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