Timesuck with Dan Cummins - 237 - The Pig Farmer Killer: Canada's Filthy Robert Pickton

Episode Date: March 29, 2021

Robert Pickton was born in 1949 just outside of Vancouver, CA, in Port Coquitlam, on a pig farm. His parents were Helen and Leonard Pickton, two insanely filthy human beings who couldn’t have cared less about clean clothes or a house that wasn’t full of animal shit or even about bathing their children, Robert, his sister Linda, and his brother, Dave. Robert would live on the family farm his entire life before going to prison for the murder of six women. Police had evidence that he killed at least another twenty, but it was unnecessary to also try him for those crimes. Pickton killed these women and then butchered their bodies, feeding some of their remains to his pigs, and possibly feeding some of their remains to local Vancouverites as well. Today's story is such a strange one. It involves the Hells Angels, a place called the Piggy Palace Good Times Society, and so, so, so much filth. Hope you enjoy getting dirty with this Suck. Thanks for helping Bad Magic Productions give $12,500 this month to the USC Shoah Foundation. Click the link to learn more: https://sfi.usc.edu/ Watch the Suck on YouTube: https://youtu.be/tuQb44fh0T8 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/problems: [e-mail] (copy and paste) 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.

Do you love the taste of bacon? A ham sandwich? Maybe a pork chop? You might not after today's episode. Might take you a second to get back into a good pork roof. Talk a lot about pork and pigs, and today's suck on Robert Pickton, the Pig Farmer Killer,

a Canadian Pig Farmer butcher and prolific serial killer. In so many ways, Robert's life was dark and disgusting long before he killed anyone. Robert was born to Helen and Leonard Pickton to insanely filthy pig farmers, who lived just outside a beautiful Vancouver in British Columbia, Canada. These two farmers couldn't have cared less about clean clothes or a house that wasn't full of animal shit

or even about really ever bathing their children. Robert and his brother Dave, will get bullied by their peers at school for literally reeking of the piss and shit and pig blood that covered their clothes and skin. And this appearance, not typical for the area. They weren't way out in the sticks. They weren't living 200 years ago. They lived in the absolute Vancouver suburb of Port Co. Quitlims, run by the families of doctors and hospital workers who worked at the nearby medical complex.

Robert and his family were total anomalies. Along with being disgusting, dirty people, his family weren't people with strong moral compasses either. Robert was in his teens. His younger brother smashed into a neighbor boy in a hit and run, and Mama would try and cover this up. And also possibly murder the teen her boy had run into. Many years later, when Robert and his brother inherited the family pig farm, it would become the setting of a series of super violent and nightmarish endings for dozens of women.

One woman, a former friend of Picton once walked in on him while he worked in his slaughterhouse. She saw him hacking away at some meat on his table and it was human meat. She looked up inside the dead body of a young woman naked and hanging from a meat hook, awaiting her turn to be skillfully sliced into pieces to be discarded and possibly sold to Van Couverites, who would then unknowingly eat her. Uh-huh. Big bacon fans in the Great Van Coover area may have unknowingly eaten people meet in the late 1990s,

and at the turn of the 21st century. This suck gets dark today and so strange. The true story of one of Canada's most notorious and weirdest and definitely dirtiest serial killer, Robert William Picton,ton right now on another true crime edition of Time Suck. Happy Monday, M, Saks. Welcome to the cult of the curious.

Last week I told you to be glad that you weren't a stainer. This week, maybe be even more glad that you're not a victim, or at least not directly related to Bobby Willie, picked in. I'm Dan Cummins, Wacket National Spokesperson, the master's soccer, neighborhood dad watch president, and you are listening to TimeSuck. Hail Nimrod Lucifina, Bojangos, and master sucker, neighborhood dad watch president, and you are listening to time suck.

Hail Nimrod Lucifina, Bojangles and triple M recording again in the suck dungeon out of Corteline Idaho. Letters been up and down, but that's better than down and down. I'll take it. I'll take some sunshine over no sunshine. Show announcement. Gonna be doing a live virtual show this April 22nd. It will be a live horror show.

If you're interested, scared to death live Thursday, April 22nd, 6 p.m. Pacific time. The virtual doors open for a 6 30 p.m. Pacific time showtime. This show will be interactive with your chance to participate in a live chat, polls, Q and a to end of the show all at loops.com. And just like a live show for your favorite band, we will also have limited edition scared to death live merch, which is awesome tickets available at badmagicmerch.com. Thursday, April 22nd, 6.30 p.m., excuse me, Pacific time, scared to death live. Visit badmagicmerch.com for more details.

We've also got stickers in the store today at badmagicmerch.com. Love some stickers. We got a, where was Dan's dad at? A stickers, some time sucks stickers, and some to hell with the devil stickers. To hell with the devil stickers. Yeah.

And that's it for announcements. Tour announcements coming soon, looking to be hitting the road for a new standup tour, starting in August. So excited about that, and excited for today's show. Now for another name to be hitting the road for a new standup tour, starting in August. So excited about that. And excited for today's show. Now for another name to add to the list of the universe's biggest dirt backs.

Kind of weird one today. Your longtime listener, you know that saying something. It's true crime time again with Robert Picton, aka the pick farmer killer, aka the butcher of Vancouver, aka Bobby Willie, aka Uncle Willie, right now. Not a Robert Picton. A man who, as we'll soon find out, is unintelligent, often quite literally covered in shit. How did he get away with killing dozens of women for years? He didn't have charm, he didn't have smarts,

he definitely didn't have good looks, he didn't have good social skills, he sure shit didn't smell good, he didn't wash his clothes very often, or his face, or his hair, or I'm guessing his butt and balls. I don't think oral hygiene was a big priority for picking either,

I guess his breath was pretty rough. Wouldn't guess this filthy son of a bitch brushed his teeth twice a day or once a day or once a week. Now he was making sure he was hitting the insides of the molars. I guess he's not even sure what floss is. I would bet my life. He's literally never touched a piece of floss.

He didn't see him while he was a free man and not in prison, like he made any effort whatsoever to not look like someone who had just been cast in the sequel to Deliverance. Or in some new, the Hills Have Eyes movie. Dude looked like a leather face from the Texas chain somemaskers long lost and even creepier little brother. It's fucked up as his crimes were, his real lives, his victims lives and deaths were, I'll be honest, I kept laughing while researching this guy because when you look at him, when

you read about certain aspects of his life, he doesn't feel like a real person. He feels like the like an over the top character in some B movie, you know, B horror grind house slasher flick. So again, how did this cartoonishly creepy son of a bitch? Someone who a director for a maid for TV melodrama would ask to tone it down regarding his portrayal of a serial killer ever get any women to come to his house or get in a vehicle with him. Money. Is that simple? He paid them or gave them drugs. Often both. He preyed on sex workers, working Vancouver's rough downtown east side. He often preyed on those struggling with drug addiction, women barely treading water in life before he came along. And then he was more than happy to try and push their heads under water.

At numerous points in today's story, you're going to think that I'm telling one of my tall tales that I'm about to say, Hey, hey, come on, it's fucking crazy. That's too much. And maybe I will once or twice, but so many times I won't. The story's insane. And it happened less than a seven hour drive from where I sit and record less than 450 miles away, less than 20 years ago. And I'd never heard of it, prior to it to showing up as a topic submission recently. Weird, creepy, dirtbag killers. I keep getting reminded that there is no shortage of them in the world. Came across about five other Northwest serial killers I had never heard of, watched the documentary on Picked In.

Other guys who are briefly suspects for the murders he committed. So how did this real life monster kill unimpeded for at least around five years, for perhaps a lot longer than that? Partially it seems because the Vancouver police didn't knock this particular investigation out of the park. Critics of the Vancouver police appointed to picked ins and murders as proof that law enforcement was biased against sex workers and often didn't do enough to prevent this vulnerable population from being harmed that they didn't do enough to investigate their

murders. And we'll look into that. We'll also look at how hard it is to keep track of a population that doesn't want to be tracked. A population that actively seeks to stay hidden in the shadows, right? It's very hard to have it both ways. It's tough to expect the police to leave you alone, ignore any illegal activities you may be engaged in, that you are frequently engaged in, but then also expect the same police to be monitoring any particularly bad people who may intend to do you harm. The police didn't know for certain that many of victims victims had been murdered, not

for many years. They just went missing, like a lot of women in Vancouver's downtown Eastside did and still do. And a lot of these women didn't go missing because they were killed. Some left the sex worker trade and went back to wherever they came from, you know, before they got into that, or they went to start a new life somewhere else, some left for Seattle, other cities to see how they would fare in this X-Trade there.

They didn't tell police, you know, that they were leaving town. They didn't notify their families. We covered a very similar situation in Anchorage, Alaska, instead of Vancouver in the Robert, the Butcher Baker Hansen suck, covered another similar situation in downtown Albuquerque, New Mexico, and the Shroomed and Doomed West Mesa Bone Collector suck.

It's almost like the world should definitely legalize prostitution to make it easier for sex workers to be protected. Make it easier for law enforcement to protect them. I can't resist pointing that out again. Be, you know, be a little easier, a lot of ways, if drugs and prostitution, other forms of vice, or legal, and then they're out there in the open or they can be monitored regulated a little bit better Another reason picked and got away with what he did for as long as he did was the family pig farm He lived in the perfect place for body disposal

He didn't have to go anywhere to dispose of his victims And he also had the perfect skill set to help get rid of the bodies He was a butcher by both trade and by temperament He knew how to cut up and get rid of a carcass. And that's what he did time and time again. Pickton's Emma was pretty straightforward. His wash, rent, and repeat was to find a woman who was desperate for money and destitute. Often someone addicted to drugs.

He'd pay her to have sex with them back at the pig farm. They often would have sex and then pickton would often kill her. Mostly via strangulation, it seems, then butcher her, process her body in the family slaughterhouse, then discard some of her remains at a pig waste facility nearby, and also maybe sell some of her meat mixed in with some pork to locals. Not kidding, how crazy is that?

He might have been feeding his victims to others in the area. He also maybe gave some of their meat to a cannibalistic biker gang, not sure about that one. It's a crazy conspiracy. We'll peek at at the end of today's episode. Other than that conspiracy, pretty straightforward suck today. We're the first kit familiar with Picton's former hunting grounds, Vancouver, Canada. Then we'll jump right into a wild and what the fuck filled big old timeline, starting

with Picton's birth in 1949, leading up to today since this shit covering pig butcher and serial killing creep is still alive. Now, allow me to introduce you to one of the prettiest cities in North America. Vancouver is the biggest city in Western Canada, significantly bigger than Calgary and Edmonton, and only be population-wise in Canada by Toronto and Montreal. The Vancouver metro area has over two and a half million people living in it today. About 650,000 living inside Vancouver city limits. Around two million lived in the metro area 20 years ago when PICTON was very active. Aligned just north of the US state of Washington, Vancouver is 140 miles north of Seattle.

Only 30 miles from the US border with Washington state. Little town of Blaine, Washington sits on the US side of the border there. Vancouver, such a scenic city, easily one of my favorite cities in North America. It sprung up around a natural harbor around 200 years ago. It is 1792 journal, Captain George Vancouver, a British officer of the Royal Navy who surveyed the area and for whom the place would later be named, wrote, to describe the beauties of this region will on some future occasion be a very grateful task to the pan of a skilled panadierist,

the serenity of the climate, the innumerable pleasing landscapes, and the abundant fertility that unassisted nature puts forth requires only to be enriched by the industry of man with villages, mansions, cottages, and other buildings. Panadierist, by the way, is someone who writes formal or elaborate praise. I'd never heard of a panageer before. I have a feeling Captain George possessed a much better vocabulary over two centuries

ago than I do today. Before white Canadians and Europeans arrived, several native tribes made their home where Vancouver was spring up, several tribes of coastal, salish peoples, a trading post, Fort Langley, we set up by the Hudson's Bay Company in 1827 at an advantageous site near the mouth of the Frazier River. But few Americans, Europeans would move there until the late 1850s. When thousands of miners from California flooded into the region to look for gold all around the Caribou Mountains to the Northeast.

Two weeks ago, we learned about gold prospectors flooding in the nearby Idaho in the 1860s, starting with the gold strike near Lewis, Idaho and late 1860. The Frazier Canyon gold rush brought white folk to British Columbia around the same time in 1858, followed by the Caribou gold rush of 1861. All kinds of northwest gold being mined in the late 1850s and early 1860s all kinds of, yeah, it's golden in them, not hills. The port of Vancouver was the perfect place to bring in goods for the settlers of the communities created around these early gold strikes.

And by the 1930s Vancouver was Canada's premier Pacific Coast port. Then with continued growth largely fed by a booming timber industry, after mining declined. By the 1950s Vancouver was Canada's main business hub for trade with Asia and the Pacific. Today Vancouver is a bustling, diverse cosmopolitan city over the past few decades has become a very popular filming location. Third biggest hub, here's some fun trivia. Third biggest hub for film in all of North America after Los Angeles

and Manhattan. So outside of New York and and Hollywood Vancouver, Canada is where the most things get filmed. Tomorrowland, two of the Percy Jackson movies, Juno, Fifty Shades of Grey, Fantastic Four, Irohbott, just a few big movies filmed in Vancouver in recent years. So many TV series have also been filmed there as well, Arby and Film There. The X-Files, Riverdale, the 100s, the Flash, once upon a time, so many others. It's a cool town. I loved wandering around Vancouver before and after shows.

I did there years ago. I seem to show up on a ton of top 10 best cities to live in kind of articles. It recently ranked as the sixth most livable city in the world in 2019, according to an annual report from the economist. Today Metropolitan Vancouver made up of 21 municipalities. And the city of Vancouver takes up just one of them. Today's butcher would live in another. The Picton family farm was just a 35-minute drive from Vancouver's downtown east side where Robert would hunt located in Port Coquitlam, part of the tri-stities

of Metropolitan Vancouver to the east and northeast of the city proper. The tri-stities area consists of Port Moody, Port Coquitlam, and Coquitlam. Port Coquitlam lies between the pit and Coquitlam rivers, between 1200 to 1500 people had settled in the area when the city of Port Coquitlam was incorporated on March 7, 1913, splitting off from the largely rural district of Coquitlam. Lively Kingsway Avenue, the town and center was lined back then with businesses and wooden sidewalks. The Canadian Pacific Railroad was its biggest employer.

A devastating fire on Kingsway 1920 shifted the downtown to the Shaunasi Street area where City Hall had been built in 1914. Growth was slowed by World War I and then the Great Depression. But by the end of the Second World War in 1945, with the completion of the low-heed highway in 1948, an influx of residents and businesses flowed in. Between 1941 and 1951, the population more than doubled. From 1539 to 3232, Robert Picton would be born in 1949. During this time, he's just really starting to grow from a little tiny town to, you know,

a little bit bigger town. And then by 1961, the population would more than double again to 8,111 and by 1988 grown to 27,000. Today according to Port Coquitlam's government website, Port Coquitlam has a population of around 61,000, a healthy base of businesses, new commercial and industrial areas, well-established neighborhoods and a strong sense of community spirit known as Poco Pride. Poco Pride. I ended up watching a bunch of Poco real estate and local tourism videos to try and figure

out some pronunciations. And it really is like a quaint, very scenic community. Seems very affluent, a lot of amenities, a lot of money looks to be in this area. I came across several homes for sale for over $10 million a piece. And not like gigantic estates on the edge of town,

like just like in the middle of town, like on a normal lot lot over $10 million. Very, very clean looking. And I remember that about Vancouver when I was there around a decade ago, just a, you know, a lot of civic pride it felt like. And this makes the story of the picked in so much stranger, the contrast between this family and the city around them. We'll get into this in the timeline.

You'll see how unbelievably filthy these people were. Super dirty people living in a very clean area. It's like they were just transplanted from a different time and place. It's like a weird fish out of water type movie. They were like quite literally the dirtiest family, the most hillbilly family in all of Canada. It's living in this nice like Vancouver suburb. Their farm could not have been more a typical of the area.

