Relentlessness

Just FYI, if you didn’t notice, I sent you a countdown clock. Twenty years. That’s how long the statute of limitations is for rape in Nevada. That won’t be until you’re 78.

The next election is in ’26. But frankly, 20 years? There will be a new DA eventually. Especially if the GOP uses the videos (plural) and that cute picture of me when I was a Christian school teacher with the second coming of either Christ, Reagan, or possibly Satan, aka President Trump. Have any idea how determined I must be to play for that team?

I’m not fucking doing this out of retaliation. What I am doing at this point is seeking justice. I may not get it, but I need something to make you at least see that what you did was not okay.

You fucking raped me repeatedly and then bragged about it on video, champ. Nobody else is ever going to do that to me again. And if I had my way, you weren’t going to have the opportunity to do that to anyone else.

Your cellmate, Big Bubba? When he inevitably raped your virgin asshole, he would tell you to just relax—it makes it go in easier. Just shut up, don’t be stupid. You know you want it. Everyone knows that. You’ll let him do it, and you’ll love it, champ.

I’ll just keep coming back until I’m dead.

You never realized at any point what a fighter I am. You never respected the fact that I have way fucking more fight in me than you ever did. I ain’t in the ring, champ. This is real life, and I have fought worse. You don’t know how to fight in this ring.

I’ve been through hell, and I’ve just kept fighting. You wouldn’t have any idea who I used to be, but that’s the bitch who will walk up to anyone fucking with my family and throw hands. I don’t back the fuck down. I square up, and I can take a punch, literally and figuratively. Just ask my ex-husband, whom I strangely went home with. I actually stayed married another seven years after he broke my eye socket and even had another baby with him.

I love the screenshot of you telling me I don’t know how to fight. Physically? I’ll take you. I seriously believed that you were some fucking badass. You peaked. Now you’re just some drunk with a used E-Class who is drinking himself to death and watching TV in his underwear. You’re no badass.

But can I tell you a secret?

I am a badass.

I’ve lost myself over the last six years since the Brian 2 event. Thank you for making me snap out of it after all these years. My badass is coming back.

Twenty years is a long damn time. You’ll have to wait and see if you get arrested that day. Seven thousand-plus days of looking over your shoulder. Waking up every single morning wondering if today is the day the police show up.

See, you didn’t know who I was, champ. I love, and I work on my relationships. I am kind and gentle and sweet. But I’ll bite you harder than a fucking orca bites a shark. You may know that part now.

This is a text I sent {D} shortly after Steve Wolfson compared me to a whore in October 2024. I was a little angry.

I sent that clip from Casino shortly before. Please note that was meant figuratively and was not intended as a threat of violence.

I was referencing the video where he calls me a "champ" after they're done raping me and things he said during the rape.

And I fucking meant every goddamn word of it.

Mr. Wolfson, Mr. Ford, and the candidates for Attorney General should pay attention. I am not done. Not by a long shot, kiddos. Not until that man is behind bars where he fucking belongs. That means I am the thorn in your side, and if you don’t charge him, well, I’ll just stay up your ass for the remainder of your political career.

You know why?

You’re in the wrong.

You are doing the wrong thing.

I am a firm believer in right and wrong. There are fundamental principles that you live by. This is so clearly rape, and any prosecutor should be falling over themselves to get a man like this—who you know has a history of doing this to women before—off the fucking streets and onto a sex offender registry.

You should be adamant about something this clear.

The fact that Wolfson and Ford aren’t tells me one of two things has happened:

1. We have a major systemic crisis that is endangering women when a woman can be raped on video, screaming and begging for him to stop, repeatedly saying no, and no charges are brought.

Or

2. Nevada actually covered up a violent crime and let a dangerous criminal go free because they were afraid of being sued or having decisions made by the golden fucking goose, whose authority funded that agency, called into question.

If those who had been fined found out about the misconduct on the part of the Deputy Insurance Commissioner overseeing investigations and enforcement who was fining them, every damn one of them would come back and challenge their penalties. That’s tens of millions of dollars.

In 2025, DOI collected $9.6 million without appropriate staffing after {D} left.

I’m not finding the numbers for {D}’s tenure, but I just submitted a public records request for them. But imma guess, it's a little higher annually than $9.6 million. 

Plus, there are the AG refferals. The Nevada Constitution mandates that all cases coming out of DOI that cross over to criminal violations be directly sent to the AG. I would bet those could be questioned too.  

My rape could easily be a $70 million dollar problem for the state of Nevada. This is first thing that really makes sense as to what happened. 

I’m going to math this out and see how much it potentially could have cost the State of Nevada if information about {D}’s alleged criminal misconduct became public.

It’s an interesting math problem.

I hope I don’t have to sue them to get the records. They've already responded so step one is down. And it's the Commissioner's administrative assistant emailing me. Usually it's the PR dude. I wonder if this is just because it's me or maybe because I hit the fucking nail on the head. Hey Nazi, FYI I'm going to make full report to the Public Records Task Force in July, so maybe tell the kiddos not to screw the pooch on this bad boy this time, eh? 

This right here is my new theme song.