User:MichaelOchs

Michael Ochs Wikipedia Page: Michael Ochs was born in December 1909, the first of his family to be born in the United States. At the age of seventeen a gang of half-witted senators from Illinois beat him. Thus began his descent, which incited such a rage in him, that, until this day, he vows revenge on anyone in a position of power that does not have a higher IQ than a wet washcloth. Sometimes not seeing the light of day for weeks, he hides in his "home" which is an abandoned bomb shelter left over from the days of the cold war. The one-roomed sanctuary, heated by a propane torpedo heater, and cooled by a sunbeam fan from the late 60's has decorated walls of his writings. These are the script of a truly deranged mind. Several hundred square feet of pure indifferent scribbling hang on these walls, like the non-informational, self-fellating babble puked from Keith Olberman, as wallpaper. Scribblings of both milk-toast passions and cold, limp attitudes. Michael is trying to live "off the radar" as he puts it. Stealing his power from a local grocery store, by a quite ingenious tunneling method. He has no bills, debts, or is tied to any indentures he refers to as "The System.” He claims that, "...it will steal your soul.” As time passes the scars of past-perceived transgressions against him, seem to become even more apparent. The stockpile of weapons, that he bitterly clings to, has now all but taken over any livable space in his dwelling. His run-ins with the law now seem to come almost weekly, as there are disputes as to whether or not he can even legally occupy his home. Claiming his inalienable right to live as a free man, he vows never to leave "The Compound", as he now refers to it. However, these confrontations seem to leave his feeble mind reeling, as he is now often seen rambling incoherently to the bench at the bus stop while smoking two cigarettes, one in each hand. As time wears on for Michael, he seems to be a shadow of his former self, obsessed with worry, unsure about his countries pick for "number 44", as he says. The anger and paranoia have all but crippled him, but perhaps there is a glimmer of hope. Today as I drove past the bus stop, I wasn't quite sure, but I think as he was rambling to the bench, just maybe, he was only smoking one cigarette! - Brock Samson