It's not like all of Vancouver outside of their farm though is some big paradise though. Like many big cities, Vancouver has had, still has, it's urban problems, one of them being drug addiction, like almost every city, if not every city. One Vancouver resident and journalist writing for the Washington Post in 2020 wrote an opinion piece that described his city's drug problem like this. Drugs are an inescapable part of this city's culture, with the horrors of abuse and addiction visible in every neighborhood.

Spending time in Vancouver means constantly encountering men and women in severe states of mental and physical decay, writhing, shaking, if not lying unconscious or actively shooting up. Needles and arm size rubber bands are common sites in the street. Vancouver's drug problem correlates tightly with its chronic homelessness, which affected a record 2,223 people in 2019.

And so, you know, there's there's there's there's some problems. I will say this writer seems to be a little dramatic, not to trivialize that number, but Los Angeles had 36,300 confirmed homeless cases in 2019 same year. And while the city of LA has over six times the population of Vancouver, it has over 16 times the amount of homelessness. So while Vancouver does have a lot of homelessness, I don't want to present some picture of a city in an advanced state of urban decay. That does not feel accurate. But there are problems. Most of the areas homeless seem to live around that downtown East Side area where picked and would hunt. Many of the sex workers, he hunted struggle with both drug addiction and homelessness.

And one study from 2005, Melissa Farley, Jacqueline Lynn, and Ann Cotton interviewed 100 sex workers in Vancouver and found that 86% reported current or past homelessness. Similarly, 82% of the subjects expressed that they needed treatment for drug or alcohol addictions. 82% of the sample population also reported a history of childhood sexual abuse by an average of four perpetrators, my God. Man, when someone sexually victimizes a young girl, they don't just break the bonds of their trust in the adults around them.

They don't just scar their sexual identity. They also greatly increase the odds that they'll be sexually victimized again later in life as an adult. They increase their risk of committing suicide as well later. They increase the odds that they'll encounter one victimized again later in life as an adult. They increased their risk of committing suicide as well later. They increased the odds that they'll encounter one of the world's Robert Pictons that will end up victimizing so many different ways. Now 72% of those sex workers surveyed reported childhood physical abuse. 90% had been physically assaulted during their time as sex workers and 78% had reported

being raped on the job. A stunning 95% said they wanted to leave sex work. Such sad stats. I actually don't judge someone morally for sex work about grown thank God and he culturally informed notions of slut shaming from my youth, Hailu Safina, but I do worry about sex workers.

I worry that many of them are not working in the sex trade because they want to on any level. I worry about risks they take regarding not only sexually transmitted diseases, but also physical injury and or death and psychological trauma from being physically and or sexually abused. These women were picked in victims, women who were struggling, struggling to find a safe place to sleep at night, women who had often been sexually abused as children, women who

struggled with drug addiction, women who very likely did not want to be doing what they were doing. The sex work that brought them to Picton. Now that we know a bit about Vancouver and who Robert Picton hunted there, let's jump into this week's super weird time suck timeline. Shrap on those boots, soldier. We're marching down a time suck timeline. down a time, some time line. On October 24th, 1949, Robert William Pickton is born to Leonard and Louise Pickton on their farm in Coquitlam, a homestead called the LF Pickton Ranch poultry and pigs. Going forward, let's call Robert Bobby Willey. Bobby Willey feels more like a fit name for this

deranged hillbilly fucked than Robert. Picked and family made their living by raising and butchering livestock in 1949. The address of their farm was 2426 pit river road later it would change to 2426 Cape Horn. This first property would not be Bobby Willey's murder farm, but it is where he'd grow up and become such a weirdo. Let's meet Bobby Willey's parents. His dad Leonard was born in England on July 19, 1896, three years later to Leonard and his parents would immigrate to Canada. Not a whole lot on papy pickedins early life. By the time he reached his 40s, people around him seemed to come to the general consensus that

he was lazy and unambitious and dirty and weird and creepy. And who the fuck is this guy? A Leonard seemed to be content living the bachelor life working on the farm. And one day his relatives were astonished when this dirty pig person announced that he was engaged not to a pig, but to a real live woman.

16 years younger than himself, he'd met her in a coffee shop. And after getting to know her a little bit through the research myself, I'm surprised they didn't meet on a pilot dirt. They were both digging for worms. worms, not to fish with, but to eat for themselves. This lady is maybe not a better catch than a pig.

Papa picked his bride to be. He was lovely, hell in the weeds. Heavy sarcasm on lovely. She was born in March, 2019, 12 in Calgary, Alberta, raised in a little town called Raymond's Creek, not far from Swift Currents to Sketchwan. Don't know much about her childhood either. I imagine she's probably raised by wild dogs,

or maybe by a band of bridge trolls or something. In short order, Helen would become Leonard's wife and the driving force of the Picton family. And what an odd and frankly disgusting family they would create. Helen and Leonard were known by many for not giving a single fuck about their appearances. And look, some of that can be good.

Too much vanity, I do think is almost a sad and gross is a total lack of vanity, almost. Outside of vanity though, it's just healthier to try on some level to be a little bit clean, to take care of yourself, just a tiny bit. Outside of being sad and pathetic, I think it just rude to the people around you. When you choose to let yourself smell like a human crock pot,

doing some horrific potion, made up mostly of yeast infections, pig blood, ball sweat, scabies, nihilism, despair, maybe some tuna casserole, and three years ago, it's been trapped ever since, and won your belly rolls. The people around you shouldn't have to worry

about a little bit of a last week's breakfast getting stuck on their face when you spit when you're talking to them. They shouldn't have to worry about picking up and antibiotic resistant rash when you bump into them. Or about passing out line, you know, behind you, thanks to the smell of your bio, mixed with pus that's been oozing for months out of a boil.

You don't care about treating anytime soon. A boil whose infection you can barely smell over the ancient and unwatched ship stains in your bridges. Many would describe Bobby Willey's parents as very stinky. This isn't just me just being a dick. They would describe them as looking haggard. I love that word. How do they like haggard?

Haggard and stinky. On top of being real relaxed when it came to personal hygiene, they were also missing most of their teeth and Helen didn't have much hair, at least on top of her head. That a lot on her face. That's quite an image I'm presenting here. Helen's chin was so hairy that neighborhood kids often spoke of her goatee. They would call it a goatee. They would make it.

It's not she wanted she thought it was cool to have one. She just didn't care. And a lot of the kids in the neighborhood would make fun of the picked and children for their mom having a beard. So he just and still not done. Helen's voice was apparently a persistently high screech. And she often yelled at her kids in a backwards, hillbilly dialect of English, the only language she spoke.

You can't get out of here now. Is it? It's crazy. Bawoo! You can't go out of here now. It's crazy stinky. The bearded lady yelled at them in a helium voice, described as stout and short with the round face.

Helen always apparently strangely wore a cotton house dress over a pair of men's jeans. And when it rains, she put on an old jacket of Leonard's and still not done. Former neighbors, never remembered seeing her in women's shoes or casual shoes. If she wasn't barefoot, she'd be wearing a pair of men's thick rubber gumboots in which she quote waddled like a duck. She was cartoonishly hillbilly. She reminds me of a much dirtier version of mock kettle. Have you ever heard of mock kettle?

Monpock kettle where popular film characters in the 1940s and 50s. A hillbilly couple with 15 kids who came into money. Basically, they were the Beverly Hillbilly's before that sitcom came out in the 1960s. She was like a West Craven or a Rob Zombie version of that. She was like the stereotypical mom. It shows up in a lot of horror movies where some group of young attractive college kids are on spring break or something, you know, and they ran a cabin way out in the woods,

and then they ended up coming across and accidentally pissing off some in-bred family of fucking mutant backwards locals, and then mom mutant, the matriarch decides, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, noshirt hanging over dirty blue jeans, black rubber boots, and a beat up hat. His hygiene was said to match his wife's. Now let's meet this power couple's young-ins. Lyndon David were round faced and short resembling their mother, Helen. Bobby Willie was taller, narrow faced with a long...

These descriptions are so ridiculous. With long pointed nose, he looked like his dad, Leonard and Bobby Willie are described in numerous sources as being rat-faced. I'm really not trying to be mean. Truly, this family just happens to be the most aggressively unattractive group of people we've ever covered on time, stuck by far. Like to the point that their photos seem to be photoshopped,

but it's not, but they're not. It's absurd. Linda, Robert's older sister was born in the 1948, the couple's first child, Bobby Willie followed in 1949. As a toddler, his family called him Robbie, later they called him Willie and now I call him Bobby Willie. And later we'll call him Uncle Willie. His brother David, a ride a year after he did in 1950, they kicked those three out quick.

Man, Helen's go T, getting Leonard all kinds of worked up. Bobby Willie's birth was reportedly a difficult one. He was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Too bad it didn't choke him out forever. His family would wonder later if that cord misapp did cause some kind of brain damage. If it did cause brain damage and it likely dead, it was not a real sharp dude. It didn't affect his memory. Many people described his ability to recollect things as remarkable. His memory apparently was the only part of his intellect anyone ever found remarkable. One of Bobby Willey's, this just gets crazier,

like so, so hail Billy. One of Bobby Willey's earliest memories is from age two when he was living in a converted chicken coop. Sounds like a great place for a toddler's room, a chicken coop. And it apparently hadn't been very converted. Bobby Willey would have to lift a floor board under his bed to get cold water from a spring that ran below the coop. That was the only running water that they had for several years. My God, he's living

in a fucking chicken coop with his crazy parents. They're all so filthy. He has to lift up a loose floor board to scoop up what I imagine has to be extremely dirty spring water. This underneath a chicken coop. How much chicken shit did this kid drink grown up? I did some of the research for this in a local coffee shop because things have opened up here quite a bit. I was laughing and cursing by myself so much going over all this.

I look at maniac sitting in my desk. It's so over the top. Well Bobby Willie was three. He crashed his father's truck loaded with pigs and two of three. And I didn't make it that age. He did this, apparently, when he was three. I'm guessing he wasn't supposed to be driving at the age of three, but who knows with these dirty backwoods lunatics. I imagine him forced to drive the pig truck at the age of three, sitting on some phone books, sticks taped to his legs so he could work the pedals, mom picked in, shrieking at him.

Bob a winner! Bob a winner get a picket to the markable winner! Get the picket to the pin of the markable winner! I got no time for a lazy three-hole can't drive Bob a winner! I got no time for that Bob a winner! Years later, 1991, Picked and described this incident in detail to a pen pal named Victoria. I love this as a pen pal. He didn't write his pen

pal's letters. He's supposed he wasn't very literate. He would record his voice on tape and send it. And the message he sent, he said, I turn around and the truck started rolling and the pigs all started jumping off. My dad's run on behind the pigs trying to holler to start the truck. I didn't know what to do. So I smashed it into the telephone pole, told her to truck ride out. Uh, shows hell got beaten out of me, but that's what happens. That's what happens, you guys. You take Pappy's pig truck,

when you're three, and you crash it, and you get your ass beat. That's just life. That's life. Life at the Picking Farm, which primitive and rough. Chickens, ducks, dogs, even the cows, and pigs had free range of the house,

which of course made it even dirtier. But the fuck, these animals are just pissing and shit and all over the place. I outcleamed up the indoor cow and pig shit with a top-picked-in-family priority. Bubble-wale! Bubble-wale, get the pig's pig shit off the floor, eh? Get the cows shit, get off the sofa, bubble-wale!

We got this company! Get mama's go-tie, bro! Get mama's bubble-wale! Get my house boots! Get mama's house boots. Give my house boots. Uh, their home was so dirty, neighborhood, neighbors often wondered how humans could possibly live there. Poor hygiene would be something to pick to boys.

We continue to practice throughout their lives. This heavily affected their social lives. How could it not? The picked and kids were frequently bullied by their classmates for being gross as fuck. And I'm not saying it's right for them to be picked down, but of course they're bullied. Mon pop picked in, we're raising bully magnets.

The kids only got baths about once a week. Their clothes were really washed. They carried with them to school the odors of the farm, urine, shit, blood. Like their stories about them just showed up to school like literally they got pig blood on. Their response and pigs shit, like on them, like not on their bottom, they're shoe,

like just on their shirts. Their responsibilities put them in direct contact with all this waste before and after school did a slap about 200 pigs clean out their pens. They also cleaned up after eight cows cows, the family milk by hand. They didn't clean up much after all this or or at all they wash her clothes apparently for weeks or months on end. To no one's surprise, these kids didn't have many friends and they were called super clever nicknames by their classmates like stinky piggy

Their dad Leonard pop a papy picked him was actually known in the community primarily as piggy like more people knew this guy is piggy picked in Then knew him as Leonard And he didn't seem to mind these people are cartoons People calling Leonard piggy reminds me of a second and third cousin I had. He's passed away. His real name was Mike. I didn't know him that well. He's quite a bit older than me. He's 30, 40 years older than me. And people around town just knew him as Wimp. People around Rick and Zydo. Like literally people would be like, Hey, Wimp. And he wouldn't even seem insulted. He responded as if they said Mike. And to make this even more sad,

he was called Wimp because he got him beaten up several times since the bar fights down town. For, for Wimp, I feel, I feel more sorry for him than Piggy. Wimp tried to fight and got beat up. Piggy just didn't put in the effort until not being stinky. Most of the young Bobby Willey and his siblings close were homemade or hand-be-downs except once when he got, when he's about five. Mama brought him a crisp new outfit, gave it to him for Christmas. The stiff clothes were heavily starched,

and apparently he hated them. He hated new clean clothes. He complained to his mother, it hurts me, it hurts me. And he tore off his clean clothes and he ran away buck naked. That's one of the family stories. These people were more animal than human. Obviously, I know humans are animals,

but they were more pigmented human. Linda was the most normal of the pigdened children, this poor kid. She had a social life out of the children, only Linda would attend Sunday school, do things really kind of outside the farm with other kids. Some of the time, Linda lived with relatives in Vancouver, couple sources say,

this is because Linda didn't think the pig farm was a proper place for a young girl. Doesn't sound like his pig farm was a proper place for kids in general or for humans. Sometimes Helen brought her daughter Linda or bought her party dresses and courage her to go out with other kids, but that would not be the case for Robert and Davey. Now for Bobby Willie, the picked and boys were supposed to stay home and work. No time to wash your faces.

Those sloppeless pigs, they worked hard. Their mother supervised yelling commands, her distinctive screech, following them wherever they went around the farm. Their commander was a tough anti-social penny-pinching, very dirty woman who wouldn't hesitate to put her sons in their place. And by the way, neither friends, let's get the tickets and souls of cut it, get the cows and need the milk and such. Come on, Bob, we're in it. Come scrub some blood in the piss off the shell from Bob's back and feed when you're done.

Is it time or yet? To say the pickedins stood out in the neighborhood would be the understatement of the century. Their neighborhood outside of them full of doctors. During Bobby Willie's youth, the area known as Dawes Hill, not far from the farm grew into a hospital complex. As the hospital complex grew to accommodate over 4,600 patients, nice homes on the hill overlooking the farming areas were built for doctors and their families.

The kids of the Pictons children rode to school with where largely the nicely dressed, well-mannered kids of doctors and hospital staff. These poor fucking victim kids. Later on when Bobby Willis-Crims came to light, they remembered being cruel to the victim kids. We were all terrible to the victims,

especially to Roberts, that a doctor's daughter, making the victim boys even bigger, bully magnets than you might already imagine to be, was their speech problems David talked too fast. I get it. His high pitched squeal of a voice could not pronounce his Rs and apparently he sounded according to numerous people like Elmer But the more worked up he'd get about something the more incomprehensible he'd become Jesus Christ Robert didn't talk much at all when he did he babbled and a high pitched fast voice. I am not making up these absurd details. These kids might have well as had, you know, kick me signs permanently tattooed on their backs and just went to school. It's shirtless. Adding to all of this,

Bobby will be not a great student. 1955, he entered grade one at Millside Elementary, according to standardized test results. His intelligence was low by the following year. He had improved a bit, but his teachers would still decide to have him repeat grade two and grade three Teachers would identify him as learning impaired and he was given quotes special lessons It was probably the first personalized education experience he got mom pa not care much for formal education Robert remained in special education for the remainder of his time at school even after transferring to a different public school Mary Hill Elementary and Portca Quitlam Then early on in their grade school career,

as the Picton boys started breaking out of school more and more often, they'd run back home and hide under the beds, not to emerge until the time school had out. So their parents wouldn't suspect them of skipping. So I guess their parents cared about school at least a little bit or just wanted them out of the house or out of the chicken coop. Hide in that chicken coop, getting some of that fresh spring puddle water from under the floor.

