Auditing The Ambush (plus the 1985 Hot Wheels Incident)

In the season finale, Steven Meyers Jr. breaks down the calculated legal and psychological trap set for him in the spring of 2025. This isn't just a story about a family dispute; it’s a forensic audit of a "Black Swan" event—a moment where systemic pressure meets neurobiological vulnerability.

In this episode, we audit:

• The Amygdala Hijack: A deep dive into the science of the HPA axis and how early childhood trauma wires a nervous system for a "Redlined" baseline.
• The Courthouse Protocol: Why the cell phone ban in Alamance County courthouses proves that a "random" check-in from a former associate was actually a coordinated hallway ambush.
• The Crime Stoppers Transaction: A breakdown of how cash-incentive tip lines are leveraged by those in active addiction—not for safety, but for profit.
• Statutory Restraint: The exact North Carolina General Statutes—from A1 Misdemeanors (§ 14-33) to Criminal Contempt (§ 5A-11)—that were meant to be the "Kill Shot" to Steven’s parental rights.
• The iPhone Fortress: Why AES-256 bit hardware encryption remains the final barrier between the truth and the false narrative of "disturbing" messages.
• The Five-Year-Old’s Ledger: Steven opens the darkest chapter of his history, documenting the reality of sexual assault at age five. This is a raw, unfiltered look at the origin point of the trauma, told with the dark, defensive humor necessary to survive the telling.

CRITICAL CONTENT WARNING: This episode contains graphic details regarding sexual assault, childhood trauma, and extreme domestic conflict. The descriptions are blatant and unfiltered. If you are sensitive to these topics or find them triggering, do not listen to this episode. This is the unvarnished truth of the Meyers family history—don't say I didn't warn you.

"A punch is temporary. A digital ledger is forever. I kept my freedom. I kept my daughter. I won."

