Friday, August 21, 2009


I told my nurse to post this on the blog. I hope she did. I dictated it to her.

I, Victor Rorg, floated out of my body last night. Really high, too. I mean, man I was fuckin' up 30 feet. I guess I went through the ceiling somehow. I saw my own body in the hospital bed with the ventilator and all the other machines I get paid to deny people use of with Complete Wrap.

Boy, I need to lose weight. One thing leaving your body does is teach you how fat you really are! I saw my son, Irv, and Kwannie, and the kid. I love that kid. He's my grandson, you know. Yeah, kids' warped for a baby. Yeah, he swatted the nurse on the tush three times today, but hey, he's a Rorg, isn't he?

Poor Irv. I never told Irv he was my son. The story is so wrong and so twisted even for our family, that I thought I'd protect him.

Because ol' Uncle Vick is really a sweet guy...I am. I told the white light that, but the white light told me that I had sent too many people up to it by denying them medical treatment from Complete Wrap. I didn't want to get into an argument with the white light. I mean, you're not supposed to, are you? I never meant to have people die because I denied them treatments. Hey, I can't help it if Complete Wrap says chemotherapy is "experimental" and that an appendectomy is "cosmetic" and therefore not covered under our plan.

I agree with all the loud people in those health care reform town halls they show on the hospital TV.

I floated out of my body three times. I don't know if I came back. I told my nurse to write all this down and she's a dutiful nurse. She was in the army. She wouldn't kiss me, though.

I forgive Irv for shooting me. I forgive everyone for all the pain they've caused me. I even forgive the white light for criticizing me.

Strange, but I never thought I'd see a white light. No one ever talks about floating out of their body and seeing the flames of hell. Isn't that interesting? You'd think most people would see flames of hell instead of a white light.

I mean, we've all been pretty bad, haven't we?

(transcribed by Nurse Keenway Aug. 15 - before Victor Rorg was pronounced dead at 11 p.m. that night)

Sunday, August 9, 2009

I Shot My Uncle Last Night

I shot my uncle in self-defense last night. If typing this online is a confession, so be it.

Things go on and on and on sometimes, you know? You think they will never change, but it's you that has the power to change them. You get so tired of the same old habits. The same old life and the same old troubles.

I, Irv Rorg, shot Uncle Vick in the chest last night at the lake where Kwan and I have been living for the past month.

We were sitting by the mobile home we had rented, Kwan and I, and Sy the baby. We were roasting wienies (Sy's favorite food) and the baby was kicking the stuffing out of his Winnie the Pooh doll in his crib after earlier having tried to eat a pine cone.

Kwan's eyes grew wide as quarters and she elbowed me hard and we stared out at the dark pine trees and there was Uncle Vick breaking through the shrubbery in the firelight and he had a huge handgun in his right hand.

The baby shouted "Da Da!" when Vick got up to the fire. When Vick noticed the child and made eye contact and cooing noises, I kicked the gun from his hand and rolled on the ground and picked it up. Kwan grabbed Sy and staggered backwards.

The baby screamed and clutched for Vick. Vick took one step toward me. "Irv. I'm not your uncle. I'm your father."

And then, he grabbed for the Glock. I fired. He fell on his face next to the fire.

I threw the gun into the lake and we called the police.

Uncle Vick is in the Emergency Room here in South Lake Tahoe. They say he won't live long. The bullet punctured a lung.

Why would he say he was my father?

I was tired of the same old shit, and now I got my wish, some new shit!

Thank God, Kwan is here. Sy won't interact with us now. The baby just sits in his stroller and once he crossed his little arms. He won't even look at us.

What have I done?


Tuesday, July 14, 2009



My name is Kate Marie and I am locked in a basement on 145 Bronco Avenue.

Victor Rorg yanked my Glock out of its holster (yes I have a holster, and yes I am a dentist). He ordered me into the basement. He took my van.

I emailed the police but they no longer respond to Victor Rorg complaints and allegations.

