in a robbery, and his downward spiral begins. In 1969, based on some interviews, he enrolls in a university. I'm not sure which one it appears he never said with the hopes to get in the college diploma, but his enthusiasm for learning wasn't there. He reportedly dropped out shortly after enrolling. Now he decides he'd like to become a police officer. Thankfully, not hired. Reminds me of one of the other serial killers we mentioned earlier, Ed Kemper.

He also wanted to become a police officer at one point. I had roads became an officer based on his later interest in abducting women on a highway. I have to think he would have undoubtedly used a squad car, his uniform and handcuffs for a lot of mayhem and horror. Roads was not hired. It seems due to his previous arrests and dishonable discharge from the Marines in the early 70s after his dad committed suicide before going on trial from a lessting to his cousins after

getting kicked out of the Marines and dropping out of college and not getting hired by law enforcement. Robert moves back home to live with his mom and council, Bluffs, Iowa and works a series of odd, menial jobs. So things are going really well for him right now. No, things are going horribly. Then things get worse. Excuse me.

His mom, Fay, throws him out of her house, following a highly embarrassing incident with her son. She said shortly after his arrest, during an interview that one night, while she was playing bridge at home with a few of her other girlfriends, a Robert walked out of his bedroom bedroom wearing nothing but a leather buckle harness attached to a choker and a cock ring.

He turned to his mom's coworker Trish and said, And give this demands you wear this and follow his every wish. Then Robert tossed her a leather neck corset harness with a stiffer gag and some wrist and ankle restraints. At this point, he said, submit yourself to the arm binders and dungeon irons in my bedroom. Second door down the hallway on the right, across from the guest path. I will enter shortly for suspension

and submission training slave, or maybe I'll take my time. Carve your safe word into the wall and prepare for sexual ascension. And then his mom was like, Robert Ben Rhodes, that is quite enough. What I tell you about taking that weird leather get up out of your bedroom?

That's it, get out of my house. And then before leaving, Robert turned to Tration said, endubous apologizes for his mother's disrespectful and a rupture. Would you feel worthy of the pleasure through pain that only endubous can bring you slay? I'll probably be staying to the downtown YMCA for a few days until I can find a new place.

JK, I'm a heck, having too much fun with this sick fuck before it becomes a serial color. Showing them bodyscares in the most inappropriate of places. Real life after moving back in with his mom in the early 70s, Robert meets a woman not named in any of our sources and turns his attention to starting a family. Shortly after returning home, he marries his first wife, really not any information on her, understandably kind of like with his siblings. Many of the women who were unfortunate enough to be involved with Robert have had their

names changed or have been admitted from records over the years. As we all we know about his first marriage is that the young couple moved back in with Bob's mom, had a son together, spent around four years as a married couple before they divorced, and then Bob's son does not come up in any information later. It doesn't seem that Bob had much of a relationship at all with his son. Don't have another kid's name. According to Council Bluff Records, 1973 was when Robert, who would eventually call himself Dusty, first became a truck driver at the age of 27 after working in supermarkets, warehouses,

restaurants, random retail stores the previous few years. While he now introduced himself to others as dusty roads, he begins to introduce himself to other truckers out on the open road via his self given CB handle of whips and chains. Clearly by 1973, Bob has become very interested in the sexual fetish world of BDSM. Before I briefly describe a bit about what BDSM life entails and how he may have found others who shared his sexual interests, quick note about dusty roads. Crazy coincidence, another man born just a month before Robert would become a popular professional wrestler wrestling under the name Dusty Rhodes. I used to watch him all the time as a kid. Dusty Rhodes, the

American dream. Not Dusty Bob Rhodes, the American nightmare. The wrestling Dusty Rhodes, the American Dream, not Dusty Bob Rhodes, the American Nightmare. The wrestling Dusty Rhodes would co-headline some big Madison Square Garden matches for Vince McMahon's worldwide wrestling federation, the WWF between 1977, 1994, and then go on to be a star in the early days of the WCM after that. Good thing for him, the truck stop killer didn't get caught around that time and that he didn't become more infamous. I think uh, Duster Rhodes, the American dream would have had to change his name, right? I mean, imagine a famous wrestler named like Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer when those guys are making front page news.

Super awkward to be Ted Bundy, the professional wrestler. This WrestleMania Ted Bundy will take no prisoners. Eek. All right. Now a bit about BDSM. Robert's whips and chains, CB Handa was a reference to his favorite activity. Bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism, BDSM. We did talk about this a little bit in the sex suck, it's been a while. So let me rehash some information, provide some new info. What is it?

UK sex relationships and bondage expert Annabelle Knight says that in some cases, BDSM doesn't have to involve sex at all. The mental connotations of some acts are more of a turn on than the particular actual sexual act, but it usually is about sex, usually about a specific type of sex,

a 50-shade to gray kind of sex. Tying up your sexual partner, role plane, that your partner is your sex slave, spanking them, putting a dog chain around their neck, making them crawl around on all fours, pony play, horse play, just a few examples of various kinds of BDSM theme backs. In a two personal BDSM sexual relationship,

one person is the DOM, or DOMINATE, or TOP. And the other is the sub or submissive or bottom. Robert seemed to have been primarily interested in being the dominant. Now, the DOM controls the roleplay. The DOM dishes out the spankings, bondage, clamping, whipping, et cetera. The DOM controls the behavior of the sub to whatever degree they decide on beforehand. Tie them up, decide when they get to speak, when they get to use the restroom, be untied, when they get to stand up instead of walking to use the restroom, be untied, when they get to stand up instead of walking around on all fours, etc.

For the DOM, the sexual fantasy is about power and control. For the sub, there's a sexual thrill found in release and submission. They don't know what the DOM is going to do to them next or win, what the DOM is going to allow them to do. For the sub-BDSM is also about true massacres and pleasure through pain and also sometimes humiliation. In a healthy BDSM relationship, this submissive and the dominant agree on a safe word before the games begin. When the sub says this safe word, the role plane stops and they can ask to be untied, be whipped with a bit less enthusiasm, be all

done with the role plane for the night, etc. All of this can be a lot of fun when everyone keeps a healthy perspective about it. When the DOM has concern for the subs well-being, when there is a true consent, when it's not all coming from an unhealthy psychological place, Bob doesn't approach this from a healthy place. Bob won't keep it safe and healthy for very long at all. We'll talk more about how all this shit can be taken way too far after the timeline. Bob got really, really into the world of BDSM in the early 70s. It soon became more than a fantasy or a hobby.

It became a true obsession. His identity became rooted in BDSM. And since it didn't say any of our sources, I started wondering, how did one even find a BDSM community in the 70s? I mean, today, it's super easy. There are numerous BDSM apps, such as kink-d, a sort of Tinder for Dom's and Subs, where you can swipe left and right to find a partner to meet. There's a Whiplier, an app where you can meet other BDSM fans and not only meet them and possibly get to your festivities with them, you can also just video chat with them through the app. There are loads of other BDSM apps.

There are tons of online BDSM communities as well, like FETLIFE.COM, which boasts over 9.3 million members worldwide. It describes itself as the social network for the BDSM fetish and kinky community, like Facebook, but run by Kingsters. FETLIFE users can post comments, pictures, videos on their profiles with very little censorship. There are many other online BDSM communities like the cage, fetish.com, tons of BDSM local

communities and clubs around the world you can find primarily through postings and these international online communities. But none of that stuff existed in the early 70s. So how did Robert find other BDSM lovers? Especially the straight BDSM culture he got into. Well, for five years, he only wore a leather gimp mask and kind of like studs and chains. And that's, I mean, that was his only attire

for probably a solid five years. He had his a cock ring and that's what, no, he didn't do that. No, he had to just work harder. He had to be more open about it when he was around other people. In the US in the early and mid 70s, the BDSM culture was very small. Primarily rooted in the gay male culture based mainly in San Francisco at the time.

The Leatherman's Handbook and Early Guide to BDSM Rules first published in 1972, written with gay men in mind. In 78, a to BDSM rules, first published in 1972, written with gay men in mind, in 78, a lesbian BDSM organization founded in San Francisco as well, Sam Waw, and the 70s Robert would have, would have to have, he would have had to have Jesus Christ, work a lot harder to find the straight BDSM subculture, probably heading to sex shops, and finding niche fetish magazines, short run bondage porn series in books with names like bondage world, the bondage zone,

bondage bordello, bondage photo treasures, bridled box of slave girls, rope, garters and gags, roped, trampled, hogtide, bondage behind bars, bound to please, these are all real names. And yes, I did do a lot of research. It was probably unnecessary. It is portion of the show. Hey, Lucifer.

Lindsey and I may have gotten some new bedroom ideas. You know, that we may or may or not have already tried out. But some of these photos, fucking hot. Betty Page type shit, big fan. Three publishers were responsible for basically all of these magazines in the early mid 70s and 80s. The biggest bifarbeen House of Milan, ran by fetish photographer Barbara Bear, and these House of Milan magazines are now collectibles. And based on some sales sites describing various issues, it seems they had a lot of personal ads in the back.

Right. Yeah, the pictures and then the personal ads in the back where you could pay to list your phone number, pay to list your mailing address, talk about what you were into so you could be contact by someone else into the same thing. Someone else into BDSM. That was one way. You could find other BDSM doms and subs in the 70s. Write them a letter, give them a call. Another way was to, you know, spend a lot of time in local bars, try and find these BDSM clubs, try and find the crowd that was into that in that community. You know, you had to try and find a meaty guy who knew a gal, who knew a group of people in the BDSM, that sort of thing. I find all this fascinating.