What a life! Spending less time at school, when Bobby Willie was further alienated from his peers, he had no friends, neither the boys played much with other kids, both boys spent more time with the farm's pigs than they did with other humans. When they weren't slapping those pigs, the picked and boy power duo would fuck around in the woods

on the farm. They'd fish on Frazier Creek, or Sam and would swim up and spawn. That part sounds pretty sweet. I guess their life wasn't a complete shit show. While Mom and Pa picked him clearly weren't exactly model parents, they did care for their children. Mom had a sweet spot, especially for Bobby Willie. Robert, he just adored Mom. His sister Linda later told the van Coover son in 2002. He and Mom were so close. Robert was never close to dead. Robert was kind of a mama's

boy, which is surprising based on what I'm going to reveal next. At the age of 11 or 12 in 1960, Robert would use his life savings to total of $35 to purchase a three-week old black and white calf. And he loved this calf. It was his only friend. It was as really pretty as the day is long, he would later describe to a pen pal. Robert took charge for Karen of Karen it, feeding it, making sure it was his pen, you know, was nicely cleaned, probably cleaner than the chicken coop he was in. And he looked forward to coming home in the afternoon to look after his friend. Then one day his friend wasn't in his pen when he came home from school.

Can you guess where this is going? Pa told him to go look in the barn. So Robert raised off bursted the barn doors and this is what he would later say. He saw, and here I seen a calf hanging upside down there. They butchered my calf on me. Oh boy, I was mad. I couldn't talk to anybody for three or four days.

I locked everybody out of my own mind. I didn't want to talk to anybody. Pa tried to make things right by giving him 20, sorry, sorry, not Pa. Ma. Ma tried to make things right by giving him $20 more than he paid for it, but he remained upset. He a tele-friend later, like my mother says, that was a good dollar for the calf. You can go buy another. And I says, no, I was going to keep the calf for the rest of my life. And now it's gone. That really upset me, but that happens. That's life. I mean, we're only here for so long. And time is over. Your time is over. Fuck. That's life, everybody.

Sometimes you get a pet and you love it. More than you've ever loved another creature and you come home and you find it dead and skinned, hanging in the barn and your parents did that. That's how the shit cookie crumbles. That's how the murder milk is spilt. That's what happens when one bird is in the hand and two are in the bush and some other birds are

fucking up your ass and another bird's pecking on the carcass of your best friend. That's the way I have the fucking road. Sometimes it rains, sometimes you get punched in your fucking face, eh? This reminds me of a story from Henry Lee Lucas' childhood, one of the confession killers. We covered back in suck 156, right?

Steph Cox-Gurvy, our bizarro serial killer childhood obsessed Jef Foxx, where the parody first showed up in that episode when Henry, who also knew a thing or two about sleeping in a chicken coop as a kid, was given an old mule by a neighbor. He loved that mule, then his mama shot it in the face in front of him. These people's childhoods. If you spent your toddler years in a chicken coop, drinking water from underneath the loose floorboard, and your folks smelled like a pair of walking, barely talking turds.

And then your mom killed and butchered your best cow friend. You're not being killed. Uh, no one will bother you willing to be going to do. Uh, was this the moment that put him on track to committing his horrific crimes? Could it have shattered the foundations of his trust and or love and or connection with others? Maybe? At least with Helen Smith, a forensic psychologist who would later study Picton believes, she thinks his ability to love and connect with people with severed in this exact moment. And if it's hard to understand why this moment would be so traumatic, replace calf with dog or if you're a cat person with cat, right, with whatever your favorite pet is. Imagine if you're dead or someone else in your family did that to your family pet growing

up. You know, you come home from school to find out that they've killed your pet and are about to either eat it or sell its meat. Right? Like if you're a pet person, or just not a sociopath, that's gonna fuck your head up a little bit. My mom did something similar with my family dog,

Sam, a golden retriever I'd gotten about a year after my parents divorced, when I was around eight. It was a summer between third and fourth grade when we got Sam, love that dog. Sam was my best friend. And then one day when I was in sixth grade, Sam bit a dick neighbor kid, Jeremy Baker. I fucking always hated that kid. Jeremy wasn't even supposed to be in my yard. Couldn't stand him. Sam Bittie and when he tried to take Sam's bone like the

idiot he was, like the idiot, I'm sure he still is. And when I came home that day from school, Sam was gone or the next day from school. Sam was gone. My mom told me he went to go live on a ranch. Bullshit. She took him out of the woods and shot him herself or she had somebody else do it. And I knew it. I'm bald in the middle of class next day,

thinking about how she killed my best friend. But at least there was some kind of logic to why she did that. Right? She said she was worried that Sam was gonna bite me now or my sister or some other kid or that the beggars would sue us if we didn't get rid of this dog. I still could piss at her thinking about that. But I get that there's some logic there. But

if Sam hadn't done anything at all, just minding his own business and she killed him and told me to head over to the shed and get a look. And then I walk in and not only is he dead, he's fucking skinned and hanging from a meat hook, I would probably be more than pissed. I would probably not be talking about serial killers right now. I'd probably be one. Well, it's hard to say what degree the environment plays in making a serial killer, right? That old nature versus nurture shit we talked about last week with Carrie Stain or the old-stem body killer.

In the cases of many serial killers, we've sucked a moment of broken trust, like Ted Bundy finding out his parents, right, she's grandparents, can at least help send someone down a darker path. And the murder of Bobby Willey's cowboy was on top of so much other shit happening. He and his brother, you know, getting teased all the time,

they literally stunk, they're neglected at home, right? They're dealing with speech impediments, poor grades, around this time, one good thing that would happen to Bobby Willey was he'd get a new friend, his first human friend, a young woman named Lisa Yell, who would later be described as a cop hating biker. Sounds about right for Bobby Willie's power.

On 1963, when Robert was 14 and Dave was 13, the family bought a new parcel of land on the eastern side of Port Coquitlam. Coquitlam was expanding so quickly that the city had expropriated the original Picton homestead on Cape Horn for a new highway and housing developments. Read the good doctors of Coquitlam and the rest of the area's affluent residents, one of the stinky, weird pickedins and their dirty hog farm kicked a little further down the road. It was time for the pickedins to move. Helen Leonard, Mawn Pappy picked shit, paid the Miracle family $18,000 cold, hard Canadian cash

for 40 acres of lowline property at 993 Dominion Avenue on the eastern edge of Port Coquilla. It's about six kilometers from the original Dawes Hill homestead. The new farm was one of the biggest properties in the area and it would eventually become Bobby Willie's murder farm. The old blue and white farmhouse from their previous property was Pride Office foundations, lifted onto a flatbed and towed over to Dominion Avenue. Can't just leave behind the pig and horse piss and shit suck beauty behind, right? Unlike their former property, I'm pretty proud of the chicken coop too. Nothing wrong with that chicken coop, right? It's still got

a perfectly good movable floorboard. Unlike their former property, this area was still in a real rural area. Short time later, they would haul a Dutch style hip-roofed barn from a property a few houses down on Dominion and reset a lit behind the old Picked and Farmhouse. Dominion Avenue ran east to west, roughly parallel to the low heat highway, a few hundred feet to the south. It was only a few kilometers long dead ending at a dike that held back the wide, long log-filled pit river, which ran higher than the farmland beside it, made irrigation pretty easy. At the time, Dominion Avenue was not much of an avenue.

It was a dirt country road with deep muddy sloughs on either side for the black water, weeds, frogs, and thick blackberry stalks that clung to the banks. Sounds like this, you know, perfect, perfect environment for the victims. As Dominion petered out at Med Burns Road in North South country lane about a mile long with small hobby farms on either side, most of them grew blueberries or raised chickens. When the victim family moved, daughter Linda did not move with them. She escaped. She would later say that she could not wait to get away from her dirty, hillbilly family.

She was so miserable at home, she'd already run away numerous times. She left her grade eight class and port coquettlement during Christmas break, moved in with relatives nearby Vancouver. In Vancouver, she would attend Lord being high school in the city's Dunbar area, a comfortable neighborhood close to the University of British Columbia,

and she would rarely speak of her family. If they were leaving home, she would rarely interact with her family. She didn't seem to have a lot in common with them. According to those who knew her, she'd never fitted with them. She was a bright, clean girl who lived amongst people who weren't all that different from the animals they attended. One neighbor said, I only met Linda once. She seemed like she was cut from a different cloth. She was clean. She had said, I only met Linda once. She seemed like she was cut from a different cloth. She was clean, she had class.

You wouldn't have believed. She came from the same family. I love these quotes. I can only imagine how embarrassed she must have been of her kin. Didn't take long for the new neighbors to notice the odd ways the pickedins lived. The pickedins made a decent living,

worked was good, but they, well, you know how they rolled. Money was no real problem. Rec a woman, who as a teenager, boarded her horse on the victim farm for $25 a month. But the way they lived was something I had never seen before in my life. They would wear the same clothes every day. The boys would do the pigs and come in with their boots on, with oil and grease everywhere. Their relationship with their mom seemed very strange to me. She seemed too old to be the mother of these kids.

Then she continued to say, in the place was an absolute pigstie. Walk into the kitchen and you couldn't see the counter for the dirt on it. The floor was covered with slop and dirt. There were papers, food everywhere. There was no proper furniture to speak of. I seem to remember the living room just had a mattress in it.

I wouldn't go into any of the other rooms. but you know, the mom was very nice to me, and she talked and talked and talked. The mom did the cooking, and she always had her gum boots on. Later, Willie seemed to run the pig end of the business, and Dave was always out doing construction jobs. It was all like something out of the movie deliverance. That's her quote. I'll just neighbor doesn't mention it.

The Pictons didn't have much furniture in the house, especially in the living room because they were really into music. I was one of a kind of fun detail about this family. They put on little family jamborees just about every weekend, fighting neighbors who really showed up. Young Bob Uilly would plank and plank on the air banjo, and Ma in uh... you know she'd handle lead vocals think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think it think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think I think Yeah, yeah, so you know there's that. And yes, that melody was the ballad of Jed Clampett, and Beverly Hillbillies, and I'm sorry about getting your dogs wound up. Another neighbor would later remember Helen for keeping all the kitchen coverage locked,

and how she was the only one who had a key, odd, everything about these filthy fuckers, this odd. So let's pop picking up to it this point and Billy Willey's childhood. By the time he and Helen had bought the farm on Dominion, he was 77 years old. He was too old to run the place, too much of the hard work. So and also Papi, Peggy, picked him, smelled worse than ever. So that's fun. With the help of her children, some hired hands, Helen, Ma, picked in, now ran the hog farm.

Around 15 years old, Bobby Willie now leaves school for good. He didn't need no more bookloading. He kind of knew how to read. And you know, he kind of knew how to write and he picked up a bunch of fun not annoying at all quotes from our picks and apparently. One for neighbors that he would always stay stuff like there's always a reason for everything. Life goes on. I try to help quite a spell. Like, cock a shit, but that's what happens. That's life. That's not here. No, there. We're here today. We're not here tomorrow. That's way above my head. here and all there. We're here today. We're not here tomorrow. That's way above my head.

What a fun family. What a fun family to hang around. Oh my God. Bobby willy left school partially according to his friend, Lisa Yelds, over a nudie pen. I love all these details. I just keep popping up in the story. Yes, he leaves school partially over a nudie pen situation.

Yelds would later say to an interviewer, what happened was that he was at the Cracker Jack. Of course, there's this local shop called the Cracker Jack. And he bought a pen with a flippin' lady. When the pen was turned upside down, it was rude underneath. The principal said he was going to beat him and Willie said, you do that and I quit. The principal wasn't backing down so Willie

quit then and there. He dropped out of the high school because the principal didn't like his newty pin. It's no one surprised Bobby Willie's parents did not care that he left school. My brother, my brother, you don't go boy. That teddy pin was who peppy pigdies. His peppy's for him. That teddy pin, a point of picked and proud, yeah. Now get the pick and stores and kind of get the cars and you need to mix and stuff, yeah, come on, Bobbi Wille. And then you go do what you need to do with that, that teddy pen.

You keep that teddy pen, Bobbi Wille. Now Bobbi Wille could focus even more on farm work. Now, my pick didn't got him knowing how to butcher pigs. She got her sweet boy in a printer ship as a meat cutter. He quickly become very skilled at the trade, skinning and dissecting animals with brutal efficiency. It seemed like a natural extension of what he learned over the years on the farm.

Robert would continue to work as the butcher's apprentice, also at his parents farm for the next several years. On October 16th, 1967, Bobby Willie and brother Dave would learn another interesting life lesson from Ma Pickton. If you killed someone, you don't go to the authorities. You covered up. Bobby Willie seems to have paid close attention to this lesson. Unlike his older brother, Davey, or I'm sorry, unlike his older brother, Robert, Davey

Pickton had stayed in school longer, dated girls, and seemed to be able to function more or less normally. Stinky, sure, dirty, you betcha, but he could still get himself some ladies. I'm sure they're interesting girls. He also got into trouble more often than Robert and one day he got himself into some serious trouble. Shortly after he turned 16 and it got in his driver's license, he took his father's 1960 GMC one ton truck out for a joy ride around 730 in the evening.

He was barreling down Dominion Avenue in the direction of the family farm when 14 year old Tim Barrett had just left his best friend's house and was walking down the same road. And Dave accidentally runs him the fuck over. Dave then stops truck, pops out long enough to see the poor kid's body and here that the poor kid is still alive, freaks out, doesn't help him, hops back in the truck and speeds home. He immediately tells his parents what he's done and they're not upset with him. Or at least you know, don't didn't think that he did the right, right wrong thing. He would tell some friends later that his parents, especially Ma, quote, knew exactly what to do.

Ma on pop picked and quickly examined the truck, see that the impact had dented the right front fender, making a deep dimple in it. The truck also has a damaged light. Ma spots blood, other marks on the hood and fender. The paint is flaked on the point of impact. So she starts cleaning off the blood as that good mom does. And she orders Dave to take the truck to a garage nearby where they had their family farm vehicles fixed.

Dave tells the mechanic that some timber had fallen on his truck. He explains where building tractor, a building tractor shed, excuse me, and one of the posts holding up the roof fell on the truck. He ignores the fact that the dent is bullshaped. The mechanic is surprised at the fuss over a new dent on a long banged up truck, especially coming from the pickedins. He said afterwards, normally they'd let this kind of thing go unnoticed. I just picked up a large mechanics hammer and pushed it out.

He laughs then when Dave asked him to paint it. The truck was rusted out, all kinds of fucked up from years neglect. The mechanic said, I forget it. Dave then drives it home. The Picton's paint over the marks with red house paint. They cover up some other marks with mud. While Dave had gone to get the vehicle fixed, Ma Picton had left the farm, went down Dominion Road

to find the boy her son had hit. And there's a lot of speculation as to what happened next. It became the stuff of a local legend. Forensics later determined that Timmy did not die on impact. He had actually drowned in a ditch 10 feet from the road. And although she was never charged with anything, everything points to Helen finding this boy alive, then rolling his body down to the ditch, then drowning him in the ditch. You know, I don't do feel about a Dave. I don't, I don't, I don't do a bear boy. Tell me, eh? We're on the other side of the floor boys, and I come take these hair cow to the hood so Mama can sit down in the chair, eh?

The police ruled the Timberts death was an accident although the re-sceptical is hell. Helen allegedly told one of her son's friends that she drowned him, and then she threatened him to keep quiet. Many years later, Bobby Willie would tell Lisa yells his whole story. When the mechanic who fixed the dent

heard on the radio that a boy in the area was the victim of a hit and run, he knew what was up immediately. He calls the police. They come talk to Dave. The police do not buy his story about a post crashing down on the truck. The police take the truck as evidence, subsequently discover the house paint, the mud cover up job. Dave picked in his charge and juvenile court with failing to remain in the scene of the accident and convicted of something else on December 19, 1967 as juvenile records are partially sealed.