There is a pineapple/ham pizza down here and a case of Smart Water.

I have claustrophobia.

Please respond!

Kate Marie

Monday, July 13, 2009

Secret Stuff

I can't say where we are, yet. (Kwan speaking)
We are still near the water. It's been so hot.
I still have Sy and Irv is still with us.

I never told anyone how I found Uncle Vick again last May. He had been in hiding with the baby for so long. I had friends looking for him (as some of you may remember). Everyone was so angy. My friends were from my congressional district in San Francisco, and some of them were also friends of my mother (enough said!). I won't say these "friends" are organized like a gang or the underworld or anything, but we all had "being boat people" in common and we all still stick together.

My friends found Vick living in a backroom at the LAX shooting range. The baby was wearing ear silencers. We took Vick hostage one night and we brought him back to his house and his basement like a harpooned Republican whale.

A shooting range is no place for a baby.

And now...the worst secret of them all.

i don't like my child


Saturday, July 4, 2009

HAPPY FOURTH! from an Undisclosed Location

Irv here.

After the hell of Bakersfield and the shock of finding out I'm a father, I am at the waters edge enjoying a gorgeous Fourth of July barbecue with Kwan and little Sy.

I won't say what water we're at the edge of, because my Uncle is a nut job and we want to be left alone. I will say it's deep blue and everyone is out on their boats and skis and boards and whatever they've got.

I've got red surf shorts on, and Kwan has on a very small lemon yellow bikini. With her white hair and tanning lotion, she's blinding!

Sy sits in a playpen we bought him, under the shade of an awning. He a cute baby when he isn't throwing an entire tub of potato salad at me, or snatching the cigarette out of Kwan's mouth, or crushing ants with his little play ball, eating them, and laughing with his mouth open.

He frightens us both. There's clearly something wrong with him. Can a baby really be a psychopath? But Sy is our son, apparently, and so I must love him. I do.

Funny, but a nice golden labrador retriever is growling at Sy right now from the beach chairs nearest to us. I've never seen a dog react that way. Like an earthquake is coming. The baby just laughs.

I've got the three thousand bucks I saved from my meth lab job. We can make a fresh start with that. I don't know what kind of relationship we'll have. Kwan and I both decided forget our troubles and relax today. It's such gorgeous weather and Sarah Palin has quite her job. All is right with the world for a few hours. I'm going for a swim, and then tonight...fireworks!


Tuesday, June 30, 2009


Whatcha think you can just disappear with my son for almost two weeks?? Uncle Vick's Son!!

You think you can just not come back to my house - not make any further entries in our blog - not be family with me again?

That's my son. Not yours. We're brothers so our DNA is hard to tell apart. I don't believe Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman! 

I rushed that lesbian dentist. I pulled on some pants, but no shirt (just like you Irvy even if my muscles are more difficult to see than yours) and I stormed the street in front of my house and I scared that homosexual dentist out of her overalls. She was crying and begging me to stop hammering on her van window. Said she'd do anything if I'd stop. 

I ordered her to get out of her van. She told me to say hello to her Glock. She aimed it right at my beard, right through the window. I surrendered. She marched me back inside my own house. 

I wish to hell our neighbors cared enough to form a "neighborhood watch." 

So, now I'm held captive in my own home by a psycho lesbian. I guess it would take a cliche psycho lesbian to subdue a so-called psycho straight guy killer.

What's great is I can still work from home for Complete Wrap Health Care. I denied two heart bypass surgeries and one colonoscopy today. Saved the company more money.

I'm a good man. Psycho Dentista wants me to write to show everyone what kind of man I am to help her case. But, nothing I do is not my own idea. And my son was my idea. And guests in my house are always my idea...

Uncle Vick

Saturday, June 13, 2009

A Pediatrician

My name is Dr. Son Ye Quinn. And please, if I hear one more "Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman" joke, I will stab myself with my pen!

I am the pediatrician for Sy Rorg, 7 months old. I examined him on June 4, 2009 and found him to be physically normal and healthy for a baby his age.