You had to put in a lot more work back then than now to be kinky. You couldn't just do everything at home on your keyboard, right? Browseon, discreetly, and incognito mode. You had to go to the porn shop in town, ask some questions. You had to see if they had BDSM magazines in stock. You had to maybe talk to the clerk, have them special ordered. It explored the bar scene in your town, city, trying to find someone who knew where the right scene was.

Also like Robert Ben Rhodes, maybe give yourself a CB handle of whips and chains, make it real fucking obvious what you're into. Constantly talk about BDSM, play the numbers game. Constantly advertise what you're into, not caring about how many prudish types may judge you. I guess it all, it all be worth it. If you made some new kink contacts and apparently this is what Bob did. He talked about this stuff all the time with a lot of people all around the country.

Back to Bob's life now. The information we have for this, you know, section of Bob's life is kind of all over the place. They'd true bit sketchy, but almost immediately after his first divorce, he marries his second wife. Don't have much info on her either. That marriage would fall apart quickly. We do know that though. Years later, he will meet his third wife, Deborah, when we actually do know something about, oh, when we learn quite a bit about Bob from, and we're going to get to Deborah's story in a minute, but first let's bounce back to 1975. Deborah will

meet him in the early 80s. Okay, so first around the 75 based on their interviews with him, years later, the FBI believes Dusty Bob began his serial rapist career and started to kill. Since his job kept him constant on the move across the whole of the country, and he was often approached by hitchhikers and sex workers, he felt he was able to explore his fantasies now and not have anyone back in council bluffs, find out about it. Bob's fantasies included a sex dungeon, so he builds one, a mobile one. He customizes a sleeper cab of his truck into a moving sexual torture chamber with dildos, hooks, whips, restraints, gags, surgical tools, and more. While he was driving around the country now likely raping, torturing and killing, he eventually meets and courts his future third wife, Deborah Davis.

Before she'd even met Dusty Bob, Deborah's life was already a bit tragic and challenging. Deborah was the youngest of six sisters in a working class family born in November 1957 in Tolo home, a Tennessee. Raised from the age of four in Houston, I was very quiet, very shy, real loner. Deborah later recalled about her childhood. I was sick quite a bit. Then at the age of only six, Deborah was molested by an 18 year old neighbor boy, although the boy and his family moved away a week later, Deborah's world did not grow any sunnier after that. Depression, a common consequence of sexual molestation became a burden. She was given to mood swings, feeling out of control is Deborah described it. Plus she had

bouts of low self-esteem and guilt. Whatever went wrong, Deborah tended to blame herself for it. She described as a pretty girl, petite, just four feet, nine inches tall. Deborah got pregnant at the age of 17 in 1975. Left home to marry the child's father, her high school sweetheart. Their first son was born later that year. A little brother came along in 1978, followed in 81 by Debra's third and last child, a daughter. In 1983, Debra suffering from depression made a serious attempt at suicide using pills. At same year, life of their husband Jimmy fell apart, too broke to divorce and set up separate households. Debra and Jimmy decided to go on sharing the same residence. That same year, 1903, 37 year old dusty Bob comes into poor

26 or 27 year old Deborah's life. She met him at a Houston nightclub. He was wearing an airline pilot's uniform, the two danced a few times at night. Rhodes reappeared a week later. The same club this time in Western wear. his fashion sense seemed to be oriented around the village people's YMCA era. Deborah liked his easy reassuring manner. The dance Samorra had a few drinks together, reported that she started calling him Bob in the way she might refer to an uncle. She had no idea she would fall in love with him to Deborah. The relationship was a welcome change of pace from her stressful living situation in

three young children. We talked all the time. She recalled later. he was my best friend, I told him everything. Bob however spoke very little of himself. He only told me what he wanted me to know and that was very limited, no details, you said. Probably because he was doing a bunch of evil shit out on the road. What was he going to tell her? You like Roller's Gaten and driving movies?

Cool. Me? I'm more into kidnapping hitchhikers and torturing them in the rolling fuck dungeon. I built for myself. Can I get you another drink? Bob did tell her he was a long haul truck driver. He told her about growing up in council bluffs, talked about his father's rest, death,

also hinted he may have been molested by his father's child. Gradually, Bob began to win Deborah's trust, gave her money, you know, bodder stuff, listened to her problems, sent her flowers, took her out to dinner. Still there remain just friends for a while, at least in Deborah's mind until one night when Bob called from the road, and he said, I gotta tell you something.

I really love you. And Deborah told him she loved him as well. And then he let out a little bit more of himself. His voice changed and he said, good slave. Now listen carefully to what incubus demands under your bed. You will find a black leather straight jacket, sensory deprivation hood, steel handcuffs, submission color, nipple clamps, mummification tape, ass up, doggie style strap, water based lube, large dildo drill, pussy pump, a clitoral vibrator and a small generator laid all out

carefully upon the bed. Remove your clothes. Put the hood on, handcuff yourself to the bed post, and await the sexual ascension. Only incubus can bring you slave." No, that didn't happen. She said she loved him as well. All box timing, apparently, was perfect. Debra was vulnerable.

When he returned to Houston, Bob took her out to a romantic dinner afterwards. Two of them slept together for the first time. According to Deborah, that night, they began a serious relationship, and that first time they slept together was, you know, just kind of more vanilla sex. I wasn't bringing out any toys. He'd won her over. She'd later say that she felt like she was the only thing that mattered to him. He did anything and everything she wanted, even going as far as welcoming her three children to live with him after moving to Houston himself. According to Deborah, they all got along fine. Life with Dusty Bob was great. At first, you knew that little caveat was coming, right? As soon as she learned the Bob was controlling,

very controlling. Of course, he was. It was a dumb. Soon when they would go out, she said she was like his paper doll. He dressed her with no regard for the fact that she liked to wear jeans and t-shirts, like to dress casual. He demanded she wear no regard for the fact that she liked to wear jeans and t-shirts Like to dress casual. He demanded she wear dresses garters laundry like bras and panties. No panties He told her what makeup to wear how to wear it then she met Bob the dumb for real just for a moment When they're out on a date one night in his car outside a dance club He suddenly slaps a handcuff onto her wrist The gesture is somewhat playful,

but it still freaks her out. She tells him she doesn't think it's funny, demands he take it off. He does, but he is far from done from trying to bring her into his fetish world. A little while later, when Saturday night in Houston, Bob took Deborah to a swingers club. She said she first assumed when he said swingers that he meant swingers in the country music dance style sense of the word And they're gonna go out for some swing dancing not even close Less docey doe and a lot more dixon holes Almost as soon as they got into the swingers club a woman slipped her hand up Deborah's leg when she realized What was going on and where the hell they were? She got angry?

Slap Bob told him they had to leave now Afterwards he berated her telling her how close, how naive and prudish she was. She's not into it. They have a big fight. He doesn't give up. He continues to work on her. He eventually gets her to go back to that club. And from there, gets her to go into the spouse swapping scene in Houston very briefly.

One night they went to a couple's house. And this would be the last night. She should be into the stuff. The husband is trying to get Deborah to go to the bedroom with her, Deborah decides she's not comfortable with this. So she goes to find Bob, finds him in the living room, trying to have sex with that man's unconscious wife, understandably freaks her out.

As it should have, what the fuck? Why was this lady unconscious? This is a creepy detail. Who let's random dudes fuck their unconscious wife? And who fucks unconscious women Oh, I remember a rapist Bob was a rapist a murdering rapist and this is all right up his alley Despite Deborah freaking out. She doesn't leave him and he keeps pushing her for her to be kinkier

Despite a lot of this bothering her to some degree She also felt like Bob had rescued her that he was her, you know, kinky But night and shining armor who was going to fix everything still and turn her life from a disaster into a fairy tale. She later said that she thought briefly that, you know, if she could just, you know, get her mind around having group sex with strangers, she could just get into it. She could keep dusty Bob happy in her life. Maybe she'd be okay with it.

She eventually agrees to, you know, try group sex. One Halloween night, she also agrees to attend a costume party as a dominatrix, leading Bob or collared sex slave on a chain. One of the pictures that most often shows up when you do an image search for Bob is a picture of him this night wearing this head-to-toe black leather and chains outfit. Funny that he dresses as a sex slave

when on the road he was a brutal dominant. The costume one first place in the costume contest that night and then something went horribly wrong between the two, something Debra never fully explains. Guessing they maybe had a night of hardcore BDSM sex that freaked her the fuck out. After that night she refuses any further sexual experimentation of any kind. No group sex, no BDSM outfits, nothing. She said she now understood the outfits weren't just costumes to him. She'd seen his elaborate case filled with toys from dildos to hooks to nipple clamps and more this

case he kept at home and and that wasn't you know, just wasn't what Debra was into at all. She wanted nothing more to do with any of it going forward. If you found that shit around the house, she told Bob, you know, she would throw it out. Dusty Bob, of course, not ready to say goodbye to the BDSM lifestyle he's so into. Bob wanted what Bob wanted. All whips and chains kept pushing kinky sexual shit on Deborah. And then one day when he's out on the road and odd looking stranger appears at the front door of where they're living, announces that he is a love slave that Bob had ordered for

Deborah. Thank you, Mr. Manz. I address and that you tie me to the toilet, stomped on my balls, piss on me, beat my ass bloody with a switch. I don't actually know what this dude said. Maybe he said showbiz, I would face his name and pin him about as my game. Now tie me up and slap my fat bottom bloody, you bimbo back at.

