Timesuck with Dan Cummins - 361 - The UK's Jeffrey Dahmer: Dennis Nilsen

Episode Date: August 14, 2023

In addition to being a serial killer who very likely killed at least 15 young men and boys around London between 1978 and 1983... Dennis Nilsen was also SO WEIRD. Have you ever pretended to pass out in front of a friend or coworker, hoping they'll try to molest you? Dennis did that. Ever strip down naked while working security and rubbed your genitals on a stuffed gorilla? Dennis also did that. Dennis did SO many weird things, fueled by his intensely specific and peculiar sexual fantasies. We get especially weird with this week's Timesuck! Wet Hot Bad Magic Summer Camp tickets are ON SALE!  BadMagicMerch.com Get tour tickets at dancummins.tv Watch the Suck on YouTube: https://youtu.be/wihmUYkAuWUMerch: https://www.badmagicmerch.comDiscord! https://discord.gg/tqzH89vWant 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 happens to be our most current page :)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/timesuckpodcastWanna become a Space Lizard?  Click here: https://www.patreon.com/timesuckpodcastSign 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

He looked like Mr. Ordinary. He had a suit on, he had steel rims, spectacles. In the context of what he'd done, he was frightingly normal. These were the words of detective, chief inspector Peter J. One of the investigators who came to Dennis Nielsen's apartment when strange and horrible substances were found in the building's pipes. At first, other tenants of the apartment complex wondered if the pipes contained dead animal. Or if, as Dennis Nielsen himself suggested, someone had flushed their KFC. The rotting gray substance looked practically unidentifiable. Was it dog food? Was it Kentucky Fried Chicken? Was something flushed down the toilet other than your everyday peanut butter, sewage? And then a plumber thought he saw something, a small bone that looked just like a human

knuckle. Forensic pathologists would soon confirm that the sewage substance practically liquefied now was decomposing human tissue. Indeed, there were actually two different kinds of human tissue in the pipes. The police were now obviously suspicious. And so were many of the building's tenants. Some thought Dennis Nielsen might have something to do with it. It was weird, dude.

He often seemed either incredibly depressed or very drunk, sometimes both. He had visitors over every couple of weeks, but they never seemed to raise his spirits. He spent a lot of time by himself, only emerging to maybe boisterously invite his neighbors over for a drink, a drink invitation they consistently declined. But even though Dennis or Des, as he called himself,

was not duck, it was still hard for many to believe that he could really be responsible for the human tissue in the pipes. Like Peter J. thought he was Mr. Ordinary, an unremarkable civil servant, living the bachelor life, a former army man, policemen, and night watchman who seemed to have nothing going on other than a fondness for music cameras and cooking. But then on the ride over to the police station with Nielsen in the back seat, they would discover just how wrong they all were.

How many people had he killed? They asked one or two. Nielsen shrugged, staring out the car window and casually replied, 15 or 16 since 1978. If only every killer's confession could come that easily. This confession marked the beginning of a story that would change everything people thought they knew about Mr. Ordinary, a story that took place in dimly lit gay bars and on slick London streets and ended in horror. Dennis Nielsen was anything but ordinary. But exactly what he was, hard to pin down.

Was he a lonely man driven by feelings of isolation, past the edge of sanity? Was he so guilty over his own sexual identity that he started lashing out to the very men who wanted to offer him companionship and release? Was he just born bad, shit crazy? And his poorly wired mind

limped into a world of strange sexual fantasies. Fantacies that revolved around limp, hairless bodies, and grizzled old perverts. And these fantasies then led to murder? How did he become the strange, strange man he became? Was it his destiny, a series of bad choices, a series of outsides, a sidel, and familial forces working against him? Why do any of us become who we are?

The odd story of Dennis Nielsen right now on another true crime, serial killing, and you thought you were weird, addition of Time Suck. This is Michael McDonald and you're listening to Time Suck. You're listening to Time Suck. Happy Monday, mate Saxon. Welcome to the coat of the curious. I won't talk like that much. I'm Dan Kama's the master sucker, uh, possible peckerwood. World's leading expert on Elizabethan era serial killer Billy shakes. The state of Mississippi's board of tourism director. And you are listening to time suck. Hail Nimrod, Hail Lucifina, Praise Beat, Good Boy Boy Jangles, and Glory Beat, a triple

M. Real quick before so much show. Got a lot of details today. Reminder to watch my new stand-up special, trying to get better Sunday, August 27th, 4pm, Pacific Time, popping up on YouTube. It's free. Not looking for your money, just looking for you to enjoy it. Just watch it. And if you love it, and I'm really hopeful you will like comment share that motherfucker

Nimrod demands it lose a phenom things is hot Michael motherfucking McDonald wants you to take you to the streets or something like that and bojangles doesn't care for Santa Sunday, August 27th 4 p.m. Pacific time again bad magic productions YouTube channel and also thank you to everyone who got a street team sticker We ran out in minutes and because there was so much demand, we ordered another batch of 500 more free sticker packs. So stay tuned to find out when those will be available in the Badmagic Merch.com store. Probably I will know next week in that episode. And then finally in the Badmagic store this week, the electric icon collection to high voltage variants to choose from as well as a sweet new hoodie design. Yes, I know it's summer, but who cares?

Logan was in a hoodie mood. So head on over to badmatchemers.com, grab yours now. And that's it, back to the Rumble True Crime. For today's episode with a killer who was as verbose as he was horrifying, a little dramatic. In another life, perhaps he could have taken to the the theater. And perhaps he was the reincarnation of the most twisted and depraved soul ever to haunt the alleys on the shadowy places of London and stratford upon Avon. Billy shakes the literary world's most horrific serial killer much ado about Satan If you're new to time suck or just skip the Shakespeare episode don't fucking worry about what just happened You put Billy shakes out of your mind to die to sleep to sleep. Put chance to dream. Put chance to murder

Talking about Necrofowl Dennis Nielsensen today, the muswell hill murderer, sometimes referred to as the kindly killer, and a man labeled in more recent years as the UK's Jeffrey Dahmer. To cover Dennis, we'll first situate him amongst serial killer back contemporaries, comparing him to one individual in particular, Dahmer, who looms large in the world of true crime, before diving into the timeline of his life and crimes a life that would be in many ways just as fucking ridiculous As it was scary just as pathetic as it was destructive. So let us begin to suck or not to suck. That is the question While Dennis Nielsen is quite the infamous name in the UK, or at least definitely was years

ago, his story, you know, also recently adapted into a three-part miniseries with David Tenant, aka Dr. Who, playing Nielsen, certainly hasn't achieved the same popularity in the US. Didn't achieve it when his crimes were exposed, or you know, more recently. And that is probably because, you know, just as a nation, we Americans truly, and I know this doesn't sound cool, it sounds a little callous to say, but we just buy and large don't care who gets killed across the pond. It's something about people in the UK's accents, like the, that just makes British, Scottish, and Welsh people just seem cartoonish, you know, like fictional. maybe fictional is a better word.

Real victim dies in the UK or a character in a Dickens novel or Harry Potter dies, it just kinda just kind of feels the same. Kitty, no, I don't think Americans in general feel that way. I don't. Nielsen may not have become infamous in the US because by the 1980s, we had so many of our own serial killers to deal with. Beginning with Ted Bundy's trial in June of 1979 for the murders he had committed in Florida.

This was after years of sensational reporting, thanks to Bundy's various prison escapes and Bundy killed attractive white women who were not sex workers and nothing captures America's attention when it comes to true crime, quite like someone killing young white women, not living lives of,... you know vice add to that mix and attractive white guy killing those women and criminal mastermind capable of multiple escapes hard to top bundies dark mystique in america also in the early eighties the american public was shocked to hear about the brutal murders of

henry leucas and odys tool all the ones that they actually committed and there was many others that they confessed to that they didn't commit. But the 1981 murder of Adam Walsh, the son of America's most wanted host John Walsh that there was claim to have had a pardon that captured America's attention while Nielsen was finishing his murder spree and being caught and brought to trial back in the US serial killer Larry, the highway killer Eilor killed between 19 and 23 people during his crimes

Breathe elaster from 1982 to 1984 We mentioned him before just barely in the her bow mice for suck Might have to do a full episode on Larry someday Also just a few months following Larry's crimes Variatorious serial killer Richard the night stalker Ramirez Arrested August 31st, 1985, you know, bringing a whole new set of gory stories to the American public. And the Night Stalker also primarily targeted women, women who often thought they were

safe inside their own homes, not doing anything risky. So Nielsen's crimes were just never going to get anywhere near the press that the Night Stalker's crimes, you know, did. The killer who's most similar to Nielsen, at least in M.O. and victim typology, would come years after Nielsen was caught. He wouldn't be brought to justice until the early 1990s, and that person, Suckalum, Jeffrey the Milwaukee monster, Dahmer. Both men were loners, who targeted men and boys within their local gay dating scenes,

both served in the army Uh, they were actually both stationed in west Germany and in another weird coincidence both killed for the first time in the same year 1978 even killed men with the same first name Dommers first victim with Stephen Hicks and 18 year old hitchhiker who agreed to go to Dommers house and have some beers Uh, Nielsen's first victim 14 year old Holmes, whom he met in a pub and invited back to his house to drink and listen to music. And according to their confessions, Dahmer and Nielsen killed them for seemingly on the surface at least identical reasons.

They didn't want their companions to leave. The killings of Stephen and Stephen set the template for Dahmer and Nielsen's later murders. They slaughtered men and boys not because they were primarily driven by sexual sadism or derived a particular pleasure from the act of murder itself, but because they wanted complete ownership of males they found attractive. They wanted sex slaves who would never disobey them, never reject them, never leave or deny their fantasy. It was the earliest Dahmer wanted these sex slaves.

Nielsen kind of wanted sex slaves. Nielsen was a gay man who had elaborate sexual fantasies about limp, unresponsive bodies. Sexual fantasies that are almost not even quite sexual, you'll see it's weird. And like Dahmer, Nielsen would keep the bodies around for a while, first under the floorboards and in cupboards, where he would bring them out from time to time to, you know, hang out.

Unlike Dommer, Nielsen didn't preserve any of the bodies, though not because he didn't want to. He just didn't know how it didn't bother learning to use his words, didn't have the right kind of fluid. When it came to disposing of the bodies, Nilsen like Dahmer did get creative. He would construct elaborate bonfires in his backyard to burn his victims down to almost nothing. And inside his house, he would destroy the bodies with skills he learned as a military chef, slicing up the corpses, boiling the heads until they were unrecognizable, and leaving

whatever small parts out for local wildlife to consume. Unlike Dahmer, he didn't consume any of the parts of the victims himself. No yaw him cruel. His obsession did not include cannibalism. When asked in a prison interview if he'd ever consumed body parts he replied, oh never, I'm strictly a bacon and eggsman. He did a bacon eggs guy. Just a regular old joe, gosh dang, not some, not some freakish cannibal, no way Jose, just a normal guy who sometimes likes to sit around with the corpse and snuggle or watch some TV. That brings us to another difference between Dahmer and Neilson, a chilling one. Dahmer seemed to know he was a monster.

He even earnestly pleaded for his own death. He once said after his capture, yes, I always had that sense it was wrong. I don't think anybody can kill somebody and think that it's right. And another time he said, it's just like a big chunk of me has been ripped out and I'm not quite whole. I don't think I'm over dramatizing it. And I'm certainly deserving of it. But the way I feel now, it's just like you're talking to someone who's terminally ill and facing death. Death would be preferable to what I'm facing. I just feel like imploding upon myself, you know?

I just wanna go somewhere and disappear. Nielsen, on the other hand, never seemed to think he was a monster. Now, he was a victim in his mind. He acknowledged it, yes, he had murdered and sure. You know, that was a little naughty, but he placed all the blame not on himself, but on his emotionally

distanced upbringing and upbringing that actually seemed to feature none of the abuse common to many other serial killers childhoods. After he was caught, Nielsen would spend years writing his biography, history of a drowning boy, revising and revising his childhood to make it seem like he was destined to murder from day one. As a baby, Nielsen thinks he was especially sensitive to how his grandmother and mother would pass him around like a, quote, unpleasant object. There were no loving hands, he lamented, but rather he says he was acted upon, in rituals

of caring, stripping, bathing, powdering, dressing and laying out, by strong and towering powers. Holy melodramatic. Dude, as if you fucking remember the feelings you had when you were a baby, getting a bath or your diaper changed. He would say that the way his body was bathed and changed in a ritualistic way profoundly affected his basic emotional and sexual needs and in turn made him enact those same rituals on the dead bodies of his victims

the way he was bathed and changed That made him a creepy necrophilia acereal killer totally Dude jumped over a lot more hurdles most of these shitheads do when it came to avoiding taking personal responsibility for his own terrible choices That actually might be the lamest excuse I've heard yet. I'm like, I'm not sure how you could top that. Do I kill all those people? Of course I did. How could I not? Have you ever seen the way my grandpa eats hard candy? Fucking choose it immediately. Doesn't suck on it. Let it dissolve. Doesn't savor it. He just, he just starts chomping it like an animal. Imagine witnessing that as a child. Of course I started killing people, cutting off the heads, fucking their skulls. Acrid or not. A quick note, Dennis was Scottish. That was not a Scottish

broke or accent. But he lived in London for a long time, so maybe his accent changed into that kind of sorta cockney-ish, but not really maybe Australian or some unrecognizable hojpodge of Commonwealth country's accents, you know who knows. Just fucking go with it, okay? Dennis would claim his propensity for washing, dressing, and posing as victims bodies all came from this early and intense psychic injury.

Seriously, the baths, you guys, the ritualistic, soulless baths, so cold, so uncaring, so traumatic. I hate this guy. Neilson would use his melodramatic gag-me writings as a way to explain himself as a serial killer, refashioned himself as a pseudo-intellectual expert on himself,

which had the effects of making his crimes at least to him, not seem like the debauched actions of a pathetic person, but rather the sympathetic crimes of a broken killer. Consider this very overwritten excerpt from his book. Lonelyness is long unbearable pain. It was never a place for me in the scheme of things. I'd become a living fantasy on a theme and dark, endless, dirges. I made another world when real men would

enter it, and they would never really get hurt at all in the vivid, unreal laws of the dream. I caused dreams which cause death. This is my crime. Did he really kill a bunch of people? I mean, kind of. If you want to be technical about it all. I mean, what he actually did, as he stated, was he made another world. And in that world, real men from this world, they didn't get hurt. They didn't get hurt.

But in the other world, the harmless one he made. That world would cause dreams in this world uh... and those uh... other world dreams uh... would cause real world death so dentists didn't kill his he made uh... killer dreams he's an artist is what i hear he's a he's a world builder no different than say uh... george you know uh our Martin, George Lucas, J.K. Rowling.

I mean, if someone ended up dead because they watched our wars, is George Lucas a killer? I think that's what he was saying, or something like that. It all makes sense if you just don't think about it too much. On the same vein of the pseudo intellectual fucking babble, this nonsensical rewriting of his history,

Dennis would, over the course of his confession, trials and his writings constantly downplay and minimize the horrific aspects of his crimes, especially the fact that he was clearly sexually aroused by them. Instead, he typified himself as some sort of extreme romantic, someone who couldn't help but kill, not because he was in human, but because he was more human, had more feelings than other people. He wrote, The population at large is neither ordinary or normal.

They seem to be bound together by collective ignorance of themselves and what they are. They have every one of them got their deep dark thoughts with many a skeleton rattling in their secret cupboards. Their fascination with types like myself plagues them with the mystery of why and how a living person can actually do things, which may be only those dark images and act secretly within them. I believe they can identify with these dark images and acts in low with anything which reminds them of the dark side of themselves. Oh, bravo.

He's the same as you, me, Zach. He's exactly the same, but you know better, morally superior. Sure, he did a bunch of evil heinous shit, but you, you listen to stories about others doing them, which really is worse, and you're doing that right now, you fucking scumbag. Who's worse? Hitler or someone who read a book about Hitler? Who's the bigger monster?

The pedophile or the police officer who listens to the pedophile's confession? Huh? Dennis Nielsen. What a guy. When I first came across this shit, you know, you know, that he's saying here, I had a lot of fun imagining myself being a, being some type of behaviorist. But, you know, one bound by no ethical constraints. Some behavioral scientists. Some scientists monitoring Dennis, via some type of camera and his cell or something as he works on his book,

and Dennis is hooked up to a machine where I can shock the ever loving shit out of him. Every time he tries to write a bunch of self-serving bullshit gibberish, and then I have a little speaker in his cell so I can talk to him through a microphone in my lab. You know, he's writing this, they seem to be bound together by collective ignorance of themselves and what the- AHHHHH! No, Dennis, not true! Rest of us not like you, shithead. They have every one of them got their deep, dark thoughts with many of

skilled. That'd be pretty fun. Wrong again, Dennis. You have skeletons. Unlike almost anyone else's you sick waste of oxygen fuckface. Be honest, admit what you are or I shock you until you shit yourself and pass out of you. After being captured, Dennis would tell just about a thousand different stories about himself rewriting his own history again and again to minimize his role in what he did to distract from who he was it is nielsen's words about dommer himself where we may have the clearest portrait about nielsen

nielsen discussed dommer at length with his biographer brine masters at one point stating that dommers needful failings, self-esteem, or usually satisfied only in his fantasies, because he cannot garner such fruits from live people. He needs a totally unresistant, passive model of a human being in order to cross the bridge temporarily into society.

There he is. Let's now get to know the man who refused to know himself. And today's holy shit, some of us meat sacks should have really been drowned at birth, time suck, timeline. Right after some sick commercials, oh fuck yeah bro! Thanks for listening to those sick ads you guys. People still say sick? I don't know.

I do know it now actually is timeline time. Shrap on those boots soldier, we're marching down a time, some timeline. Dennis Andrew Nielsen was born on November 23rd, 1945. His father was Ola of Nielsen, a Norwegian resistance soldier who had come to the UK during the Second World War. He had done so as part of the British organized clandestine Shetland bust operation that ferry people between Nazi occupied Norway and Scotland. The Nazis had occupied Norway since 1940 and in 1941 the British Secret Service set up

an operation to bring key personnel over to the Shetland Islands or Northern Scotland using Scottish fishing vessels. Fishing vessels. Olaf was one of those who made their way to the Northern Scottish Council area of Aberdeen Shire. Frazier Bro, a town in Aberdeen Shire with his Royal Air Force bases, was a center of military activity at the time. In fact, it was even nicknamed Little London because of all the air raids it received.