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 1:55

Tell my listeners hello, listen, I need to be completely frank with you. This episode is very, very dark. I talk about some awful subjects in this episode. They come up out of nowhere. They are all intertwined into this conspiracy. You need to be warned this might be an episode that you want to skip. You may not want to listen to the next hour. You are going to be triggered. You are going to be angry. And you are going to want to smack somebody in the face with a Bible. I encourage you, do none of these things. This is me documenting my life and what I've gone through. I have complete transparency now because nobody can hurt me anymore. My worst secrets are on this podcast. What are you gonna do? But I'm about to discuss some subjects that are gonna get really, really dark and really awful. And they have to be discussed. I'm grateful to be gifted at having uncomfortable conversations with people, but now I have to have it with the world. That's a side variable of having a podcast set up to hold people accountable for what they've done. Please be forewarned. I am begging you, you may want to consider skipping this episode and just waiting for the next one. I went ahead and left this here first before I even decided to upload this at the beginning because I felt it was important to reiterate how mentally dangerous this episode is. You have been warned. Please listen with caution. It's when your brain's threat response overrides your prefrontal cortex, your logic center, flooding your system with catechloamines, like effinphrin and noropinfrine. When you're autistic and you've been living in fight or flight mode for years, your baseline is already redefined. Operating in a state of chronic sympathetic nervous system hyper-arousal. In February and March of 2025, my blood family tried to trigger that hijack to lock me in a cage. This is exactly how they did it. And this is exactly how I beat them. I'm putting every single detail on the record. Around February 21st, 2025, my father, Stephen Kenneth Myers Sr., out of nowhere, sends me a friend request on Facebook. I accepted it. Maybe it was the autism. Maybe I'm a bit of a sadist. Or maybe I just had this microscopic hope he'd finally come around and apologize. But no. I look at his page and what do I see? Pictures of my own children. Stolen Valor. He is soaking up the likes from strangers, playing the loving grandfather, while in reality. The other grandchildren he has don't like him very much. Ask them why. I'm not gonna talk for them. But at this point, I was massively depressed. I was missing my kids. The custody case would not end until December 2025 when I was finally able to provide the results of the third hair follicle drug test required in the court order. I was raw. So I went on the offensive. I hit his Facebook page. I commented on at least three dozen of his posts. All posts that are either related to uh my kids or actually, no, you know what? No, it was just random shit that I saw that I posted on. It wasn't just my children. I at that point I was just seeing red. Now y'all remember season one, episodes one through five. Because we had like a season recap at the end, but I noticed that people were going to the recap and not going to listen to the episodes, and I was like, nah, I'm not gonna make it easy for you, motherfuckers. If you want the story, you go listen to the fucking story and fuck me for giving you a recap. That that was so I took that off. But that $20 orange t-shirt I sent my father through Amazon, the one that said I love Joe Biden, the one that's the central image of those episodes, he posted a picture of it online laughing about it. And my cousin Bobby from Pennsylvania chimes in. Fuck that guy, by the way. Um, he's sitting there saying that my father should take it and wipe his ass with it, set it on fire, stuff like that. Well, I jump in the comments like, no, I'm the one who sent that. Fuck all of you. And yeah, I did call Bobby out as a Trump-supporting pedophile-loving motherfucker, and everyone else on that thread too, because he is, and so were they. Donald Trump is a pedophile thirty-four-time felon. Are we seriously debating this? Well, I talked a lot of shit. But here is the legal reality. The First Amendment protects freedom of speech. To violate harassment statutes. Specifically, North Carolina General Statute 14-277.3A for stalking and harassment, or North Carolina General Statute 14-196 regarding telecommunications. You have to have the intent to annoy, harass, intimidate, or threaten. I wasn't threatening physical harm. I was talking evil shit. Now even Facebook's AI community standards didn't flag or delete my comments, and believe me. Believe me, I've got a long, a long record of getting put in Facebook jail. I know the line. Dad ended up deleting the comments himself, and I think it's because he's a coward. I don't delete shit. People say awful things about me on the internet all the time, and I couldn't care less about any of them. None of them fuck me. None of them are people that I love, none of them pay my bills, their opinions don't matter. They never will. Hopefully, other people can get to that point in their psychology or their psyche, as it were, where they just don't care about what other people think. But I don't want to get off topic. Let me uh let me get back to this. So finally, on February 26th, I messaged him. I say to him, uh, I'm coming over to your house, we gotta talk. I'm paraphrasing here. I do have the messages, they're uh catalogued in the cloud, so if I've got to break them out, that's fine. But I mean, paraphrasing should also work, yeah? He texted back that if I showed up, it would be trespassing and he wasn't gonna talk about it again. Or I that's all I have to say about this, something along those lines. It was total cowardice. So I'm reading this right. This is my This is the big war hero, right? This is the man who's afraid of nothing. This is a man who can turn something out of n or who I'm not saying it right, please forgive me. This is a man who I've watched turn nothing into something. I've watched him do badass things as a child. I've seen it with my own eyes. So for him to be too cowardly to face me, or and or be so far up Angela's ass with her god fucked views on what she thinks happened to her throughout her life. Because apparently I abused her her entire life. Apparently I'm a pathological liar and I've tortured her and I don't know. I the lies changed. Like I said, I can't tell if it was Grover or Big Bird or Oscar the Grouch who fucked her in the ass when she was a kid. So I have no idea. But it wasn't me. And either way, that's her fucking problem. So when my father, who for whatever reason, won't even speak to I'm the only son left. He won't even speak to me. I lost my fucking mind. That's total cowardice. So again, paraphrasing here, I told him to eat shit. I told him to kill himself. Or I hope he killed himself. I can't remember which one. I did go full dark humor. I mean, comedy literally saved my life. Guys like Doug Stanhope, Bill Burr, Steve Hofstedter, you have to find the laugh in the darkest shit to survive. So I did, I do remember telling him I'd throw my dad killed himself suicide party, provide free alcohol for all of his friends, and let everyone drive home drunk. I did absolutely tell him I would dig up his grave, piss on it, set it on fire, or wait, no, no, no. I'd dig his grave up, I'd set it on fire, I'd piss on it to put it out, and then I'd just keep repeating the process until it was nothing. Um, it was dark. It was evil, but it was not a true threat. If it was, Alamance County law enforcement would have arrested me based off of charges that would have been filed against me, but they didn't. They just let him file a Civil 50B under NC General Statute Chapter 50B, which handles civil domestic violence protective orders rather than criminal courts. Act two. The Virginia Blowout. While all this was happening, I wasn't even in North Carolina. I had taken a ride up to West Virginia to get some of my belongings. One of my tires blew out in Carroll County, Virginia. I was stuck at a friend's house for three days. Saturday night, Sunday, and Monday morning, waiting for a tire shop to open. Now while I'm stranded, I get a message from Lindsay Thurston, who I don't know, but she looks like a solid six out of ten, and I'm lonely, and it'd be nice to talk to somebody, so she's asked, Are you doing alright? And she wasn't asking for money. So I figured, well, why not? I'd I'd like to hang out with you. I offered to hang out and smoke some wax. I mean, she looks like a fucking pothead, so also, it's a nice social thing to offer. But I don't smoke flour anymore because it smells, and I can't have that around my daughter. So either way, Lindsay never answers that invite. But instead, she comments on a picture of me on Facebook. I'm standing on the steps of the Alamance County Historic Courthouse right next to a no-standing sign. It's a silent protest. Uh she comments, you naughty boy, something along those lines. It's still there. You can go look. Uh um I'm not sure if the photo's public or not, but if you can't find it, someone shoot me a message here on Spotify where it says uh send fan mail or send a text or whatever it says, and uh, I'll make that post public and you can see. So they're playing his day, even though she blocked me on Facebook, uh, it's still there. Now, I thought she was flirting, and I replied, yeah, that's right, and there's a little knife emoji. I mean, what are you an idiot? Like, you think I'm gonna stab somebody?