I don't know, but he did show up. Deborah didn't know what to do except to shut the door in this dude's face. I forgot to tell him there must be some kind of mistake. Probably the best thing she could have done in that moment. Maybe funnier though, if she would have told him, oh, you've got the wrong address. Debra lives two doors down.

She's going to tell you her name is something else though. Ha, all part of the game. In the mid-80s, Debra finds Bob's porn stash and she becomes further disturbed. Freaks are out. So much of it seems to involve violence. She frequently found magazines after this, quite possibly. Some of the ones I mentioned earlier, hidden around the house.

So many. She also discovers he ran up an enormous phone sex bill. Dude could not get enough. Dusty Bob, one horny motherfucker. And I hadn't thought about phone sex numbers for years. Tell this episode. Back in the 80s and 90s, 1,900 phone sex numbers were huge. You can still call phone sex numbers for years. Tell this episode. Back in the 80s and 90s, 1,900 phone sex numbers were huge.

You can still call phone sex numbers. You pay to talk to some phone sex operator. Back in the 80s, it'd be like five bucks, sometimes for like the first minute, $2 a minute after that, they were expensive. There were tons of phone sex operators, some lady with a sold tree voice, played this improv game of yes and going along

with whatever fantasy you were into. When I was a kid at a sleepover, we found my friends dad's porn stash. Found some pan houses, found one of these numbers, and my buddy's older brother called it and he was on the phone for, I don't know, 90 minutes. He got in so much fucking trouble. When his parents got a gigantic phone bill, I hadn't thought about that in a long time. When Deborah saw Dusty Bob's bill is becoming more and more clear to her that he's not just into kinky sex.

He's obsessed with it. Hiding shit around the house, running up the phone bill. Also thanks to the porn sheet found and some other clues, she's beginning to sense that Bob strongly is connecting sex to violence and pain, adding to her feeling about this. Somewhere in the middle of all of this, she starts to notice how fucking creepy and horny he gets when she's in physical pain. That has nothing to do with sex. This is so disturbing.

I've never heard about something like this before. When she got sick and had headaches, whatever, when she just wasn't feeling good, he would sometimes lie around with her and just watch her suffer and get super aroused. She gets diagnosed with lupus, ends up hospitalized, and it really fucking turns him on. This is so fucking ridiculous.

One time, he climbed into her hospital bed when she is an agony and tries to have sex with her. What the fuck? That was such a deal breaker for me. I just picture Deborah, you know, homesick with the flu, laying on the couch under a blanket, you know, homesick with the flu, laying on the couch under a blanket, you know, hair matted to her head with fever sweat, garbage can nearby for

puke, bottle of Tylenol at the side table, clammy skin, you know, moaning and pains. Oh, good. Then Bob walks into the room wearing assless chaps, you know, a harness set, holding a giant whip. Incubus demands release slave. He desires to use your flop sweat as his pain loop. You will be hogtight, and if your fever does not break you, Incubus will. You know, Debra's like, fuck off, Bob! Leave me alone, you creep.

And while still wearing that get up, he just walks out, you know, saggy shoulders, all fucking sad. Incubus will be in the bedroom, flogging and choking himself if you change your mind slave Deborah got even more freaked out when Bob wouldn't shut the fuck up about this book he got really into around this time She said Bob's favorite book was games people play where in each social encounter is treated as a Transaction or games the psychology book one game in the book is called courtroom another is called beat me daddy Another is frigid woman Daddy. Another is Frigid Woman. And that one, and that game, driven by penis envy, a woman's inner child taunts a man into seducing her so that

she can be freed from guilt for her own sadistic fantasies. Games, people play became a Bible of sorts for roads. You talked about it frequently, tried to apply its ideas, and let her to his wife on the subject of psychological games. once wrote I always told you there were three things you could do pass or play pass or run I bought games people play by Eric burn on Amazon to see what this thing is about first published in 1964 It sold over five million copies Despite not being written for the general public it was written for therapists to be used as a treatment guide as kind of Freudian Eric created this theory of transactional analysis and it's too complex to try and describe here

in any detail, but derailed the story too much. But essentially, he believed that we are defined by our social interactions. And our social actions are games, where we are always winning or losing to some degree. And winter lose, we're always getting some type of payoff from our games. We are also always unconsciously playing a role that was determined and defined largely

by parental interactions in our childhood and our genetic emotional makeup. And I don't know enough about it to speak any more about it. I do know though that if you're not a trained therapist, you can easily dangerously misinterpret some of its passages. I mean, check out the following passage that I'll read verbatim from chapter nine sexual games. White is the name for a random woman in this game, Black is the name for a random man, and this excerpt and says,

third degree, Rappo, is a vicious game which ends in murder, suicide, or the courtroom. Here, White leads Black into compromising physical contact and then claims that he has made a criminal assault or has done her irreparable damage. In his most cynical form, White may actually allow him to complete the sexual act so that she gets that enjoyment before confronting him. The confrontation may be immediate as in the illegitimate cry of rape or it may be long

delayed as in suicide or homicideimate cry of rape, or it may be long delayed, as in suicide, or homicide following a prolonged love affair. If she chooses to play it as a criminal assault, she may have no difficulty in finding mercenary or morbidly interested allies, such as the press, the police, counselors, and relatives. Sometimes, however, these outsiders may cynically turn on her so that she loses the initiative and becomes a tool in their games. I don't know what you all just heard, but to me, it sounded in parts there that, like, Byrne was writing about how some women like to be raped.

Right? When he says, like, in its most cynical form, white may actually allow him to complete the sexual act so that she gets that enjoyment before confronting him. Right? Is she actually, is this author actually promoting rape here? I doubt it. I doubt it. I don't think this book would be consistently well reviewed still today and that it would have been a New York Times best seller when it was released in the 60s if it actually promoted rape.

I think I'm missing a lot of the meaning here because I don't have a firm grasp about what transactional analysis really is. But I do think if you're not psychologically educated, and Dusty Bob was not psychologically educated, could you maybe use pastures like this to convince yourself that some women, maybe most are all women, like to be raped, and when they go to the police,

it's just some part of the game, right? Could thinking this help you justify and rationalize raping, I think so. Speculating a lot here admittedly, but I think so. Seems like a very dangerous book in the wrong hands. Back now to a bit more info about Bob is told by Deborah before moving further down the timeline. But first, one more sponsor.

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Just stick around, you'll get it eventually. On the last trip, Deborah ever took in Dusty Bob's truck, sometime in 1994, 1985, the two were heading west on I-10 and stopped somewhere in Arizona at a busy truck stop. Standing by the restaurant and door was a young one with a baby, hoping to get a ride with somebody. Deborah said she looked like she was about 18, 19, desperate.

Deborah wanted to give her money, do something to help her. Her sister had once been living out on the street. She knew more than most how hard that life could be, and she was overwhelmed with sadness. She didn't want to just walk away. Rhodes saw who Debra was looking at, came around behind her, grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her slowly towards the girl pointed and whispered into her ear. You see that, Debbie? She's one of the invisible people.

Deborah took this invisible description to mean that Dusty Bob thought this girl's life had no value, that she didn't matter. She began to think she was living with a monster, but she still had no real idea, just how truly evil Bob was. The FBI thinks he had kidnapped Rape and killed numerous women by this point, women he thought of as these invisible people. Not long after this encounter, Bob would pick up one of these invisible people to him, a 15 year old girl who would survive a ride with Dusty Bob and later share her story with GQ Magazine, was published in October of 2012. And here is that story.

15 year old Vanessa left home with her 21 year old boyfriend in January of 1985 She lived with her mom in New York enduring more frequent fights and more intense arguments She'd been kicked out of two schools for absences regularly self-harmed They were inexperienced both at life and traveling this pair at $60 that has smitten Weston five shot Which is one bullet in it which they accidentally fired off in a field, Maryland, during a discussion about whether the safety was on or not, leaving themselves with a gun and no bullets. Their first night out on the road, Vanessa and her boyfriend stayed in an abandoned barn in Maryland. They were back on the road before dawn, hitchhiking down a slippery highway covered in black ice, shivering in their hoodies.

A trucker picked them up a day break, They rode in a semi for the first time, I forget and dropped off, they hitchhiked, caught another right. And then they caught another, and another, and another. They continued riding one semi after another until Vanessa and her boyfriend ended up fighting parting ways after a big blood Arizona gas station

over 2300 miles from home. Now Vanessa's on her own. She climbs into yet another truck alone, still aimlessly bouncing around the country, unable to stay in a shelter, because she didn't have an ID. She just keeps hitchhiking. She stuck to trucks because she felt

they were safer than cars. She got out of a truck at a truck stop. People noticed, they talked about her on the CB. She felt like she was riding and moving billboards for whatever company the truck drove for. In the summer of 1905, six months after leaving home, she still hitchhiking. She's made it all the way back across the country now. She found herself sitting in a truck somewhere near Martin's Burgpins, Slovenia, was waiting

for the driver to pay for gas when she noticed a commotion. The body of a young woman had just been found in a truck stop dumpster. Small crowd, crowd gathered around the dumpster. And Vanessa suddenly wondered if her driver was the killer. As she's thinking this the driver jumps in the cab, swings up behind the wheel, pulls away, saying he doesn't want to get caught up in anything to time consuming.

Now she's terrified, but this driver turns out to be safe. Several days later, she's now head and south on I-95 through the Carolinas. When she gets picked up by I get another trucker. He's taller, leaner than most truckers. Doesn't wear jeans and a t-shirt. Just a cotton button down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly over his biceps. He had the cleanest cab she'd ever seen and over a half year out on the road.