Other than how he arrived in Scotland, and the fact that the British military considered him at least somewhat valuable, very little is known about Olaf Nielsen. The background of Dennis' mother is a bit more documented. Andrew and Lily White, Dennis' grandparents were born in Scotland in the 1890s in poverty, they married young,

also had what appears to be some mental illness in the family tree. He had a great aunt who would regularly lock herself in a room from December until June. Wow, that's a long time seeing a room. And another ancestor of his tried to drown himself multiple times. Multiple attempted drownings. That's highly unusual as far as suicide attempts go, right? I wish I had more details about that. Like did the ancestor keep trying to drown himself in the ocean,

a lake, river, pond, bathtub, bowl of soup, and who kept saving him? Lifeguards, random strangers, one of his parents, you know, just like just scored his dinner, the like you get, Andrew, You know, just like just scored his dinner the like you get Andrew Half a fuck psych The boy half-jane yet he will be soon. I hate out and grab me again His grandparents had enough presence of mine to at least somewhat make their way in the world. They first lived in Inveralki Inveralki I'm gonna fuck up a lot of these little town names

No matter how much I practice them a small small port near Frazierboro then moved to Broad Sea, a little ways inland, maybe put a little more distance between the fam and some water hazards. Finally, they settled in Academy Road in Frazierboro where Dennis Nielsen was born and where he and his mother and his siblings would live until 1954. It was at this residence where Nielsen's mother Betty was born. She grew up in a conservative, religious environment as did most in the area at that time. As a teenager, the flirtatious and attractive young woman turned many of the heads of the servicemen, looking for a way to spend their free time during the war. With many

of the nearby establishments turned into beer and dance halls for the young soldiers, Betty Whites and not former suck subject, Betty White, power. If anybody remembers that, joke. Patee with a delicate pale face framed by brown hair used all her youthful guile to sneak past your parents to get to social events. And one of these events Betty and now I can't stop picturing the former golden girl actress as the mother of a skyse serial killer met Sergeant Olaf Nielsen of the Norwegian resistance. He was over six feet tall handsome, rugged. He came over and rescued her from the unwanted tension of some obnoxious royal air force boys, and Betty was instantly won over.

The two got married, May 2, 1943, and things almost immediately started to go wrong. Olaf soon left Betty in search of more excitement and other women. And whatever military value he might have had, no one seems to know, quickly expired. He ended up in a tobacco factory, which was entered as his profession on Dennis's birth certificate. He was known for drinking heavily in the town's pubs, not wanting to move in with her unreliable and unfaithful husband, Betty stayed in her parents flat, and also kept fucking Olaf. I do remember learning that about Betty White when we did an episode about her that she loved a bad boy and really

loved hard bad boy dick like insatiable It's like her vagina was always on the edge of starvation and the only thing it could eat was hard Norwegian cock No, I don't remember learning that about Betty White the actress or this Scottish Betty White either This Betty White really did keep fucking Olaf though despite their very unconventional marriage Olaf and Betty had three kids the oldest was Olaf Jr The was Sylvia, and in the middle was our sweet baby boy, Dennis. Dennis the victim, Dennis the murderous dream maker, Dennis who had his bottom powdered in a way that wasn't quite loving enough, Dennis who had his clothes changed in a way so mechanical, so ritualistic, it turned him into a necrophilia killer.

Careful with your fucking babies, Mates Acts. Bay them well. Powder those bottoms perfectly, lest you raise another Dennis Nielsen. And Dennis was again born on November 23rd, 1945. Olaf never took much interest in the children beyond Olaf, Jr. Later Dennis would go looking into his heritage and found out that Nielsen wasn't even his father's real last name. It was a pseudonym. He had adopted in Scotland. Oh my God. No wonder he went on to do what he did. His mom and grandma powdered his sweet baby bottom in a cold, soulless way,

Changed clothes to off of some shit and his dad anglicized his hardest say norwegian name. I Can't believe he didn't kill more people than he did. I can't believe any of us are still alive today. Dennis started to suspect that he wasn't actually Olaf's son because of the name change explaining why Olaf never took much interest with him or in him. That would also explain why Olaf petitioned Betty for divorce not vice versa on the grounds of adultery in 1948. Oh, mama. His mother sweet sweet Betty the Norwegian cock out had a ravenous vagina that was eating every Norwegian dick in Scotland With the divorce finalized Betty and her three young children were now on the on their own in Frazier bro Then as later felt it could not have been a more depressing place to raise a family Frazier bro is a mid sized fishing town, 35 miles north Aberdeen. The town center is Victorian and pretty gray to match

the weather. Most of these buildings there are built to granites slabs in which winter they can look like prison walls. Close by or dour, housing estates, remote, isolated subject to persistent winds that whip up sea spray and cloud that obscure the sunlight for most of the year. The town was also the grounds for generations of intermarrying, which made for a shallow gene pool. And more people genetically predisposed or predisposed towards instability and mental illness. Apologies to our Frazier burrow suckers. Not that you inbred fucking morons or even capable of understanding what I'm talking to you about right now. Just

keep fucking your relatives. And please keep listening. After losing maybe a dozen Mississippi listeners last week, I can't afford to lose a dozen Scottish listeners this week. In addition to all the cousin fucking, death was constantly around the corner in Frazier Pro. Back when Dennis was a kid with much of the population involved in the seafaring lifestyle, it was common for people to die quickly, often, and randomly.

Sometimes wiping out entire male lineages in a matter of days. Death being so close to hand meant that a lot of these fishermen coping with some combination of mental illness, PTSD and the hard scrap of lifestyle turned to alcohol. Lots of alcohol. In recent years, heroin became so popular that Frazierboro was dubbed Scotland's heroin capital. One commenter writing about their visits in 2014 would say, I went on a Sunday and the only things open were off sales and pubs. Most of the shops had boards up or glass should be. And I don't mean the shops that were shut. One of the boards had a brown substance smeared all over it,

but the shop was open and selling cheap booze regardless. It had been raining previous to my arrival and when I got off the bus, the sun was out and steam was rising, early from the pavements, which in itself isn't a dodgy thing, but it just added to the overwhelming sense of depression that hung over the place. The longer I was there, the worse I felt in myself. It was only when I was nearly home and Aberdeen that I started to cheer up. Wow. I thought all of this had to be exaggerated, but then when I did an image search on the web for Frazier bro, Google came back with, did you mean a big pile of shit? And all the pictures were just pictures of turts.

JK, the pictures that came out weren't the best, but they were far from the worst. To me, just like your average, northern European fishing town, I mean, it looks industrial. It doesn't look terrible in pictures, but I guess it's pretty rough and depressing than has been for a long time. Academy Road where Dennis and his family lived were was comprised of geometrically square granite council houses, terraced into four reasonably sized flats. In an essay he once wrote, Nielsen describes them as block house prim solid grim, with a black smoke of hell, spouting from the red clay chimney pots, standing in neat rows over the gray slate roofs.

It has a melodramatic writing stuff. Number 47 was at the end of one small terrace. The whites occupied the top flat. So I mean, the penthouse. Couldn't have been the worst. The living space was terribly cramped, but there was any money for his mother to move. Nielsen's grandparents lived in one bedroom and Nielsen is mother and his two siblings in another.

According to Nielsen, it was a cold, uncaring, dower, and strict religious environment. Nielsen would later claim that this atmosphere was what caused the first developments in his abnormal psychology. In his autobiography, he complained about the way his mother and grandmother passed him around like a quote, an unpleasant object. I feel like being passed around is a lot better than being ignored and neglected. Like they were picking you up, right?

He was such a pathetic, whiny bitch. He remembered feeling stifled by the conservative and occasionally prejudiced beliefs in the town's residents, especially as a child. It was a very children or to be seen and not heard type of place. So, you know, like pretty much every place on earth in the 1940s and 50s. Nielsen's grandfather, Andrew, was a fisherman and adding to the danger of him being at a greater risk of dying than most people.

That also meant that when times were lean in the town, he would often be unemployed. Since he found that being on welfare was shameful. His wife had to supplement their social security money with cleaning work. Meanwhile, Andrew stayed home ministering to the family's spiritual life. He lectured frequently about God and the Bible. Betty too was a staunch evangelical. Okay, so his family was religious, but again, so were millions and millions of other families in the UK at that time. It doesn't sound like they were also abusive. It doesn't sound like his childhood was that rough as I mentioned earlier. He grew up poor, but also in a place where growing up poor was definitely the norm.

Even Nelson would admit there was plenty to like about his early childhood. His earliest memories were of family picnics in the Scottish countryside with his mother and siblings, and have been taken on long countryside walks carried on the shoulders of his maternal grandfather to whom he was particularly close. Sounds pretty idyllic. Olof, Jr., in Sylvia, occasionally a company dentist and his grandfather on these walks, despite only being five years old, Nielsen vividly recalled these walks as being very long along the Habba across the wide stretch of beach up to the sand dunes, which rise 30 feet above the beach behind the beach and on to inver, inver, all the key. This is I N V E R A L L O C H Y's name this town.

I'm sure if you're over there, you can say it. Fuck it easily. Not not so much over here. He later described the stage of his childhood as one of contentment and his grandfather being his great hero and protector. Adding that whenever his grandfather was at sea, life would be empty for me until he returned. Sounds like he's a little guy again, pretty sweet childhood. But then when Dennis was not quite six years old, grandpa would not return. Halloween, October 31, 1951, Andrew White has a heart attack, all at sea. He'd been complaining

recently and uncharacteristically of extreme tiredness. He'd quit choir and stop going to church, but still insisted on working. I mean, had to to provide for his family. And then he failed to appear on the dock one morning after heading down the previous evening. His crewmates found him dead in his bunk and he was 62 years old. For Nielsen, it would be one of the defining moments of his life, made even more defining because of the cold and emotionless way that the news was broken to him. The bodies was returned to the family for burial, put on display in the front room in a cheap wooden box. Nobody explained to young Dennis what had happened until his mother Betty told him to go see

granddad laid out. Nielsen went into the front room to see his beloved grandfather dressed in white long johns, his face unshaving. When Little Dennis asked why his grandfather looks so strange, his mother said it was because he had gone to a better place. Dennis was confused. Would his Granddad come back from this place? Maybe when he felt better?

Why did Granddad leave? What did it mean to be dead? Later, psychologists would point to this as a significant moment in Nielsen's development. While for most serial killers, the wires that get crossed in their brains have to do with sex and violence for Nielsen, it would seemingly be love and death. They got permanently mixed up. Not only that, in his inner world, the questions he had became separated from his outward personality. The need to be a quiet and obedient child. Effectively, that was the moment he started, quote, splitting his personality.

But, you know, as he claimed, and he's a little bit full of shit, becoming one person on the inside and a different person on the outside. Later, Nielsen would also say that his grandfather's death was also complicated for him because his grandfather sexually abused him as he described it hesitantly. He would write in his history of a drowning boy,

he would take me head on long walks over the sand dunes and golf links. On the dunes at the fore end of the bay, near the stream flowing into the sea, he would take me into the dark, slit windowed pillbox and take down my short pants and hold my penis and told me to urinate. Tired by the long journey, I would invariably fall asleep and be carried home. My conscious memory is of his strength and a feeling of confidence, security. These were my only real one-to-one personable physical contacts with someone who took a beneficial interest in me. He may have been a tepid pedophile, but I do not remember him as a threatening or oppressive. What? And later, chapter Nielsen Labyrinth,

and his grandfather's special interest in him. He wonders if during the long walks, he remembers so well, his grandfather may have drugged his tea. And possibly. This is just like we, we heard random. He doesn't even, he admits it and haven't he proved, but he just wondered if his grandpa drugged his tea and maybe stuck a finger in his butt.

Uh, he, he feels that that would explain why as a young boy, he was fixated with defecation. Or maybe the reason he was fixated with defecation was, you know, his brain was fucked up from birth. His mental wires, you know, were crossed. Maybe instead of a grampe being a tepid pedophile, maybe Dennis is just an imaginative storyteller. Maybe Dennis was as both a grown man and a young boy fucking crazy. Maybe a childhood had very little to do with who he became later and his brain chemistry

had a lot more to do with it. Sometimes with these serial killers, I find myself thinking, damn, if all that happened to me in my childhood, I could have turned out a lot like they did. I do empathize with some of them, not with Dennis. Just my speculation, but I think that nature might have had a lot more to do with who Dennis became the nurture. Some terrible hardwired personality traits

that combined a rich imagination with an almost allergic aversion to a personal responsibility. But also, what if his grandpa never did anything overtly sexual with him when he was young boy, but did hold his dick when he peed That would be really fucking weird like what does grandpa just didn't know better like what if his grandpa had been taught that that's how you party Drink like boys that you have to hold their dicks

When they pee, you know you have teach him how to hold their dicks like he literally just thought that's how you're supposed to do it Like people just walking in on him. I'm doing what are you doing? Yeah, but my grandson pay You know how supposed to hold his picker Really? I thought that was everybody land. That's how I look my grandpa held my back good. That was probably 13 Even was kind enough to shake it out for me. You only stopped when I started to get hot Regardless of what happened or didn't happen with little Dennis' potty-time adventures, with a possible fucking drug tea, finger in his bunghole,

he doesn't even remember. His grandfather's death was probably a piece in the Jigsaw puzzle, who we became later, but not the entire thing. The puzzle who Dennis was would continue forming as he got older, of course. After his grandfather died, Dennis' mother and grandmother brought up the three children

without the help of anyone else for a few years. Nielson would characterize both of them as shrill and domineering. Though this was in history of a drowning boy and most who knew her said that Betty's mom was actually a good mother who never abused her children. Most who knew her seemed to feel that old Dennis the menace, and he was such a menace, was a manipulative pile of shit who portrayed others incorrectly, just consistently,

to make himself look better. The failure would move out of the whites flat in 1954 when Dennis was eight. They didn't go far. They moved his couple of streets over to 73 mid street when his mother had just remarried to a local builder named Adam Scott. Around the time, didn't spend most of his days wandering a mile and a half down to the

beach to be alone with nature, but that would soon change because Adam was a disciplinarian who demand a structure in his new step children's lives. Thick set of average height and with receding hair, Adam worked as a handyman. And he was also maybe kind of a fuck machine. Nils would later recall listening to his mom and Adam making love, which they did as he said with ripped banding, producing four babies practically one after the other.

I told you, her vagina was ravenous, real hungry bikini burger. Anyone else horrified by the euphemism of bikini burger? I hadn't heard that one prior to a few weeks ago, more upsetting than chicken skin duffelback for balls. At first, Nielsen blamed Adam for what he considered his mother's new found lack of eternal instincts towards him.

But later realized Adam didn't have much to do with it. He felt his mom just really didn't love him. But he can just all in fucking his head. Dennis said that as his mom got busy with Adam and large in the family, he started looking outside the family for company to his imagination, local animals, his two friends, far-quar McKenzie and Malcolm Renny. Together they would go to abandon air-raid shelters.

You know, one time they found some fledgling birds made nests for them out of fish boxes and shoe boxes. When he discovered that someone later had killed the birds, Dennis sawed the lies out. They did so again when he discovered the death of his pet rabbit who had frozen the death and it's hutch outside and he blamed his mama for not allowing him letting his pets inside the house. Shortly after Nilson escaped Frazierboro, the family moved to a larger council flat in the village of Strykin. A small town of about a thousand folks about eight miles inland. Their new address was 166 Beard Road, one of Strykin's nicest streets. An unlike Fragerboro Strykin didn't have the same hard, uncompromising atmosphere, but still, Dennis was not happy. He began having disciplinary problems in school back in Fragerboro and

those continued in striking. Once he said a teacher, hit him on the palm six times his punishment. Again, probably a common way of discipline at the time, but that didn't stop Dennis from fucking complain about it. Despite his trials and tribulations, he excelled in history and art, but didn't have any interest in sports. The opposite of his brother Olaf, who excelled in football, billiards, snooker, cards, horse racing, and later, chasing girls.

Other kids will later remember thinking that Dennis was introverted and standoffish, but not necessarily cruel or weird. Privately, Nelson will later say he was struggling to deal with his new life in his memories of his old one. His struggles led him to inventing an elaborate fantasy world. He said a film, or series of films, really, where he was always a star. I get it, you know, I did, did you know, did you, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did you know, did He became submerged beneath the water and was almost dragged out to sea. Dennis initially panicked, flailing his arms and shouting as he gasped for air which wasn't there, according to his memoirs, he recalled believing that his grandfather was about to

arrive and pull him out, before experiencing a sense of tranquility. His life was ensued by another youth who dragged him ashore. Later he would recount the story differently. He said he walked into the sand and when he woke up he was lying naked on the sand, his clothes removed and folded next to him. On his stomach was some sticky fluid, maybe come, and a 16 year old boy was staring at him. So some kid saved him and then jerked off onto his stomach.

Or maybe he came onto his own stomach after being saved. Or maybe they both were so happy he was alive they both came onto his stomach. It's hard to say. It's hard to say. It's unusual fantasy. Even though the story was admittedly made up, Dennis did seem legitimately to have had some bad experiences in the water growing up.

One involved a man known as Mr. Ironside, a senile old man who had gone wandering off for group of volunteers searched for him all day long. As the summer evening drew on Dennis joined in, and eventually he saw a bundle down by the river pointed it out. The rescue land rover was summoned with its ropes and ladders, Nielsen described seeing them haul up the body of the old man dressed in a cap of jam as in Wellington boots. The scene reminded him of what had happened to his grandfather.

He also witnessed a friend of his brothers, Billy Skinner, showing off on the lighthouse rocks before he fell, hit his head, slipped into the water and drowned. His body was quickly retrieved but but you know, couldn't be revived. Those experiences coincided with some of Nielsen's first sexual experiences. He was discovering that he was attracted to other boys. Acting on his early feelings, Dennis began to grope his brother's penis. While Olaf slept in their shared bed. So, so Grandpa maybe grabbed his clean wing as a little kid helping pee, maybe, but he by his own admission definitely grabbed his brother's dick when his brother was sleeping.

I wonder if he did that because his mom and Grandma didn't bathe him the right way. Dennis hypothesized since the boys he liked were small and pale and tended to look a bit like his sister Sylvia, that he was actually attracted to her. So now he starts actually attracted to her. So now he starts to grow up her as well. Well, she sleeps in a strange way of proving to himself

that he's at least bisexual. So this stuff is true. Even as a small child, he's fucking crazy. They're not a curative young dentist that he was molesting his siblings, right? That maybe he should be less concerned with being gay or straight or bisexual and you know, a lot more concerned

about being insesuous and raping. He also engaged in what he called sex games with local kids at the park. One summer afternoon, young Dennis saw his brother pin down a girl and put his hand up her skirt. Nielsen said he was upset to see his brother be such a bully. The fuck is going on with these kids? So now he's watching his brother sexually assault some girl and he's upset about it but doesn't acknowledge the fact that, you you know he's molested the same brother

but the fuck uh sometimes Dennis saw older boys pin down younger boys at school typical playground resting around stuff maybe actual fights maybe not sometimes there was some kind of sexual element uh nielson didn't find this problematic he found it exciting once he says he was pinned down and fondled, so he didn't find it unpleasant, but was annoyed that the boy was bigger and stronger. He didn't like being the one who was not in control. Instead of choosing not to be a come what he hated.