Whatever he was charged with, he didn't get into a lot of trouble. He was placed on indefinite probation. His driver's license was suspended until he turned 21, 4 and a half years later. When watching his family get away with murder with very little consequences, leave a lasting impression on Bobby Willie, hard to say, but probably. In the late months 1970, a few weeks after his 21st birthday, Bobby Willie still lived on the farm. He never doesn't live on the farm.

He's always lived on the farm. He quits his butcher apprenticeship abruptly. He will later say he regrets this move. If you would have stuck around for another six months at his apprenticeship and finished it, after seven years, he would have been able to work as a butcher anywhere in Canada. Now he can only work for Mama. The only six and a half years under his belt, he goes back to work full time on the family farm.

Back in the farm, he would not have to give up his butcher's trade. He didn't need to be licensed there. He would now buy pigs and auctions and butcher them on his parents' farm for the family. Because of his profession, Bobby Willie often found himself at a place called West Coast Reduction Limited. The place people took their animal waste to be rendered into other products. West Coast Reduction was near downtown Vancouver, and after he'd visited the plant, he'd stopped by a low track or low track, a seeding neighborhood on Vancouver's east side.

Part of that downtown east side neighborhood, it was saturated with sex workers, crime, drug addiction, homelessness. Meanwhile, brother Dave is meeting women whose company he does not have to pay for. Dave was not awkward around girls like Bobby Willie was by 1972. Dave has a steady girlfriend, Sandy Fulallar, who lived just north of them, near their neighbors, the Harvies, who had a blueberry farm on Devon Road. Sandy was apparently attractive and well liked and no one understood why she was with Dave Pichten, who's almost as dirty as his older brother. Who knows? Maybe his dirty wean was magical.

Maybe his filthy pig shit stained fingers could work wonders. Maybe when a standee's turn-ons was a guy covered in equal parts stench and bacteria. Dave and Sandy soon started a family. Dave drifted away from the farm and the pig butcher in life. He didn't think it would pay the bills for his growing brood, nor was he much interested in it. Instead Dave worked in construction and demolition. He also started a top soil business selling the family farm's dirt to construction projects all over the area. Dave went into business with Sandy's brother, Sigmund, and they called their new

operation DNS bulldozing. Bobby Willie stayed home. Bobby Willie was a good boy. We always stayed home. By 1973, Patriarch Leonard Piggy, Papi Picton is 86 now. Papi Picton is senile and can't recognize anyone in the family. Quiet and bullied by his wife, he keeps out of everyone's way. And if you're wondering, how the fuck is he still alive?

Living in that filthy pig farm of a house with dirt so that you can't see the counter. I also wondered that. Maybe Lividon fills his whole life. It exposed him to so much bacteria, he was almost immortal When pop picked in this tumbler around a house full of shit Bobby Willie now 23 is getting some pen pals His favorite pen pal is a girl named Connie Anderson living out in Pontiac, Michigan and in January of 1974

Bobby willy decides to go visit Connie Before he leaves Dave and some of his friends get to 24-year-old drunk for the very first time in his life He was supposedly still a virgin 24 and not for religious reasons. He was not religious. He was a virgin because he was dirty. He didn't smell good. Wasn't real easy on the eyes.

Weirdest fuck. Had no charisma, not real smart. But now, this dirty weirdo is going to see a lady. Hey, Luciferina. Luciferina just cringed and gagged. Bobby will be by his bus ticket. That's out on a journey. His first away from home that will last six weeks.

And Pontiac, he apparently tells Connie that while traveling there, someone asked him to be a male model for $40 an hour. Not sure if this is true. I doubt it, but he had such a distinctive look. It is possible. Which are some, someone out there is attracted to a dude who looks like creepy guy number three

in a backwood slash or flick, right? Someone somewhere is beaten off to the extended scenes from the people under the stairs. By the time Bobby Willie left Pontiac, he was under the impression that she and Connie were engaged. I was engaged, she would say later, she was the love of my life, but she couldn't leave her job. I couldn't leave my job. I couldn't leave the farm.

This engagement would fizzle out and he would return to and stay on the farm. And now things are about to take a turn. And we're going to be heading down the road that leads to some serial killing before we jump into the next section of story time for a quick sponsor break. Now let's see what kind of disturbing double life Bobby Willie builds for himself and Vancouver's downtown east side. 1975 rather than try and find a girlfriend locally, Bobby Willie learns that he can buy human affection or at least buy sex

He starts spending his off hours looking for sex workers to pick up local sex workers tell their friends that Bobby Robert, you know, whatever Bob really somebody names. I've given him spends large amounts of money on them Not just paying for the hour, but buying them whatever they want he starts to get a reputation as quote a man to be with castang Hopefully these women begin their special time with Bobby Willie, washing him down the shower. Maybe maybe spraining down the yard with the hose like the filthy animal he was. Get him a clean wing before that pig butcher got to thrusting. Bobby Willie cleans up a bit,

starts frequenting a pub on East Hastings called Astoria. He become a bit of a fixture there. This bar was real rough back then. And according to Yelp, it is still pretty rough. I looked into it and cracked up at the Yelp Reviews. A Yelp Review from 2017 posted by Sean C from Arizona of the place, the story of the place that Bobby Willie used to frequent says, I was in town visiting a friend over the weekend, and this was our last stop growing up on punk. I was excited. They have some apartment punk shows here have had. He was assaulted in the

bathroom and two staff members, Simon and Victoria both laughed. Jesus Christ. They violated section 22 of Canada's laws and made my first trip to Canada a nightmare. I can't believe anyone would hire staff that thinks it's hilarious. A man was assaulted on their watch. We look forward to the lawsuit coming their way and these two bartenders being locked up where they belong. If you're a local or in town visiting go elsewhere, the shit hole is ran by psychopaths. And then the next review is even better. The next review starts off with, this is not a dive bar. This is a rat's nest or the stench of toxicity hangs in the air. It used to be a place to get good cocaine while you slammed back a few shots and pray that you didn't get knifeed as you sat down in the chair. As place used to not be half bad.

I mean, sure, you get knife in your chair, but the fucking coke was great. Now, it's just a rass nest. Jesus, this is where Bobby will be hanging out. Apparently, he was even rougher back in the 70s. And the story of bartender, who saw Bobby will be hanging around a lot would say he was a wannabe, you know? He wanted to be a biker, hell's-angrily,

yeah, he's a big hell's-angri-bar. I mean, a leather, a mean leather guy, but everyone knew he was a weasel, a wannabe, you know, he wanted to be a biker, Hell's Angel, yeah, it was a big Hell's Angel bar. I mean, I mean, leather, a mean leather guy, but everyone knew he was a weasel, a wannabe. Oh, sweet, stinky Bobby Willie. Come on, you're a weas, Bobby Willie, you know, tough biker guys. Stop hanging around the rough boy crowd. He loved it. Some people liked him there. They didn't coddle him like Mama did.

Sex workers, he took there. We're happy to have him as a client, or at least pretended to be. He felt like a big man on campus for the first time in his life. Soon he started to sell some drugs there. Maybe some of that good Coke that reviewer was talking about make a little bit of money. Sources don't mention where he got his drugs. Guess he never told him. He defectively now set up a double life for himself.

On the farm, he's a laid back aw, shucks guy. You know, say, fuck a dumb shit like did, dude, whips, crowvers, spilt milk. You can't find a bird in a bush. In the city, he's a regular at the Astoria, big spender. Most people they're like, investigators would later speculate that this double life contributed to driving him towards the murdering monster he'd become. Now a little removed from his literal shit show, childhood he begins to learn how to socialize. He starts to make friends outwardly.

He seems nice. People describing his caring. He is to some people. But by the late 70s to some sex workers, he frequented, frequented, even though he would still spend a lot of extra money on them, they said he could also be cruel and violent. He was starting to like it rough, made him feel powerful to push things further than they wanted things to go, and the more he quote got away with, rough in these women up, the more powerful he felt. January 1, 1978. Robert's life would change abruptly.

Pappy Piggy, who's 91, who's been diagnosed with cancer dies. Not long after, Mahog also receives her cancer diagnosis. Bobby Willie then takes over her care, changing her diapers, nursing her, making sure everything kept running on the farm. He would later say he found this experience, quote, traumatic. Mm-hmm. Holy shit. I bet it was traumatic, this experience, quote, traumatic. Mm-hmm. Holy shit, I bet it was traumatic,

especially the change in the diapers part. God, make sure you want a gag to think about what mob victims' ass cracks smelled like, right? And what was she cooking in her front butt? I shut her with a thought. How many dickes is this term front butt, by the way? I love it, makes me laugh, so juvenile. Also in 1978, brother Dave and Sandy, who had started a family with but never married,

they split up. This is partially due to Dave's infidelity and Bobby Willie is hurt by their sudden breakup. He'd apparently worship Sandy to the point that when they broke up, he asked her to marry him. And when she didn't, of course not. And she moves away. He's hurt. So fucking weird.

So you and my brother Dave, all done, hey? How about you be my lady then? I'll pay for you. I'll pay you to be my wife. Bobby will always pay his ladies. Also in 1978, there's a fire with the pick tin, pick farm. The barn burrs down as well as several other buildings and at least 600 pigs die, which is obviously tragic, but also is it weird to think this? I love bacon. How good did that fire smell? I mean, if you just let your mind go there for a second. Moving on, between nursing his mother and his normal family farm operations, Bobby Willey spent all his spare time in most 1978,

trying to rebuild the barns, he never finishes the job. 1978, not a great year for the Pictons. 1979, also not the best year. On April 1st, 1979, ill for ill for several months Helen Picton aka mahogg aka dirty Thunder diaper dies at the age of 67 Bobby willies and shock despite her shrill high pitch-chapping despite her maybe murdering a neighbor boy he did love his mama now he can only hear her bark you, shrill commands at him in his mind's eye in his dreams.

Bobbi will, why do we have a count? Why do you have a big, eh? Why do mom and mom is from pod? Brushin' a beer day, Bobbi will, eh? Bobby will describe his relationship with her as like being two peas in a pod. Brother Dave, he didn't care so much. He didn't bat an eye when he lost his mom or when he lost his dad or when his baby mama Sandy went away.

Soon after his mother dies, Dave and his new girlfriend, Vicki Evans, move onto the Picton family farm. And Ma Hogs will the three Picton children in the hair of the slaughterhouse and farm and everything else. The farm had been valued at $275,000. Then there were the rest of the families estate, about $130,000 worth of real estate holdings and cash. According to their mom's will, Linda and David were each given eighty eight thousand five

hundred dollars in some property. And Bobby Willie would get comparatively fucked. He got twenty thousand and no land unless he stayed on the farm until he was at least forty. Then he would get a portion of that land and he was pissed. He had changed maus diapers. He attended to her every need while she was terminally ill. He'd washed her front button. Now she given over four times more in her will to a daughter she'd rarely seen. And he was tied to the farm for another decade if he wanted anything more for himself.

Bobby Willie apparently was devastated. He felt betrayed. He buys himself a 1977 Ford truck with a money Mama left him and he moves into a trailer that sits on a secluded area of the property and he stews. Brother Dave moves into the main house. Even though Mama had dicted him over Bobby Willey's mood, would soon improve after her death. For the first time in his life, he could do whatever he wanted without worrying about what Mama thought. He started entertaining women in his trailer, also taking them shopping, out to see movies. None of these women chose to hang out with him because it thought he was a super cool dude. To be clear, whatever they were doing together, it was always because he was paying them.

He would pay them in cash and or drugs to do stuff like clean as trailer, do chores around the farm, being a dedicated romantic, even taught some of them how to butcher pigs. What a sweet heart. Not all of these women were full-time sex workers. Some of them were more like informal escorts. They would put up with him, sometimes fuck him, because he was generous with his drugs and cash and let them crash there. They ignored his poor hygiene, weird behavior, and odd living situation.

September 12, 1978. Lillian Jean O'Dare is declared a missing person. She's 34. She'd be the earliest known sex worker Bobby Willie was known to associate with to go missing from the downtown Eastside neighborhood. The first in a group that would ultimately reach 65 women. Still not known if Oder was one of victims victims or not, possibly his first victim, he possibly wouldn't kill for many, many years later though. Her body wasn't found until April 22nd, 1999 over a decade later. A tenant of a rental house with doing some

spring cleaning and stumbled upon her remains. By the early 1980s, in addition to being a solid butcher, Bobby Willie has become quite the tinker now. You can fix Damne near anything. He had an aptitude for mechanics and a passion for cars and trucks. This led him to becoming a regular used car auctions. When he got the cars home, he sold the usable parts

tore apart the rest for scrap, separating the copper, aluminum and brass. He was doing a lot of shopping around this time and not just for cars. There's a frequent buyer at livestock auctions just like his parents spend. He sourced meats for various customers, including chickens, cows, horses, and emus.

Yes, emus. Weird. They did emus, yeah, she won't begin. If they, you know, after a long since you got straight and sack, hey. I don't know what fucking boys I'm doing now. I tried to pull an Australian, I can't even do a Canadian accent.

Bobby Willie slaughtered the animals he'd buy at auction. He slaughtered butchered, then packaged with meat for sale, using his parents old freezers to store it all. If a cow or pig was too big to kill by a slitting throat with a knife, his favorite method, he'd shoot it in the forehead, usually with a nail gun.

And from what I can gather, not a special nail gun-ish device made specifically for killing cows. No, this is a supposed to be used for construction projects and not animals, nail gun-ish device made specifically for killing cows. No, this is a supposed to be used for construction projects and not animals nail gun. That feels less than humane. Sometimes you would even use the nail gun on the emus. Again, surprised at so soon after the great emu war suck, after never talking about emus before, as far as I can recall, that we'd come across a story detail of an emu being killed in a more dramatic way than with a machine gun.

Once one of these animals were dead, he'd cut a deep slit into its ankle, thrust a large hook attached to a thick metal bar through the slit, hoist it up, foot first on a chain, he'd slit its throat, catching its blood in a bucket below, he'd gut it, skin it with a sharp flay knife, finally dismember it with a handsaw, and he was thought later to do the same thing to women. My God. Now, onto where his social life was currently at. Bobby Willie was jealous of his brother

and some of his friends. We're able to get women to sleep with them without paying them. It pissed him right off. And it began to redirect his rage towards other women. Women he met in Vancouver's downtown East Side. One night in 1980, Bobby Willie is cruising Hastings Street

on the East Side in spots a young woman. She was only 14. This girl's street on the east side in spots a young woman she was only 14 This girls walking on the side of the road. He pulls over picks her up and almost immediately he gets violent He branches a knife attacks her then rapes her when he's done. He dumps her leaves her for dead an empty parking lot She survives. He gets away with this attack on her. She never reports him. She would only tell her story years later after he was arrested This is the earliest attack we know of That's very likely him as reported by a victim. Now let's catch up with brother Dave. What's he up to? This little detour on Dave will quickly reconnect with Bobby Willie. Dave's main business at the moment is demolition. Everything from houses

to high schools to country and western saloons. He had several men to drive his trucks and bulldozers for him as well. But this was not Dave's dream. He had several men to drive his trucks and bulldozes form as well, but this was not Dave's dream. What Dave really wanted to be was a biker, a hell's angel. The hell's angels were his heroes. There were a lot of hell's angels around Vancouver at the time, some full members, many more in the club's various layers of membership. There were also hangarounds, you know, wannabes, other associates, eager to work with some of the hell's angels who were running some crime rackets. Some of this motorcycle club, some of their members were dealing drugs, stealing vehicles, running protection rackets, and pimping out sex workers.

And Dave introduces these Hell's Angels to the picked-and-pig farm. The farm was a great place, then to dump cars, trucks, maybe bodies, other property that had been stolen and destroyed for parts and claim for insurance money. Dave's bulldozers meant that brothers could dig deep holes on the farm and bury huge objects like entire vehicles. Soon both Dave and Bobby Willie are in business with the outlaw bikers with Bobby Willie overseeing work at the farm's new chop shop, something he was well suited for with his attitude for mechanical tinkering.