He was friendly when he picked her up. But then once they got out on the road, his demeanor changed. He suddenly just stopped responding to her questions. Set up straight on his seat. His face changed from just stopped responding to her questions. Set up straight on his seat, his face changed from laid back to arrogant, cruel. He started talking about the dead girl she'd seen in the dumpster. Fuck! How terrifying would it be to be in the cab with this dude. He starts saying all kinds of creepy and disturbing shit. He asked for an essay. She'd ever heard of the Laughing Death Society. We laugh at death, he tells her that a few minutes later, he pulls the truck over onto the shoulder of the road

and kind of a quieter spot by some woods. Takes out a honey knife, tells her to get back into the cab. Vanessa's terrified. She's going to be another girl in a dumpster. She starts babbling, crying, saying the same things over and over. She said she knew he didn't want to do it, starts talking to him, pleading with him, says that this is all his choice, that she won't go to the cops. It's his choice. And he looks at her and he goes perfectly still and silent. And then after a tense, a bit of a few moments,

he says one word, run. And she does. Without looking back, she runs into the woods. She hides. She stays there until she sees the truck, pull out onto the interstate, around this time it's getting dark. Without any other option, she walks back to the interstate, starts hitchhiking south.

She never did go to the police, but years later, she saw a photo of dusty Bob Rhodes and identified him as the man with a knife that day. How lucky must she have felt to have escaped with her life. Also, why did he let her go? Bob would say after he was arrested years later that he let her go because a lot of his BDSM gear was at the cleaners. He found a special shop, a specializing like cleaning bondage gear and that day all he had in the truck was a pair of backup nipple clamps that he stopped using because the in between

breast chain was too long and he had a red silicon penis extender. His A plus top shelf good stuff was gone. The enemy nozzles, the glass butt plugs, the AP, the luxe race and ankle spreader combo kit, the spike breast binders, the neoprene full body strap, the ball stretcher with attached leash, all gone. He didn't say anything. And by the way, all the terms I've used today and all the BDSM fucking rants the silly nonsense, all of them real products.

Upper frugal, for real, why did he let her go? Did he feel a moment of actual human empathy? Did she do a good job of presenting herself as more than just some invisible victim? There's been a lot of speculation about this. There's been a bit of research done into the best way to escape from Assyrio Killer's clutches. Steven Harbort, a German criminologist

and former police commissioner conducted a study to find out what factors contribute to escaping from a serial killer. He looked at 155 German serial killers who were active between 1945 and 1995. He's paired with 50 years and who had committed a total of 674 crimes, counting both murders and assaults that did not result in murders. He spoke with 107 victims of various serial killer attacks based on his research, and this is not surprisingly not great news. Victims have only a 15.9% chance of surviving once a serial killer begins an assault or abducts them.

What factors play a role in escaping from a serial killer? Harbord found that 43% of the surviving victims escaped because the killer's attack did not result in fatal injuries. 36% escaped because they fought back physically, verbally or some combination of the two. 15% of the killers thought the victim was dead, or you know, 15% of these victims were in the killer, thought they were dead, and then left the crime scene.

8.4% escaped when the killer unintentionally gave them a chance to flee. Still, a lapse in judgment wasn't paying attention. $4.7% escaped because they outwitted the killer. And in some cases, you know, more than one of these factors were involved in their escape. So basically, young Vanessa got really, really lucky. A hardware also discovered that if a victim engages in self-defense, it almost never, ever works unless the self-defense attacks is significant.

He found that mild resistance literally never helped in the cases he studied. In 73.3% of the cases he studied, mild resistance had no effect on the killer, and in the other 26.7%, it led to greater violence and a continuation of the crime. Sadly in 82.4 percent significant resistance also led to making the killer more violent. But in 17.6% of the cases it did allow the victim to escape. So if you're gonna fight back, give that motherfucker everything you've got. Seriously, don't try to hurt him, don't overthink, just try to kill them, literally try to kill them. Think about this reminds me of movies where someone's being victimized and then they

smash their attacker and the head with some kind of heavy object, knocking them to the ground where their days semi-conscious and then the victim just like runs. Now fuck that. If they've just attacked you, your life is in danger and now you've severely stunned them and have immediate access to a weapon like a rock knife, pipe, chair, et cetera, whatever, bash their fucking head in. Smash them until you know they're either never getting up again or will not be getting up anytime soon.

You do have that right. In the United States, and I believe most other nations, a homicide can be considered justified if it is done to prevent a very serious crime such as rape, arm robbery, manslaughter, or murder, justifiable homicide. It's a real thing. Uh, like the used to tell me and crowd magas self-defense classes neutralize the threat and save your life.

Uh, back to our timeline. Not kidding about all that. And late 1986 still with no idea what dirty deeds dusty Bob has been committing that on the road. Debra decides that she's had enough. While he's on the road for a three month stretch, she tells him over the phone that she wants to break up and Bob responds by sending her an avalanche of love letters.

He could apparently be quite the charmer. It's true there are other things in my life, read one letter he sent from the road, but for the life of me, I can no longer find any value in them without your warmth, the nights are dark without your fire. I did not expect him to be that eloquent as worse. Bob sensing that he was losing Deborah came home, the two were married

on Valentine's Day, 1987 in Houston. And Bob's third wife stays married to him for two and a half years. As he got away with more rapes and likely murders on the road, he puts more pressure on her again to be kinkier. Deborah would later say his thing was control. It drove me nuts. Even when we had sex, his thing was control. It drove me nuts. Even when we had sex, he never lost control. He could drink all night and never get drunk. He never lost control. During their marriage, Bob spent a year away from truck driving

at one point recovering from bone graft surgery on his arm, which he'd broken in an industrial accident. And Debra remembered that after this surgery, he was groggy from anesthesia, but still collected enough to yank the IV tube from his arm. She had to sit next to him in the hospital, make sure he wouldn't do it again. The entire time he refused to take pain medicine,

because as Debra said, afraid of losing control. Damn, what happened to Dusty Bob when he was a kid? What did his firefight and molesting dad do to him? Uh, in October of 1989, Bob finally crosses the line with Debra. He demands that they have anal sex, and when she refuses, he rapes and beats her. Afterwards, she gets up, looks him in the eye and says, are you through?

He says, yeah, he goes into the living room. At this point, Deborah, who'd been sleeping with a baseball bat under a bed for a while, takes the bat, walks into the living room, and just smashes him in the arm, hope it was the one he'd broken. Then she says, now I'm through. She packed her bags, she left, slammed the door, and afterwards she could hear him breaking things in the house as she walked away. Sadly, Bob did not get in legal trouble

for the assault and rape. Debra believed she'd freed herself, but in some ways her journey with this fucking psychopath had only just begun. Also in 1989, a young woman escaped from Bob's truck and went to the police. She hadn't got off as easily as Vanessa from before. She described how she'd been held captive or pedally tortured and raped in a big rig sleeper. When Bob arrived

at the police station for questioning, he was calm and dismissive, telling the investigators that the woman was a prostitute. He called her a lot lizard, said she was clearly crazy, a lot lizard slang for a sex worker who pedals her wares at truck stops or other locations frequented by truckers, fearing for her safety, thinking the police would not trust the claims of a sex worker, the woman sadly recants her confession. So sad when that happens. I will say the meat to movement, the hashtag has done a lot of good in recent years and empowering women to believe their claims of rape and other sex crimes will be taken more

seriously. In December of 2019, some research that was published affirms this, roly, levy and martin Madison or matzin, doctoral candidates at Yale University, studied the effects of the movement across 24 countries. Their research supported by the Tobin Center for Economic Policy found that the me two movement increased overall reporting of sex crimes by 14% worldwide with about a 7% increase in the US. So hail Nimrod and hail Lucifina, whether or not this increase in reporting leads to a

significant increase in convictions still remains to be seen. Bob's first confirmed murders go down in January of 1990 right after his divorce from Deborah is finalized to hitchhik, 24 year old Candace Walsh and her new husband, 25 year old Douglas, Zyce. Zykowski are traveling together through Texas. They're headed to a religious workshop in Georgia. Bob picks them up immediately recognizes that Douglas is a threat.

So he shoots him, leaves his body in Sutton County, Texas. Bob then drags Candace into his sleeper cab, slash torture chamber, where she's tortured with a variety of BDSM type restraints, whips, dildos, fish hooks, et cetera, repeatedly raped over the course of a full fucking week. As his drive was coming to an end, Bob kills Candace, disposes of her body in Millard County, Utah.

That month, Douglas Scott, Zikowski's body is found in Texas, but investigators won't actually be able to identify the body as being his until 1992. February 5th, 1990 in Houston, Texas, young woman stands on the side of the road trying to flag down a ride. She's terrified. She has numerous bruises all over her body. A driver finally stops his car. He drives her to a payphone.

She contacts law enforcement. She's then taken to a police station. Tells investigators about all of the horrific things that have happened to her. She's 18 years old from California. She wanted to hitchhike across the country. Thought that truck drivers were probably her safest option. She was wrong.