Instead, the bully now becomes the bully and he starts holding down and fondling smaller, younger boys. He said, there was no violence, such just wrestling him to the ground, putting my hand out these short pants to feel him. I think that's fucking pretty violent actually. I only did this on two occasions, when it seemed to be a passing face.

It was a need to feel a surge of power over another person. He was an embryonic sex act, perhaps a rehearsal. On another occasion, I had a wrestling match with a beautiful, almost delicate boy who lived next door. He was about to year younger than me, and he, his building features it a feminine quality about him. Like me, he was no football type.

I soon overpowered him and was astride him, pinning him down by his arms, held down on the grass. I held him there, looking down at his close hands and face. I held him there, and we gazed into each other's faces. We did not speak. I don't need the language of our eye contact. Then we listened, recall a lot of this kind of shit going on at their school. They were growing up. I mean, I remember resting around with other kids, but they're just, you know, wasn't a sexual homoerotic element to it. At least not one that I noticed. I don't remember hearing about a lot of other kids experience in this either. Dennis is actually out just beginning to rear his head now significantly.

He also later said he had a crush on a drawing of a boy who was on the cover of his French textbook. And he got aroused when he saw another boy masturbate behind some sheds near the park. This is fucking be not behind the sheds. What was happening back in small town Scotland in the 1950s? I don't remember hearing about kids whacking it out behind shits growing up or sticking their hands up other kids' shorts when they wrestled.

Well actually, there was one kid from neighboring school who would get caught beating off inside his shorts at track meets, but he was an anomaly. Now there wasn't a lot of that shit going on back in Rick and Zaido. Maybe I just had a really shelter childhood. Dennis also learned around this time that it is taboo to be gay. 190 said he was watching TV with his family with a modern ballet was being shown featuring men dancing in tights. It excited

Nielsen, but then his mother yelled, get these fields off. Following this, he would go to the community house. Striking was too small for a proper theater. And there he would watch movies on a small rickety projector and found out he was attracted to stars like, you know, James Stewart. 1960 at the age of 14, Nielsen decides to do something. No one saw coming. He refuses, starts refusing to take a proper piss unless someone else is going to hold and shake his dick out. Starts wet in his pants on a daily basis, when no one gives in to a strange new demands. No, he doesn't do that.

He joins the Army cadet force. It's a national youth organization sponsored by the United Kingdom's Ministry of Defense and the British Army. While many cadets do use this program as a way to prepare for later military service, service is not required for the cadets. Then it's found firing guns,

especially in the company of other boys thrilling. He thought he might try to become a cook. So he went down to Aberdeen to the Army recruiting office and took the exams. He passed easily, signed up for a period of nine years in the military. In July of 1960, a step-dead Adam took Dennis to the station to catch trained London. Not quite 16, he felt he was ready to, you know, properly join the army as a young soldier. He was posted to the V squad, along with 20 other boys, the same age and a garrison in the town of Aldershot, about 30 miles southwest of London, a very much military town, found himself in a dense military environment with most of the surrounding town dedicated to the military life above

all else. Nielsen managed to make a few friends in his class, Brian Bacher, Chris Inard, Eric Talbot, some of his happiest memories were of their adventures traveling to competitive hikes, running cross country, cavorting around town. Here he found that no amount of strength training or engaging in classically masculine activities would get rid of his sexual preferences to his disappointment. He still had homosexual fantasies. Due to his family and the culture's disdain of homosexuality at the time, he hoped to

somehow make himself straight, but of course that is not how it works. One night he and a bunkmate ended up wrapped up together in a blanket while the blizzard blew past the windows outside and he really liked it. There's clean wind, fucking full mast. This moment became the setting for many of Dennis's dreams. He'd later write, we would stay there and warm comfort together forever. We never talked in the dreams, we would get up occasionally to eat food silently before blazing fire.

We would listen to the outside world on the radio, whose bliss naked under these furs in each other's arms, and the soft smoothies of his skin against mine. Strangely, we never fucked in these dreams very old. It was in the army with this diverse lineup of men from all backgrounds and races. The dentist found himself identifying his preferences and a partner. He found he preferred smooth, feminine men,

such as Chinese, Japanese, and Filipino men with slight builds. He didn't like Harry, musely men. He couldn't turn off, mussely men. He couldn't turn off the sexual thoughts he was having and because of that, it was careful to avoid the showers. He was afraid he would get a boner. I get it. I mean, if I had to shower with a bunch of

fit naked women soldiers, I would 1,000% have a boner. Sorry, Lase, not trying to make anyone feel uncomfortable, just did, I'm literally surrounded by your hot, lathered perky-glisting titties Yo, and the everywhere look. I see you Suts it up your firm title lessons and you're literally soaking wet squeaky clean delicious pussy's I mean come on Of course I'm fucking hard What I'm not doing is beating off to be clear. I am only washing my very hard shaft thoroughly and like I always say

It's not clean until you come. Hey, Lucina, but seriously, I get him not wanting to shower with the other guys. He will also later say he didn't want to shower because he was worried about his penis being smaller than everyone else's. Seriously, apparently Dennis' nickname was never gonna be donkey and that's tough combo.

Only thing worse than rocking a hard cock when you're in a group shower with straight guys is rocking a really teeny tiny hard cock. Despite the problems then his face, he was able to advance the military after a year and a half. He was made a general junior corporal and put in charge of a dorm of younger boys. Another year and a half later, around 1964, he passed a senior education test. He passed in math, English, map reading, colon affairs, and catering science.

Catering science. It's a funny way to describe catering. But he's bringing some food out. It's catering science. He also passed the B2 catering exam. He was moving up in the military world, and when he took part in parade in the summer of 1964 at 18 years old, he felt ready to continue his military journey.

That summer, he also went home to striking for a brief period of leave. Soon afterwards, he was off to his first posting in Austinbrook in northwestern Germany. There he would live in NATO barracks, a large concrete complex surrounded by fields in woodland. Nielsen was attached to the catering corps within the royal fuseliers infantry regiment. He continued to train his soldier and practiced field operations, but his working life was now focused around cooking in the mess. The team was headed up by the squadron quarter master sergeant Badger, Mateland, who was quick-witted at Hardy. Nielsen admired him. And the fact he liked to drink made him approachable. Likewise, the cooks he worked

with were an amiable, hard-working, boozy lot. As he described them, Nielsen was soon very taking with their drinking culture. Following killing people and fucking around with their corpses, drinking would become his biggest vice, he would later say. Nielsen like nothing more than to head to the naffy bar on the city center on weekends. It's NAAFI and that's a UK company created by created to run recreational establishments needed by the British Armed Forces. Socialized with other soldiers, the booze eased his shyness and helped him fit in, as well as helped him pretend to be interested in women to keep up appearances. Nielsen spent just over two years in northern Germany. As a private, he slept in a bed space and a medium-sized dorm

towards the end of his first two years in Germany. Dorm inspections were sufficiently relaxed, so much that Nielsen managed to keep a dog in his room. He called Rexie. He named after his first two years in Germany, dorm inspections were sufficiently relaxed. So much that Nielsen managed to keep a dog in his room, he called Rexie. He named after his first cuddly toy, which he says his mother had thrown away in a bid to tidy up. So maybe that's why he became a monster. When mummy dearest threw Paul Rexie in the trash bin, she also threw away baby boys moral compass. Soon Dennis's repressed sexuality would begin to make its presence

known and a pattern of blurring the line between reality and fantasy would emerge. This is going to get so weird. One morning he woke up to find himself passed out on top of mattress with a young German called haunts. They were both in a flat in the outskirts of town. He realized that he probably just passed out after having won too many, but also he fantasized that haunts had taken advantage of him while he was sleeping and then he liked it, you know, maybe stuck a finger up his butt. I liked it when Hans fucked you, me, me, I fucked me, my sleep, mommy. Following this experience while working, he found himself off in daydreaming about scenarios

where a sex star of young Squatty might try to relieve some sexual tension with him. These daydreams got so intense, sometimes he would literally pretend to pass out in front of other soldiers, hoping one of them would carry him home and have their way with him. That is, I mean, it's sad. It is sad that he could just express his sexuality in a healthy way due to the society of his day,

being so unacceptable of homosexuality, but also, holy shit is that weird and creepy. I've just never heard of that one before. You know, just pretending to pass out in front of someone and hoping that they'll carry you off and molest you. Like, can you imagine working with some dude who does that? And I pictured him not being a very good actor with it either.

Like, he quote, you know, passes out, but he keeps opening like at least one of his eyes and look at you in a flirty way. And keeps, you know, talking in his sleep and just saying stuff like, oh no, no, please don't take my pants off. Don't please don't take off my pants, but you know, but take them, take them off. I'm sticking hard pain is in my butt hole, please, but please

don't or you could loo bit up all nice and good and hammer away. It'd be bumhole while I'm alone and coming to my sleep. Because I would still be asleep for that. I would never know you did it and it would be our secret. And I'll never tell anyone you could do whatever you like. I'll be, I could be sound asleep whenever you want to plunder my treasure, really pop me, bungle. So fucking unrealistic. It is specific. January 1967, Nielsen out 21, we posted him

in new place. He's gonna keep out with this weird fucking facts. You know, they're by the way, it was in Odin, the Gulf of Arabia, now part of the state of Yemen, the British protectorate had found a self and a state of emergency after a series of terrorist attacks from Islamic extremists. Nielsen was thus flown over in a VC 10 airliner. When he arrived in Yemen, he said it was like walking into the blast of a baker's oven. According to his memoirs, he thought the terrorists seemed to complete disarray, with everyone intent on killing everyone else and the only point of agreement being killing

the English. Here he lived in the district of Al Mansura in Auden in a barrack built at a red clay. On active service, even cooks like himself were required to take part in patrols as Nilsen walked the dusty roads. He says he would see dead bodies casually discarded by the roadside. He says he didn't find anything exciting in the shot up mechanics of death while also pointing out he didn't like to think of attractive male bodies being spoiled by death. Excuse me. He said these bodies didn't sexually excite him, but they did desensitize him toward death in general, which, you know, makes sense.

After a while, he started to become very blase about his own safety, volunteering for dangerous patrols and went off duty, drinking copiously before wandering off on his own. It was an impulse he didn't understand and one that got him into trouble said one afternoon Well off duty at the steamer point army base near the old city Nielsen decided to hitchhike back to Almanzora He was picked up by a cab which then drove straight through terrorist occupied areas Nielsen who was in uniform was excited by the danger Another time he said he hitched a cab after a night of drinking at the oasis bar in Auden and then passed out in the back seat and Suddenly felt a violent blow to the back of his neck.

When he came to, he was naked in the trunk of the car with his clothes and a pile beside him. Someone was unlocking the trunk from the outside. As soon as the trunk, you know, swung open, I bet he was like, Oh, no. Oh, I'm so helpless. He is. If you could totally put your penis in my mouth, if you needed to, no, he has, he grabbed a jack, bashed it in the taxi driver's head,

the man slumped the ground motionless and Nielsen took the clothes and ran for it. And, you know, again, did that really happen? I don't know, maybe, you know, this is his reflection, recollection, unclear how much his fantasy, how much his reality, especially when no one else is there to witness it. By June of 1967, Nielsen was posted further around the Gulf to what is now known as the United Arab Emirates, then called the Trusial States, an area where the British had signed a truce with some local sheikhs. Nielsen was to be head of the kitchen at the Trusial, Oman Scouts Officers Mess in Sharaka. Life there couldn't have been more different than an audit. That was tough, gritty living, but this was luxury. He said a reminded

Dielsen of Lawrence of Arabia, one of his favorite movies. So he got to spend the evenings drinking with servicemen and expats. And this was when he had one of his first major sexual experiences. In Charka, teenage air abuse were hired to clean the officer's rooms. And now that Nielsen was an NCO corporal, he had his own room. And one evening after bringing in some laundry, a boy of 14, about 14, he said, lingered. Nielsen says his nerves and inexperience

almost resulted in him walking out. But just as the boy was turning around, the corporal realized what was going on and urged him to stay with sentimental hyperbole. Nielsen describes her sexual liaison in his memoirs. You know, again, history of adrenaline boy said he felt wedded to him. And things the boy didn't really want money because he felt the same way too.

He wrote, he inquired, you like nice boy. My brain was playing the hallelujah chorus. I stretched out my hand, come over here, I entoned and petted the bed. He did as I had bitten. And I took one of his hands in mine. I placed in his hand on the hard, straining, seven-inch baton, clearly shaped through my jeans. He lay on his back and looked up at me with deep brown, do-like eyes. Wait a minute. Earlier, he talked about being afraid to shower with other guys

because he was afraid they'd see his teeny tiny dick. And now he's rocking a seven-inch baton. I'm not saying seven inches is a python, but it's also not the smallest cock in the shower. Again, maybe this happened. He said they had oral sex making Nilsen's first time with who he thought was a teenage era prostitute. This is first sexual experience.

So he felt liberated. After this whenever possible, he started going to clubs, meeting other gay servicemen, although some of them inevitably died in the course of their service, making another blur between sex and death in Nielsen's brain. He said, now Nielsen gets into some sexual experimenting. His fantasy is turning from consensual to something different, about to get real weird again. Nielsen's room had a lock and he had got into the habit of

using it to ensure total privacy while he spent afternoons masturbating in the nude. Sometimes he would admire himself in the mirror while doing so. And one day he realized using the freestanding mirror he could create an effect where he could visually split his personality such that it felt he was enjoying his sexual act with another man. What? I'm sorry? What the fuck is going on here? This was narcissism in a very specific sense. Nielsen wrote, it was a very large mirror, and I come to over admire with myself in it. I'll become aroused by my relaxed body. I imagine someone, the mirror's view, looking at me, lust and after my body. And in fact, I was lusty and over my own body. Okay. The next step in the ritual was lying on the bed while positioning himself so that his head was no longer visible, like in the reflection, right? So he, he, he, the watcher is one person, the passive reflection, another person, his

brain. As the watcher, he would play one role. He said the man dominating the body had no face, but he was always a dirty, gray, herald man. And the boy in the mirror was a smooth, passive victim, you know, which is also Nielsen. So he was now specifically interested in the mental fantasy of an older powerful brutal person dominated a young smooth lifeless body and now the real crazy begins. Over the course of summer his fantasies escalate and Nielsen will later remember one in particular frightening him. It was a scene he imagined to be in the second world war and again involved in old Arab.

The other body now was not merely passive. It was an attractive blonde young Nazi soldier who had been recently killed. And his imagination, before the Arab finally has sex with the dead boy's body, he washes and carries it just as Nielsen would later do with the men that he killed. Man, talk about a very specific disturbing fetish. Our brains are so weird. Some obviously more than others. The fantasy ended with the old man having full sex with the dead body. Nielsen says he loosened his hold on the boys back and legs and his naked form flopped a skew and a limp rest still impaled on the man spread eagled in pure lust. The fact that he was keeping this fantasy secret from all his fellow servicemen

added to the illicit thrill of the man jerking off in front of his mirror on a daily basis now. January of 1968, Nilsson returns to the UK, buys a large mirror and an industrial size vat of lube within the hour of setting foot on British law. Or he's posted to the first argyle and southernland highlanders at seat and barracks, Plymouth. Being back and familiar surroundings quelled his wilder fantasies temporarily. There was no lock on his new door, which meant he couldn't just masturbate in front of the mirror all fucking afternoon. So that's a bummer. But he now 22 years old did figure out how to get what he wanted sexually speaking. Sometimes it began when a chance conversation revealed that he and a young private Frank would be sharing a long train journey

to Bristol. They decided to travel together and once the train pulled away started drinking in the buffet car. When their money ran out, they moved on to the supply of beer cans and whiskey they had as the train drew into Coventry, the young man passed out and Nielsen got an idea of a very bad legal idea. He carried the half-conscious man to the toilet, propped him up so the man's head was lollying around the toilet seat. This gave him an idea for how to knock him out.

He started to let the man's head smash against the toilet bowl. Then he undressed when the guy's unconscious and orally abuses him, while also sticking a finger in his ass. Oh my God. Doesn't penetrate him, only with his penis, because people started banging on the door.

And so then when he's done, Nielsen washes him up a little bit, carries him back to the car like nothing had happened. I wonder what that dude thought when he came too later. Man, Dennis, we go to after it last night, didn't we? I had hangovers before, but never won the left me lip-champ, didn't me butthole bruised.

Later during this period of leave, he went back to business Scotland with his family. He heard that his sister Sylvia 16 and married an immigrated to Toronto, Canada, his brother Olaf. I'd also married and worked in nearby factory. After that I was a short stint in Cyprus. And if I was one of the go-sapers. Before he was stationed in West Berlin, now 24 and a whore near the never he viz is local brothel when some of his fellow soldiers encourage him to do so with them.

The female prostitute went down in him and then he got on top. He said Nilsen was pleased that he managed to be able to ejaculate but had no desire to repeat that experience with another woman during that time around checkpoint Charlie and Berlin. He bought eight millimeter in eight millimeter movie camera. He then started to film everything he saw recording street life, recorded an anti-viet non-protest, just, you know, like a, kind of nature stuff, you know, just whatever.

January of 1970, the age of 24, he is sent to Bodenmeis, ski resort in Bavaria. I couldn't find a pronunciation for Bodenmeis. So I don't know if I'm saying that right. Here, the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders, the infantry regiment, he was a member of, were taught alpine skills as part of their complete combat training. The ski school, school, excuse me, was based around an old mountain farmhouse, overlooking

the Zeller Valley and Nielsen's job required him to cater for 30 officers and NCOs in a large, spotlessly clean kitchen. Nielsen felt that the locals liked him, but he was also disturbed because there was still simmering at Nazi sympathy there. Here he would make out with a local girl who was proud of himself for continuing to fool his fellow servicemen

about his sexual orientation. After Bavaria, Nielsen was soon transferred to Fort George in Ivernus, only 70 miles from his birthplace, or Invernus, excuse me, he had become an efficient and reliable cook reaching grade B. In August of 1970, Nielsen just shy 25 now was transferred across the

Keren Gorms to a battletor where the Queen's royal guard was based. Despite his proximity to striking, Nielsen never took the opportunity to visit his family. Not sure exactly why, not, you know, clearly not super close then. His last post in the army would be at the NATO Ace High signal station at Maybury on the Shetland Isles in military base located on the southernly tip of the largest of the Scottish islands that lie in between Scotland and Norway. There, Nielsen would spend his days filming the areas natural beauty and drinking at the Maybury Club, also would develop a crush on a young Welsh soldier. Some of his fellow soldiers interviewed years later,

will remember him as being immature, constantly trying to impress others and possessing an extremely low tolerance for alcohol. He also had the annoying habit of jumping out from behind bushes, literally, and waving his movie camera at couples cuddling behind the Mayberry Club. Here he bought a pet bird,

returned it, exchanged it for a turtle, which he kept under his bed and fed for a meat, much to the irritation of his colleagues. I bet it's fucking stunk. Also developed a real passion for filming. After a short stint back in Scotland catering for the signals engineers, he returned to the shelons of the spring of 1972 and spent much of his spare time with his movie camera. He shot the annual Viking festival, the seas, the skies by the cliffs of Fitfulhead, then in May he met someone with whom he felt he could share his artistic passions. Terry, a fake name he assigned to someone, was a homestick naive 18-year-old easily dominated by older and more forceful personalities. He was small with blonde hair and youthfully handsome. Nielsen liked to teach him to use the projector and take him to the local beauty spots

to act out little scenes. And his autobiography, Nilson later remembers, we worked played and walked the sheer scenic beauty of the high rugged cliffs in the golden stretch of Quinnell Bay. I filmed him running, jumping in the full range of usual situations. Some of these scenarios apparently involve Terry playing dead.