And while Bobby Willie manages the chop shop, he also keeps the pig farm running. In 1981, Robert hired four teenage boys to help with the farm, but he doesn't pay him, not in cash at least. They would make money working for the house angel store. But this is just a weird detail. One man who is 15 of the time, would they to remember, one day he told me he had a ham for me. I should pick it up after my shift. Another kid told me not to take it. But at the end of my shift, I said, what about that ham you promised me? And will he return with a mass of material? It wasn't brains, but I don't know what it was. It was all stringy, not ham, and it wasn't frozen.

Human meat, perhaps? That's what some would think later. That's what some who think he may have and killings his 1970s think he offered this kid. In the summer of 1981, a teenager, the son of local port In the summer of 1981, a teenager, the son of local port, the son of A, local port, could quit them politician is arrested.

Could quit them by the way, just not roll off by tongue. I think I am saying it right, but every time I say them, it's like, that word doesn't feel like a real word. Could quit them. I guess if you just grow up getting used to it,

whatever, my brain's like, that's fake, that's a fake town. I know it's not. The kid said he was stealing car parts for the victims. Brother Dave's arrested. Police assumed he's running the whole operation because, you know, Bobby Willie, no one assumes he can run anything.

He's still showing up in places where an unwashed, closed, covered, and pig blood and shit, not kidding. But he actually was the chop shop boss. He paid everyone, made sure everything stayed unscheduled. For reasons unclear, not much came of this chop shop investigation. Dave is arrested, but does not get sentenced to any time behind bars Police were apparently currently preoccupied with trying to find a serial killer in their midst who is targeting children in in the Vancouver area a person They would later learn was Clifford Olson

Olson we confessed to murdering 11 children and young adults between the age of nine and 18 in the early eighties. This dude, a real big on rape and strangulation, he died in prison in 2011 at the age of 71. While behind bars, this guy would take a psychological test, the psychopathy checklist, to help determine if someone is a clinical psychopath. And he gets almost a perfect score, out of 40 textbook psychopath very scary dude Dirt bag I had never heard of prior to this research Things get strained between the picked in brothers after brother Dave's arrest Dave begins to publicly constantly berate Bobby Willie for his terrible hygiene apparently a hypocritical attack since his own hygiene was a matter of constant conversation among the women in his group of friends

I mean these dirty fuckers still literally stink. Brother Dave was witness losing his temper, screaming to Bobby Willie, after seeing his sheets and towels, which had him in washed in months, maybe years, his trailer reaked. Brother Dave didn't mad about the smells. Then some spring floods in the early 80s, they covered the basement floor of the main house, submerged most of Bobby Willie's possession store there in filth and mud.

Those possessions end up covered in mildew and mold. Brother Dave berates his bro for turning the house into a shithole. Brother Dave was trying to be taken seriously. It's a big time biker guy and his stinky older brother Bobby will he is fucking ruining everything. As the 80s were on, they becomes more and more immersed in the biker world. Although he's not a full blown hells angel, they are who he run with or runs with. He writes a Harley.

I want people to think he's his badass, his friends. Bobby will he never seemed interested in being a biker, but he does keep doing disposal and chop shop work for the hell's angels. He continues to hang around them with the Astoria, thrown money around, buy and drink rounds, show them with a different paid escort all the time. Now let's fast forward to the 90s. 1991. Relatives of a growing list of missing women along with local Vancouver advocates for sex

workers establish an annual Valentine's Day remembrance for the women. The remembrance they hope would alert police, would alert police of the need for tougher investigations with a growing number of missing women. A memorial march wound through Vancouver's east side that February 14th. In 1991, leading to later speculation that Bobby Willie wasn't the only picked in boy who may have killed some local sex workers, Dave assaults a woman fondling her inside a trailer at a Burnaby construction site of his. The woman said picked in Pinder Toolwall, groped her and that the assault only ended because

someone poked their nose inside the trailer door. She would later testify and this is an exact quote. This is not being mean, but his language is literally what she said. She goes, when picked and went to the door, he said, I'm going to wake you. He couldn't say the word with an R. He said it twice. She told the court grimacing. He was laughing like crazy. It was like an evil, elmer, fud. Instead of killed, oh, I bet killed, oh, I bet this gets waped,

oh, I bet, I waped, I waped, I waped, I waped, what the fuck is going on in this story? I love the guy who also stinks, who tells women he's going to waped him, is consistently painted in sources as being the smarter, picked, and brother who had to shit more together. His family's absurd.

This woman also testified that she was told by brother Dave to leave town or that she would be, quote, chopped into pieces. She recalled him saying, if you take this to court, they're going to cut you up and chop you in so many pieces you're never going to be found. After he threatened her,

she replied that that was ridiculous, that everyone would know it was him and then he told her, what does it matter to your son if you're already dead? Jesus. She reported the assault, but rather than risk being chuffed by Dave's biker buddies instead of taking Dave to trial She leaves town and then with no witness the police, you know, they don't pursue it In 1992 Dave would be convicted of his assault on her without her test

I'm sorry. They did pursue it. I thought they didn't do my own notes like no you're wrong No, they did pursue it, but they weren't able to get the charge they wanted That's why I was thinking of without her testimony, but they do find him a thousand dollars sent into one year of probation. 1994, the dirty, picked-in brothers get a windfall. They sell off a big portion of the north end of their farm, netting a windfall of two million dollars. These lucky bastards.

In 1963, 31 years earlier, their folks had bought that farm for $18,000, 40 acres. Now they sell some of those acres for two million because the Vancouver metro area has exploded around them with growth during the past three decades. Reminds me of people whose parents or grandparents bought a GI bill house in Santa Monica or other Southern California coastal towns around LA after World War II, right? Some little house, some little lot. They pay 10K for in the late 40s, early 50s. And then that lot just forget the house.

Just a lot is worth a couple of million dollars today. Today there are multi million dollar properties all around Vancouver. I found a half acre lot, zoned for commercial and pork equivalent, just a lot again for six and a half million dollars. The Picton family would remain on their dirty portion of the property, a giant junkyard and pig farm in the middle of a now affluent

neighborhood. Almost like if there's a giant junkyard and hog farm in the middle of Beverly Hills, California, the neighbors would begin filing constant noise and smell complaints. Between 1995 and 1997, there's a sudden increase in the number of missing women being reported in the downtown east side. During those two years years 21 women vanish. How much of that is due to Bobby Willie hard to say but there would be a lot of speculation Around this time Bobby Willie mounts a horse head on his bedroom wall. So that's fun. Not kidding He had bought a pala Palomino years back and he loved it loved it kind of like he loved that calf grownup And when it broke and when it broke its leg and it had to be put down instead of burying it, will he, will he literally cut his head off himself?

He took the head to a taxi driver that he had the head mounted on his fucking bedroom wall. That's so weird. Imagine again someone doing that with their dog or their other pet. Imagine someone with like a whole row of dog heads on their wall, right? All the pets they'd had over the years. How insane is that? I'll create me with that B. Could you overlook that in someone if you really liked them outside of that one detail? I don't think I could. I think it would creep me out too much, right? I mean, I don't know. Maybe

it is kind of funny, but it's pretty fucking creepy. If you're bringing another friend over to that guy's house, like, Hey, man, heads up before we go to Doug's house tonight. Super nice guy, love him. But just so you're not shocked when you walk in, he does have a row of dog heads mounted on the living room in the wall there. These are these pets, you know. So just don't make a big deal about it.

He gets really upset, it just embarrasses him. He feels like someone's, you know, bothered by his dog heads. Oh, also, he has a couple of stuffed family members in the TV room down in the basement. I know it's weird. He has his dead taxi to every mom standing in the corner. His dead taxi to every dad is the non-recliner.

There's a few stuffed dead kids arranged like there in some kind of Christmas choir. Not sure who they are, I haven't asked. Just try not to stare too long when we're down there. But other than all that, he's great dude. Oh my God, he makes the best seven-layered not-so-jip that you'll ever have in your fucking life. It has a fantastic whiskey collection.

Okay, so now it's 1996, Bobby will be 46 years old, Brother Dave, 45. They both have a stupid amount of cash. They're both also stupid. They both stink. They probably have moldy balls. They've also decided to reinvest and open up a nightclub of sorts

on their junkyard pick farm, a place that will cater to their biker buddies and sex workers. They call it Piggy's Palace Good Time Society. Right when I think this story is maxed out on weird. It gets a little weirder. I love it. This sounds like some bullshit I made up, I know, but I didn't. It's Piggy's Palace Good Time Society.

It was a real place. It sounds like some kind of debatuous like beast reality sex club or something. I can hear the ads for this place in my head. Friday night. That's the Piggy's Palace Good Time Society. Located in the heart of Port Cacuillum. Everything gets fucked. Pigs, cows, chickens, ladies, dudes, corpses, you, maybe even Bobby Willie! So get the Piggy's Palace Good Time Society and get FUUUCKS $10 cover charge! Please bring a fake ID if you're under the age of 18. Please don't talk about how bad it smells or comment on the horse and Bobby will use trailer! Yeah! Well, Piggy's Palace Good Time Society was not some kind of sex club.

It would be frequented by a lot of sex workers. And many of them would not have a good time there. Brother Dave set up the businesses and non-profit, saying they intended to donate proceeds of events to charities. They didn't. It strongly seemed like they did not do that. It functioned as a popular event space, though. It would surprisingly get a lot of use. The long tin shed on 2552 Burns Road was visited by almost everyone in Portka Quillum

at one time or another it seems. Two mayors, several city council members, local business and civic leaders, ice hockey moms, high school elementary school students, they all came for functions, dances, concerts and other recreations at Piggy's Palace. And most of those events took place during the day. Most nights it drew a very different crowd. The space was used to host massive drunken raves with rotating artists as many as 2,000 people would pack into Piggy's Palace.

I only went once and I would never go again, said an unnamed woman about the parties that happen there. It's a very raunchy crowd, lots of cocaine, lots of really, really bad, bad ass people. I did not want to be a part of it. God, I would love to be a fly in the wall and see what kind of shit went down in the 90s at Peggy's Palace, fucking biker rave. So many stories, a lot of drugs, a lot of debauchery. Bobby willy soon realize he could bring sex workers to these big parties and then it was a real quick jaunt from the party over to his dirty trailer. That's exactly what he did.

It sneaked over to his trailer that have sex. Sex was getting rougher and rougher. He was getting more and more into bondage and sadism. Didn't care much about, you know, if the girl consented or not, what her safe word was, after he was done, the rush of having gotten away with hurting, with raping made him feel powerful, gave him a rush. He wanted to keep experiencing. He started taking things further and further.

On March 23rd, 1997, Bobby Willie goes cruising. He meets a woman named Wendy, offers her $100 Canadian dollars to accompany him to his farm, a 35-minute drive away. I don't know why I'm advocating there. All these dollars are Canadian. This isn't Canada. She agrees and the two go back to his trailer. After they have sex, Wendy heads to the bathroom to shoot up.

She returns, he attempts to handcuff her. She manages to wiggle out of his grasp and run out of the room. This pisses him off so much he pulls a knife on her. Wendy runs into the trailer's kitchen where she grabs a knife herself, the ensuing knife fight results in both of them having stab wounds. She stabs several times, but manages to return some blows and stab Bobby Willie a few times, also cutting him into throat, bleeding from multiple wounds, wearing neck to nothing.

Wendy runs out of the trailer, makes them in the throat, bleeding from multiple wounds, wearing next to nothing. Wendy runs out of the trailer, makes it to the road, and elderly couple driving spot her take her to the hospital. Unbeknownst to her, Robert ends up at the same hospital. Luckily, he does not run into her there. Wendy will nearly die that night. She will lose three liters of blood, which is a lot. To put that in perspective, the average human has somewhere around a 1.5 gallons of blood

in their body, just over 5.6 liters. She would lose more than half of that. And she's probably, you know, was smaller than the average human as well. When she shows up at the hospital, she still has one of Bobby Willie's handcuffs on her wrist. When the police get her story and go investigate Bobby Willie, they find the key to those handcuffs among his belongings and they arrest, you know, Mr. Pigpin, Picked it. Bobby Willie then tells him that when he had tried to rob him for $3,500 cash he had on him, then slashed him up when he resisted.

They don't believe him. They charge him with attempted murder and forcible confinement. His trial is scheduled for January of the following year, 1998. He'll pay his bond. He'll be released from police custody awaiting his trial. And while he waits, if he hadn't already killed before, he definitely starts killing now. In August of 1997, Bobby Willie heads to Vancouver downtown East Side, cruises around low track, runs into 24-year-old Marney Frey. He offers her drugs in exchange for sex and she agrees. She gets into his truck and then is never seen again by anyone other than Bobby Willie. He takes her to his trailer, they have sex, and then investigators think he strangles

her. Excuse me, I strangles her. And then likely butchers her body, buries some of it in the sex, and then investigators think he strangles her. Excuse me, he strangles her. And then likely butchers her body, bury some of it in the yard, and perhaps even had some of it processed with his normal pig waste at that West Coast reduction limited processing plant. Eh, which after that it may have been sold to locals.

January of 1998, Bobby will he catches another lucky break. The case against him by Wendy, the survivor, excuse me, of that earlier stab fest, stays before it goes to trial. The case does. Wendy is too terrified to testify, and she never shows up at any of the initial hearings. So the entire thing gets dismissed.

Pig Pan picked in, is now free to continue doing as you pleased. 1998, there's another spike in women from Vancouver going missing. Nine more disappear. But the Vancouver police don't yet think they have a serial killer on their hands. Vancouver police were used to sex workers disappearing. They could be there one day, gone the next, and sometimes show up again, months, or even years later. While now more women are going missing than normal, there's no corresponding spike in dead

bodies turning up. As far as anyone knows, these women could be alive and just living different lives somewhere else. And some of them, you know, it would turn out would be living somewhere else. And because of this no warning is put out for other women in the area, local sex workers are not giving a heads up that some of them may be getting killed. They don't know that a new homicidal predator is in their midst. The Vancouver police will later apologize for not trying to do more. September of 98, they do do something. Vancouver police set up a team to review

files of as many as 80 or as for Jesus Christ. The family restart that sentence. The Vancouver police set up a team to review files of as many as 40 missing women. I have no idea where 80 came from going back to 1971. After reviewing those cases, they still do not suspect a serial killer. And no one certainly thinks that a dirty pig farmer with a dance club is behind it all. A guy with the ability to not only kill these women, but butcher their bodies and easily dispose of their remains. According to a summary from a police log from July 27th, 1998, Lisa yelled stepbrother tries to point them in the right direction as far as the authorities.

Bill calls into authorities, provides information that Robert Bobby Willie picked in has bragged to his friend Lisa about being able to dispose of bodies and grind them up for feed for his pigs on his property and port caquillum oh yeah a lot of these women were highly likely fed to the pigs as well bill said that Lisa who had been in picked in trailer had seen women's identification and clothing and the police sadly do not investigate now why not i'm guessing because again no bodies now if i called the police and said that a neighbor of mine had bragged my step sister about killing

women walled the police might be suspicious of this person with nothing else to go on but this one random tip i highly doubt they could get a warrant and search that house bill tells him at least i said the victim, said that picked him also had a bunch of syringes. She didn't know why he'd want those because picked him was not an IV user. She said, picked him told her the syringes were somehow related to the women

he'd gotten rid of tied to how he killed some of them perhaps. After picked him to rest syringes full of windshield wiper fluid, some also covered in human DNA would be discovered in his trailer, presumably used to murder or at least torture some of his victims. The police would sadly cut off contact with Bill, who apparently in addition to providing them with information that would turn out to be accurate was also struggling with drug addiction and which is fucking creepy and weird. He had become infatuated with one of the female police officers he'd spoken with and he was creeping her the hell out so they cut off ties.

with one of the female police officers he'd spoken with and he was creeping her the hell out so they cut off ties. Another weird detail, this week's weird suck. First time I've come across someone doing that that I can recall, someone reporting a crime who's like, hey, hey, my sister Lisa has more information about picked and this is big. This is big, I know her body is. I wanna talk about it in person, with Officer Dupont

over dinner at Anthony's Restauranty. I officially made a reservation tomorrow night for two APM corner booth candlelight. Please tell her that. Also, tell her to wear those leather thigh boots she wore after her shift yesterday and to put on some date panties. Is the black ones? She has several pairs of or the red ones she just bought. I happen to see her downtown wearing her boots last night.