She approached a man at a truck stop who introduced himself as dusty. Told her that he'd been driving through Arizona that night. He seemed nice, seemed harmless. She climbed into his cab, fell asleep. A couple hours later, she awoke to Dusty tying her up in the back of the cabin. Now unable to escape from heavy chain restraints. She has no choice but to endure being repeatedly cut and also beaten with a whip. She's raped. She endured six days of torture until they arrived in Houston. Dusty then took her into his apartment, tied her to a bed, continued

to assault her. He then cut her long hair down to near her scalp with a straight razor, not caring if he sliced into her scalp here and there, then brought her back to his truck. Titer up again, and this time failed to chain her up correctly, and then she waited for her chance to escape. The will to survive. She knew that, you know, you don't get held captive for six days and not get killed eventually. When Dusty Bob stops the vehicle to pick up a new load, she bolts out of the cabin, runs down the road, hails down a driver, manages to live to tell her story, makes it to the

police. Another woman escapes from the truck, stop killer, highly unusual, makes me wonder truly how high his victim count was too. At the police station, she gives the officers a good description of the truck. They begin to pull people over. They stop one vehicle. It seems to match her description exactly. It is.

It is Bob, but she panics and decides to tell them that it's not him and they let him go. They had him. They had him, but she froze hard to blame her. She was fucking terrified. I can't imagine exactly what that fucker put her through. She then tells the police that they should stop looking for her attacker because she doesn't want to file charges anymore.

She tells the police, I don't see any good and filing charges. It's just going to be my word against his. If there were any evidence, I would file, I would file charges and sue him. All she wants to do is go back home to California, try to forget any of this has happened. That same day Bob finds another pair of victims in Texas, like he was highly active. They wouldn't be as lucky as this unnamed near victim was February 5th 1990 Regina K Walters only 14 and her 18 year old boyfriend Ricky Lee Jones are hitchhiking in Pasadena, Texas. Regina sometimes stay with her father in Houston, sometimes with her mother in Pasadena. She and her new boyfriend Ricky decide they're going to run

away together. They relieve and are friendly looking trucker stops to give them a lift. Later that day, Regina's mother who works long hours at a department store comes home, surprised to find the house empty. Her daughter's not at any of the neighbor's houses. There's no note when she calls her ex-husband in Houston, he says he has no idea where Regina is. She hasn't heard, says he, he hasn't heard from her in days. Regina's mom calls Regina's friends who say they haven't seen her either, so she calls

the Pasadena Police Department reports her father missing. She says that they argued the night before she disappeared. There's a possibility. She may have run away from home, but she thinks that even if she did run away, Regina would still call and let her know she was okay. Because she hasn't done that yet, she starts to fear that something terrible has happened to her. Pasadena detectives Suzanne Jackson, a woman with a lot of experience finding juvenile runaways

is assigned to Regina's case. She advises Regina's mother to continue putting up posters around town, hoping that someone might have seen something or, you know, somebody new Regina's whereabouts. The poster's list of phone number, a reward for anyone who can provide useful information to the police, and soon a post, one of these posters leads to a tip. A caller tells police a saw Regina talking with two local boys, her boyfriend Ricky and another boy Billy. Then another caller gives them the address where he'd seen Regina two nights before her disappearance. Police are able to track down this Billy near the apartment, question him. He tells him that Ricky and Regina ran away together and intended to go to

Mexico where Ricky had family. The detectives then decide to enter Regina's description into the FBI's NCIC, the National Crime Information Center database, which distributes information about crimes or suspected crimes nationwide. They hope that Regina might be located by law enforcement in a different state. Meanwhile, the search continues. And Houston detectives speak with Regina's father who tells him that his phone rang in the night of March 17th. When he picked it up, the caller asked him if he was Regina's father who tells him that his phone rang in the night of March 17th When he picked it up the caller asked him if he was Regina's father. He said yes And then the person told him that he knew where Regina was that she was in a barn with her hair cut short and then the caller hung up

hung up after her dad asked if Regina was okay And you will soon realize how incredibly fucked up this call was Regina's dad's phone number was not listed in the phone book, was not on the missing posters, either. He's certain he's spoken with someone who's just on something terrible to his daughter. He's right. He just spoke with Dusty Bob. And here it about the strange phone call detective Jackson contacts the phone company, asked him to trace the location of the caller.

When the results come in, the detectives learn that the call came from a pay phone in NS Texas. Little over three hours drive up from Pasadena, just south of Arlington, north of Pasadena, they stake out the pay phone to see if the killer will return to use it, nothing. And then neither parent receives any more mysterious calls, and the case goes cold. As the weeks go by, with no sign of Regina becomes increasingly clear that something really bad has happened. Detective Jackson was almost positive. They will not find her alive now. Suspects, Ricki Lee Jones, the boyfriend of murdering her, but they can't find him either,

months past before the police finally catch a break in this case. A farmer living in Bonn County, Illinois, is getting ready to burn down his old farmhouse since the structure hadn't been used in years. He goes inside to make sure he won't be burning anything of value. He stumbles upon a human skeleton. Contacts to police who discovered that the skeleton had wire around its neck, a couple of tuffs, a short hair remained on the skull. There were no items of clothing in the barn. They couldn't find an ID. The body was so small, the investigators assumed the victim, the victim was a child. There's no missing persons at 50 age at the corpse in the area, so they deduce it had

probably been dumped. The barn is right off of I-70. The corner age at the corpse in the area. So they deduce it had probably been dumped The barn is right off of i70 the corner determines that the corpse is female Probably a teenager that her hair had been cut short or on the time of her death He discovered that the killer had wound the wire 16 times around her neck Nearly be heading her so much fucking anger in that attack Dusty Bob is a complete monster The lead detector from Illinois State Police enters the information into a database of missing persons,

sends a description of the unidentified victim to agencies responsible for recent missing persons cases. The info reaches the police station in Pasadena, Texas, police think they may have found Regina because of the odd detail about, you know, a barn from the phone call to her dead, Detective Jackson sends Regina's dental records to Illinois it's a match

the skeleton in the barn had indeed belong to Regina k walters though rickie had continued to be a primary suspect in Regina's death the discovery of her body changes the course of the investigation investigators know that whoever committed this crime knew what they were doing uh... they didn't feel that rickie simply simply had the right experience to execute a murder like this. And their profile of Regina's killer, the detective surmised that her murderer might have been a truck driver or some other kind of professional traveler. Also, Ricky Lee Jones still has not turned up anywhere. Investigators based on other evidence determined that Regina's killer is also a sexual sadist who enjoyed

torturing victims before killing them. April 1st, 1990. April Fool's Day, officer Mike Miller, who works for the Arizona Highway Patrol, is doing his usual routine on I-10 when he notices a parked truck. The truck's hazard lights are on, it's parked near a ramp, so Miller figures that the driver might be in trouble,

needs to move the truck as quickly as possible. Miller gets out of the car, knocks on the cabin door, much to his surprise, Dusty Bob jumps out, looking shocked, raising his hands in the air. This is a complete accident, right? He thinks that this truck driver just might need his help. He has not investigating a crime at this point, but now he hears a female voice coming from the back

of the truck's cabin. She sounds as if she's crying uncontrollably. Bob starts, you know, assuring him that everything's okay, but the woman continues to scream pleading for help. Miller takes Bob to his patrol car, puts him in handcuffs. He immediately calls for backup of what's going on, you know, what is what he thinks might be going on now. This truck is an active crime scene. Bob manages this fucking BDSM master to wiggle out of his restraints. He knows a thing or two about handcuffs. And then Miller is able to subdue him, restrain him again before returning to the truck to find the woman.

He's shocked by what he finds. A young woman bound with a horse bridal strap-tor neck, long chain attached to the bit, also handcuffed. Miller sees red whip marks all over her back. At the police station, the woman tells detectives that Bob put down a white towel before torturing and raping her. He bragged to her that he had been doing this for years and that he always got away with it.

What a piece of shit. A law enforcement from Casagrande, the nearest town arrives to check out the truck. When they climb into the cab, they find a full torture chamber. Chains, hooks, a briefcase filled with different medical type instruments, a camera. The briefcase is meticulously organized. Leisha's whips, neatly wrapped hand covers, or handcuffs, alligator clips, pins, fish hooks, a variety of other sex toys. For longtime suckers, this is like the toy box killer, Bobber Della, the Kansas City Butcher,

all over again. According to FBI Special Agent Bob Lee in his interview in 1996 with the Tucson Weekly, it was the most elaborate kid of its kind that he'd ever seen. Investigators felt confident that Robert Ben Dusty Rhodes happened at this for years. Dusty ol whips and chains is arrested for aggravated assault, sexual assault, and unlawful imprisonment. At the police station, he's calm and collected. He tells the police that the handcuffs and the ties, they were her idea.

She was a lot lizard. She's crazy. This is what he paid for, this is what she wanted, right, this tactic had worked for him before, but this time the victim does not back down. In her interview, she tells detectives that Bob had picked her up at a truck stop in her Phoenix, just a few hours before the highway patrol officer found her.

Thank God. She says she fell asleep while they were driving. Next thing she could remember, she was tied up and Bob was sexually assaulting her. She tried to defend herself by biting him when the investigators took a look at Bob, they did find a bite mark on his neck. Even with all this overwhelming evidence, sadly the woman had a history of mental illness and detectives did worry her story might not hold up in court.

State prosecutors are worried they can't make a solid case that will put Robert away for any length of time so they offer him a deal. If he'll plead guilty to assault, he'll be sentenced to six years but eligible for parole in just one. 41-year-old Rhodes accepts this deal. Think he's gonna be back out on the road, torturing, raping, killing the following year. He doesn't know at this point

that the Illinois State Police have asked the FBI for help in solving the Regina K. Walters murder. The agents had begun combing databases for similar cases and that one FBI agent was present in Houston when the bruised woman with chopped hair was interviewed after escaping from a truck driver. Police officers in Houston now hear about the Arizona case. Remember that they had pulled over a truck driver driver by the name of Robert Rhodes, but the girl had dropped the charges. So it's all kind of coming together finally now. Robert's description

the description of his truck match, of course, the girl story exactly from before. The crimes, the two women were describing incredibly similar, almost identical, revolving around bondage, torture, rape. At this point, Bob reaches out to Deborah, his ex-wife tells her, please do me a favor, go to my apartment in Houston, throw everything away. Luckily, law enforcement, one step ahead of them, they obtain a warrant to search as a department before she can do this, not that she wouldn't necessarily.