And Nilson talked about how he would review the footage in the evenings. I was certainly excited by a passive image of him. There was no goal or anything like that involved afterwards when he was no round. I would watch all the footage of him and afterwards needed to go to the bathroom and masturbate. He and Terry also went cross country running together and when they would invariably run into each other at the clubhouse, Nilsen would pretend to pass out and hope that Terry would molest him Back to that old game that very fucking weird. How did you think that was gonna work game? Oh? No, I'm totally pissed out and helpless

Semma could do whatever they like to me. I'd never ever know about it. We're all 100% be all secret someone could say jerk off on all my face when we bomb Tell me could fuck fuck my mouth. I would never wake up Someone could you know put the dick in my time to fuck it finger my bum. You know, I've never been wise I just lying here passed out So I never heard of that Terry to Dennis's dismay never tried to do anything to this strange maybe narcoleptic friend And then when Neil sin one night tried to lead Terry into the laundry room

and initiate some hanky-panky, Terry broke away and ran off. And Neil said it was now convinced that a arrival signal sergeant was trying to steal Terry away from him. He decided to confront the sergeant outside the hotel, drunk, he directly accused him of being a homosexual and in love with Terry.

And that didn't go over well. And it was an embarrassing scene. The next day, Dennis said he contemplated suicide but decided to sleep it off instead. And then two days later, he tried to challenge this Terry to a fight, and little Terry had more fighting him. Then Dennis expected. And little Terry beat the shit out of Dennis.

Razzle with the ground, punches lights out, and then he was dig a finger, and he was ass. Like a victory, fucking celebration, nothing. And it was this incident that led to Dielsen leaving the army by not enlisting for another term of service, or at least that's how he would tell it. Other servicemen would later remember Nielsen getting into constant arguments, including one with his roommate about his pet turtle, and his application for extending his service was turned down because he was a fucking weirdo that nobody liked. Before Nielsen left

the island, he gave Terry as projector and the footage of him, I guess they kind of made amends. Before his time in the service ended, he made Terry as projector and the footage of him, I guess they kind of made amends. Before his time in the service ended, he made the rank of corporal, received a general service medal, earned a lifetime membership in the Army Catering Corps Regimental Association. Now November 7th, 1972. About to turn 27-year-old Dennis Nielsen moves to London and begins the next chapter of his life. He just spent a couple months in the strike and, striking, now with the fam, something had happened there,

convincing me he needed to move to London. He said he'd been watching the movie, blackmail is brother Olaf's house. Blackmail featured themes of homosexuality. Olaf spoke degradingly about so-called poofs and queers as Nielsen sat there silently, fuming. During that trip, his mother voiced her opinion as to her being more concerned with his lack of female companionship than his career path and of her

desire to see him marry and start a family. Other sources say the family watched the documentary about gay rights together and a fight broke out when Dennis defended the men on screen and returned his brother out at him to their mother then it's immediately cut contact with his brother and planned to move away. Even though he would later claim that his mom was the main force that drove him to serial killing, he would continue to write to his mom while he lived in London, right? The relationship as it often is with many people and their parents. Let's complicate it. In London, Dennis first said about finding a place to live, winding

up in a room at a hostel. He decided to become a policeman and by December of 1972, he was living in a single room with the Metropolitan Police Training School at Hinden Police College in Collendale, a North London suburb. For almost four months, he learned the basics of being a constable, also managed to incorporate his sexual fantasies into his training, such as when he had to practice carrying a limb body out of a pool. That knew for this wood suck. He'd become aroused and would have to make up excuses to stay in the pool until his boner went away. You know, sorry, fellas, bloody hamstring cramped up again. Hamstring cramped up. You always get a bit of wood, right? And London, Dennis, for the first time, you know, he consistently and privately enjoy gay nightlife scene, started going to gay clubs on Earl's Court High Street describing it this way. In one bar, there were lots

of men and leather pants, jackets and caps, and they were all of all ages, ranging from young men to proto-geriatrics with white short hair. A lot of them seem to opt for a straight cow-jack. I don't know what he means by that. I transferred myself to the bigger bar, which was crowded out. My new instantly, that it was a gay bar because everyone looked you up and down and passed on the appropriate comments to one another. Oh, look at her nice dish. Do you think she's butch or bitch, etc.? It was a bit unsettling the first time and I didn't know what to expect or what to do.

I was not in on the special language of the thriving gay subculture. What I did know was body language. And after I fortified myself with a couple of stiff drinks, I was shedding to a slim young man who was eyeing me up. He was invited back to the young man's flat for a cup of coffee, but was disturbed to find a woman and a baby in the flat. The woman was a man's wife. Young man tried to sneak Nilsen into the bedroom, then the woman caught them and forced them out. Nilsen had to sneak this man into his room later or didn't have to did at the police academy where he was able to have sex without even having to play his weird. Oh gosh, bang. I followed and passed out and vulnerable to secret

sexual attacks in a little game. In the spring of 1973, Nielsen passed an initial set of police exams with a high mark. He was then posted as a probationary officer to Willston, green London underground, aka the tube station near the London suburb of Wembley. During this part of his police training, he'd be shown the morgue, whereas his fellow rookies gagged, Nielsen became a rock fucking hard. He said he did become aroused by the dead body of a 12 year old girl. Right? Was he bisexual or was it the fact that her largely hairless body was dead? That was a primary source of his attraction. For weeks afterwards, he would imagine the old morgue assistant ravishing the young smooth

largely hairless, unblemished body. This is masturbation fantasy. He now starts frequenting gay bars in West Central London, but his hookups won't come from encounters there. His first experience of, you know, like anally penetrative sex was with a teenage boy, Nielsen, had met during a social visit to a gay drop-in center. On some nights, the center would become a place for warm drinks and advice for youngsters. Many of them runaways. Nielsen invited one of them out to the pub,

then asked him if he wanted to spend the night together in a cheap hotel. Back in the hotel, the youth passed out on one of the two single beds for the second time. Nielsen saw the opportunity to have a sexual encounter with an unconscious male body. He wrote, Oh, I lifted him up into my arms and just stood there for a moment, savoring the power of the situation. I looked down at his helpless, vulnerable nudity, dangling in my arms. He said he then pulled the boys trousers down and started to bugger him in his sleep. And in the morning, he said everything was normal.

Boy, went on his way. Nielsen remembered it as a thrilling encounter. So, you know, just well, I lasted some youth, rape some youth. And he's like, oh, this fucking great. By mid 1973, death has now become a fixed theme in Nielsen's sex fantasies. He wants to repeat some type of version of this night with a teen from the drop in center, but in a way where he doesn't have to bother with making sure that he's passed out. He's also still fantasizing about the rugged old man fucking the smooth young man. Run of these fantasies through his head over and over while masturbating tonight before going to sleep. And one version of his fantasy, the ugly old Arab man is replaced by a handsome, powerful, well-muscled black man. And the passive character is now an emaciated teenage junkie who has just died from an overdose.

Fucking so specific and disturbing. That June, Nielsen meets a young man in the William IV bar in Hampstead, one of London's greenest and most sophisticated areas. The Willie, as it was called, was not an exclusively gay pub, but with its proximity to the cruising ground of Hampstead Heath, it took on that quality at many times during the week. The man in question, whom our main source calls Derek, had a mane of and dodging this long blonde hair and looked like he was in a, some kind of hair metal, you know, butt rock band.

They went back together to Neilson's room with the police section house, which in all their drunken incitement, Derek had assumed was a hostile with a chair pressed up against the door for privacy, the parent gauge and sexual activity that Neilson later rated as one of the most enjoyable sexual experiences of his life. When Derek awoke, Nielsen was putting on his uniform. Derek asked, is this the police station? And then Nielsen's sergeant noticed Derek leaving the room. Nielsen produced a hasty explanation, said that he had just sold the gun guy a fish tank.

And everyone else, the best way to pay for fish tanks is what's some hardcock. He then walked there down to the tube, kissed him before the door is closed, still wearing his police hat. They hooked up a couple times after that, only stopped him when Nielsen found out he'd contracted gonorrhea. This experience awakened Nielsen to the possibility that there could be someone out there for him though.

Sadly, he won't thoroughly explore this much healthier option than the other shit he literally has a mind. By late 1973, Dennis Nielsen decides that the police life is not for him. Just before Christmas, he moves into nine manstone road, a sublet, bed sit, and a Victorian house, and a mixed suburb with a large Irish immigrant community. Now he's finally living somewhere where he's not worried about co-workers, knowing what he's up to on any level. In the first week of January of 1974, the labor exchange finds Nielsen a job as a security guard for the Department of the Environment. Compared to police work, it was much simpler. Mainly just involved patrolling various

government buildings in different parts of town, and one office in the shell building next to Waterloo, he found a book on toxicology. Two photographs inside the book reminded Neilson of his increasing sexual interest in dead bodies. One was an image of a boy who had died of drowning, although it was a color photo of a boy with rigor mortis. By a trick of light, his flesh tone suggested he was still alive. That photograph made Neilson realize that he could be frantically aroused, quote, frantically aroused by the idea of someone being at the dividing

line between life and death. And that, of course, is really not good. Also, he may have had sex with the gorilla during this time. Milton would continue to have his old man fantasy where an old or usually ugly old man takes advantage of a beautiful younger person that still is go to, you know, various variations of this. And one night, he is in the warehouse of the natural history museum for security patrol and he realized that the stuffed gorilla looks alive and powerful and

kind of like the old man from his fantasies and Nielsen who just died as hair blonde thought he you know he resembled the beautiful young man so as anyone would do in this situation he takes his he resembled the beautiful young man. So as anyone would do in this situation, he takes his clothes off inside the museum warehouse, right? Strongly assuming he's showing alone, and you know pushes his naked flesh up against the gorilla's paw and likes it. And then when he looks down now, he sees that the gorilla only had a quote pathetic little stump for a penis and he loses his erection and he puts his clothes back down back on kind of bummed out i i love that the size of the stuffed gorillas dick is what turns them off

not the fact that it's a fucking stuffed gorilla his blonde hair allows nilson to continue his fantasy that while masturbated right some of his mind he's being fucked by a more well-in-doubt gorilla from time to time. Sadly, this is actually one of his healthier fantasies. At least no one's dead in this one.

Well, maybe I guess if the gorilla's stuffed. In the first month of 1974, Nilsen resigned from a security guard job. Set himself up in another bed sit, AKA a studio apartment, on nearby 80 teen mouth road, and goes back to the labor exchange for work. The labor exchange was set up by the UK government to help businesses find employees to help,

you know, the unemployed by jobs like select the unemployment office. And Dennis ends up being hired by the labor exchange itself. His experience in catering made him a good fit for customer service. And even though he started just answering phones, found that he was in a far more relaxed and accepting environment than the army or the police force and he liked it. A colleague even gave him a nickname, Des, that would stick. He liked it. Things seem to be getting better.

He had a regular job. He had a roof over his head. He's not pretending to pass out in front of people. He hopes will fuck him. I hasn't rubbed his dick up against a stuffed gorilla pod months. But then in the summer of 1975 and incident occurs. Nielsen now almost 30. Meet 17 year old David painter, who he, the guy who's attracted with labor change, now

called the job center, bumps into him again later on the street. Nielsen invites him over to watch some TV in his room where they watch a real of test film that Nielsen himself had shot. They start drinking. Nielsen soon tries to make a romantic move and David, who was quite drunk, not into it. Nielsen read the room wrong. In fact, David starts running around the shared house screaming bloody murder and barges into a glass partition and shatters it.

Nielsen calls the police. David is taken to a hospital where he tells investigators that Nielsen tried to rape him Yeah, I probably did Uh Nielsen uh then Uh was brought into his old police station at Wilson Green He's questioned put in a cell for the night and then when painter decides not press charges Nielsen is released The incident is recorded in police files in the days of paper files and index cards So nobody at Dennis's work or in his personal life ever finds out about it. Just thrown into a drawer.

Well, I expected this incident to be the final straw that pushed him to murdering men. He was attracted to making sure they couldn't report him, couldn't embarrass him. It does not. Actually, a couple of weeks later, he finds himself unexpectedly in something like a relationship. It starts out with the letter telling him and his father's died. His brother tells him that Olaf was working as a manager of a fish canning factory way down in Ghana, Africa. He was married to his fourth wife and he passed away from heart attack. Letter also informed Dennis that his father's real name was Olaf Mokshim and he had half brothers

and sisters he had never heard of and he was left 1,400 pounds. A sum equivalent to about 10,000 pounds today. That money gave him confidence. And when he started chatting with a random man, David Galachan in the champion pub and basewater shortly after he received his inheritance, he thought about what a relationship might be like with the five foot five or the five foot nine skinny blonde 18 year old. Soon Galachan was agreeing to Dennis's proposition that they become roommates. After just one night living in Dennis' room, they go apartment hunting.

The place they find is at 195 Melrose Avenue, a Victorian house divided into flats. About a hundred yards from Gladstone Park. They had the rearmost of the ground floor apartments with two rooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. The living room had French windows to the back, and the bedroom had a bunk bed that Nielsen eventually converted into a top platform. The real gem was the garden. This will be important later in the story. After Nielsen and Galachan spend a couple weeks tending to it, they write a letter to their agent, Leon Roberts of Ellison Company, explaining how they're the only ones who use the garden.

This is like their landlord's management company, and they've improved it, you know, put down stone paving, planting plum trees, etc. Leon Robert signs over exclusive access of the Garden to them Meanwhile, Nielsen also starts bringing in pets. He has a parakeet Hamish come over from his other apartment. Anybody's a fish pond from a pet shop nearby from another pet shop They pick out a black and white mixed breed puppy. they name Bleep, and adopt a stray kitten named DD, which stood for Des and David. I don't have to blank that out of my head because Ginger Bell, one of my dogs, we started calling her Gigi years ago, and that somehow turned into DD. So little DD, but I think of not

the DD here. Then they started decorating, painting the walls, hanging pictures, fighting furniture, Nilson was especially pleased to be able to afford a quality stereo to decent TV. It seemed like it's a very happy time, but actually not really. The two frequently found themselves at odds. Nilsson liked classical music, progressive rock, old Hollywood films. Galichan didn't like any of that shit. Nilsson liked talking about getting hand jobs from stuff gorillas and fantasies about fucking co-workers.

He had knocked unconscious. But that shit creeped Gallaghan out Or whatever he actually would have told him that But Gallaghan being serious now became more interested in other men sexually While Nielsen was not into pursuing other dudes He also complained that his partner was too hairy too bony and too thin But to the outside world, they were a happy couple Nielsen even brought you know yeah brought Galachan to his office Christmas party, effectively coming out to his coworkers,

which was a big step. But then by March of 1976, the two are not on speaking terms. One night, Galachan had brought a home of 15 year old boy, Nielsen would later claim that he seduced the youth for the night and then made Galachan deal with him in the morning, but Galachan didn't want to deal with him, just left for his dish-washing job. And when Nielsen came back from work,

the electricity meter was smashed and some money was missing until he's furious. Also beginning to get sick. He had gallstones, but couldn't schedule an operation for another couple of months. He's not in a great mood. He has his operation in the middle of a summer heat wave afterwards.

It's eager to get back to his gay nightlife, but his first few encounters leave him with scabies and crabs. Damn STDs, why do they exist? Random hookups, so much more appealing if they, you know, just didn't pose the risk of STDs. Come on scientists, come on Luciferina. Not that I care anymore, but, you know, first humanity. By spring of 1977, Galachan and Nielsen's relationship

was officially dying. The catalyst came after bleep. It's a fucking weird name for a dog. Their dog has puppies. Nielsen went relationship was officially dying. The catalyst came after bleep. It's a fucking weird name for a dog. Their dog has puppies. Nielsen went out one night down the street to the grocery store when he returned. He found that Gallaghan had not been looking after the pets and two of the puppies had drowned in his pond.

Two weeks later, Gallaghan met an antiques dealer, moves out with him, and that's that. Nielsen now dives into a series of short flings, trying to recapture some of the domesticity with Barry Pest, then Stephen Barrier, then Steve Martin, propping out the actor, but I didn't really look into it. The last day in the longest about four months. 1978 Nielsen meets Martin Hunter Craig, a young man who'd recently moved to London, and

changed his name from Martin Tucker. Martin, who was nearly 18 when he met N Neilson around Easter of 1978, had been in London for a few months working odd jobs and supplementing his income by sleeping with men from money when necessary. For the next couple of years, Martin would stay at Melrose Avenue for a couple days every few months.

They had a brief physical relationship with Martin later saying he found, later saying he found the relationship stiff and awkward. Neilson was too passive. Almost Martin would later say like a dead body, like a guy who liked to fake pass out and hope to be fucked. Martin didn't think that was much fun. Also within a year of these two meeting,

Nielsen starts to lose interest in the living. And his darkest fantasies now start to turn into actions, right? Here we go. December 30th, 1978, the day before New Year's Eve, Nielsen is now 33 years old. He had just spent Christmas alone with his dog. He's feeling more isolated than ever, spending most of his time setting alone at home, listing the music, drinking, beating off

to fucking stuff, guerrilla fantasies. abruptly, he decides he has to get out of the house. He heads over to Crickleward, Cricklewood Arms, a local pub. It was a tough Irish place, not the kind of pub that Nielsen usually went to. But it was there where he would meet a young man at the bar. Five foot six, short, curling brown hair, rough hands, the young man peeked Nielsen's interest.