I'd very happen to see her leaving her house and then I just happened to trail her car and just happened to drink at the same park she drank at a watcher from the shadows before happening to follow her home. Please tell her to start closing her bathroom window blinds gosh dang. Some creep could happen to see her nipples maybe they're pink with somewhat smaller than avatario is if I had to guess and some creep could easily see him and take pictures of them and have them blown up into a poster and put him on his bedroom wall By the door if he were you know sit on that big branch is above the main fork of that maple tree straight across the street Watch your dry off after a four and a half minute shower approximately hi hi

Hi, hello, hello Okay soon after piggy palace opens the picked and brothers find themselves in court again They were being sued by pork equipment officials for a likely violating city zoning ordinances. December 31, 1998 gets them kind of shut down. According to the complaint, their property was owned for agricultural use, but they had altered a large farm building on the land for the purpose of holding dances concerts and other recreations and following a New Year's Eve party.

We're dug in the slugs. A popular Vancouver band played. The pictures were slapped with an injunction banning future parties. No more piggy palace. Doug in the slugs got them shut down. Uh, Doug in the slugs, if you know that band, you are probably Canadian, right? Making it work. Do you remember that early 80s hit Canadian meat sex. I made it work. It's a little longer. I made it work. It takes a bit of time.

It takes a bit of time. It takes a bit of time. It takes a bit of time. It takes a bit of time. It takes a bit of time. It takes a bit of time. It takes a bit of time. It takes a bit of time.

Doug and the slugs had a number of top 40 hits in Canada over the years. Didn't chart anywhere else. They're very much Canadian. They're 80s Canadian. One of what kind of show they put on the Piggy's Palace, Good Time Society. One of what they think of the show, they put it. One of what they think of that place now that they know, highly likely know, what went on there over the years.

The court ordered the police were henceforth authorized to arrest and remove any person attending public events at the farm. Bobby Willie is bummed, but he won't let this ruling keep him from bringing new victims back to the family farm. On January 16th, 99, Jacqueline McDonald, who had just turned 22, is reported missing in Vancouver. So many women have now gone missing and more and more locals are starting to think that they are not just leaving town unceremoniously. Ellen or Elaine Allen is one such person. She worked at a drop in center for sex workers called Wish. They provided resources for women living on Vancouver streets.

Elaine would work with almost 20 of the women who would later be determined or likely victims of Bobby Willie. My God, that's so weird. Right, to think about like all these women, 20 faces at least. And then you know this one guy killed him. Women he likely dismembered, fed to his pigs, maybe fed, you know, portions of them to locals.

Elaine is contacting the police more and more often now. She's voicing her concerns. They're brushing aside her worries, telling her that the missing women like Jack, they're probably fine. Bobby Willie picked in is still not on law enforcement radar at all regarding the disappearances. He also isn't being talked about much amongst local sex workers as far as being a guy to stay away from either. Yes, he likes to rough, but also he pays well. One local sex worker, Lynn Elington,

who struggled with an addiction to crack cocaine, is so not worried about Bobby Willey, she goes to live on the picked farm for a while in early 1999. Picked and bought her drugs, cigarettes, booze, groceries, even tried to help her get set up with government benefits. 29 years old described as pretty and outgoing. Despite the kindness, Lynn soon has become very suspicious of Robert Pichten. She hears some troubling rumors about Bobby Willie.

She brings up to brother Dave. She will recall later how I approached him was I said, Dave, I've been hearing a lot of rumors around here. And he said, what kind of rumors? And I said, well, I heard that there were arms and legs in the freezer. According to her, David applies, sure, let's go on the trailer and talk. Terrifying. They go inside the trailer, Dave immediately pushes her against the wall, slaps her across the face. She runs down the hall into a room. She tries to close the door, but Dave pushes it open. She grabs a

vase that she had in the room and breaks a window with it. This seems to end the struggle. Later, when she sees Bobby Willie, he tells her that Dave wants her off the property. He says that she had in the room and breaks a window with it. This seems to end the struggle. Later when she sees Bobby Willie, he tells her that Dave wants her off the property. He says that she should stay inside the trailer when Dave is out and about. While Lynn would become a complicated character in the ensuing investigation, she will lie, she will get dates mixed up. In some cases, her accounts of crimes would definitely be accurate. Investigators think this account is accurate and they think this next account called the incident is accurate. This was the incident as she told it. This is real dark.

After Lynn had helped Robert, Bobby Willie, recruit a young woman to go back to his place for drugs. Lynn leaves him to have sex with this new woman while she smokes crack in a living room. Lynn then passes out. She's startled awake later by a sound, a scream coming from outside the trailer. She sees light coming from the slaughterhouse and she goes out to investigate. As soon as she gets to the barn, she notices the smell. It's awful. She keeps pushing, and that's saying something because I imagine the rest of this place is not smell good. She keeps moving towards the front door, despite it pushes it open. Then she sees someone's legs dangling

from the ceiling. She sees Bobby Willie in the process of hanging someone on a meat hook, the skin body of Georgina Pappin. A woman Lynn had spoken with on the farm earlier that day, holy shit. Georgina was the mother of seven children, and she had just become victims latest victim. When she sees the horrific sight before her Lynn screams, then quick as a flash, Bobby Willie grabs her, pulls her over to the meat cutting table.

He forces her to look at the body. She's dry heaving. She's right at eye level with Georgina's legs, toes painted red with polished, there's hair on the table, there's gore, lots of it. There's knives, a bucket nearby holds whatever he discarded from her corpse. Then Bobby Willie says, it's okay. She's just like a pig anyways. It's all right. It's gonna be all right. And then he starts pulling Georgina's entrails out of her body, slice of something that causes some blood to spurt as he continues to butcher the corpse with lens standing beside him. He tells her you stay word to anybody.

Do anything this. And he gestures gestures to the corpse. You'll be right beside her. Lens terrified, obviously. She says, no, I won't. I won't say word. All I want is my dope, my booze. And then she doesn't say anything about it.

Not for years. She also stays on the farm for a little bit longer after this happens. Not sure if I was her, I would have reported Bobby Willie either. I mean, you know, what if you report him and then the police look into it and then they don't find Georgina's remains because they're gone and then Bobby Willie

doesn't get in trouble and isn't arrested and also now knows you ratted on him. Then you definitely would end up on that fucking butcher table. What's terrifying possibility? Sometime in February of 1999, Picked and Kills again. His next victim would be a woman named Brenda Wolff. Brenda agrees to come back to the farm

to trade sex for drugs. It's believed he handcuffed her during sex, then strangled her with a belt or a wire. Investigators aren't sure of his exact method of killing, but this is what they suspect happened to Brendan many others. Whatever the implement of killing was, the final process would always be the same. After they died, he would drag their bodies to his private workshop and do what he did best, slice their meat into cuts, and get rid of all or most of the evidence.

It's possible, if not probable, that he sold some of their meat locally, as I've kind of mentioned, mixing it with pork. He definitely took a lot of it to the local way site. The number of women on the missing persons list continues to spike. Brenda is the 53rd woman that disappeared from the area in recent years. And as the numbers climbed,

sex workers become more and more reluctant to travel now with their clients. And although Bobby Willie was not particularly a bright man, he was smart enough to understand he would now need to change his pickup tactics. His new plan is to use female acquaintances to recruit new victims. He uses a few different women. By 1999, he's working with a woman named Dyna Taylor, a woman in her late 20s with a substantial criminal record, mostly for drug trafficking. She'd been stuck in the

Eastside neighborhood. Since childhood, she usually lived at the rundown Roosevelt hotel, but in late 1999, she had started staying at the farm, the picked in farm for days and even weeks at a time. Dyna took a particularly dark task on for Bobby Willie. She and other's Bobby Willie worked with would go into women's shelters Like wish and look for people struggling with addiction She would propose that they come with her to party with quote Uncle Willie Yep, this dude's being called Uncle Willie now. It suits him I will now call him Uncle Willie primarily going forward A Diana would talk up Uncle Willie. Uncle Willie bragging about his. St. He had drugs and booze, St. He was rich.

She'd often walk out of the shelter with a new victim for Uncle Willie to rape murder butcher and dispose of holy shit. By January of 2001, the number of missing women is grown to 62. The general public is really starting to notice the problem is being covered more and more in the press. Public outcry is big. Both the Vancouver police and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police launched an initiative called the Missing Woman's Task Force and immediately tips roll in. Something like 12,000 calls will quickly come in and lost in the sea of these calls are the occasional mention of a dirty pig farmer, a butcher who was the last to see a lot of

these women, Uncle Willie. The police do eventually look into Picton, but he is just one of many, many dirt bags they look into. His name is added to a very long list of suspects, one of which I have to imagine was probably my dad, right? He's been to Canada. Think about it. He was 46 of the time in great shape, real strong, handy with an iPhone to gun, eight

of fair amount of pork. Can't remember his whereabouts for good chunk of 2001. It fits. Moving on. Vancouver police still don't have a lot to go on early 2001. There's no bodies and because there's no bodies, there's no DNA or dental records to look at. There's just not enough hard evidence to help them narrow down their suspect list. Patricia Johnson last seen March of 2001. The following month, Heather bottomly reported missing from downtown Eastside in In June of 2001, 51 year old Robert Picton murders another downtown Eastside resident, Andrea Joe's Burry. A few months later, Uncle Willie murders Serena Abbott's way reported

missing from downtown that August. These last two women's bodies would also be butchered, but not all of their remains will be disposed of. He's getting darker, weirder now, and he's getting sloppy. He keeps Serena and Andrea's hands, feet, and head, our heads. He stores them in plastic buckets, places the buckets in the slaughterhouse, his meat freezer. Why does he do this? He never says. I imagine they were his trophies. So many serial killers, keep them. He may have been into parafili. He may have been sexually attracted to them, away for him to revisit his kills.

I guess he liked the power he still held over them and death Maybe it's actually attracted to them, away for him to revisit his kills. I guess he liked the power he still held over them and death would visually remind him of that. Maybe Mama Pickedin was telling them to do it from beyond the grave. Who knows? Wouldn't be surprised if he's here in her fucking shrill psychotic voice in his head. Mama Wille!

Mama Wille! Who's doing it? What's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's up, what's't fix your money for our hands or feet, no need. Put them in the freezer, Bob, will I get, and give mama's go something to talk to, Bob, will I? Give us some hands to help him keep it from but clean, Bob, will I? I know that was unnecessary. September of 2001, another task force is headed by Vancouver police and the Mounties to look

for the missing women, try and figure out what is happening to them and stop it. It's called project even handed, but sadly doesn't work. More and more women continue to disappear. Then that October, Diane Rock has reported missing in November, Mona Wilson vanishes. Uncle Willie, he gets real sloppy with Mona. This will finally lead to his arrest.

At the corner of Maine and Hastings, 26 year old Mona Wilson is approached by Bobby Willie, Uncle Willie, one day that November. He promises her drugs and alcohol, as she'll get in this car. She does, and the two speed off. Now instead of taking monotus, trailer, he takes her to a camper van, he'd park behind a barn on the farm. After they have sex, he attacks her. Instead of strangling her, he beats her with his fists, and then he shoots her with a 22 revolver, and in the process,

he covers the tiny camper van's small bed and cramped interior with her blood. Real sloppy. And not being the cleanest dude, he does not wash away all the evidence of this murder. He doesn't wash away any of it. This leaves her blood on the walls and on the bed because he's a filthy fucking savage. In December of 2001, task force investigators head down to Seattle to interview Gary Ridgeway, the Green River Killer, the man who will later be charged with 49 homicides in Washington State, Green River Killer, former SUCK subject, Mr. Clean Wean himself. He just been apprehended the previous month. He doesn't give them any useful information regarding the Vancouver murders, though, by

the end of 2001, the Van to Cover women, the missing list up to 64 now. And another name will be added in January of 2002 to bring the total to 65. Then on February 1, 2002, please finally get a real break in the form of a confidential tip. A truck driver said he'd worked at the pig farm on and off over the past few years, and that he'd seen illegal weapons and Robert Pickton's trailer. Oh, Uncle Willie, they don't have any stuff. Officers are interested.

They're able to get a search warrant. Four days later, on February 5th, Royal Canadian Mounted Police Officers are company by some task force members enter Picton's property. They flash a warrant to search for illegal firearms and head in. While they search for the firearms, they find something interesting and inhaler, and they quickly determine this inhaler belongs to a missing local woman, Serena Abbottsway. Now Bobby Willie, Uncle Willie becomes a prime suspect regarding this missing woman. Officers then uncover more evidence that they feel will lead them to numerous other mission

women. And they hold Uncle Willie in jail for the night. The police put out a statement to the media saying they'd found personal items belonging to numerous local mission women in the trailer, clothing, IDs, other items, a substantial portion of them soaked with blood. News spreads across the country within 24 hours. Journalists, reporters flock, flood, the picked and farm, law enforcement searching the farm for more and more evidence will turn

into the largest forensic investigation in Canadian history. Following day, February 6th, the task force officers returned with a new warrant to look for clues about the disappearances of the missing women. They began the difficult job of tearing apart a human slaughterhouse nestled inside an industrial grade pig farm slash junkyard and they find all sorts of shit. The mattress and pickedins trailer, that little small one, the RV soaked with Mona Wilson's blood. Her blood also found on the walls, cupboards all over the kitchen. Some of Mona's remains like her head even found in a garbage can on the property in custody now about to be charged with multiple murders, picked in doesn't seem worried.

While he's grilled for 11 hours in an interrogation room, he never seems agitated. He stays calm. Denies everything they throw at him. Even kicks up his feet on a chair, smiles frequently. His interrogators will later talk about how he seemed to be enjoying the attention. Was he delusional enough to still think he'd gotten away with everything? February 7th, Robert is charged with possession of illegal weapons to keep him custody. The search of the property continues as they build more and more evidence against Uncle Willie

for murder. They build up their case. Hopefully they can get a confession out of him or to build up their case. They hope to get a confession out of him. He seems like the type to brag about his crimes so they put an undercover cop and picked and sell and see if he'll tell this guy about what he did and he quickly does. He happily reveals to the guy he thinks is just a cellmate that he had killed 49 women set his goal was 50. And it's impossible to take him in his word like so many other serial killers who have lied to exaggerate their kill counts. Police would eventually find dozens of bodies or at least the parts of dozens of bodies,

even if it was just a blood on the pixel farm. Police would eventually find dozens of bodies or at least the parts of dozens of bodies, even if it was just a blood on the pixel farm. Bobby Willie also tells you undercover cop about how he'd used the processing plant as a dump site and admitted that he got and sloppy at the end with Mona. I watched the video of his confession that a hidden camera in his cell. He's so disturbingly casual when he talks about all this. He's just constantly eating while he's talking. He's cleaning up this plate.

He seems more interested in cleaning his plate up than he is concerned about being charged with murder. No remorse, definitely it shows zero remorse, not at all, just annoyance, that he hadn't cleaned up his little van RV thing, his trailer and gotten rid of the evidence. On February 22nd, Robert picked in this charge with two counts of first degree murder for the Killings of Serena Abbotsway and Mona Wilson. Investigators

continue to look for more evidence. They're digging holes all over the farm, searching the freezers, they find the heads and hands and feet of Serena Abbotsway and also Andrea Joe'sbury. Thousands of pieces of evidence are being collected, including a woodchipper that they suspect picked and used on some of the corpses. By April 2, 2002, there's enough evidence for authorities to announce three more first-degree murder charges against Uncle Willie for the murders of Diane Rock, Jackal and MacDonald and Heather Bottomley. A week later in April 9, he'll face a sixth murder charge for Andrew Joesbury. Meanwhile, his story is now making front page headlines across Canada and the US. A story of the pig farmer killer, the butcher of Vancouver, a weird stinky redneck Canadian asshole who's murdered an unknown amount

of sex workers. On May 22, 2002, picked in the charge with first to remurder of Brenda Wolf, another murder charge. On September 19, the father of missing woman named Marcy Creson files a lawsuit against the police, the city of Vancouver, the province, and the federal government of Canada for not doing more to keep his daughter and the city's other women's safe. That same day, Robert picked in the charge with four more murders.