Mentally, however, he attempted to remove my wedding ring. Not like some babies, who enjoy shiny objects and coo. He grabbed my finger and with admirable dexterity unusual for a baby, grabbed my wedding band with both tiny hands, bit my finger so that I required stitches later, and pulled my wedding ring off of my finger when I screamed in pain.

The baby put the ring in his mouth and swallowed! He didn't accidentally swallow. He swallowed with intent, and then laughed and laughed and then burped.

I picked him up, and using a technique developed in Norway, I held him upside down (which caused his mother cry out and call for the nurse) I held him by his feet and patted his behind gently until he coughed up the ring and it clacked on the floor.

I have been treating this baby for psychosis, and his is the worst case I have ever seen.  The baby has learned several dirty words and repeats them quite clearly over and over. He called me a "cow ass."

We ran a second paternity test on the infant with a strand from Irv Rorg's hair and the test came out positive for Irv Rorg contradicting the first test run last Autumn. Positive for Irv Rorg despite Irv Rorg's history of a terrible wheat thresher accident which supposedly had rendered him unable to sire children. 

We called the hospital in San Jose and found out that the DNA test they ran last year had been contaminated and that a large man with a pot belly and a beard calling himself "Uncle Vick" had tampered with the test DNA and tampered with the administering nurse, as well.

I have a hard job and I hate having stitches on my fingertip and I take the stairs every day and certainly do not have a "cow ass."

Dr. Quinn

Thursday, June 11, 2009


Kwan walked up to me in the doctor's waiting room. Black vinyl pants and white hair just don't look right in a medical center. Of course, I wasn't wearing a shirt, so who was I to talk?

Everything moved in slow motion. She looked very pale. Her heels clacked on the marble floor. 

We had been separated so long, I hadn't processed yet how great it was to see her again. How much both of us had changed, at least on the outside. I was so glad to be out of Bakersfield. My pointy sideburns were gone. My hair wasn't as long. But I was still Irv Rorg. I could still be a stunt man again. 

I'm writing this out exactly as it happened, because at the time I dropped her Macbook.

In slow motion, she said: "The baby is yours."

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The Root

My name is Kate Marie. I've made entries before in this blog. I'm a lesbian dentist and for a while I was stalked by Vick Rorg. Vick Rorg murdered my sister Tappie Marie and buried her in his backyard in November 2006. 

Vick Rorg was arrested on murder charges which I brought against him. He jumped bail, was stabbed in the spleen and sent to LA for a spleen transplant. 

I thought the LA cops would take him back into custody after that. Logical, right? No! Instead, Vick Rorg runs up to the Bay Area, steals a baby, is in hiding for months, and finally he has resurfaced at, get this, his LA home address, and LAPD!!

After two root canals and a whitening mold this morning, I went downtown with my lawyer to refile my charges. You know what the LAPD told me??  Budget cuts and county jail crowding have prevented them from pursuing my case until January 2010 at the earliest.

WTF?? Do you California Citizens get it? You voted down all those initiatives to free up money and now BUDGET CUTS prevent me seeing this bottom feeder get the death sentence. 

I've parked outside his house for days and days, and he hasn't gone outside or even passed by a window!

I'm waiting for him. I'll go all Billy Jack on him if I have to! 

And Christians...I am not this angry because of Prop. 8! Although, give me time...

Kate Marie

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Kawasaki 500

Yeah, it's me-Irv!

I lost the white pickup as soon as I got to LA.  I've got an 08 Kawasaki 500 now! We bought it with Uncle Vick's American Express Card. It's amazing that even if you've been accused of murder, American Express will let you keep your account.

Kwan and I are together again and waiting at UCLA Children's Hospital. Sy is being seen by his pediatrician. Kwan slipped the little bugger a benadryl in his Wheatina this morning and it knocked the little sucker right out. We got him out of Uncle Vick's house and away from the basement door where his "daddy" refuses to come out. 