His name was Stephen Holmes, and he was only 14. He had just gone to see a rock band. Was high on newfound feelings of adulthood and independence. He was just a kid, a child far less than half of Dennis's age, and he would never be seen again after this night. His body would not be identified for another 23 years. These two would go home together. Steven would pass out drunk. Nielsen would take the opportunity to grow up and molest him, running his hands up and down his body, thinking that Steven would soon wake up and leave. He became extremely aroused, then looked at the pile of their clothes, his eyes fell on his tie. He wanted

Stephen to stay with him over the new year, whether he wanted to or not according to his autobiography. So he reached out, grabbed the neck tie and impulsively slipped it around Stephen's neck and strangled him to death. After killing Holmes, Nilsen washed his body, lay him down on his bed. The sexual possibilities of being able to do whatever he wanted to his remains were offset at this time by the immediate shock he felt after killing him. He was sure he was going to get caught. The police were going to, you know, turn up any second. And yet, instead of hiding the evidence, he wrapped the body in a curtain and went to bed for most of the rest of the next day to sleep off his hangover when he woke up on New Year's Day, started to panic, tried to put the body under the floorboards, but the body

was stiff and wouldn't fit. So he waited another day, pulled the boards up again, but then his cat, Dee Dee got in there and it took several minutes to get her back out. Get out of there, Dee Dee. But then Nielsen was pleased to see how wide the spaces were between the beams. There was plenty of room for a body. He ripped up, homes closed, put her in with his shoes and the trash can. Week later, disinterred the body, stripped himself naked, took the body to the bathroom to wash and inspect it.

And I'm sure jerk off a lot. Finally, he placed the body under the floorboards where it would stay for over seven months. Man, how much have smelled? No sexual escapades this first time. Apparently, he would claim. August 11, 1979, Neilson placed the body of Stephen Holmes on a large bonfire now in that little back garden area. In the months between the murder of the disposal, he had tried to reform himself. He thought that he had gotten too drunk and that's why he murdered somebody. So he tries to come back on drinking and bury himself in work, trying not to think about it. But now with the body burned, Nielsen felt like things were under control. Started going back to the gay

bars, getting drunk, talking to strangers. On October 11, 1979, Nielsen meets Andrew Ho, a young Chinese student at an arcade near Leicester Square. They drank some, head back to Melrose Avenue, started to have a consensual sexual encounter with Nielsen binding Andrew's feet together for an added element of bondage But once Andrew was bound Nielsen went to the cabinet got a tie Clearly he'd been fantasizing about what he'd done to Steven Andrew now starts to scream breaks loose luckily runs out of the house and calls the police When the police come over Nielsen convinces them. This was just a you're just a wild night It's a crazy homosexual encounter. She got out of hand, but you know nothing criminal Reminds me of what happened with Jeffrey Dahmer Just a crazy homosexual encounter. Shig out of hand, but you know, nothing criminal.

Reminds me of what happened with Jeffrey Dahmer. Andrew Howe would not end up pressing charges and the matter is done. Neal Sins next murder attempt comes on December 3rd, 1979. Once again, almost the holidays. Meaning Neal Sins is more depressed than usual. He got out of the house, spent an afternoon with a Canadian tourist.

He had met named Kenneth Ockenden. 23-year-old Kenneth planned to go home for Christmas, but not before seeing some sights, having some fun. He was standing at the bar with the Princess Louise, a jazz club, when he met Nielsen. The two started talking about Kenneth's camera. Upon learning the young man was a tourist, Nielsen offered to show Ockenden several London landmarks and offer Ockenden accepted. Nielsen invited the student to his house on the promise of a meal and further drinks. They stopped at a liquor store

and route to Nilson's residence, purchased whiskey, rum and beer, Akaden insisting on sharing the bill. Go back to the apartment where Nilson suddenly wraps the cord of his headphones around Kenneth, his neck, his headphones at Kenneth's with listening to, and starts shouting, let me listen to the music as well.

This is what he wrote. Okay. After Kenneth dies on his floor, Nielsen then quiets, bleep the dog by shouting, shut up, ripe. This is fuck all to do with you and puts her in the backyard. Now Nielsen pours himself half a glass of rum, continues to listen to music on his headphones. The same ones he had used to strangle Aukenden. He is not shocked by what he's done this time. He's excited and not worried about getting caught this time. He puts Kenneth's body in his bed that night kissing and caressing it as he falls asleep. Just cuddling up. The following day, Nielsen purchases a Polaroid camera. Takes various pictures of Kenneth's body and suggestive positions, makes some porn.

Then lays Kenneth's corpse, spread eagle on top of him on his bed, as he watches TV for several hours, before wrapping the body in plastic bags and stowing the corpse beneath the floorboards. Why is the watching the TV detail here creepier to me? Then it would have been if he would have had sex with the corpse, right?

Just what a fucking bizarre scene. He had just killed this guy. And the next day he just lays this guy's dead body naked on top of him and just watches TV for a couple of hours. What was he watching? Movie? Football game? Game show? Can you fucking believe it? You can not name that tune. Yellow submarine. How could you live in the UK and not know that? Are you thirsty? Let me go get a drink. Don't go anywhere. Four separate times in the following two weeks, Nilsen disinterrs Okenen's body from beneath his floorboards, his rotting body, and seats the body on an armchair alongside

him and they just watch TV and he drinks some beers like they're fucking drinking beers like some fucked up weekend of Bernie's shit. If the guys in weekend of Bernie's also maybe jerked off, you know, on Bernie's corpse. Interesting Dennis will not have penetrative sex with his corpse again, or with any other of the bodies, or at least won't admit to doing that later, right? All based on his, you know, writings, you know, he would get a rouse about hanging out the corpses and then jerk off, but, you know, claim to never fucking even. Meanwhile, as Christmas approaches, no one has heard from Kenneth who has promised to,

who had promised to come home for the holidays. The police were called and they discovered Kenneth's possessions in his hotel room, meaning foul play immediately suspected. The following February, Ocadins' parents fly to London. At a press conference, they declare they are staying here as long as it takes to find Ken. So sad. Please warn them to be prepared for the worst, but they refuse to give up.

They're not going to give up hope. Posters are circulated around the Capitol and the disappearance is featured in an episode of Police 5, which Nilsen later told detectives he watched. I wonder if he watched it with Kenis corpse. Look at that kid, he's trying to take you away from me. You don't have your eye. Sydney, with me, watching, name that tune and whatnot.

Dennis didn't feel bad for the parents, he said later, and they would keep putting up flyers, looking for their son, as late as December of 1982, the third anniversary of his disappearance. Man, if you're a parent, imagine that being your kid. If you're not a imagine it's you, and your parents looking for your killer for three years

What a fucking terrible thing? Nielsen meanwhile starts looking for a new victim when his previous one becomes too decomposed for his TV watching tastes Nielsen's third victim is 16 year old Martin Duffy Martin had the previous year left school began to get in trouble being caught sealing threatening other boys He turned up at a charity called the Soho project, which was, uh, which paid, excuse me for him to go home, but soon he was on the road again. When he met Nielsen, he was sleeping around Houston tube station. Nielsen invited him back to his place. They had a couple beers and Martin said he had to go to bed. He was lying on the top bunk platform. His arms trapped by a quilt when Nielsen grabbed him and strangled him.

platform, his arms trapped by a quilt when Nielsen grabbed him and strangled him. Nielsen then carried his still barely alive body down to the kitchen, filled the sink and decided to drown him. Another fantasy. He then carried his dead body to the bathroom where Nielsen undressed himself and the corpse, then sat the bathtub with corpse, just two of them out of the bath. Imagine that one of those bubbles or something. He carries the body back to the bed. Martin was the youngest body he'd been with and that turns him on immensely.

And you know, the youngest dead body. And he jerks off a whole bunch of times. Afterwards, Nilson puts the body in a cupboard then a couple days later in the floorboards and then just goes on with his life. Throughout 1980, he would continue functioning normally at work, throwing on some extra clon I imagined to mask the scent of the fucking rotting bodies

it is place bodies keep pilot up by the end of nineteen eighty killed further five victims and attempted to murder one other only one of these victims whom nielsen murder twenty six-year-old williams southerlund has ever been identified uh... billy southerlund was born

uh... edenborough grew up in a slum surrounded by drug dents and six years before he met nielsen had moved into a flat with his girlfriend Donna and their young daughter. When their daughter was three, the couple decided to move to London from Edinburgh. Donna joined Billy for a while, but soon Miss home, but when she arrived back in Scotland in August of 1980, Billy stopped calling. Nielsen's recollections after his arrest of the unidentified victims are vague, but he graphically recalled how each victim had been murdered and just how long the body had been retained before dissection.

He said he killed an Irish laborer in October of 1980, remembering later that he was tall with rough hands and worn old suit. He then killed a so-called Mexican or Filipino who was five foot 10 whom he met in Salisbury Arms, in the Salisbury Arms Bar. One unidentified victim killed in November whom he identified only as a vagrant had moved his legs in a cycling motion as he was strangled.

Nielsen took off work between November 11th and 18th to play with that guy's corpse. Full week. Nielsen tried to re-assuscitate another unidentified victim before sinking to his knees and sobbing, then spitting at his image as he looked to himself in the mirror. This might have been the starving hippie he listed in his confession as another victim. On another occasion, he lay in bed alongside the body of an unidentified victim as he listened to the classical theme fanfare for the common man before bursting in tears. So, you know, again, he's fucking bachelorette crazy.

Sometimes he shaved their body hair to make them conform to his physical type. Other times, he dressed them up using talcum powder to hide evidence of decay. When he picked up the limb bodies, he'd often become extremely aroused and have to masturbate. Other times, he played with the dead men's genitals while he masturbated. He wanted to preserve some of their genitals

but didn't have the right liquid equipment or know-how. What an incredibly strange life. Going to work, talking to co-workers about, you know, what's in the papers? What the weather's like, et cetera. And then also hanging at a home with the corpses of guys he has murdered, rubbing their balls and jerking off. That was literally his life.

And late 1980, Nielsen removes and dissects the bodies of each victim killed since December of 1979, and burns them in a communal bonfire. He constructed on a waste ground behind his flat in that little yard area. I guess they're really starting to smell. He pulled the bodies out from under his floorboards. The area beneath the corpses were now carpeted with dead flies and sticky fluid. He said, put them on a pile of wood. The skies that smell of the burning flesh of the six dissected bodies

placed upon the pyre. Nielsen crowned the bonfire with an old car tire. He played classical music from his stereo as he torched their remains. He said three neighborhood kids stood to watch this particular bonfire, and Nielsen later wrote in his memoirs that he felt that would have seemed in order if he had seen these kids dancing around a mass funeral pyre. When the bonfire was reduced to ashes and senders, Nilsen used a rake to search the debris for recognizable bones that he was smash noting an intact skull. He smashed that to pieces. After the fire, he brought a hook up back from a pub in

St. Martin's Lane and had sex with someone he didn't even kill this time, which made him feel like he was cured. I look at him. have it a normal sexual encounter, have an penetrative sex with a warm body like a champion. But then back to the regularly scheduled programming. January of 1981, he meets an 18 year old blue eyed Scott. He said, who wore green tracksuit top and sneakers, Nielsen challenged him to end of the night drinking contest. Later to the police, he said, quote, end of night, end of drinking, end of person. He called out to work, called off work,

January 12th to dissect the victim and another one. In February of 1981, Nielsen meets a bell fast boy. Somewhere in the West End, he said, he would just become another body under the floorboards. April or May of 1981, Nielsen meets a so-called skinhead around 20 years old at the street food hall Stahl in Lester Square He was muscular with tattoos on his arms and one that said cut here beside dotted lines on his neck Nielsen later told the police that he hung up his torso for 24 hours

The following month Nielsen removed the internal organs of several victims, stowed beneath the floorboards, and he discarded their innards both upon the waist ground behind his flat and in his household rubbish. Just put in the garbage and took it out. Then sometime that summer, Nielsen was mugged. Oh, no! He said his best shoes and wallet were taken, along with the months worth of wages he had on him in cash. Then a couple weeks later, his movie camera and projected were stolen from his apartment by a hookup. What then things get worse

He got him to a disagree with his landlord about his electricity usage and proceedings for eviction now started against him One day in June he returns home to find the entire apartment had been vandalized man Just a never-ending stream of bad luck almost everything you own including the music collection and record players smashed to pieces stream of bad luck almost everything you own including music collection and record player smashed to pieces. Same thing happened in the apartment upstairs. Nielsen decided to call the police but they couldn't find the culprit. That's fucking ballsy. Uh, this is don't look under the floorboards.

Look anywhere but under the floorboards. His co-workers however, uh, uh, uh, they come together. They raised 85 pounds for him and Nielsen is just overwhelmed. He feels so left. I wonder if he sat on the couch with the corpse of someone he killed and celebrated? I know this might be hard for you to accept in your current state. You could argue, my sort of choked you to death and whatnot, but my office say, at the end of the day, people are good. Humanity more beautiful than ugly, sure we could

frustrate it with one another. Sometimes we might, you know, slip up, choke one another, shave their dead body down, clean them in a tub, wink off onto them after rubbing their balls a bit, but also we help each other. We care about one another. We're not all monsters, like Billy Shakes. That man was a real devil. Skin women's hands to make gloves they say. Caught messages into their flesh. Many think Old Belly was William Shakespeare, the bard, and England's worst serial killer. That man was evil. Not me. I'm just a helpless romantic. Would you like some rhyme? I think you have fancy myself another drink.

Be a vote wanking off on you again. Oh, some level of reality with all this. Dennis' restored faith in humanity didn't stop him, of course, from killing. The next victim at Melrose Avenue would be 23-year-old Malcolm Barlow. September 18, 1901. Barlow was a troubled teenager who'd become a troubled adult. He'd lie, steal, occasionally sleep with men in order to blackmail them later. After his mother died, his sister kicked him out and soon he found himself on the streets.

Nielsen met Barlow when he stumbled upon the younger man, slumped over in an alley. And Nielsen, we heard, had called an ambulance for him. He didn't want the kid to die. Unless he could secretly die by his hand. So he could jerk off on his corpse, I guess. Next day, Barlow visited Dennis at the house, apparently to thank Nielsen for saving him. He was invited in and after eating a meal,

began drinking rum, a little rum and coax before fall asleep on the couch. And now Nielsen, again, just one day after saving this guy's life, strangles Barlow with his hands as he slept. And then he stowed his body beneath his kitchen sink to follow him morning. We would soon need to get rid of him entirely because of the whole eviction situation he was dealing with. His landlord had notified Nielsen mid-summer that he wanted to renovate the apartment, meaning Nielsen had to find somewhere else to live. He dismembered the body as he had done the previous ones, but in a lot more rushed fashion,

and not after having the time to spend with the body like he preferred, naked and drunk with plastic sheets lining the floor. He hacked away at the corpse using techniques he learned as a chef, and every so often he would vomit into the sink. He put the victim's head in a large cooking pot. He placed the resulting liquid in plastic bags outside where all men or critters could eat it. Surely afterwards, the letter arrived in for me, where all men or critters could eat it Surely afterwards a letter arrived in for me Nielsen that he needed to quickly vacate the property and return They offered him a thousand pounds and a place in an estate called crannly

crannly gardens Nielsen built his last disposal fire two days before he was due to leave one day before he left He burned Malcolm Barlow's body then it it was off to Kranley Gardens just live in his life still getting away with his shit. No one renovating his old place said any fucking idea what kind of house of horse they were working on. He arrived at his new home at number 23, October 5, 1991. This new flat similarly laid out but bigger with a much better kitchen for boiling the faces off of people's heads and stuff. He soon replaced a stereo that had been stolen his stereo with the cassette player and bought a black and white TV,

along with his record collection, some posters, including the page three nude female pinup and a couple of houseplants. Soon became somewhere not entirely out of keeping with how one might expect a bachelor's place, you know, to look like. In November in Soho's Garden Lion, Nielsen approaches an earnest young man called Paul, uh, Paul knobs. He was a London University undergraduate reading Slavic studies with thick curly hair at about six in the evening. Nielsen had noticed knobs being aggressively chatted up at the bar, intervened. Nobs thought it was a gracious thing to do after a couple of drinks.

They went back to Kranley Gardens to drink Bacardi, eat snacks, and watch panorama. After watching the 9 o'clock news, knobs phoned his mum from the payphone in the hall, said he would be back home soon, but then an hour later, the Bacardi, he'd been pounding, really started to take effect, knobs phoned again, said he'd be back the next day, and the pair went to bed. Nob says he tried to initiate sex, but Nielsen said he didn't do penetration. He'll claim to be done with that from now on. Just like oral and hand stuff, and mostly fondling dead guys balls and trick off. Then in the middle of the night,

Nobs awakes with a terrible pain in his neck and throat. In the bathroom, he sees that his eyes are severely bloodshotted. Nobs is shocked and disorientated. Still has no idea he's been attacked. He had no idea that Nielsen had tried to choke into death. And in a blackout state, he had fought back. He goes back to bed with Nielsen now, who for some reason doesn't attack him again. In the morning by the light of day, he sees the bruising around his neck, you know, he feels dazed. Nielsen simply says to him, you look awful. And then recommends he goes to a doctor. What the hell? At the hospital

doctors confirm he's been attacked, but he didn't want to go to the police and report Nielsen out of embarrassment. Nielsen attempted to murder at least a few other men around the same time, but keep stopping short of killing them. With no access to a yard, no floorboards to pry up, he's worried about where he's going to hide their corpses, but eventually comes up with a plan. Next murder occurs nearly five months later, March of 1982. Nielsen encounters 23-year-old John Hallett while drinking in a pub near Leicester Square.

Like the others before him, Hallett agrees to come over for a drink. Their both Nielsen and Hallett drink as they watch a film before Hallett walks into Nielsen's front room and falls asleep in his bed. An hour later, Nielsen unsuccessfully attempts to rouse howl it then sits on the edge of the bed drinking rum as he stares at howl it before deciding to kill him. According to him, it was less out of attraction and more out of annoyance. He said howl just seemed kind like a dick, tried to strangle him, but howl it forced him back down his head, struck the rim of the headrest on the bed, the two struggle until Neilson manages to get his hands

around howl it's neck. After choking him out for about a minute, he stops squeezing, goes into the other room. Returns is shocked to see Hallett still breathing, so he loops him fabric around his neck, chokes him for two or three more minutes, and now Hallett is dead. He had struggled valiantly. Nielsen had bruises in the shape of Hallett's fingerprints on his neck with the man who attempted to strangle him back. Now Nielsen has to figure out how to dispose of the body without his usual methods. Three days after killing him, he moves the body out of the wardrobe closet, brings it into

the bathroom, covers the floor with garbage bags, and then the main dissection takes place in the bathtub. Nilson puts a wooden board across it, and with the body draped over it, the soft parts of the body are cut into pieces, a couple of inches long, and he just flushes them down the toilet over and over. But that process was taken too long for his, you know, concerns. To speed things up, Nielsen starts to boil the flesh and viscera down to a soup-like consistency. And that seems to allow the plumbing to cope better. When the head is soft enough, he actually scoops the brains out and flushes them in the toilet

tube. My God. The larger bones packed into bin liners. No garbage bags and the wardrobe with salt and padding smaller bones Uh, he simply leaves out for the garbage man to pick up and just like that He's gotten away with another murder 13th victim Two months later may have 1992 Nielsen encounters Carl Stodder a 21 year old gay man As the young man is drinking at the black cap pub in Camden and North London.