unknown 15:13

What the fuck?

SPEAKER_01 15:15

Stupid. But I mean, you know, flirting. Duh. I mean, I'm autistic as fuck, and even I know what that is. There couldn't have been no more than 15 or 16 messages between Lindsay Thurston and myself, total. But then out of nowhere, around the late night of the 26th or the early morning of the 27th, she blocks me. Act 3. The 50B and the iPhone 12 Pro Plus. On February 27th, I get a call from Detective Sharp from the Alamance County Sheriff's Department. The private number. I already know who it is. I mean, I don't know who it is, but I know who it is. A very respectful guy. I have some straight up. Look, before we start, do you have an arrest warrant for me? Because if you do, I'm gonna turn myself in right now. And like, I assumed that he knew about the history with Sergeant Rice and Saxbaha. It would make sense because it was kind of a big deal. And uh just like Sergeant Rice, Detective Sharp was being honorable. Um he shot straight. No, Steven, look, it's just 50 B's. I'd tell you flat out if we had an issue and I'd work with you. I wouldn't be messing with you or anything. Like, I get it. But no, we I just need to serve you with these restraining orders. That's all it is. So I was like, look, um I'm not in the state right now. Uh I'm currently in Virginia, and I'll be down there Monday. Can we meet at let's say 6 a.m. in front of the sheriff's department, and uh you can serve me? And he's like, yeah, no problem, you know. So I thank him. I was like, look, most I'm not used to the sheriff's department treating me with any kind of courtesy or respect, and I just wanted to thank you, if that's okay. Like, I'm like not trying to like boots or nothing, but I appreciate this. And he thanked me for being a straight shooter and was just like it's all good. So, anyway, I'm sorry. It wasn't Monday, it was uh Tuesday morning. I apologize. Um I didn't mean to get my days wrong. Sorry, we just brewed this fresh herba mate, it's delicious. I had some agave, some agave for uh uh. I didn't have any sugar. So we used agave and uh it tastes great. So, anyways, uh Tuesday morning at 6 a.m., I show up at the sheriff's department. I have two friends with me to videotape it just in case if I was being set up to get my ass beat. There's some other precautions that were taken, uh, and I can't discuss those at this time. Sharp serves me the papers, we talk, we shake hands. He's got this old truck, it is like, I don't know if it's a Ford or something. This thing's awesome. I'm like, dude, like your truck is awesome, bro. And again, we shook hands, and I leave. Now, I go into breakfast with my friends, uh, we're at McDonald's and Graham, buy them breakfast, uh, and we read the 20 pages of paperwork together. So we come to the determination excuse me, sorry. It's delicious. Piping hot, delicious. We come to the uh conclusion that this is a pig fuck joke. Two identical restraining orders from dad and Sue. Lazy as fuck. Come, come on. I mean, look, can can you just be more imaginative when you're making shit up? I mean, do you gotta like play the game of telephone through 14 retards? Oh wait, can I say retard? I don't know. Am I allowed to say retard? I'm spastic as fuck. I have no idea. If I offended anybody out there that's retarded, I'm sorry. But moving forward.

