Monday, April 22, 2013

He Lives . . . And So Do The Rapings

Damn near seven years ago, I brought to your attention the story of a man I named Edgar Bellefontaine.  He stood at the outskirts of Daley Plaza, holding a sign accusing an FBI agent of the ongoing rape of his wife.  The rapings continued through at least September of 2006, and Edgar went so far as to hand out business cards relating to the rapings and "outlaws" who allowed, if not outright encouraged, the rapings, and yet Edgar refused to explain himself.  A few months later, we learned that the rapings had stopped, as they had never been rapings to begin with.  In August 2007, however, the rapings unexpectedly restarted, even as I attempted to take a break from you all to write a book that I finished several years ago but have yet to fully edit or attempt to get published.  We didn't hear from our beloved Edgar for a while, until after Obama got elected, when Edgar set out a personal plea to our President, despite the fact that the Commander in Chief has absolutely no authority over Cook County domestic relations proceedings.

I haven't seen Edgar in the last few years, so I assumed he finally got back together with his wife, Obama spared his child, and FBI agent Chris Saviano was brought to justice.  This morning, I happened to walking past Daley Plaza, and look who greeted me -- with a whistle.
Things appear to have gone downhill for Edgar.  He's still a dad, as you can tell by his "hat."  The top of his sign, which I was unable to capture photographically, declares, "RAPE HQ: FBI," which I think we all knew was the case.  How else would FBI agent Chris Saviano learn how to rape Edgar's wife so effectively while escaping prosecution?  Worse yet, Edgar's food seems to have gone the way of the FBI.  If I am to understand the placard affixed to his chest, a mere 18 days ago -- presumably while Edgar was distracted, making dolls out of the many strands of his ex-wife's hair that he still keeps in a shoe box next to his bare mattress in the middle of the master bedroom in his otherwise empty Gold Coast penthouse -- his food "druged" and raped him.  For those of you not familiar with druging, it's a medieval Flemish torture technique involving a lot of tickling.  Poor guy.

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