Neilson engages Stodder in conversation, discovers he is deep depressed following a breakup with an ex boyfriend who was apparently a violent man. After applying him with some alcohol, Neilson invites Stodder to his flat, assuring his guess he has no intention of sexual activity. Stodder agrees, Neilson reminds him of his very first boyfriend and seems kind. At the flat, Stodder consumes further alcohol before fall asleep upon an open sleeping bag, and then later awake to find himself being strangled

by Nielsen, while Nielsen loudly whispers, stay still. And this is gonna get, this is so weird. What happens going forward? Stodder initially thinks Nielsen is trying to free him from the zip of the sleeping bag, like zipper and then passes out again. Then here's vague sounds of water running before realizing he is wet and he's in a bathtub. And Neilsson is attempting to drown him now. After briefly, briefly succeeding and raising his head above

the water, stodder gasp the words, no more, please, no more. And then Neilsson again submerges stodders head beneath the water, believing he's killed him now. Nielsen seats him in his armchair, then sees his dog bleep, licking stodders face and Nielsen realizes stodder is still barely alive. And now he changes his mind. He rubs stodders, limbs and chests to increase circulation, covers his body body and blankets lays him upon his bed. When daughter regains consciousness, Nielsen embraces him tenderly, explains to him, he had almost strangled himself on the zipper of the sleeping bag, and that he had revived him.

And over the following two days, Daughters repeatedly laps his in and out of consciousness. When he regains enough strength to question Nielsen as to his recollections of being strangled in a mercenacled water, Nielsen explains he just became caught in the zipper of the sleeping bag, uh, following a nightmare and that he placed him in cold water because he was in shock. Nielsen then led Stodder to a nearby railway station where he informed young man he hoped they might meet again and then he bid him a do. Stodder went to the police, but they dismissed what he said. And I bet they did. Because who fucking does that?

Who works so hard to kill somebody, then works really hard to bring them back to life. This guy's so unusual. His friends even tell him now he is getting Nielsen confused with an early attack by his ex-boyfriend. But Stater knew what had happened to him. He slept constantly for about a week, continued to have problems as long as from nearly drowning. He attempted to commit suicide.

He survives that. This poor bastard. He lives until 2014, another 32 years before falling into a diabetic coma and dying at his home in Brighton. He had reoccurring nightmares for three decades. He would wake up in the middle of the night, convince someone was trying to kill him. He started drinking to cope with those nightmares and that led him to becoming an alcoholic.

And he struggled with that for the rest of his life. Meanwhile, backing up now, surely after what he did to Carl Dennis gets a promotion. The upcoming date of June 25, 92 would be his last day at the Denmark Street branch of the job center. Uh, that day he was given a gold pen, a lighter traditional card full of friendly comments. He's going to get his big promotion. He's fucking moving on up. Things are going great for this fucking weirdo because life is not always fair.

Uh, following Monday, he takes a tube, three stops to Kentish town station where his new position is job center executive officer, earns him a salary of 7,000 pounds per year, which meant he almost doubled his monthly salary and he, you know, has himself a new office. That's things going great. And you know what? I mean, he deserves it. He's technically a hero. He literally saved a man's life.

I mean, he wouldn't have, you know, needed to save the guy's life if he didn't try to kill him first, but still he did technically nurse a man back to health who somebody, not saying who tried to kill. Next guy won't be so lucky. September of 1982, Nielsen finds Graham Allen trying to hail a cab in the Picadilly area of London. Alan was a 28 year old glass Weijen. I didn't know that's how you said it before this episode. Known to his friends as Puggy, the man whom newspapers would characterize simply as a registered heroin addict and petty criminal. And that man would become Milsen's 14th victim. He was tall, rugged, heterosexual with a girlfriend called Leslie, the son Shane.

The night he disappeared, Shane would later remember Puggy argued with Leslie about money for heroin. He was outside standing on the window ledge, shouting through the glass, even punched himself in the face before disappearing into the night. And that would be the last time Shane saw his father. Terrible, terrible final memory. Dennis found him shortly after the antics in the window, brought him home, promised to make him something to eat, Puggy ate more than half an omelette, Nielsen made before he passed out, and then Nielsen strangled him. And Dennis referred to this murder later simply as the omelette death.

December 22, 1982, Nielsen now meets Trevor Simpson. Trevor was 20. I just served six months in jail for hijacking a car in Belgium. After a few drinks, Nielsen invited him back home. Next morning after they both slept, Nielsen told him he was welcome to stay for a while. Simpson was struck by the smell of the place, but didn't look for the source of it. Maybe he would have, if he would have been certain the source was rotting human in remains. He had a place to stay, and that was all that mattered to him. On the sixth night, Trevor Simpson said something rude about a stew, Nielsen cooked. That night, he woke up to a smoke-filled apartment. When he went into the kitchen,

Nielsen was there nonchalantly having a drink, a little rum and coke, and a pair of jeans was burning on the stove. Apparently Nielsen had come up with the idea to strangle him with the burning pair of jeans. Thought about bashing him over the head or stabbing him, but he just didn't feel right. So he tried the jeans,

but I guess he couldn't burn them down to whatever vision he had in mind. Fucking insanity. What fantasy is this? Did you want to strangle someone with jeans that were still on fire that had just finished burning? Did you want to burn them with the jeans? Did the smell of burnt jeans?

Turn him on. Did you want to put out the fire by beating off on to the flames? Next day Simpson left and never looked back. Yeah, I bet. Nilson now alone again continues to drink heavily and during another long, hated, lonely, holiday season. New Year's Eve, 1992. Now 42-year-old Dennis is thrown back rum and coax.

We'll have him lunch and a pub down the road from his place. When the pub closes for the afternoon, in between the lunch shift and the evening shift, he comes home by eight. He's so drunk, he decides to invite Vivian and Monique from downstairs to join him. Nilson bangs on their door, slurs an invitation, the two girls politely but firmly decline. Girls, girls, girls. You don't know what you'll be missing at all. I want you to watch me wipe some bloke I've thrown a little while back now.

Burn some jeans. Come on the fire. What are you doing? This morning of tining. Been old at. Come on the fire. What are you doing? This more on a tiny than old it Nielsen left looking angry. He went upstairs for a bit that he went back out shortly after midnight he returned Tim and Slater there was a commotion on the on the stairs and then a moment later downstairs the front door slammed young Japanese chef Toshi Mitsu Ozawa just left

Nielsen would later say he thought he met him at the green man pub down the road just before last orders, you know, be drinking pretty heavily. Ozzawa later told police that night that once in Dennis's flat, Nilson calmly approached him with his arms outstretched and a tie in between them. And Ozzawa gave him a firm kick in the fucking nuts. Then beat it. The police didn't follow up and talk to Dennis. I mean, you know, really what could they do? I mean, he could just say, he was just messing about. He didn't stab a Zabba, put out a gun,

he didn't even threaten him. Just weirdly, slowly walked towards him, apparently fucking zombie-like, hammered drunk, holding out a tie. Doing shit like that, really not a bad way to get away with attempted murder over and over again, right? You know, just approach victims in a way that is so weird. The police will never believe anyone who accuses you of trying to kill them.

Like, just like, do something, just crazy. Drizzle like a circus clown, juggle knives for money during the day, some kind of street performer, the one who's not very good at his business. And, you know, does this in a bad part of town, where there isn't much foot traffic, just somebody who stands next to the entrance of say a dark alley, where there is not a security camera nearby. No law against, you know, being creepy in bad a business.

And you know, you just keep juggling knives after the sun goes down and when someone walks by alone, just maybe try and stab them. Then when the police question you, you know, you just tell them, hey, no one's perfect at juggling. You dropped a knife for a second. So what?

Ha ha ha. Come on, Alster. Everyone makes mistakes. at juggling. You dropped a knife for a second. So what? Ha ha ha. Come on now, sir. Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes juggling knives, sometimes knives juggling you. I really seem like a kind of guy wants to hurt somebody. It is a harvester clown. It's a harvester clown. Juggling knives and dark.

In front of the sole alley, folks with that big old dumpster, perfect for tossing a body in it. Ha ha ha. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best example. I just like to play that music. You get January 26, 1983, Dennis Nielsen meets Steven Sinclair. Steven is 20 years old with a slight build,

only five inches tall. He had come down from Scotland, traveling without a ticket on the inner city express from Edinburgh to London's Kings Cross tube station. Didn't come to London with much of a plan. The former foster child who had been institutionalized until he was 12 was young addicted to drugs and a few days before meeting Nielsen, he'd been caught stealing a saint monk, caught stealing at a saint Mungo's hostel and had been given court summons for February 12th.

And now his already sad story about to take a much sadder term. Later Nielsen would tell investigators that they met at a pub called the Royal George and Gossett Yard near Denmark Street, but a witness that he saw Stephen hanging out with someone fitting Nielsen's description a few days before the 26, which could mean, excuse me, Nielsen had scoped his last victim out for days

before closing in. Investigators would later think that the most likely story was that they met at the slot machines off of Piccadilly Circus, a well-known gay cruising area, where older men would pick up younger men, looking for money or a place to stay. That day, Stephen was dressed in tight black jeans and a leather jacket. He had tattoos on his hands and arms. Nielsen approached Stephen with his usual soft spoken but domineering manner.

Maybe they bonded over shared knowledge of each from Scotland, making Stephen feel like they were old friends. Nielsen invited the young man on a tour of some West end pubs, brought a bottom drink after drink and sits on being called desz said he hated the name Dennis. Around 1130, he suggested they go back to his flat for another round of drinks in his history of a drowning boy, Nielsen describes their journey home. He said they took to northern lineup to the high gate station. Sing clear, start feeling sleepy. And as they got off, Nielsen noticed his companion becoming woozy.

During the mile or so, walk back to his flat. Nielsen says he doubted he understood a word he said in his half drug, Scott's brog. Once inside, they went up to flights of stairs, enter the apartment, bleep the dog, jumped up, licked their hands, maybe Steven noticed that the flat was small, smelly and damp. Maybe he was too drunk. Later, Nielsen would tell investigators two versions of what happened next. In one version, a told detective chief inspector Peter Jay, he said they came in, turned on the TV to a drama called

Boys From The Black Stuff. They watched the drank and tell Nielsen notices Stephen had scootered to the corner to inject himself with drugs. And that disappointed Nielsen. So he went to the corner to inject himself with drugs and that disappointed Neilson. So he went to the stereo, put on the who's rock, opera, Tommy, put on the headphones, listened to the entire recording for Dozing off. When he woke up, he said, Stephen was dead with the piece of string around his neck. Neilson must have killed him, but didn't remember doing so. Then months later after the trial, Neilson wrote about a different account of events of this for author Brian Masters, a British biographer, best known for writing books about serial killers.

He wrote a killing company, the case of Dennis Nilsen. And Nilsen wrote to him, I'm sitting close to like it on the carpet, drinking and listening to music, I'm drawing my glass, take the phones off. Behind me, he said, Steven Sinclair on the laser chair. He was crashed out with drinking drugs. I asked to take the phones off. Behind me said Steven Sinclair, on the laser chair. He was crashed out with drinking drugs. I sit and look at him, I stand up and approach him. My heart is pounding.

I kneel down in front of him, I touch his leg and say, Are you awake? There's no response. Oh, Steven, I think. Here I go again. I get up and go slowly and casually through the kitchen. I take some thick string from the drawer and put it on the stainless steel-draining board. Not long enough, I think.

I go to the cupboard in the front room and search inside. On the floor therein, I find an old tie. I cut a bit off, throw the rest away, go back into the kitchen and make up the ligature. I look into the back room and Steven does not stir. Bleep comes in and I speak to her and scratch her head. Believe me just now, Bleep, get your head down. Everything's alright. I was relaxed, never contemplated morality.

There was something which I had to do. I nod to the string because I heard somewhere that this was what the thuggy did in India for a quick kill. Walk back into the room, I draped theiggature over one of his knees and poured myself another drink. My heart was pounding very fast. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Stephen and I thought to myself, all that potential, all that life, I had to stop him, it was soon be over.

I did not feel bad, I did not feel evil, I walked over to him, I removed the scarf, I picked up one of his wrists and let go, his limp arm flopped back to his lap, opened one of his eyes and there was no reflex, he was deeply unconscious. I took the ligature and put it around his neck, I knelt by the side of the stair and face the wall, I took each loose end of the ligature and pulled it tight. By helling there for a couple of minutes he was limp and stayed that way. I released my hold and removed the string and tie, he had stopped breathing. I spoke to him.

Stephen that didn't hurt at all. Nothing can touch you now. I ran my fingers through his bleached blonde hair. His face looked peaceful. He was dead. The front of his jeans were wet with urine. I got up and had a drink and a cigarette. He had made no noise.

I had to wash his soiled body, I ran a bath. I returned and began to undress him. Took off his leather jacket, jersey and t-shirt. Then his running shoes and socks. I had difficulty with his tight wet jeans. He still sat there, now naked in the armchair. His body was pale and hairless. He had crepe bandages on both forearms.

I removed these to reveal deep, still open, recent razor cuts. They very recently tried to commit suicide. I picked up his limb body into my arms and carried it into the bathroom. I put it into the half-field bath. I washed the body. I sat him on the white and blue dining chair. I sat down to the cigarette and a drink and looked at him, his eyes were not quite closed.

Stephen, I thought, you have another problem for me. What am I going to do with you? I've run out of room. Next morning I laid beside him in place a large mirror at the end of the bed, my stripped and I lay there, staring at both all naked bodies in the mirror. He looked paleer than I did. My puttowl compounder on myself, and lay down again. We looked similar now.

I spoke to him as if he was still alive. I thought how beautiful he looked, and how beautiful I looked. He just looked fabulous. I just stared as both in the mirror. Soon I felt tired, and I got in between the sheets. Good night, Stephen, I said, switched off the bedside light and went to sleep. It was up a few hours later.

I was up a few hours later. It was an ordinary day of work from the year ahead. He writes about all this stuff for the emotional tone of him having like done a fucking favor for this guy. He's recreating the old mirror fantasy. Like which person is he, right? The rugged old man, the hairless young man, and in the fantasy, the rugged old man,

it buggers the hairless young man. But Dennis claims, you know, he didn't do that. Why not? Did that cross some kind of line for him? Ah, this is, it's so strange. Uh, January 27th, 1983, Nielsen goes to work at the Kentish town job center. And on the way, talk about Strange, he may have wanked off a chimp. Do you used to be an infamous sex shop in strip club in your Piquet Daily Circus called Bobo's. The name came from some chimpanzees.

They head back in the 70s and early 80s. First one I guess was named Bobo. And not sure how they got away with this, but Hamel Wright's law is clearly not the same back thing as there now. And the chimps would do these dances with the girls, like on stage, right, like they put them in lingerie and everything. And they would strip. And supposedly you could even buy lap dances with the chimps. And while I think this was illegal, if you paid enough money,

you could take the chimps to a VIP room and they would wink you off, or I guess you could wink them off. No other sources verify this, but Dennis claimed that you could even have the chimps fuck you if you had enough money. And he said he never let chimps fuck him, but sometimes he would stop and jerk him off in a back room, typically two at a time.

And then it's a joke at work when his coworkers would ask him what he'd been up to. He would say, I guess he was just fond of saying, just whanking off a couple of chips. And he'd have a laugh. He thought it was so funny because, you know, they just thought he was saying something absurd, but he was actually telling the truth.

And after he was arrested, I do wonder what those co-workers thought when a dead shave down chimp that had been choked at us was founded Dennis' bathtub, a hairless chimp that he admitted to wanking off on dozens of times. Is anyone taking this hairless chimp that he admitted to wanking off on dozens of times. Is anyone taking this seriously?

The chimp stuff. No, that's not sense. I just thought this guy is so fucking crazy that after the grill of the story, which was true, I wouldn't be surprised if he jerked off on a fucking chimp. And I wanted to see if some of you might believe that London used to have a strip club that featured, you know, sexy chimps. You could pay to jerk off. Probably not. I don't know. Maybe, maybe. If not London, probably somewhere. That's probably happened somewhere. I hope the chimps had a

good time. I probably spent too long on that chimps story. Back to what really happened. For the next two weeks, after killing Steven, Dennis would continue normally at work interviewing job applicants complaining about Margaret Thatcher, whom he disliked as a socialist. Uh, okay, Bojangles. This is the one thing that Bojangles, I guess, it proves up in this episode. His life seemed to continue clicking along just swimmingly, but then residents of his building started noticing something that was going to finally bring his creepy sleepover parties to an end.

Thursday, February 3rd, 1973, the residents, the other ones of 23 crannly gardens, discover their drains are all blocked. Began with a man named Jim, I didn't even notice his name when I first put it through here. This guy's name is Jim Alcock. Literally, ALL, COCK. I'm sure he was never teased. Jim Alcock was never teased. Mr. Alcock was a builder who lived on the ground floor with his girlfriend a bartender He noticed that his toilet didn't work. Tried removing the blockage, but it wouldn't clear So he decided to call management Next morning he notices that the other toilet in his apartment doesn't work now

Well, he waits for a plumber He decides to see if any of the other residents had problems his girlfriend bumps into Dennis Nielsen Who tells her that he didn't have any problem with his toilet She does notice he seems drunk, but that's not really that unusual for him What she didn't know was it Nielsen had just gone to the pub to prepare himself to get rid of the problem in his flat First Sinclair's body was removed from one of the wardrobes Then he made sheets from bin liners garbage bags put them down on the narrow kitchen floor Finally when still drinking peccardi and coke Nielsen set about cutting up the body with a set of sharp chef's knives.

Slicing off bits of tissue, he then put them into a huge steel cooking pot to soften, you know, the tissue enough to flush it down the toilet. While the water boiled, he got the head off, started to remove the innards. My God, just so fucking gory. By midnight, he's too drunk to finish though. February 5th, probably with a massive hangover, Dennis calls into work sick. Meanwhile, a plumber had started inspecting the drains outside, but quickly discovered it was a problem that needed a specialist attention. Calls in a drainage engineer from Dino Rod, but the engineer can't come into the following Monday, February 7th.