Kwan and I looked pretty hot riding the motorcycle into UCLA today. She's got those shiny vinyl pants and I had my shirt off...because that's the way I used to drive cycles when I did stunts for Universal. Sy was in a "baby harness" around Kwan's neck.

Here comes the doctor. He's got the baby in his arms and he and Kwan are talking while I write this on Kwan's macbook. After all, this was my blog in the first place, right?

The doctor looks very serious while he speaks to Kwan and Kwan...what's wrong?? She's looking at me with horror. 


Thursday, May 28, 2009


It's Kwan.
I'm fine.
Vick hasn't let the basement. In fact, he likes it down there. I've got my baby.
Here's the problem: The baby won't leave the house.
I want to leave Vick and his horrible tract home with all the shocking history behind. I've got Sy, my baby. 
But when I go to pick up Sy from his bassinet, he screams "Daddy!" He's only seven months old. He crawls to the basement door and sits on the hardwood floor and listens for Vick's voice denying people their health care, and then my baby laughs deep and long. My baby won't leave!
This house is like a HUGE step backward for me. I dyed my hair white. I've got a new baby. I'm ready to move on and start a new life.
But the baby won't leave! Sy stapled his diaper pants to the couch. I didn't know and I said, "Sy, we're leaving right now!" and I practically pulled the entire black leather couch through the front door.  Luckily Sy's diaper pants split in half immediately and he flew out of them into my arms.
I fell backwards, and I didn't let go of Sy, but before I could get out the door, Sy bit my lip as hard as he could until I dropped him on the BarcaLounger.
"Daddy!" my son shouted, and then he laughed that hard, deep laugh.
And his father won't come out of the basement...


Wednesday, May 20, 2009


My name is Big Bill. I found this blog on my computer and I guessed the password.

I am brilliant and I am the king! I am 14 and I weigh 100 pounds and I love meth I am on it now because I can write faster and run my powerful meth cookery with all my employees, like FLAME and the city council woman from Bakersfield who got fired for showing up to a meeting in a towel on meth, and Irv Rorg WHO STOLE OUR WHITE PICKUP!!!

I don't care because the pickup was already stolen from a parking lot outside of In-N-Out Burger where I worked when I was young and before the manager turned me on to the white goddess, the cloud monster, the creature I love called methamphetamine. I had sex with two girls from my old school last weekend who used to hate me but now they love me.

When my parents exploded at Hanukkah last year I was sad. But now I am King!

Good luck, Irv Rorg. You didn't belong to me anyway. You never used meth and you were a stunt man and you have your looks and muscles. Good luck, Irv Rorg. The king bids you well.

I have $30,000 in the bank and I have a red double breasted Armani jacket that I will wear one day when I move to Paris to become a famous meth user and work in politics and --

I am going now because there is traffic on I-5 and FLAME sees it with her binoculars and they are all coming to get us. They are all coming here to get us. I don't trust FLAME or Irv Rorg. I don't trust anyone. I can't find a vein. I don't trust you!!!!


Tuesday, May 19, 2009


From Irv:

The silence from Kwan worries me. I'd like to think Uncle Vick wouldn't harm her, but he's killed people. Not just people. My family!

And now, Kwan is silent. Kwan, please write an entry to let me know you're all right. I don't have a cell phone right now. It burned during a meth cook deadline. Besides, I want this blog to continue for the sake of those who might want to know the truth.

I'm sitting in the hot sun near a white pickup truck at the meth lab farmhouse. I just had a lunch of hot dogs that Big Bill the little teenage meth king cooked for all of us over the bunson burners in the kitchen.

Kwan, I've shaved off my pointy sideburns. Well, all right, they "singed" off in the same meth cook incident that burned up my phone. But I still have the thick black hair you liked and yes, Uncle Vick, my two fingers are still missing.

Silence. Why does silence happen so much? People stop calling or people disappear. You loved them or went through tough times with them, and then they are gone. And why does love change volume?