In his apartment, they discover numerous, quote unquote, torture devices, bondage equipment, including a big bondage rack. They find various women's panties, other articles of clothing, shoes, jewelry, incredibly violent pornography, notably a giant dildo. They discover a single handcuff and multiple towels drenched in blood. It's just like a horror movie scene. The apartment also reveals dozens of photographs

of two short-haired women and one set of photos of a young girl. It's Regina K. Walters. The photo show Regina nude chained inside Bob's truck cab, haired been cut, she'd been handcuffed. There was a choke chain around her neck, he'd shave Regina's pubic hair, pierced her clitoris with a fish hook, also with the ring,

which he attached to a chain. Another collection of photos taken outdoors, depicted Regina both dressed and undressed in a variety of poses. Her fingernails, toenails, he painted them bright red. She's wearing bright red lipstick. Her eyes are filled with fucking terror. And for good reason, the photos of her now

Are in the photos taken in the barn where her skeleton would be found later in the background In these pictures she was just moments away from being brutally killed These photos are online and fucking haunting I stumbled upon them accidentally because I was googling his name in this woman's photo kept There's girls photo kept popping up. Be careful. If you don't want to see him, don't Google his name. Authorities are not able to identify other women from the rest of the photos while the women in the photos certainly look like they are distressed, unclear who they are, or if

they had been consensual sexual partners. The FBI agent Houston contacts Arizona law enforcement confirms the pictures are of Regina. It's clear now, Dessie Bob had killed the 14 year old runaway. They also find a notebook in Dessie's apartment containing Regina's father's unlisted phone number. That mother fucker called her dad right after killing her. Investigators also find another set of photos before they're done tearing apart Bob's apartment that will later confirm that he had killed 24-year-old Candace Walsh, whose body was dumped in Utah over three months earlier in January.

How all those photos must haunt those investigators, those that are still around to this day. After finding all of this, the FBI continues to build an airtight case for three murders now against Robert Rhodes. Robert's employer provides FBI with Robert's truck log, which showed that he was in NS Texas the day the phone called to Regina's father was made. The FBI agents enter his information to ViCap. Their violent criminal apprehension program find over 50 missing people strongly matches movements during his active period.

They search as truck, find Regina's hair and fingerprints along with other physical evidence. Detectives in Bonn County, Illinois arrest Robert officially on kidnapping and murder charges. He maintains his innocence. As one might guess, when Deborah learns about Robert's crime, she's horrified. After hearing about Dusty Bob's crime, she quickly falls into a disastrous third marriage to him suicide for the second time. She can't stop thinking about how if she had just stayed with Bob, loved him better, maybe

Regina wouldn't be dead. She also felt that since she loved him and evil man, she must be evil too. She tortured herself. Eventually, Deborah would deal with her shame and begin regularly speaking out against spousal abuse to audiences in the Houston area. What she would do for years, and she would also counsel physically

and sexually abused women. So, hailed Deborah, March 31, 1991, Ricky Lee Jones' body is discovered in Lamar County, Mississippi, Regina's boyfriend. He pedumps near a river, his body was almost completely decomposed, a gunshot wound on his head gave authorities his cause of death. No physical evidence is found near the corpse of who the perpetrator might be.

While it's clear that Ricky was killed around the time of Regina's abduction, his remains will not be identified until 17 years later in 2008. September, September, 1993. Dusty Bob's trial begins after he's extradited from Arizona to Illinois, charged with first degree murder in the Regina K. Walter's case. The murder where there is the most evidence against him in the trial last for several months. 1994, 48 year old Robert Rhodes found guilty, first degree murder, sends to life in prison without parole. He is set to service sentence in the Menard Correctional Center in Chester, Illinois,

then in 2005, he's back in court after being extradited to Utah. All set to go on trial now for the murders of Candice Walsh, Douglas, Zikowski. However, their families decide not to go through with the case, drop the charges, but since their murders were determined to have actually been committed in Texas, Rhodes is now transported there, where he pleads guilty there to avoid the death penalty.

He receives another life sentence for these two additional murders. Rhodes now is serving his initial sentence in a Minard Correctional Center in Chester, Illinois, where he just had his 75th birthday on November 22nd. What if he's still in the BDSM? Uh, I hope he shares a cell with a real, like, real aggressive dumb. Someone who is super fucking horny and doesn't care one bit about his safe word. Let's get out of today's time suck timeline. Good job, soldier. You made it back. Barely. BANG! BANG!

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Before we kind of recap and wrap up with Bob, let's revisit like I mentioned earlier, Bob's obsession with BDSM. Can the world of BDSM be blamed in any way for what he did? No.

No, I don't think it can. But does the world of BDSM maybe draw, I don't know, more than its fair share of status? Who would love if they could get away with it to make the jump from fantasy, statistics, sex, to actual true sexual satism where there are no sayfords, no regard for the life and well-being of the submissive, helplessly tied up. I have to wonder if it does. Clearly, Robert Ben Rhodes was not your typical member of the BDSM community. I understand that clearly. He ignored some of the most basic tenets of true BDSM, like receiving enthusiastic consent

from your partner or partners. In a healthy, normal BDSM relationship, your submissive is not your victim. They are your partner, a consenting partner, with whom you communicate with and have made a coherent agreement with. Obviously, Dusty Bob took shit way too far with abductions, rapes, torture, and murder. What I wonder is, do others who don't take it nearly as far as Dusty Bob did,

also sometimes cross ethical lines? Like at what point does BDSM stop becoming the enjoyment of a little pain with your pleasure and start becoming like true abuse? Even if you do ask for it, even if someone asks you to abuse them, does asking to be victimized or to victimize someone else always make it okay?

This question's not a new one. Many people over the years have voiced concern over certain BDSM practices. Many others are quick to file these concerns under the category of kink shaming. We have talked about kink shaming here before on the suck. It's when you cite someone's sexual predilections as a reason that they're like a bad person or attempt to embarrass

someone for some consensual act that they like to do in bed. Kink shaming in a negative sense can be an attempt to rigidly and illogically try and hold someone else to your own subjective, comparatively, puritanical, you know, sexual morals. They can promote a belief that people who like something a little different than you do, something maybe a little more risqué or out there are dirty, dirty perverts, real sexual deviance. And this type of judgment can lead to feelings of guilt, shame, anxiety, depression,

and more in the person being judged. You know, this is not good. This is, you know, bad kink shaming. A slut shaming, which can definitely be considered a form of kink shaming, has been linked statistically to eating disorders, other body image issues, and increased risk of suicide, and women and teen girls. Obviously in that sense, kink shaming very negative, terrible. But in other situations, can kink shaming be good? The opposite stance of kink shaming is a sex positive stance, where you

believe that having various sexual pre-delictions is not inherently wrong, and that what you like to do privately in the bedroom as a consenting adult is entirely your own business. However, we meet sacks, left-to-our-own devices, do not always privately make the best, healthiest choices for ourselves doing. Let me throw out a little example to kind of illustrate what I'm trying to say here.

Like, would you try an intervene or at least express concern? If a friend of yours began to self-harm trying to say here. Like, would you try an intervene or at least express concern? If a friend of yours began to self-harm through say opioid abuse, I bet you would. Even if you wouldn't, I doubt you would object to someone else intervening, right? So what about this? Would you express concern

if a friend suddenly started showing up with black eyes? Busted lip, bruises, cuts in their arms, legs. What if they told you they just went to the ER again with anal Lacerations vaginal tearing maybe a ruptured testicle Then what if you found out they received these injuries through practice and consensual but exceptionally violent BDSM would you say something and if you did are you being a good friend or are you King Shaming? It's tricky, isn't it? I think it is.

I've always thought the party being a good human being is to intervene in situations you find unhealthy, you know, to see something, say something. We've talked about that before. How harmless are kinks that involve a strong power dynamic, such as satomasochism where the person playing the role of the DOM is bigger, stronger, perhaps more intellectually persuasive, manipulative than the person playing the role of the DOM is bigger, stronger, perhaps more intellectually persuasive, manipulative than the person playing the role of the sub. If they're engaged in violent, injurious, seemingly dangerous, degrading sex, extreme, rough BDSM, is that really value neutral?

Recent Guardian article discussed the way in which sex surveys, advice forums, social media feeds and women's magazines have together created the impression that rough BDSM sex simply the way young people have sex now, which has led to several men successfully employing a sex game gone wrong defense when they have choked their female sexual partners to death. This horrifying defense has been used numerous times when the alleged assaulter admits that he did cause injuries that did lead to women's death, but her death was not his fault because it was just part of a sex game. A sex game gone wrong. The murdered woman, of course, not there to say anything otherwise.