That day when Jim and his girlfriend passed Nilsen in the hall, they tell him that he should probably stop using the toilet just in case someone has to disconnect some pipes somewhere. Now Nielsen starts to get worried for the first time in years. He buys some cleaning products and air fresheners just in case somebody has to check out his apartment. That afternoon by chance, Nielsen's sometime friend Martin Hunter Craig, whom he called Skip, pops over to visit, he says Nielsen looked agitated. When Nielsen opened opened his door a little fraction

Skip could see his friend's face was ghostly white and Neilson said you can't come in skip tied up with someone Skip noticed that in addition in addition to Neilson's off demeanor a dank smell emanated from his apartment small looking out house He assumed that Neilson was drunk and in some kind of weird sexual situation and didn't think much of it. Martin had been a prostitute and discretion came naturally to him. Nielsen spent Sunday, February 6, cleaning up. He finished cutting up the body, put parts and trash bags, the trash bags, and the partially

boiled head covered with newspapers and stick the odorants. Nielsen goes to work on Monday, feeling on edge. His colleagues will later remember that he is irritable. He thinks that there was a distinct possibility that the police would be waiting for him when he gets home, but Dino Rod hadn't come yet. Now he feels like maybe he'll get away with everything again. He goes to work the next morning, still tense. When he returns, it is sleeting outside Mike Katrand, a 30-year-old engineer from Dino Rod,

had just arrived. Nielsen goes straight up to his flat. Catran goes down, inside this, you know, manhole, opens this manhole cover, goes down inside of the building, along with Jim Alcock. Catran, you know, looks, looks down there or inspects down there, looks back up at Jim Alcock and says, I haven't been in this job for long, but I know that this isn't shit. He suspected the matter was from a rotting animal, but couldn't be sure what or how would it come to be there in such great quantities.

At 7 p.m., he phones his manager, Gary Wheeler, Katarantel's Gary, he has concerns that someone is doing something they shouldn't be. They agreed to leave it until the next day. By this time, Nielsen has come down to see what is going on. Jim and Mike are discussing what they've seen. Mike is saying he needs to take a look in the daylight, but isn't particularly worried. He turns to Nielsen

and asks, did you flush dog food down the pan? You know, AKA toilet. Nielsen replies that he didn't. Nielsen goes back to his flat now, and I have to admit that this is pretty fucking clever. Right to letter to the landlords complaining about the state of the building, including the drains. He asked that quote, routine upkeep and maintenance of the house needed to be attended to to keep living standards is tolerable at a tolerable level. He moans about the lights in the communal areas before arriving at the important issue saying, when I flush my toilet, the laboratory pans in the little flats overflow since Friday, fourth of February, obviously the drains are blocked and unpleasant

odysp permeate the building. After finishing the letter Nielsen goes downstairs, finds that my cat trans still there. Before he leaves, the three men at the house all look together now. Down into the manhole, open manhole. Seeing how much the matter looks like flesh, cat trans remarks, looks like one for old Bill, and old Bill is slang for the police. And then Nielsen replies, looks mold me like someone has been flashing day and they can tilky fried chicken. And then again every turn is flat to consider his options. He thinks about running, but he knows as a former policeman himself, he's probably not going to get very far. He's also worried about bleep. So weird, how people can compartmentalize, you know, just no problem killing people, but I gotta protect the dog.

He knocks back a couple of Roman coaks while he's contemplating things. Around midnight, he decides to tackle the problem himself. He goes down where the manhole covers open, clears some of the pieces of flesh, gets down in there, puts them over the hedge in the back garden like throws them. Then he thinks that he can go to KFC the next morning,

get some chicken bones, put them down there exactly like he had said hours before, with, you know, not a bad plan. The guy's insane, but not stupid. But the next morning, Jim Alcock now questions Nielsen, said he had seen Nielsen outside previous night. Maybe he should have been more careful. Nielsen tells him, you know, he was going for a pee, but Alcock didn't believe him. He and his girlfriend had listened to Nielsen clattered with the manhole cover for a good

10 minutes. Later that morning, he heard him repeatedly trying to flush the toilet on the landing. Mike Cat Tran now returns to the property, about an hour after Nielsen left for work at 730. This time, Mike had his boss carry Wheeler with him. And when they shown a flashlight down the manhole They discovered that the flesh is gone now and Kat trans be wilder. He knew what he'd seen The two go to talk to Jim Alcock's girlfriend who reported on what she'd seen Nielsen doing the night before all three go back to the drain

Now Kat trans pulls out what sure looks like a human knuckle Then three more pieces of flesh and bone and they called the police Three officers arrive in a squad car after peering down into the manhole, all agree this shitting right? They fish pieces of gray matter out from beneath the manhole, covered, take it to the lab, and hour later the pathologist confirms that the remains are human remains, or that the debris or whatever you want to call it. In the mortuary, the detectives know that they're dealing with something big and they

return to crannly gardens. In inspection of the outside of the building, seems to indicate that the flesh had come from a pipe that led to the top flat. The neighbors tell him that the man who lived there is peculiar and that he should be back from working about an hour. The detective chief inspector Peter Jay says they're going to wait for him. Rubber their hands together to keep warm. The three men discuss what they know about Nielsen. His name is age that he's worried his neighbors.

Be knows to them. Dennis is also preparing since he had left for work that morning. He knew the game was up. He just didn't know how it was going to go down, but he had decided at least this is what he told investigators later that it was all for the best. No more wondering when the cops would eventually catch him or when he would kill again. He claimed later to be feeling some relief. As he left his office that afternoon, he put on a bright blue and white scarf, won the belong to victim Stevenson Claire, when Nilson finally returned to his flat, the police had moved into the warms of the lobby. Nilson opened the door to find DCI Peter J staring at him along with inspector steve mccusker and dc

jeff butler he knowingly returned uh... you know there gays j began by asking him about the plumbing in an a convoy's nielsen replied since when with the police interested in papels drawings police suggested that they take the conversation upstairs as soon as they enter his uh... flat they notice a strong scent of decay uh... jay then explains about the discovery of the human remains. Nielsen exclaims, how awful. And Jay snaps, stop messing around.

Where is the rest of the body? Then in a very matter of fact, Wade Nielsen takes them to the damp cold front room, opens one of the wardrobes where he had stored bodies, says he had much more to tell and wanted to do it at the station. So now he's in the car with the officers. They're going to Hornby Police Station and the detective asked our prisoner what he wanted to tell them and had he killed two men and then Nielsen calmly replies, 15 or 16 over four years. The police officers are going to look, if you tell

the truth, that would make him one of the most prolific serial killers apprehended in the history of the UK. And I realized that quotes a little different from one earlier. A couple of different sources have a little variation there. Immediately after the arrest, the police had driven Nielsen over to Hornsey, smallest police station two miles east to where he had once himself been a probationary police officer. And Jay will later say that Nielsen seemed extremely odd and he knew he would have to play things out carefully During their interview Nielsen drank endless cups of coffee smoke cigarettes and told jokes

And made remarks like I don't know how many bodies I hate under the flowboats at any one time. I didn't do a stalk check Jesus Nielsen carried on talking in a calm matter of fact way. He seemed without remorse told officers that if he hadn't been caught He might have killed hundreds He said that when the trigger him was pulled a bomb blast couldn't have stopped him Peter J never thought he particularly looked like he cared The police processed him as quickly as possible photographing him getting him a meal and a hot drink and then they returned to cranny gardens Smell seemed worse than they remembered a sweet rotten stench made shopper by the cold. Two large black bin bags were found in the wardrobe and in one were four smaller bags.

Peaking into them, they could see that two contained left and right sections of a man's torso, with the arms still attached. Yuh, the third bag was a much decomposed, headless and armless torso. Finally, there was a Sainsbury's bag containing internal organs and a soup of bodily fluids. While it was all being bagged up, J stood by the door for air, trying not to throw up. Back at the mortuary,

the second large black bag was seen to contain a man's head, boiled, but with most of the hair and flesh remaining, another skull was found with most of the flesh removed and another torso. Man, that shit must have just been burned into their memories for the rest of their lives. Inside a T-chest, a curtain was wrapped around more bones, hands, feet, and another school. Behind plywood boxing in the bathroom was a lower half of Steven Sinclair, clean cut from just above the waist and intact. It was a house of horrors. 5 p.m. Friday, February 11, 1983, Dennis Andrew

Nielsen is charged with the murder of Stevenson Claire, right? The body they had the, you're able to identify the most evidence for Nielsen's first lawyer would be a cheerful man named Ronald Moss, Ronald Donald at his first court hearing at Highbury magistrates court, Saturday February 12th, Nielsen forewent the customary blanket over the head and just walked out in the full glare of the press. Take a look at me. Images of him and his large spectacles and neat side-parted hair made the front pages of the tabloids. In the time between his arrest and trial nine months, he would be in prison and Brixton

prison, where the police would interview him 16 times for a total of about 31 hours. That prison he was shunned by fellow inmates got into constant arguments with wardens and spent time in solitary confinement. But not allowed sex or alcohol, the two most destructive forces in his life thus far he stabilized someone as his term ended and seemed to be doing better in some ways than he'd been doing when he was first incarcerated. Also began to write his life story, illustrating the murders with drawings of dismembered bodies accompanied by notes on exactly how he had taken them apart. That

feels unnecessary. Also filed a lot of complaints about bricks and prison. You know, he's not in control of anything anymore and he doesn't like it. In between writing and complaining, he spoke to a train of psychiatrists in preparation for his trial. Psychiatrists found him competent, but recommended an I be kept on him for his own safety, which meant he was sent to the hospital wing where he was put on suicide watch. They diagnosed him with a bunch of shit. They diagnosed him with covert, skitzoid personality, characterizing him as cynical, grandiose, sensitive, creative, voyeuristic, amoral, hungry for love, and jealous of other spontaneity.

Jellis of other spontaneities seemed like a weird diagnostic detail. Dennis killed for many reasons. One of them was he just could not stand how spontaneous everyone else appeared. Dennis always felt the need to plan things out. If he was going to rub his prick on the paw of say stuffed gorilla, it went into the day planner. Next to a time, never to be deviated from soon. Dennis was started preparing for his case.

Iron lawyer named Ralph hams now. To plead not guilty on the grounds of diminished responsibility, aka the insanity defense. The trial would begin October 24, 1983 at London Central Criminal Court, otherwise known as old Bailey. There were a charges against 37-year-old Dennis now. There were the murders of Kenneth Ockenden, Malcolm Barlow, Martin Duffy, John Howlett, Billy Sutherland, and Stevenson Claire, and also the attempted murders of Douglas Stewart and Paul

Nops. Carl Stodder would show up in court and have the opportunity to tell his story as well from the witness box, poor bastard. The courtroom was packed overflowing when the press benches filled up journalist moved to the public gallery at the front set mister and misses ockenden just many thames to the man who would butcher their son a fucking terrible he was dressed neatly in a gray sports jacket light blue shirt blue tie which have been loaned to him and he pleaded not guilty to all charges blaming his actions on quote personality dysfunction mechanisms to which I had slowly evolved from the bleakness of an emotionless child in early manhood fucking bleakness she kills me he didn't have a terrible childhood so pathetic

uh there would be two psychiatrists testifying for the defense James McKeath Patrick Galley McKeath thought Nilson suffered from many personality disorders and that therapy would be futile. Fuck yeah bro. Agreed. Galley said Nielsen had a rare type of borderline disorder wherein Nielsen's mind moved between a seemingly normal orientation and a heavily skitzoid state that boarded on psychosis. Together the defense team and psychiatrists put together a three point theory that the murders were part of a defense mechanism that prevented Nielsen from becoming completely

psychotic by directing destruction outwards that his emotional regulation stopped working. And he then failed to find meaning in his life, which substantially impaired his judgment. And that is Kitsuoid Tenzi's had pushed his fantasy life into an abnormal and destructive place. And who gives a shit. Let's file all that under, doesn't fucking matter and just executing. The prosecution did not care about this diagnosis. Prosecution said it was murder, plain and simple. Their psychiatrist Paul Bowden said Nielsen was a plausible, cunning murderer who had been

in full control of himself when he'd killed. He'd used deception to make it look like he couldn't help himself, revising his story of his childhood, over and over to make it seem more emotionally deprived. Adding to that, Nielsen was no murderer because he was a lonely man. He was a lonely man because he was a murderer. Important distinction, he said. Dr. Bowden considered Nielsen to be a man with normal mental functioning who also had extreme guilt about his own sexuality. As he felt guilty, as he felt bad, he figured he might as well do bad things.

He said the murders were conscious, deliberate acts to satisfy his desires. Nielsen's recollections, he said, were far too strong for there to be any question of the disassociation that other psychiatrists had talked about. He said he had other experiences of such things, and they invariably involved a long black out. Throughout the trial, the murders would be described one by one with the prosecution emphasizing their violence and Nielsen's indifference to his victim's pain, as well as Nielsen's constant planning to make sure that he was not caught.

At the end of the trial, Nielsen would be able to have a statement read by DCI Peter J. It was called unscramble behavior. And this is what it said. On guests that I might be a creature, a creative psychopath, who went in the loss of rationality situation, lapses into temporarily destructive psychopath, the condition induced by a rapid and heavy ingestion of alcohol. And the subconscious root lies a sense of total isolation and a desperate surge for a sexual identity. I have experienced transitorial sexual relationships with both males and females before my first killing. After this event, I wasn't capable of any intercourse.

I felt repelled by myself and as stated, I have had no experience of sexual penetration for some years. In a society of labels that is convenient for me to let others believe that I am a homosexual. I enjoy the social company of both men and women, but prefer to drink socially with men. I am not in sympathy with a state of women who are the worst for drink. God only knows what thoughts go through my mind when it is captive within a destructive mood. Maybe the cunning, stalking killer instinct is the only single concentration released from a mind which, in that state, knows no morality. It may be the perverted overkill of my need to help people, victims who either side to release quickly from the slings and

arrows of their outrageous fortune, pain and suffering. There is no disputing the fact that I am a violent killer under certain circumstance. The victim is the dirty platter after the feast and the washing up as a clinical, ordinary task. You'll be better if my reason for killing could be clinically defined. Our erobbery, jealousy, hate, revenge, sex, blood, lust, or sadism, but it is none of these, or it could be the subconscious outpouring of all the primitive instincts of prime evil men. Could it be the case of individual exaltation of beating the system, in the need to beat

and confound it time and time again? It amazes me that I have no tears for these victims. I have no tears for myself, or those bereaved by my actions. Am I a wicked person, constantly under pressure, who just cannot cope with it, who escapes to reproving against society through a haze of a bottle of spirits? But maybe it's because I was just born an evil man. Living with so much violence and death, I've not been haunted by the souls and ghosts of the dead, leading me to believe that no such fictional phenomena does or will ever exist. Memories of man's best friend are you my dog, or already a little faded. In the normal course of my life, I feel I had abnormal

powers of mental rationality and morality. When under pressure of work, an extreme pain of social loneliness and utter misery, I am drawn compulsively to a means of temporary escape from reality. This is achieved by taking increased drops of alcohol and plugging into stereo music, which mentally removes me to a high plane of ecstasy, joy and tears. This is the totally emotional experience. This glorious experience and failing is conjured up in this manner. I relive experiences from childhood to present, taking out the bad bits.

When I take alcohol, I see myself drawn along and moved out of my isolated prison flat. I bring with me people who are not always allowed to leave because I want them to share my experiences and high feeling. I still do not know the engine of my performance. The one single piece of music that I get the greatest oral alcoholic high from is O Superman by Laurie Anderson from the big science album. It has a hypnotic translike effect on me. I listened to the eight-minute track ten times one night. I was compelled by it. I could not stop myself. In order to enlarge on my experiences at Melrose Avenue in Cranley Gardens, I have made several

attempts to strangle men. In some cases, the attempts were foiled by the struggle or escape of the subject. In others, I did not have the heart or desire to carry through the desk. In all of the latter cases, the subject was already unconscious. My remorse is of a deep and personal kind which were each away inside me for the rest of my life. I am a tragically private person not giving to public tears. The enormity of these acts has left me in permanent shock. The evil was short lived and it cannot live or breathe for long inside the conscience. And man, that was a, that's a lot of fancy words. He's not stupid. He possessed an immense vocabulary.

Really had a way with words. But also what insight did he really share there? Not much. Mainly to me all of that wreaks of you shouldn't height may you should pity me Also, he was doing his victims a favor right he was helping people How do you say victims who I decide to release quickly from the slings and arrows of their outrageous fortune pain and suffering And you know who he's quoting right there. I bet you can guess William Shakespeare a Man possibly also known as Billy Shakes. With a serial killer everyone making, all that tourism money and London and stradfered upon Avaughn, want to wipe from the historical record, and pretend he never existed.

Again, perhaps the ghost of Billy Shakes possessed Dennis Nielsen. And here he drops a little clue with some lines from Hamlet. To be or not to be that is the question, whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against the sea of troubles, and by opposing and them, to die, to sleep, no more. On November 3rd, 198303, the jury begins to liberate. Before releasing them, judge Crom Johnson will give instructions. He tells them if they consider it possible in

Nielsen to not understand what he was doing when he was killing, they should return a verdict of manslaughter. He closed by saying, they're and I love this. He closed by saying there are evil people who do evil things. Committee murder is one of them. There must be no excuses for Nielsen if he has moral defects. Unnasty nature is not in a rested or retarded development of mind. Right? For certain acts, there should be no excuses. That's what I'm hearing. They can be pity, but not leniency in any legal sense, right? You're endangering the public at large when you

get soft with violent criminals with some crimes, mentally ill, not mentally ill, it doesn't fucking matter to me. Right, they've shown that their mind is capable of going to places that allow them to kill and kill and kill again, and why risk letting their mind ever go there again. Why should their rights come before the safety of potential future victims? Get them treatment, sure, but also never let them out.

Initially, the jury was unable to agree on whether there might be something wrong enough with Nilsen's brain to mitigate any actions. The next day, however, a majority verdict is accepted guilty. Sends to life in prison with a chance for parole after 25 years per British sentencing laws at that time. The evening following his life sentencing with a minimum of 25 years to serve. Dennis Nilsen is in the hospital wing of Wormwood Scrubs prison and appears utterly despondent. One of the orderlies let him watch TV and he later wrote in a history of drowning boy that he sat blankly in front of it considering his position. Saying, the world that I looked at, one of the TV,

was not the world that I had known before. Everything had changed drastically. I now felt like a ghost looking at an alien world of flesh and blood people. With an endless sense ahead of me, I felt that I had been expelled from society forevermore. Yeah, that's exactly what happened to your mother fucker and for a good reason. Settling into his new life in prison was difficult. He said he was immediately designated a category A prisoner, highest security level. His single cell measured approximately six feet by eight feet. Inside the cold walls were an iron frame bed and a desk. Prisoners used buckets and bowls to relieve themselves.