The keys are in the white pickup. I'm going to steal it and get out of here this afternoon. I'm going to drive it down the I-5 and scream - right, Kwan? I'm going to drive it 100 mph. like I used to do in the movies when I was a stunt man. Back when I had a future.

Back when the phone rang.


Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Can't Keep Me


It's your pal, Uncle Vick! 

Kwannie, do you really think you can keep me locked in this basement? Do you really expect me to eat that macaroni and cheese glop you scoop out of a jar or whatever it is you scoop it from? And then you criticize me for being heavy!

Who pays the bills? I do. Complete Wrap Healthcare HMO let's me authorize procedures, even down here in this basement on my macbook. I authorized a kidney stone extraction, and denied a finger re-attachment just today.

Hey, Irv, got any "ghost finger itches" when I mentioned finger re-attachment?  Ha Ha. 

Fine. I'm pretty comfortable down here....for now. I can even watch TV on I've been watching Jillian Michaels' mini workouts. Today I watched her do a plank pose with dumbells. She's smokin'!

I don't know what knock out drops you gave me, Kwannie, to get me down here. All I have to do is call the cops. I guess. There's a bathroom and the pool table to sleep on. I'm fine until tonight. 

Then, I'm comin' out and get my son!

Uncle Vick 

Monday, May 11, 2009

Twisted Circles

Ever notice how you think you've come a long long way only to find you haven't changed much at all?

Kwan Johnson here.  

Irv, I did what you taught me so long ago back on Highway 1. Remember? When you just can't stand it any more: Drive real fast and scream! Scream until you're blue in the face! 

I did that on the I-5 from the Bay Area to LA. I blasted some Alicia Keys and I screamed my lungs out in the car!

Irv, I'm right back where we started, back in the house you and I shared with Uncle Vick. We felt so trapped here, remember...during that hot August of 07? We were scared of what Uncle Vick might do. 

So much has happened since then..except...I'm in control now...not Vick Rorg. He's here with me and I've locked him the basement. I took back my baby, Sy. I've taken control of my life.

Just like you want to with yours!

I'm blow drying my hair after an intense Judo Jazz Aerobic workout with Alyssa Milano on DVD. I bought black vinyl pants. I've changed my whole look. I dyed my hair white. No more boat people haircut for me!

I've got to give Sy his sedative. He's being treated by a baby doctor at UCLA for psychosis. I've never seen a doctor look so frightened but I think I'm doing the right thing.

When Vick hammers on the basement door for me to let him go, the baby laughs and laughs.

I miss you, Irv. Please be careful. Get out of Bakersfield...and write me soon!


Wednesday, May 6, 2009


God-It's May.

Irv here. I'm surprised this blog hasn't been erased or destroyed. What has happened to my life? The economy went south and the only job I could find was at this meth lab...where I now live...out here in Bakersfield, in the farmlands, wait out the hell in nowhere!

Everyone else has a life and a trajectory. I don't even exercise anymore. I smell cigarette smoke from the driveway. I live with a woman named FLAME. She says she got that name when she was cookin' meth in an abandoned elementary school east of here.  EAST of Bakersfield. Is there any more godforsaken location than that?

We work for a teenager. A fourteen year-old boy named Big Bill. He's tiny. He's 14 and he runs this meth lab. He inherited it from his parents who exploded in a meth fire. He pays me well. He thinks he's got super powers. 

How "Thunderdome" is that?

I've save up five thousand bucks.

Where is Kwan? Where is Uncle Vick? and the baby who is seven months old now!

I'm ready to reclaim my life. How did I get so far off course? It's hot as hell tonight. I'm going to take a long walk in the tomato fields under the stars tonight. Alone. And make my plans to GET MY LIFE BACK.

Big Bill doesn't allow us outside after midnight, but I'm going to defy him!

I'm clean. I swear. I care too much about myself to ruin my life. 

But I'll admit I was doin' coke. Just to make the meth cookin' go faster.

President Obama, what can you do to rescue people like me?

And that psycho, Uncle Vick. He's loose somewhere in LA with the disturbing baby.