Those of Georgina Papen, Helen Hallmark, Patricia Johnson, and Jennifer Firminger. Lesson two weeks later, on October 2nd, 2002, picked in the charge with the murders of Heather Chinnick, Tanya Hulk, Sherry Irving, and Inga Hall. On January 13, 2003, the preliminary hearing begins for these murders in Portca, Quitlam. It'll be concluded on July 21. Two days later, July 23, Uncle Willie declared competent to stand trial. Judge David Stone orders the trial on 15 counts of first degree murder now to move forward. November 18, still 2003. Investigators wrap up the mass excavation of the picked-in property. The excavation had lasted 21 months and in total picked-ins

investigation would be estimated to cost around 70 million dollars. On March 10th 2004, Canadian health officials disturbed many in the Port Coquitlam area when the report that they can't rule out the possibility that human remains may have made their way into some of picked in products that have been sold to local customers. Meet sold for human consumption meet consumed by people Canadian health officials say that cross contamination could mean that human remains did get into or contaminate some of the pork meat that was produced. For the past few years at least, picked in had been slaughtering pigs and people and he'd been selling the meat to a lot of different people in the local community. And now those people are furious with him. They had just found out there was a good chance

they'd eaten some of his murder victims, holy shit. They wanted his trial to begin immediately. Even more disturbing and we triple checked his detail to make sure it was true. One of Pickedin's family members, a cousin of Marney Frey reported that their family had been given a lot of free meat from the Pickedin farm. Marney's family, including her mother, had eaten that meat. A lot of it. There's a very good chance that her mom, you know, unknowingly ate some of her daughters flesh. So fucking sad and gross. Can you imagine finding out that you may have unknowingly eaten a family member that you're worried about because they're missing? I mean, I love meat, love it, but that happening that might turn me into a vegetarian or at least into a lunatic at the meat counter.

Yeah, man, those guys look good. That's like, well, that's beef, right? That's beef. That's beef. Nah, it's not human meat. That'd be crazy. You could tell, right? The difference between like a person meat and beef, right?

Yeah, yeah. Man, the sale on that pork, that ground pork is nuts. It's not cheaper because people meet it. May 25th, 2005, Uncle Willie faces 12 more first degree murder charges. They are still putting together more cases with evidence from the farm. In total, now he's been charged with the first degree murder

of 27 women. Finally, his trial is about to begin. June of 2005, pre-trial hearings began in British Columbia Supreme Court in New Westminster. In October of 2005, the pre-trial hearings end. Now he's set to be tried for 27 first degree murders, but that won't happen. On January 30, 2006, in a Vancouver courtroom,

the investigators and prosecution team learned their case is not as strong as everyone had Hoped in the trial of Canada's most prolific serial killer that it would be The courtroom where they'd learned this would be packed with people who had lived in the community who'd maybe eat in some of the victims Members of some of the victims families were there just as James Williams She presided over the case explained to all in attendance that he had divided the complicated case into two trials He also dismissed one murder charge outright for lack of evidence. In one trial, Piction will be charged or tried, excuse me, for six murders. The six murders they have

the most evidence for, the rest of the murders will go to a second trial. Judge Williams also puts a block on how many details the media can circulate about the cases. On December 12, 2006, the jury for Picton's first trial is finally chosen. They're warned they can be sitting for a year or more. There's just so much evidence to go through. With the jury chosen, the first trial begins on January 2nd, 2007, the new West Minister Supreme Court, new West Minister, Supreme Court, Picton, please not guilty on all six Council murder. Some of his victims in attendanceants those who have been attacked but live described

as face as he denied his guilt as uh... him smirking fucking savage prosecution and started showing the jury amount of evidence a recrying scene for uh... photographs blood splatter or spatter analysis dna evidence plenty of picked in victims belongings on the property there was serena's inhal hailer, several lipstick,

lipsticks, a woman's jacket. There were also the items Uncle Willie had used to attack these women with night vision goggles, randomly shackles, not sure what the hell was going on with those night vision goggles. There were buckets full of hands, heads, victims lawyers tried to present him as a simpleton, which was not that hard to do.

They tried to get the jury to believe that a simple farmer wouldn't have been able to pull off a massive murder operation like he did alone, that there had to have been others. They pointed Lynn Ellensjan, Dynetailer, or Dina Taylor, brother Dave Pichten as the true ring leaders, but the jury doesn't buy it. There's just too much evidence that points only to Uncle Willie. One of the prosecution star witnesses is a man who had lived on the farm for several weeks back in 1999. Andrew Bellwood and Bellwood testified in great detail

that one night Uncle Willie had put on a very strange performance in his trailer. He had passionately mined strangling sex workers complete with a piece of wire or a belt. The jury and the audience horrified by Bellwood's descriptions. Final arguments conclude on November 26, 2007. The jury would deliberate, deliberate for two weeks so much to go over, so many charges. On December 8, 2007, the jury comes to a verdict, they find picked in not guilty of all six counts of first degree murder, seriously. But don't worry, they do find him guilty of six counts of second degree murder, so what's the difference? First degree murder is killing that is premeditated, willful, planned, and deliberate. A second degree murder is a deliberate killing that occurs without planning.

They felt his crimes, since he didn't always kill the sex workers he brought back to the farm, didn't kill most actually. They felt that the murders he committed were impulsive. The minimum sentence for second degree murder in Canada at the time, Piction was sentenced, was life in prison without the possibility of parole until 10 years have passed. And the maximum sentence was life in prison without the possibility of parole for 25 years. And he would get the maximum sentence.

And two months later, several years of appeal attempts and legal maneuvering begins. And that ends on July 30, 2010, the Supreme Court of Canada unanimously rejects all of Robert Pickton's appeals for new trails. As this time, British Columbia Crown officials also say the 20 remaining murder charges against Pickton will likely not ever be prosecuted to spare families in the court system from the effort and expense of another long trial. They confirmed that decision on August 4, 2010. No more murder charges for Uncle Willie. Additional convictions wouldn't have resulted in a tougher sentence under Canadian law at the time and would have been an extremely expensive and lengthy trial.

What have resulted in that? On December 12, 2012, Vancouver Police Chief Jim Chiu offers an unequivocal apology for the mistakes made in the missing women's cases. It had now been more than a decade since Robert picked in the rest. On behalf of the Vancouver Police Department, I would again like to say we are sorry to the families and friends of the missing and murdered women we could have and should have caught picked in sooner. Choo would say to press conference. In response to accusations of a systemic bias within the force that prevented officers

from taking the cases of missing women more seriously the deputy deputy chief Doug LaParde noted that the culture within the police department had undergone a dramatic change over the past few years with new ideas about social justice and community responsibility circulating. LaParde said there's been a very dramatic change in the way we view missing persons when they're marginalized people in terms of recognizing the fact that they are marginalized and that that makes them a very high risk or puts them at very high risk for violence. And the part added, it was noted that the inquiry that the missing persons unit is now one of the best in Canada. Police Department leadership said that they have made significant changes to how policing is done in the downtown east

side, including the creation of a sex industry liaison officer. So at least something really good came out of all this insanity and filthy tragedy. So where is Bobby Willie now? Well, Uncle Willie is currently being held in the maximum security Kent institution, 120 kilometers east of Vancouver, probably the cleanest he ever been. Because the Canadian criminal justice system is much less severe when it comes to punishment than the US says this dude who's currently 71

can apply for day parole and unescorted absences in less than three years on February 22nd, 2024. He can apply for full parole on February 22nd, 2077 when he's 77. That's insane. If there's so many murders, why even open the door for a dude like this to do anything

other than just stay and die in prison? Of course he will not automatically receive parole when he applies highly unlikely. He'll ever get out He'll have to go before a parole board that has full details of his crimes and somehow convince them that he's a reformed man He's a new Bobby willy. Oh, I'm a new uncle willy. No, I have life people now. I'm calm Highly unlikely again. He'll ever walk free again. What about his brother Dave? Did he ever get in any trouble for any of this? He maintained that he had no idea what his brother was up to

that pig slaughter was Bobby Willie's deal, not his, that he wouldn't have seen these women killed, wouldn't have come across their remains. Even though a lot of local law enforcement thought at the very least he knew what was going on. He was never charged with anything related to his brother's murders. And what happened to the picked-in-pick farm? It's currently a grass field with a few cows that graze on it next to a golf course and some track housing, not far from Blake Burnell and

Entry. I'm sure brother Dave, why he thinks still owns it, will get a lot of money someday for selling it if he hasn't cashed out already based on land prices in the area i i would say not not crazy to think that he would get over twenty million dollars if you still don't land uh... got a guy who probably uh... new about these murders if if if you didn't help kill some of himself an evil and we're fun can be even richer now let's hop out of the timeline

we still have some wild picked in theory to go over starting with the Hells Angels. Good job, soldier. You made it back. Barely. There's uh, there's several conspiracy theories about the Pictons. Uh, some wild theories that include allegations about the Vancouver police actually selling drug addicted sex workers to pick them for him to rape, kill and butcher to theories that Bobby Willie was a member of a local hell's angel cannibal cult. Let's look at that one.

According to this conspiracy, the hell's angels in conjunction with the Illuminati, of course, always the Illuminati started a cannibal cult. And the picked in brothers were part of it. Because when you see the Picton Brothers, you think elite, clearly, global elite. The theory begins with a Vancouver Biker band called Spiral Arms. According to a random internet forum poster,

the cover of the band's Spiral Arms album contains an image of Kali, a Hindu goddess associated with cannibalism and death, whom is worshiped in cannibalistic rituals. Which is, you know, there is some weird cannibalistic-esque cults somewhat associated with Collie. The drummer for spiral arms is from Mount Diablo slash Bohemian Grove area where sacrifices are done to Mollek, Condor man, Eater of Human flesh, and the drummer also has the cartoon

of a human flesh slaughterhouse on his page. Case closed. Why has it this guy? And many others, why haven't they already been arrested for cannibalism and human sacrifice? Bobby Willie was clearly upon in a much larger game. Uh, was not familiar with spiral arms before hearing about this. They don't know much about him, but they do sound a lot better than I expected them to. Hard rock band out of the Bay area That broke up for a few years ago. Here's a little bit of spiral arms

Dropping like flies from 2013 is solid, you know, it's no Michael McDonnell. No, no, no, y'all will be there, but it's solid. The post of these allegations then connects this biker band to the victims writing, then further up the coast in British Columbia. We have Port Coquitlam, the central headquarters of the Hells Angels for the entire region, and a gigantic cannibal restaurant slash hall called Piggy Palace. With a slaughterhouse next to it, situated right next to what could be the most gigantic rail yard in North America and a port servicing ships from Asia. Uh-huh.

So that is how picked and shipped as human meat to a lot of illuminati cannibals around the globe. It all makes sense. Must be true. Uncle Willie, that's the man, the illuminati overlords would count on for a steady supply of human meat. That's why he's that's why he's still in prison, right? Because he's the Illuminati guy. Obviously, this conspiracy does not have much meat to it, pun, not intended. Hard to avoid.

What an odd story, right? Uncle will his life in crime. It's not like something out of a horrifying German's children tale, like a folklore. A child being forced to work on his family's pig farm from a young age living in a converted chicken coop and growing up to butcher women sell their meat to local townsfolk. I'm sure if given the opportunity, the neighbors would have chased the victims away with actual pitchforks and torches, like the medieval monsters they were. The tale of the victims sounds like the story of a monstrous family living back in the 19th century or earlier, like the victims could have been neighbors to the bloody banners. Nope. They were living, like they were living right next door to the very modern cosmopolitan city of Vancouver. Right. They were surrounded by absolute homes, full of doctors and other well to do, often well educated folk. Uncle Willie lived near the city, preyed on some of its inhabitants, like a fucking bridge troll snagging the unlucky

peasants of some nearby village. You found a vulnerable population of sex workers living in Vancouver's downtown east side. He hunted women struggling with drug addiction. Many of them also struggling with homelessness, sometimes mental illness. And he got away with it for years because the Vancouver police felt that many of these people were hard to keep track of and thus their disappearances were of less concern. And that is, you know, a pretty valid. However, because of Uncle Willie's crimes, they would later apologize and make reforms, you know, a pretty valid. However, because of Uncle Willie's crimes, they would later apologize and make reforms, you know, to work harder to monitor this vulnerable population that wouldn't have to keep hiding in the shadows if drug use and prostitution were legal and regulated.

While the story of Robert William Pickedin, it's in sound like an urban legend. It was terrifyingly real for Uncle Willie's victims. Bobby Willie killed and butchered many and many more may have eaten their flesh not that long ago in a beautiful city, not far from where I now sit. A weird world. Time now for today's Top 5 takeaways. Number one, Robert Picton killed dozens of women. He says 49, one shy of his goal of 50, where he fucked up goal between 1983 and 2002 is what people think. When police uncovered enough evidence to charge him in 26 murders, you'd only be convicted of six second-degree murders in 2007. Number two, this suck stinks literally. So much stink and the story of Bobby Willey

in the picked and clan. These people were filthy, urine, shit, blood, all soaked into their clothes, which they rarely washed. Farm animals had free run of the house. Bobby Willey didn't bathe much, wash his sheets, wash his clothes, anything else, he and his family reaked. Wash up, meat sacks, scrub yourselves, your whole bodies.

Keep those front butts and ween's clean. Watch out, meat sacks, scrub yourselves, your whole bodies, keep those front butts, and weens clean. Number three, numerous Vancouverites may have eaten the remains of Picton victims. At least one family was given a lot of meat from the Picton Pig Farm. Meat that quite possibly contained their murdered loved ones. Well, that family, their murdered loved one. Ah, think about that the next time you're biting to a hot dog or some sausage. What's really a Natsuite meat? Number four, Vancouver PD had been accused

of brushing aside the disappearances of the city's sex workers during the span of Peyton's crimes. In response, they pointed to the fact that there were no dead bodies turning up. And then much of downtown East Side's population was ignorant. People could be there one day, gone the next, in search of an opportunity or just trying

to get a fresh start. I'm a tinerant, that's what I meant to say. I knew it was there, right? Still, later they would acknowledge that they could have done more. And now they are doing more. um... you know in search of an opportunity or just trying to get a fresh start a tinerant ass i'm a say you are still later they would acknowledge that they could have been more and now they are doing more that is the one bright spot of this episode and number five new info during his time in prison the barely literate uncle bobby willy picked in somehow managed to barf out a book about his crimes all of them told from his perspective

the families of victims and police both asked the public not to read it. The 144 page book at one time available in paperback and ebook is called Picked In, in his own words. It was published on January 12, 2016 by Outskirts Press, a Colorado based company that helps would be author self-published. It was on sale on Amazon.ca or just over $20,000. Mike Morris, the minister of public safety for Canada time, said in a statement, it is not right that a person who caused so much harm and hurt and hurt so many people could profit from his behavior. Picton smuggled the manuscript out of prison to get it published. According to CTV News,

Picton wrote the book in his maximum security cell at the Kent institution where he was incarcerated. Oh, you know, he's up to this writing game there. He passed the manuscript onto another prisoner who sent it to a friend in California named Michael Childress who published it. And after the public outcry over this Amazon and every other book retailer I know of took the book down, doesn't don't sell them in paperback or ebook form anymore. They stop selling them. I tried to find a copy everywhere it could not.