Nielsen's prison uniform was playing gray, like the bear painted walls. Many inmates considered him a non-slang for a sex criminal and felt free to give him as hard of a time as they liked. In December of 83, Nilsen was cut on the face and chessed with a razor by an inmate named Albert Moffitt, resulting in injuries that required 89 stitches. Good. After words, he was briefly transferred to HMP Parkourst before being transferred to HMP Wakefield,

where he would remain until 1990, 1991, transferred to a vulnerable prisoner unit at HMP full Sutton due to concern for his safety. He would remain there until 1993 when he was transferred to HMP Whitt or Whitemore, again as a category A prisoner with increased segregation from other inmates. News from inside the facility suggested that he continued to be unpopular. Stories leaked to the newspapers suggested that Nielsen's intellectual pretensions made him seem arrogant. Yes, he was. One of the first headlines regarding this red, jail men hate Nielsen the braker.

Nielsen cut that out and put it in a folder. Subsequently, the narcissist would keep scrapbooks of every mention of him in the press, along with comments about inaccuracies and what he considered to be the outrageous monstrosation of him. Curiously, he would never file an appeal, something that was made even more permanent when home secretary Michael Howard placed a whole life tariff on Nielsen in December of 94. This ruling insured that he would never be released from prison, a punishment that he accepted. But there were other things about

prison he did not accept. He would spend much of the following years petitioning based on his so-called rights to have things like access to gay pinup magazines and his uncompleted manuscript published, which the European Court of Human Rights found in 2010 had, quote, nothing in the public interest and featured lurid and pornographic pastures that sought to justify his conduct and denigrate people he disliked. And, you know, he complained about other things Nielsen thought he was owed.

He was particularly annoyed by a book written about him called Killing for Company, written by that guy, Brian Masters, the guy who interviewed Nielsen, who Nielsen thought of for a while as a friend, but when the book came out in 1995, Nielsen disavowed him, said about writing and trying to publish his own narrative. He would claim freedom of expression to publish his book, History of a Drowning Boy. When it reported the newspapers, an author named Russ Coffey wrote to Nielsen to see the

manuscript. Based on the manuscript and interviews with Nielsen, Coffey would eventually publish what was our main source today. Dennis Nielsen conversations with Britain's most evil serial killer. In December of 2010, Nielsen's mother Betty Scott, Betty Scott white formerly known as dies May 10, 2018. Nielsen was taken from HMP full sudden to your hospital. After complaining of severe stomach pains, he was found to have ruptured, to have a ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm, which was repaired, although he subsequently suffered a blood clot as a complication of surgery and then died May 12 two days later.

At the age of 72, a subsequent post-mortem examination revealed that the immediate cause of Nielsen's death was a guerrilla's paw. Grospa got stuck in his fucking, uh, uh, animal cavity. Caused a lot of problems. No, uh, pulmonary embolism and retro paratoneal hemorrhage. Sorry. That was a trickier one that I thought. Uh, Nielsen's body was now bathed and shaven. His corpse was taken to the warden's office where the warden would watch TV with it for weeks.

Also sometimes snuggle up with it, take nap sometimes the warden would squeeze Dennis's balls and wank off on it. That's what Dennis would want it. No, he was cremated. This service was held with only five mourners present, including three prison officers and the individual with whom Nielsen had corresponded with in prison for a little while towards the end. No family members present at the service.

Ashes later handed to his family and I hope they flushed him down the toilet just like he did to many of his victims. May 1st, 2021, history of a drowning boy published by Red Door Press. When he died, the manuscript had been given to a quote friend, Mark Austin, who said about getting it published. Currently has almost 600 hundred reviews four and a half out of five stars dude uh... did know how to write piece of shit but he did know how to write good job soldier made it back

barely Dennis Nielsen what a sad story, right? I do feel bad for him. I mean, he wasn't really a monster, he was just a man who's, you know, bitch mom and fucking grandma, I'd never cleaned him right. Shame on them. If only his mom and grandma would have put just a little more fucking effort into bathing

him and changing him. When he was a baby, he would have been fine. He was fucking monster, they didn't give two shits about Dennis. They just bathed him and changed his clothes like it was not super fun, like it was a baby, he would have been fine. He was fucking monster. They didn't give two shits about Dennis. They just bathed him and changed his clothes like it was not always super fun, like it was a fucking duty, like it like their parental duty. They could have sang songs when they washed him, could have laughed a little bit, squeezed his little baby cheeks

because a little baby knows, could have done that if they weren't monsters, but they didn't. They didn't for sure because Dennis, like all of us, remember exactly how our bass went down when we were newborns. He remember what it felt like, that was diaper changed.

And me too, what time, when my mom was, she was in a hurry when I was like three months and she didn't thoroughly wipe my ass and my chicken skin, duff bag, and a little speck of shit got stuck on the back of my bag. And I can feel it on my chicken skin and it gave me a rash and it hurt. And I still haven't forgiven her.

Dennis also remembered what it felt like for his grandpa to hold his dick like Pete. Grandpa, he loved. Grandpa who maybe blessed him or maybe really didn't know how he supposed to potty train little boys. Or maybe never did any of that because Dennis was fucking full of shit. And a dirt back. Combining elements of so many other pieces of shit, the shifting life story like Casey Anthony,

the entitlement to love and affection of someone like Jeffrey Dahmer, the complaining of dozens of other serial killers that it's always somebody else's fault, their parents or societies, whatever it takes to avoid taking responsibility for their crimes. I'm glad he's dead. And I hope that his victims continue to get identified, the way the redhead murder victims are still

getting identified, that families are still being given news that however hard it is to receive at least allows them to feel a sense of closure, and that is it. And now time for today's Top 5 takeaways. Number one, Dennis Nielsen was convicted of killing six young men and boys and one kind count of attempted murder. The crimes the state had the most evidence for. Likely between 78 and 83, he killed 15 victims around London. Number two, Dennis Nielsen had bizarre sexual fantasies that consumed him,

beginning with a childhood of molestation, maybe either being molested himself, which I feel is a doobies claim or with molestation of the siblings, which he had been a two. He began to feel guilt about his sexual orientation, maybe leading him to crave the experience of having someone he could have his way with, have his way with their limp naked body. Someone who could have their way with his limp naked body. Maybe his sexual orientation had nothing to do with his murders and he was

fucking nuts. Early sexual fantasies developed into a hyper-specific fantasy of two men, an older, stronger man who would dominate a young, passive body, using a mirror, Nilsen would masturbate and imagine that he was both of these dudes. Later he would masturbate next to the bodies of victims, bathe in washam, and otherwise become aroused by their inability to resist him. Number three, Dennis Nilsen killed in two separate residences, both becoming their own house of horse or apartments of horse, I guess, flats of horse. In the first on Melrose Avenue, he pried up the floorboards, stored the bodies under

them until they began to decompose and stink up the apartment. Then he would butcher them in the kitchen, look for the soft tissue in a pot, burn anything else and bond fires outside. At a second home in Kranley Gardens, now without access to a yard or a space under the floor boards, he turned a flushing soft tissue down the toilet and that eventually got him caught. Number four, while in the military, on numerous occasions, Dennis would pretend to pass the fuck out in front of somebody or his fellow servicemen in hope they would try to fuck

his pretending to be unconscious body and squeeze his meat fiddle I love it so weird And number five new info we mentioned up top that David Tennant doctor who recently played Dennis Nielsen in the 2023 part ministry mini series des And he nailed it if you look up Dennis Nielsen on Google images it is hard to tell which pictures are of Nielsen and which are of tenant Pretty spooky. Far spookyer might be tenant's process of getting into character. He had heard of Nielsen who was arrested when tenant was a young teenager.

And to get into the mind of Nielsen, tenant spoke with police officers involved in the case as well as with author Brian Masters, right? The guy who corresponded with a serial killer for years. He read somebody Nielsen's book. He said it was ghastly, self-serving, egotistical nonsense, and he even learned it in Nielsen's signature. One day on set after filming a scene where he had to sign Nielsen's name, Tinnon pulled up a photo of the original signature on his phone, showed his co-star, Daniel May's, just how accurately he had done it. He said, me getting his signature right probably doesn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

It's just part of trying to pay attention to all the details that you can in the hope that they expose a greater truth. We all just want to understand how these things are possible. There were people who really slipped through the cracks in society. That's who we prayed on. People who didn't have the means or ability to look after themselves. It's an interesting time to be doing this in a way. As we're entering yet another phase of economic turmoil, where you sense the number of people who aren't supported by society is growing again. David's character work on Dennis paid off. He said to make a character simultaneously dull and mesmerigning, or he didn't say this, to make a character simultaneously dull and mesmerigning takes quite some talent. I was written by the Times of London. David also reportedly hired male

escorts to pretend to be dead to prepare for the role. Hired them to lay around his flat for days at a time. He would bathe them, play with the balls, wake off on them a little bit while they would watch later with Jules Holland or some shit. So far I'm the only one who's reported on that and the only source I have is my own dumb brain. One thing Tennet was clear about in his performance was that Neilson was a narcissist, which made it difficult to portray him because in a way that was giving him exactly what he wanted. To that end, Tennant was glad to do it when Nielsen was dead.

But at the same time, he added, I'm aware that as much as he would have loved it, he would have been furious that we weren't telling the story from his point of view. That would have infuriated him. point of view that would have infuriated him. The UK's Jeffrey Dahmer Dennis Nelson has been sucked. Also referred to as the kindly killer referred to as the kindly killer sometimes because uh, after killing his victims, he would in a super weird way be kind to their bodies, tend to leave a them, shave them, snuggle with them, watch TV and stuff. So lucky. Not that fucking weird. If I ever started to hyper focus on fantasies like Dennis did, I hope someone just puts a bullet in my head.

Thank you again to the whole Bad Magic Productions team for their help in making time suck. Great initial research, Sophie Evans. Thank you to Tyler's He the Suck Ranger, running the cameras today, editing this episode. Next week on time suck, we're going to get political. Relax your sensitive buttholes, fucking crybabies, not talking about today's politics. As decreed by our space sisters, we're heading back to the 70s to look at a very suspicious group of people who worked in the White House. When Richard Nixon, Tricky Dick, became president in 1972, it looked to many Americans like the right choice.

Nixon had been in public service for years. First in Congress, then as Eisenhower's vice president, and running for president, unsuccessfully, before capturing election 1972, with his wife Pat and his two daughters, he seemed like a sion of civic duty. The kind of man well equipped to deal with the turmoil of the Vietnam years and the cultural divide separating the nation. That could not have been further from the truth though. Behind closed doors, Nixon was a man obsessed with the presidency and his legacy, obsessed with what he thought were conspiracies against him, a war waged on him by everyone from individual reporters to the Democratic Party. He thought everyone was out to get him and he would have to

resort to playing a dirty game to protect himself and the nation. And his dirty game would be exposed. Following the night of June 17th, 1972, when a security guard caught five men breaking into the Democratic National Committee's headquarters at the Watergate Hotel. Some initially believed Nixon's assertions that he and his administration had nothing to do with it all,

but others, not so sure. Soon, the case of what tricky dick really did would be blown wide open with the discovery of a secret taping system that had been recording all kinds of shit for years. The story of the Watergate scandal next week on TimeSucker. Right now, heading on over to the Time, sucker updates. Start now with the pop culture, Jerry Brudos, foot fetish slayer update. Starting things off, James Raib fellow keeper of obscure knowledge, right? Greetings, you hot, hard father daddy, dripping in barrel aged whiskey.

I wanted to give you guys a little extra info that didn't make it into the Jerry Brudot's shoe fetish suck. Did you know that the Welsh Heavy Metal Band bullet for my Valentine released their song Fever back in 2010, inspired by that human shit stain? That song ended up being the title track for the album as well. I've linked it to some interviews with the band at the bottom here, but I have summed up the connection with some lyrics leading with the raunchiest. Come here, you naughty girl. You're such a tease. You look so beautiful down

underneath. Keep on those high heels, shoes rip off all your clothes. You smell so fucking good. It makes me lose control. This is obviously referring to his main fetish and the picture is he was staging. Here's a couple more lyrics. I picked out, but the whole song draws parallels. So I'm looking for a spark. I've got a body to reignite. Don't worry. You won't get burned. So don't. Don't put up a fight. Here they're talking about what he had done to Linda Celes' body when he tried to use electricity to zombify her. You can even see the burn in the armpit area of the girl in the cover of the album. And here's the chorus. I can feel your fever taking over. Can you see your fever taking over me? I can feel your fever taking over. Got you see your fever taking over me? I can feel your fever taking over.

Got a dirty feeling that you're the remedy. The chorus plays into the standard serial killer ability to deflect blame. Like she is somehow doing this to him instead of the other way around. Overall, this is a great song, but also a great way to see into the sick and twisted mind of a serial killer.

I can't seem to find any reference to this connection written about online anywhere. And that's probably because I made up the connection with this song inside my own fucked up noodle to get some retribution for the times. You let me stray with your quackery. Sorry not sorry had to be done. Thanks for all the laughs that you can over the years. It's been a blast to be on the journey with the whole bad magic crew.

Thanks for what you do. Keep on sucking. James Ray. No pronunciation guide will be given for my last name. Best of luck with that deceptive one. Is it really deceptive? Oh, it's like rabie. Well, thank you James. You got me good enough where I wanted to also let you get others. You actually got me so good that I refused

to believe you. When you said you were lying, I spent, I don't know, fucking 10 minutes, just really desperately trying to find a connection between that song and Jerry Bruse. You made such a good case. I was like, maybe, maybe there is something there. Well played Jedi. Now a Cummins Law message. I hope makes you laugh as much as did me. Sexual deviant, Tracy writes. Dear Dan, you no longer have my respect.

You were no longer the suck master, he who sucks high. Or any of the cool names that people have bestowed upon thee. All because you finally got me, and Cummins Law is a fucking prick, and I can't believe it finally happened to me. I'm trying to play catch up, and I'm listening to suck 250 Fred and Rose West. And it's a time of day where lunch is pushing on through. Well I work in construction, and the only restroom available to me is one of those port of shares. As I'm listening to the episode, my AirPods disconnect for some reason, right as you get

to the part where you reflect back onto the truck stop killer. All of a sudden you hear resistance is futile slave, except submission to incubus, a sensory deprivation hood, electrified nipple clamps, mummification tape, and dildo drills. They are the only way to begin your torment, await the sexual ascension and devastation only incubus can bring to a slave. I fumbled around in the port of shitter trying desperately to get my phone on my pocket in order to stop the affron plane. That being said, it was too late. Few of my co-workers were already waiting in line. They heard it all. I imagined the sounds of my feet kicking while I was in mid panic,

did not help my situation at that moment. I explained when I was listening to later to one of the guys and we all got a good laugh. And now when someone has to use the bathroom, we communicate in the voice of Inkybus. Thanks for the laughs and memories created. Hail, nevermind. And thank you for all you do by bringing joy to this rock. We live on.

Hopefully you will get back to Omaha sometime soon. Your loyal listener, Tracy. Tracy? I like that Inkybus is still alive somewhere. Bow down and take your shit's life. Inkybus demands it only through scat play. Can you achieve true sexual extension can't even say true sexual ascension been too long since I did in

case uh... yet but truly glad that creepy as character from the robber uh... been roads truck stop killer suck uh... alive out there in kibis is pleased slave and now a very nice blast from the past, from a very nice sack, Savannah, who writes, and this is from a long time ago, which he's referencing. Hi, Daniel, I'm listening to your podcast from some time and just put together that you and I have had plenty of conversations already at the Crisis Residential Center in Spokane.

I'm 99.99% sure you were working there when I was a teenager, trying to find my way out of an abusive home life. We just write in to to say I remember you, I appreciate the help I received, I've grown up to be a very happy and curious meat sack and a mother. I thought hearing from a kid you guys helped out years and years later might bring a smile to your face, keep sucking three and a half out of five stars. Well Savannah you were right. Here from somebody over 20 years later does make me feel good. I just love the timing of this after that little better health segment,

more returning to my old pre-comedy path. Life can be so funny. I do remember a teen named Savannah, not the most common name that has to be you. I don't know if you know the Savannah, but the CRC is still there. 201 West six Avenue and Spokane, bottom of South Hill.

And I realize most people have no fucking idea what this place is. To quote the YFA Connections website, and that is the organization that ran it. When I worked there, it still runs it. We provide a short-term residential youth program that offers shelter and mediation services for youth and families. The goal of services is to achieve reconciliation and for the youth to return to their parents and family. This place, CRC, is still primarily serviced 12 serves 12 to 17 year olds who have run away from home and

or are homeless or are experiencing conflict at home that could lead to running away or being homeless. And yeah, I was a low level counselor there who worked to resolve conflicts between teens and families or worked with social workers to get teens placed outside of the home. And I will say Savannah, working in the CRC burned me the fuck out. I was so young, I lacked so much perspective. And I left there really thinking that it was very likely that I just sucked at the job and did not help anybody. I was very unrealistic. At first, I thought I should be able to just, you know, turn some kids life around over the course of a five day stay with my compassionate wisdom. Then when I realized how deep the problems were with so many kids families, I thought, there's no fucking way I can help anybody. I can't, why am I even here? I can't change anyone's lives for the better, not in five days.

Now that I'm older, maybe a little wiser, I realize that change often takes time. You got to give it time. I realize that change often takes time. You gotta give it time. The heart to heart you have, you know, with your kids, they might not sink in today. Might not sink in next month, next year. But they might, you know, mean everything ten years from now. You know, they might be one riser in a long series of stairs, and those stairs might lead someone eventually into a much better life. And that better life might make countless other lives right better The world people's lives not often changed in an instant not often changed in five days

They're changing a series of days a series of incidents that by themselves might not be noticeable But all together over time they mean fucking everything I'm so glad I got to be one of those little moments in a sea of many moments for you Savannah and I'm glad you overcame so much to become such a wonderful meat sack you did the hard work. I love here that you're a wonderful mother, hail Nimrod, hail you, you give cynical mother fuckers like me hope and talk to you guys next week. Thanks time suckers, I need a net. We all did. Thanks for listening to week. I'm not a human, wank on the hairless body later. But please do pretend to pass out in front of a friend that you hope bugs you. I'll find that endlessly amusing.

Then keep on sucking. And magic productions. With Dennis Nilsen now dead, one wonders, who will the ghost of Billy Shakes possess next? What new man is the demonic spirit of the bard now poisoning? Who hears the whispers of the glove-maker's son in the dark as they lay down to sleep, for chance to dream. I, there's the rubber, for in this sleep of death, what dreams may come, dreams that have much ado about Satan.

I love this creepy music. I love this creepy music.