And when the man gets into the witness box and gives lurid, unchallengedable accounts of her addiction to violent sex and explains that the bruises that cover her body were what she wanted. So do you go free? Britain just recently introduced a bill to ban these sex games gone wrong defense in June of 2020. The changes result of tireless campaigning by a group called We Can't Consent to this. They collected 60 examples of women who were killed during so-called sex games gone wrong in the UK. 45% of these killings declaims that the women received their injuries

from a sex game gone wrong resulted in lighter sentences, in acquittal, or the death not actually being investigated at all When a man chokes his girlfriend to death and chokes it up as sex game gone wrong Are we supposed to sigh ask you know, who am I to kink shame and then just dust our hands? Uh or what about uh even more extreme sexual fetish like like a castration fetish This is a real thing Uh in August of 2019 a fetish site meet-up led to a man's castration in Florida. Police arrested Gary Van Rizwick, 74, at his home in Sebring.

He told officers he just performed a castration on a man because that's what the guy wanted. So, the guy asked for. Inside the home, they found a man bleeding profusely on a bed with a blood soaked towel covering his groin. Van Rizwick told cops he met the man through a castration fetish site on the dark web. The emasculator told the victim he'd perform the procedure before an animal's super fucked up. They can't consent to that shit. He said he even removed one of his own testicles. He was into it too.

He got charged with practicing medicine without a license, but should have been charged with more some type of assault. The man who consented to having one of his testicles cut off, was he having healthy sex? Does it really make me some kind of puritanical kinkshamer to question if it's healthy for someone to feel that they need to be really violent towards their partner or lose their dignity and some kind of ultra submissive role in order to come. I do realize dignity is subjective. I don't consider myself a kinkshamer.

I really don't. And as I said in the sex suck months ago, I like BDSM. Light BDSM, I think is fucking hot. I'm not against it. And if you like a more extreme version, I definitely don't jump to thinking you're some kind of monster or broken somehow. But if the act of truly hurting somebody,

like really hurting them is what gets you off. Or truly being hurt is what gets you off. Yeah, I'm gonna fucking worry about you. I saw some video getting tossed around as a joke of a sub tied up getting aggressively kicked in the balls by a female dumb. No fucking part of me sees this video and thinks, Alex healthy, what a fun, healthy relationship.

Instead, I just think like, I wonder how many times that guy's been to the ER. And wow, that woman clearly fucking hates that dude. Maybe men in general. Maybe I'm pure tanical in some ways. Maybe I'm a King Sham dude. Maybe men in general. Maybe I'm pure tanical in some ways. Maybe I'm a King Shamour. I don't know. A lot of stuff just reads dark as fuck to me,

as it is core, concerns me. Debra Dusty Bob Road's third wife, she was concerned about him. She thought what he was into was pretty dark. She King shamed him and I think she'd probably write to do that. Too bad it didn't lead to her discovering evidence of actual rape, torture, and murder earlier,

so it wasn't stopped. He'd crossed the line from, you know and murder earlier, so it wasn't stopped. He had crossed the line from, you know, kink to assault and worse. All right. Enough BDSM. Uh, if you're doing it, I hope you're doing it right. I hope you're having so much fun. Truly.

Hope you have an awesome, exciting sex. You only live once. Hail Luciferina. Let's wrap up on this fucking dirt bag now. We know that Robert Ben Rhodes was a monster. From 1975 to 1990, this ways to kinky space terrorized American truck stops, highways and interstates by definitely raping and killing two women, probably dozens of others, also killed at least one man that got in the way of his nefarious plans, probably many, many

more. He recognized it being a long haul truck driver allowed him the perfect cover. He knew he could stop someplace, abduct a woman, and be hours away before anyone knew she was gone. By then, it would just be him, his victim, the open road, and his mobile fucking sex dungeon. His truck logs placed him near 50, over 50, unsolved murders. Maybe he killed many, many more than that.

One law enforcement official interviewed by Arizona's Tucson Weekly estimated that roads had kidnapped, tortured, and killed as many as three women a month for years. That adds up to hundreds. Robert Ben Rhodes, the truck stop killer, is one of the main people responsible for hitchhiking and truck stops now having the reputation of being a dangerous place where violence is never far away. Or at least these places used to have this reputation, you know, years ago. Few bad apples can spoil the whole bunch. Dusty Bob, bad, bad apple. The majority of truckers

are decent meat sacks. The majority of truck stops are very safe. Yeah, most truckers are trying to make a living for themselves and their families, keeping food not just on their tables, but also on store shelves for the rest of us around the world. They're not all Robert Roads, not even close. That said, after reading about all these murders this past week, definitely not going hitchhiking. And it's time soon, not that I was thinking about it before.

All right, time now for today's Top 5 Takeaways. Time suck, top 5 Takeaway. Number one, Robert Ben Rhodes, a truck stop killer, definitely murdered three, suspected to have tortured, raped and killed more than 50 women between 1975 and 1990, based on data about his truck routes and information on women who went missing during those years. He prayed on hitchhikers and sex workers, people who even if they made it away from him as a, you know, a few lucky women did knew they weren't going to be believed or at least thought they weren't going to be believed, I should say by law enforcement.

Number two, BDSM can be a lot of fun. Just make sure everyone is truly consenting or it's just sadism or assault. And maybe don't let anyone kick you in the fucking nuts as hard as they can. And maybe don't do that to someone else. Number three, Deborah Rhodes thought Robert was her night in shining armor until he continually pressure her to engage in sex act she was very uncomfortable with. When he assaulted Rape Dure in October of 1989 for refusing to try anal sex, he hit him with a baseball bat, told him she was out. After he was caught, she was so distraught over once being married to a monster, she attempted

suicide. Being in love with a monster does not make you a monster. No one deserves to be treated like that. If you think that you or a loved one might be in an abusive relationship, I urge you to call the National Domestic Violence Hotline. [phone]. Please Google for that number in your own country, if you're not in the US, seek out resources in your community,

and not alone. Number four, Dusty Bob CB Handle was whips and chains. Is it King Shaming to think that maybe we should all keep these type of sexual preferences, you know, if they're a bit more extreme or risky, a little more private than that? Or should you know, people be able to go to Applebees and, you know, just hear something like, comes when he takes a hard, high heel to the tank, party of one, your table is ready.

Number five, something new, Rhodes first confirmed victim, Candace Walsh, full name Patricia Candace Walsh, was the former girlfriend of metal vocalist Wharyl Dane of the band Sanctuary and Nevermore. The third Nevermore album Dreaming Neon Black has a deep connection to the truck stop killer. Explores Dane's feelings about Patricia Walsh was released in 1999, 10 years after Patricia's death. According to Dane, the album is a very simple story about a man who slowly goes insane after losing a woman that he was very close to, progressive levels of insanity are expressed in the songs. He goes to phases of denial and self-blame, blame God,

then denouncing God. The story is based on his relationship with Patricia, with Candace, who, according to him, sees contact when she joined some type of religious cult, not too long before being murdered. And the band sanctuary, if you have never heard of them, was a Seattle thrash metal band that paved the way for later more popular Seattle metal bands like Allison Chains and SoundGuard.

Time suck, tough, five take away. The truck stop killer, Dusty Bob, all Whips and Chains has been sucked. What an epic pile of shit, which we knew more about him, but he doesn't seem to have given any interviews. Press, his family doesn't seem to have talked either. Most of the details come from his third wife, Deborah, and a few almost victims. Still, I do think we found enough to tell a tale that led to some interesting information about hitchhiking and BDSM and I hope you enjoyed this episode. Thank you to the Bad Magic Productions team for all the help in making TimeSuck, Queen of Bad Magic Lindsey Cummins, Reverend Dr. Joe Paisley, the script keeper, Zach Flannery, Sophie Fax source for Sevenths, Biddelixer, Logan Keithy, Art Warlock,

running BadMagicMarch.com and the socials. Thanks to all of those who have joined the Cult of the Curious Private Facebook group, closing on 24,000 members who make TimeSuck much more than a podcast. Thanks to Liz Hernandez and are all seen eyes running the cold to the curious Facebook page and thanks to beef steak and the mod squad run a buck wild on discord over 8,000 fucking maniacs over there. Thank you. I mean, that a good way sex maniacs, but the good guy and thanks to all of your all the spaces, there listeners playing Time suck trivia on the Time suck app, Bode 210 back in the lead now, 6,111 points ahead of the Raven Queen with 5,772 points. Good luck. This round will go for another week.

Thanks to everyone who is playing and now let's take a peek at next week's suck. What comes to mind when you think of the Dark Ages? Knights, Kings and Queens, gestures entertaining at feasts, roast pigs with apple stuff in their mouths, a scene straight out of game of thrones? Maybe you look twisted, maybe you think of the insane torture devices that sadistic meat sex developed to torture other meat sex? Do you think of witch burning, inquisitions, being hunted down by an angry mob of dirty peasants?

Next week these spaces are tough to creed that we're going back to the dark ages. Just what made these times so dark, the fall of Rome, the biggest empire in Europe and one of the most advanced civilizations in the world, led to the absence of classical knowledge and intellectual values from nearly all of Europe. Within a few hundred years, people who have been building aqueducts and inventing new forms of government and civic participation were now farming their own shit to fertilize their crops. Props that one sold would generate money they would not see. Under the feudal system most of that money would go to their nobles who would kick it

up to their king who would kick some of that over to the holy man with the fanciest hat to pope himself literally living in an unscapable pyramid scheme back then. Were the dark ages really that dark? While Europe was sitting in its own shit what what was going on the rest of the world? This is the era of Crusades, the black plague, the great famine, the hundred years war and the rise of a very up in your business, authoritarian style of European Christianity. But the dark ages were also the era of the Magna Carta, Charlemagne, great leaps forward in architecture, art, technology, philosophy, and at least in the Middle East, math and science. Turns out the dark ages weren't all dark for the, uh, for the world. All this

and more next week on another historical edition of the Suck, Long Live the Suck, and now let's head on over to this week's Time Sucker updates. Get your time, sucker updates! First up in any Oakley correction. Coming in from awesome Aussie sucker, Justin Walker. Justin writes, Hailbo Jangles, Glory to Lucifina, yes. Sorry to be a sad stickler for facts, but there are no tigers in Senegal or Africa. Sorry for the silly correction, but it gives me the chance to say greetings from down under love your work. Yep, yep, how's it going, mates and mistresses from Australia, Justin? Well, thank you, Justin. Don't be sorry for a factual correction. And the age of misinformation, I need help just like everybody else says. No, you're absolutely right.