So what is in it? Apparently a lot of horseshit, of course. Picton references biblical passages include transcripts of interviews with police. The whole thing is littered with massive grammatical and spelling mistakes, not surprisingly. It's a pretty poor read. And of course, Picton claims he's innocent. He says, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police made him the fall guy because they were getting in too much hot water. Uh-huh, sure Uncle Willie, that's why you're in prison. Or maybe you're there because you were too lazy and filthy to clean a victim's blood off the walls, uh, you know, of that little RV to clean it off the bed that you probably slept

in fucking numerous nights after that, you dirty bastard. I think even Mama picked in, would have been disgusted by how filthy her boy eventually became. Oh, Baba Wille! Baba Wille, huh? Why'd you clean those sheets of the block, Baba Wille? Why'd you sleep in the head of the trash, Baba Wille? Why'd you just let the pigs in the living room out there? Why don't you talk to you about those some more murders? Keep yourself clean, Baba Wille?

Let's watch the blood off sometimes now, then, Baba Wille! I think it's enough for today. Time, suck, tough, right, take away. Rubberpicton, the pig farmer killer has been sucked. What a wild suck it was. Holy shit, I'm glad I'm not a victim. Way too heavy on the hog folk there. My head is in a weird place after all that.

Thank you to the Bad Magic production team for all the help in making time suck. What a weird one we made this week. Queen of Bad Magic Lindsay Cummins, Reverend Dr. Joe Paisley, the script keeper, Zach Flannery. He told me this was going to be a wild one. He was right. Sophie Fax, source for his Evans, Biddle Leicester, Logan, the art warlock Keith, running Bad Magic Merch.com,

working on our socials along with Liz Hernandez. Thank you to Liz Hernandez and our all-sign, all-seeing eyes running whatever incarnation we currently have of the Facebook's cult of the curious private group. What I just say, I can't talk today for some reason. It's a private group on Facebook. I don't know why I was getting fancy with the language there. Thanks to beef steak, keeping Discord fun, and thanks to all you spaces who are playing Time Sok trivia on the Time Sok app, I am currently in the lead with 5,340 points me as this recording, which was back on March

23rd. I won't be in the top 10 or probably even top 20 by 10 years, but I'm still excited. Makes me feel like I'm remembering more of this crazy info than I thought I was. Next week on Time, we go historical. We get communist with Mao Zedong and the cultural revolution. Cultural revolution was actually the second of Mao's highly questionable plans. The first, a great leap forward, was intended to transform China's real peasant population into steel workers.

And this leap killed tens of millions through imprisonment, starvation, and execution. Mao then launched the Cultural Revolution known in full as the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution in August of 1966. He shut down the nation's schools, calling for a massive youth mobilization to fight against the quote, old values. Q elders and teachers being beaten in the streets. Q grandparents being killed. Mao didn't give a fuck who died

if he thought their death equaled economic progress for China, paramilitary groups called the Red Guards, attacked and harassed Chinese intellectuals and elderly. Some one and a half million people were killed during the Cultural Revolution. Millions of other suffered imprisonment, seizure of property, torture, or general humiliation. And because of the sleep and subsequent revolution, Mao is considered by some to be the worst mass murderer in history.

In the running for the worst person of all time, Mao would become an international political icon with a cult of personality around him while having some really odd habits to say the least. Habits like never brushed his teeth and taking tons of sleep medication for his terrible insomnia and you don't even want to know about his poop habits, but you will learn about them next week. If you listen, finally, I've returned to some peanut butter. I've returned to some showbiz. How did this odd and terrifying man's rise to power and subsequent policies fuck over millions

of China citizens to next week to find out and keep tuning in right now to find out what's going on this week's time sucker updates. Updates, get your time sucker updates. Since we're going to be talking about communism next week, the first update from smart sack Dakota Bailey seems fitting. Dakota writes, I'm a newer space lizard. I've listened to a lot of the old, to new podcasts and love the logic and objectivity. I'm a graduate student at a research university where my department is very Marxist. Although my research is far more quantitative, that being said, communism, Marxism, and socialism

are far from the same thing. I'm not claiming you've stated them to be, but simply thought I could provide some insight into what helped me understand why our currently radically neoliberal capitalist system is flawed and why a socialized capitalist system would work much better for everyone. Economies are based off of resources. These resources are finite

and even the ones that do replenish themselves typically do not in human time scales. Neoliberal free market principles dictate that a purely unrestricted market will function best. However, this completely unregulated format promotes the over exploitation of resources, which is unsustainable. One of two things will occur if a completely unregulated or barely regulated system is allowed to proceed.

One, societal tension will increase as resources are dwindled and concentrated amongst the few, and there will either be peaceful or violent social upheaval to overthrow the system. Two, the process is allowed to play out until the entire system collapses from social and environmental stressors, leading to mass dioffs and potential extinctions in worst-case scenarios. A heavily socialized version of capitalism can promote regulation and a successful promotion of equality and equity while still maintaining the level of private enterprise that promotes healthy competition. Doing so is a way to balance the scale, keeping it from tipping towards a neoliberal free

market in one direction and a communist system in the other. Start off with a long message, hope this email was insightful or at least somewhat interesting. Keep on sucking Dakota. Well Dakota, that message was insightful and interesting. While I despise actual communism, while I need to learn more about Marxism, I am in favor of re-examining our current blend of socialism and capitalism.

It's funny to me how so many people who currently benefit from socialist policies in the US also have bumper stickers expressing how much they hate quote unquote socialism. I'm sure some of those bumper stickers are paid for by money from social security checks, a very socialist institution. I'm sure some of those people have a portion of their medical bills paid for by Medicare

insurance, a socialist type of insurance system. I love capitalism. I love regulated capitalism. If it gets, you know, too unregulated and corporate overlords just become the new de facto dictators, right? A better safety net national insurance system or a baseline of socialist medicine, a baseline of free higher education for those who qualify for starters, I think we'll go a long ways towards many being able to enjoy the benefits of capitalism.

It would help capitalism hard to excel within a capitalist system if you're sick and uneducated. I think the two systems could work hand in hand beautifully. So yeah, in short Dakota, I'm with you. I love what you're looking into. Love what you're learning. Keep on sucking. Spaces are just in read, likes to get naked, and as nudity relates to last week's you a 70 killer suck. Justin writes, Hey, master sucker, long time listener coming to you from Kings Beach, California, up at Lake Tahoe. I'm waiting for quite some time for a suck to have an element that I have a direct contact with, and I'm very excited to say that it happened with this Ostemedi Killer episode.

My girlfriend and I have been going to the nudist resort, Laguna Del Sol for years, and absolutely love the place. Couldn't quite believe that such a terrible person like Carrie Stainer was arrested there, definitely going to be asking around next time I'm there to see if anyone was around the time, which is not out of the question as it is mainly an older crowd there. One thing to note, while we spend a very healthy number of days, smoking weed, enjoying the pleasures of nudism, a lot of Kerry Stainer minus the psychopathy,

we've only ever seen one squash and that is Nimrod himself. I can prove using so many grainy photographs and blurry film snippets that our benevolent cosmic squash God doesn't have a tan line on his body. Hail nudist Nimrod. Praise me to the suck and thank you for all that you guys do. Spaces are Justin. Well, Hail nudist Nimrod Justin. I love the union girlfriend and go to that nudist resort.

I hope your wing and her lady bits are as tan as your forearms. Get that son. I love that as the suck grows more connections like this are made. All right, it makes it all more real, doesn't it? Sometimes you can just almost feel made up if there's not like a tangible connections to that as the sun grows, more connections like this are made. It makes it all more real, doesn't it? Sometimes you can just almost feel made up if there's not tangible connections to people's lives in this community.

Enjoy getting naked as the weather gets warmer. I hope you lay by the pool at full massed. Yeah, let that boner fly at the resort. It'll make the older crowd feel good. To know that you like what they're throwing down, you get. Why do I always think about, what are, how many boners are you going around in New Zealand? Update now and last week's update. A new Alexa-based prank, funny sucker, Jalen Haas has some laughs to share with us.

Jalen writes, oh my God, you guys, I was just listening to this week's suck and heard the listener's story about his Alexa prank and I had to write it in. Just last week I pulled a similar prank on my fiance. I had a little free time at work so I decided to use my phone to play dumb songs on our Alexa at home, my poor fiance, who spends her days wrangling a wild toddler and training an equally energetic puppy had finally gotten some time to herself and was vibing to some music when apparently my lizard brain told me I needed to fuck that up for her out of nowhere Her music cuts out and she hears hey, we want some pool say

She shuts it off puts her music back on a minute later it happens again Hey, we want some pool say she then realizes this is one of the time sucks songs her dumb ass man child is obsessed with Cut to me giggly to my truck and I get a text that says, I'll fucking kill you asshole. I was vibing. Now I'm dying. I text back, I don't know what you're talking about, but I think I do know what the problem is. It's a devil to which she replies, don't you dare.

I then proceed to laugh my ass off in the back of the truck while she is forced into hearing. To hell, blame the devil. I was debating and telling you guys this story, but when I heard that similar one, I had to thank you for helping me find random laughter throughout my day. Also, help me further thin the ice that I stand on daily with my beautiful fiance. You guys are great.

Hell, Nimra, praise the Zafina. Keep on sucking, Jalen. Jalen, you are hilarious. Thank you for sharing that prank with me. I feel like more and more meat sacks are about to have their Alexis hijacked or they're going to be hijacking. Alexis is probably the better way to say that. It's too good. If I had a smart system like that in my house, I would be doing that as well. Now, sweet sack, Kara Filer would like to share a grandfather tribute

of her own based on the pop award suck. Careful with this one if you are prone to allergies. Kara writes, Dear Master Sucker on High, Tamer Vogue Angles and Play Toy of Lucifina. I just wanna start off by saying what a huge fan I am of Time Sucks, Care to Death and all your comedy. Thank you.

I actually had the chance to meet you last February in Brooklyn before all hell broke loose and the world came to a stop. I really loved your Sucker on Papa Ward. I appreciate you sharing his life and his influence on you. I'm writing because I also happen to lose my grandfather the weekend before that suck was released at 94 years old. Wow, a long life.

The episode hit a little closer to home for me. So soon after my own loss on the chance that this gets right on the show, I was hoping to share a bit of his life as well. My grandpa George and his siblings were placed in foster care when he was three after his mother passed. He was sent to the Hebrew orphan asylum in New York. He spent time in different homes and spent his summers away at camp. It was a tough life, but he always felt protected with his brothers around.

One time when another kid in the orphanage tried to steal his food, someone else yelled, don't you know who his brothers are? He's a filer. They'll kill you. I love it. At 16, he aged out of the foster care system and got a job at a gas station in New Jersey. And he found a boarding house with a room for rent 10 bucks a month. When he could no longer afford rent in a winter coat in the same month, he forged his

birth certificate so he could join the Navy earlier than was allowed. A Jewish boy from New York, he fought in World War II. After the military, he opened up his own beauty parlor, the pinup. He wanted to be a career Navy man, but other people in his life convinced him otherwise a major contributor to his beauty to his beauty parlor career was his brother jewels he would later witness jewels murdered after an argument with the neighbor went downhill quickly the man shot his brother several times in the chest before pointing the gun on my grandfather's head pulling the trigger and misfiring my pop couldn't believe he hadn't been shot the gunman then knocked my pop unconscious

with the gun. Eventually my pop gave up the hair salon business. It became a licensed telephone installer for the New York telephone company. He was much happier in his new career. Love the new stories. This career provided pop even became a photographer later in life photography. Photographing, uh, photographing weddings and portraits. He beat COVID-19 beat pneumonia earlier this year. My pop George had a life full of both trauma and joy to the extreme. He found peace much later in life, and I hope now he can be eternally peaceful with the family we've been missing for years. I'd like to leave last say that my pop was a man that loved without hesitation, and that's the best advice I think I could ask for.

Thanks for all you do on time, so I can scare to death. Praiseable jangles and hail Lucifina, but most importantly, keep on sucking. Your loyal space lizard and fellow creeper, Cara Well, thank you Cara. Man, Papa George filer. What a life he led. What a crazy close call with his brother's neighbor. And there's a backstory there. I'm sure. I hope that dude got a lot of trouble for that. Obviously, love without hesitation. What a great piece of advice. Love that he had several different careers, lived different lives. Right. Man, font World War II, he went where we're life took him. Thanks for sharing some of your life with us. Kara, thanks for sharing his life with us. And, uh, excuse me, sorry, for

your loss. And then it was end on an anonymous message sent by a survivor sack that relates to our recent suck on the Alon school. They write, hail, Bull jangles. I always love every I, uh, I always love every episode you do do and I've had several where I thought I've had Where I've thought to say something that I had a connection with, but this is the one that really hit home I spent several years in these programs based on a less than great childhood I have severe depression and a bipolar and when I was younger I had a history of self-abuse and eventually attempted suicide twice during this time I was in an out of hospitals and psych wards who weren't able to get through

to me. Eventually, he would suggest that I had, that I'd be sent to a therapeutic program that could give better help. This was done without me being told as well. I was 12 when it happened. And yes, it is a couple of guys who show up at your house at 2 a.m. Grab you, put you on a plane and take you elsewhere. I spent six months in a brown school locked down in Texas, where program instructors were

abusive and violent and other, quote unquote, students were there for cases such as rape and attempted murder. This was meant to break me down mentally and leave me more open and susceptible to the program and teachings at CEDU where I went for the next three years. The time I spent there technically helped me, but through a lot of debatable methods. I was able to clean up, lost almost a hundred pounds, became very dependent on structure, and thought the abuse, teachings, and curriculum were normal. We would spend full weekends in small rooms with 10 to 15 others, where we would yell

at each other, push each other, and accept all of our negativities, quote, unquote. What was funny is watching some of the Scientology and LDS documents with my wife later. I would comment how we spoke like that or punished in the same way. She would just look at me puzzled and be like, yeah, I get your fucked up attitude now. After three years, I was sent to an all-boys Christian boarding school to socialize and prepare me for regular life, then spent half a year in a downtown Atlanta public school fun times. After this, I went to college in Charleston where I was definitely a fish out of water, but met my wife who I've been with for 18 years now.

It has been my biggest supporter. I wouldn't be the person I am now without her and our daughter. I met you a few times and you've been to Charlotte and it was great to meet you. Just wanted to share a little of my story. If you have any questions about someone on there, please let me know. Thanks for all you do and share. Hope you and your family and staff are safe. I'd apologize for the length, but nope.

FYI, STD episode about Savannah, we lived there for three years and while no one believes that our house was definitely haunted. Two ports of time to move, so we just accepted the ghost as an annoying roommate. Our windows would bend and warp, the bathroom floor would bleed, the shower and sink would cut,

would cut on all the way to scalding hot, and we had shadows that would whisper in the kitchen all on the room. No bullshit about this. My God. When you're broken, have no options. You accept it. We could we could just say knock it off or please turn it off and it would occur. What the hell? Holy shit, anonymous. That last stuff will be hard for me to accept. I guess I would just accept being terrified all the time trying to get used to that. Sorry for

what you went through. Glad you made it through all that and seemed to have a great life now. Good job. Just, you know, never quitting, never giving up. And thanks for sharing your story. Again, makes us all the stuff, the stories we share here, all the more real. Praiseable Jangles, hail you, you tough son of a bitch. Hope we cross past down again, or again down the road and charlatte or wherever. Hail Nimrod, everyone. Thanks, time suckers. I need a net.

We all did. Thanks for listening to this bad productions, bad magic productions. I've had the same, I've had a written down on my notes for like seven weeks in a row. I mentally change it most of the time. Thanks for listening to this bad magic productions podcast, me and text. It's crazy that I have to actually even have that written down too. It's a note. I don't, I that written down, too. So note, I don't, I know what it's called. Please don't kill anyone and feed them to your neighbors this week.

Maybe don't drown anyone your kid hits with a car either, you know, or truck. You get it. And, you know, keep on sucking. I think, I think I think people like that song so much I did earlier they're gonna they're gonna want to hear it again I know they are I know there Thank you thank you thank you thank you Correlation, take the dog ball up in the momma wheelie Keep it in the tube There's no one there Go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, thank you for whoo! Hey! No! Hey, take it! You know how everything works!