There are no tigers living in the wild in Senegal or any other part of Africa. And I didn't I didn't think of that when I came across some information about Annie. If you forgot or missed last week's episode, Justin's referring to me saying that the king of Senegal wanted to buy Annie Oakley from Buffalo, Bill Cody's Wild West Show when it toured Europe to come and kill all the tigers plaguing his country. I look back into this and this incorrect detail, I guess in my defense somewhat, is listed in so many Oakley sources like most of them, it's listed on PBS.org, mental floss.com, truestmagazine.com, which is a great site for Wild West history, encyclopedia.com, in Annie Oakley feature in Ohio memory.ohiohistory.org in so many books, doing further digging.

I was able to find an excerpt Annie's husband, Frank Butler wrote in a journal in Paris 1890. And it was, uh, this is a picture of this excerpt was published or posted on the Annie Oakley Center Foundation's Facebook page. And he wrote that the King of Senegal proposed purchasing her for a hundred thousand francs and taking her home to quote, exterminate the wild beasts within his domain. And so somehow wild beasts became tigers. And then that detail got repeated incorrectly over and over and over and a bunch of other sources. So good, catch Justin, hail Nimrod wild beasts, not tigers. Now an update for Super Sack, Zander Noicki, it also could pertain to last week's suck. Zander writes, Hey, I absolutely love

your podcast. It has helped me is it has helped me through depression right now. Not writing this to tell you, you're helped me though. I'm here to help you real quick. I'm a quarter Native American and a quarter your favorite people to polish, but the Native part is what matters. In a past suck, you said Indians and since it was old, I left it alone, but in a recent suck, you said Native Indians, if I remember correctly, while this does not offend me for I haven't had to deal with the racism natives encounter.

For I look white, my ancestors and my father have and they hate being called Indian. I'm not upset. You have said Indians for it is what was taught in school in America, you know, is known for, you know, a racist past for the natives that do go through racism and poverty on reservations. Please refer to them as Native Americans. If you don't, the next time you're for them, I guess I'll just assume you haven't seen this and I won't hold it against you. For you do bring a smile on my face every day.

Long live, Bulljangles, long live you and your family, Mr. Sucker. And my last name is pronounced how it looks. No wiki. Zander, thank you for writing a man. This gives me the chance to explain my lingo choice because I haven't done that in a while. A long while back in the chief crazy horse suck, I looked into the proper nomenclature for referring to the collective body of various indigenous indigenous North American tribes. Unfortunately, there is not much agreement when it comes to Native American versus what

I ended up going with American Indian. Some tribal members and those descended from tribal members prefer Native American, hate American Indian, and then others prefer American Indian and hate Native American. I went with American Indian thanks to the feedback of earlier listeners and due to what I read on a few articles on the web. What I really try to do, and I'll try to do this more going forward, is refer to the specific tribe. I do know that it's much better to say,

so and so is Lakota or Comanche or Navajo or Inuit instead of either Native American or American Indian. Sometimes just description wise, you're referring to like the overall collective body, it's just kind of clunky to do that, but I'll work on it. I'll try and find a different way to describe things. I say I'll just let you know, I mean no offense.

I mean no offense with the terms in general on the show, even though I say I'll just let you know, I mean no offense. I mean no offense with the, you know, terms in general on the show, even though I say a lot of fucking crazy shit for soccer, shock value. Yeah, and trying to do my best. Thank you, Zander. Now let's hear from top shelf sack, Xavier Haskins. Xavier writes, hey, master sucker. Just wanted to reach out and stand a quick

and well deserved fuck you. For that George the Poodle storyline ran this week on the suck. I was praying for the end to that poor dog's misery and you put an end to it just as you revealed that you created it. My relief did not suppress my rage for justice and this email is my attempt to quench that thirst. So yeah, fuck you and thanks for sucking. Xavier.

I literally forgot. I said all that. My first Ranger email is Xavier. I hope you now feel healed from the mental trauma. Oh, make me, make you think that Frank Butler just over and over shot the fuck out of his beloved poodle. I still can't believe that he and Annie did shoot apples off that dog head like for years. I still think that's insane. Okay. A little shout out request now from a Cummins law victim, Jason Molenar.

Jason writes, Dan, you must have shared Moshmouth mother fucking minister of triple M. I got Cummins law to work today with your Annie Oakley suck. I was preparing food when all of a sudden you yelled, stupid, stupid immigrants. Needless to say, my face went be read in every single eye was on me as I scrambled to pause the episode. Everyone I work with has immigrated to Canada. I would really appreciate it if you give a shout out to my brother's Andrew and Luke, a lots of game and my buddy, okay, so referring to some game, I guess, and my buddy Dylan,

who got me into the suck. Sorry for the long email, not really. Happy to hear that your family's on the men from COVID. Yes, even your Polish wife Lindsay. Sincerely, your loyal spaces are in the frozen north, Jason Molinar. Thank you, Jason. I hope you were able to explain to your co-workers how I was being completely absurd when I said that and how I'm actually very pro immigrant.

And yes, shout out to Andrew and Luke. Congrats on whatever you did. It was good. I don't know. And thanks, Dylan, for bringing Jason to the fold. And thank you, Jason, for the recovery wishes. We're all doing much, much better. All doing pretty good right now. And good news about COVID in general, the first 6.4 million doses of Pfizer's new fast-tracked vaccine, apparently 95% effective and clinical

trials against COVID-19 may start being dispersed around the US in mid-Sember. If that happens, I'm sure it will be quickly followed up in Canada and around the world elsewhere. If it's not already simultaneously going to be distributed. The Hailnimmrod. And now let's leave with an introduction to yet another new conspiracy theory. Growing out there on the web, I thought this was a joke at first. It is real. I will let funny sucker James Needham induce your groans and irls.

James writes, forget Holocaust deniers. Forget those who don't believe we land on the moon. Wyoming deniers are the new kids in town. Hail, Nimrod and hello, Master Sucker. I just wanted to write it and suggest this mind-bogglingly, brainless conspiracy theory as one of your future topics. Apparently, there's a whole gaggle of geniuses that do not believe the entire state of Wyoming exists. Have you been there? No, have you met anyone from there? No, well, it must not be a thing then. Is that really all there is to their logic? Below is a link to an associated press story

to get you started. There's also an entire subreddit dedicated to this nonsense. Anyway, I'd love to hear your take on these folks. Seems like it might be right up your alley. Thanks for all you do. Love the show. It makes my hour commute each morning. Little more bearable. James need him.

James, thank you. And wow. First Australia is not real. And now this might let this one develop a little more before we decide if we're gonna suck it or not. Pretty funny. I have family in and around shared in Wyoming. So I'm pretty confident that Wyoming's real.

I've been there many times. My uncle who lives there is a huge conspiracy theorist and I wonder if he now questions his own existence. Yeah, I looked into this, around 25,000 people on Reddit, more people elsewhere seem to believe that Wyoming is not real. Maybe that's why I don't have a lot of listeners there.

Some are clearly joking, but of course, sadly, many others are clearly not. I did find a post on Reddit with the most popular reasons for Wyoming not being a real place. Some of these are jokes, some maybe not. One, it has a population supposedly smaller than Baltimore. No way it's real. Two, the national parks are just obstructions built by Teddy Roosevelt in 1908 to convince

people it's real. Okay? Three, Wyoming is really a government lie, just like the moon landings. Four, when Reagan killed all the birds in 1986, they were rebuilt in Wyoming. I hope that one's a joke. Five, the government is building the oil pipeline in North Dakota because Wyoming isn't real. If it was, the pipeline would be built there. Six Wyoming is also allegedly mostly roads. What else has mostly roads? Area 51. I don't even understand that one.

Seven, the government has the resources to produce images with Wyoming included in the states because they have connections to every major company. Okay? Eight is just a tool to build a sense of national unity and promote capitalism. My favorite is number four about the birds. I love that someone is stating the Wyoming is not real

because fake birds were built there. Well, if they were built there, wouldn't that mean it's a real place? They have to build things in a place. We live in a weird, weird world. Strange days right now. And I think strongly they're going to get a lot stranger before the pendulum swings back the other way, like it always seems to do. Thanks for the messages everyone. Hail Nimrod to you all.

Thanks, time suckers. I need a net. We all did. 11 out of 12 months of 2020. Those sucks are in the books now. December here we come. Now more bad magic productions, content coming the rest of the week. New Spooks with scared to death late Tuesday night, pure silliness with Is We Done Wednesday, noon, Pacific time. Please don't pick up any hitchhikers this week and torture and kill them. It's extremely not nice. Maybe if you do pick them up, just introduce them to a new podcast instead so you can both keep on sucking. 3 way sucker nipples and clip pump system. I wonder what size I should get for her.

Oh, it's on sale. That's nice. Okay, okay, 39.95, down from 55 bucks, 4.5 stars. I think I'll just add that to the cart with the nipple cylinders that are half off and the pussy pump accessory kit. What a great store.