SPEAKER_00 19:20

Fuck, it's just stupid.

SPEAKER_02 19:24

Stupid.

SPEAKER_01 19:27

Like, okay, here's what got me. On page nine, um, I I can't remember which order it was. I think it was Dad's Sue's. But they spelled Angela's name wrong. You spelled it like it's like Angelo or when it was all with one L in it. I think it was Angelo. I don't have the order right in front of me, but you know, clearly taking notes for this and uh having my script in front of me to go off of, I do know that that was a thing. I also read the motherfucker, so I remember that plainest day, but I just I can't remember if it was Angelo or Angela. Like they're like the the paperwork's also old and faded. So, either way, how do you get your daughter's fucking name wrong? And how do you look at a paper where they have your daughter's name and they're like, is this correct?

SPEAKER_00 20:11

And you're like, yes, it's correct, it's totally correct.

SPEAKER_01 20:15

Man, I'm never gonna forget how to spell my kid's name. You're out of your fucking mind.

unknown 20:19

Out of your fucking mouth.

SPEAKER_00 20:22

What the fuck?

SPEAKER_01 20:26

Okay, I digress. I'm sorry. Uh excuse me. But then I look at page seven. Lindsay Thurston. She told them that she called a tip line on February 26th because my messages had become quote disturbing. Now, let's analyze that tip line claim. In Alamance County, Crime Stoppers doesn't run on altruism. It runs on what's called a cash incentive protocol. You call in, you get a code number, and an arrest is made. You take that code to Bank of America and they hand you cash. Now it's a transaction. For a drug addict, for example, this is not about public safety. It's a known method to secure quick funds to get high. They'll snitch on dealers, they snitch on each other, there's always another dealer, and there's always another addict to flip for a payout. I can't prove that was her motive, but if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and has feathers, it's a motherfucking duck. It might as well be Donald's like, I mean, it's a duck. It's a fucking duck. Now I openly challenge Lindsay and my father to produce these messages. Do it. I can't. My primary Facebook archive is locked behind a six digit pin that I don't remember. Trapped on an iPhone 12 Pro Plus. Currently inaccessible due to AES 256-bit hardware encryption and catastrophic physical logic board damage because I accidentally ran it over with my car in June of 2025. Whoops. This is gonna cost me $250 to fix, and I don't have it. But I challenge them to show the world these disturbing messages. They won't. Because they don't exist. Act 4. The March 3rd Trap and the Ice Drinks. The hearing was set for March 3rd, 2025 at 9 30 a.m. I was completely broke. I was working for 12 bucks an hour at a time, a survival job, some pro se. Uh by the way, don't ever be pro se. That is fucking stupid. Get a lawyer. Okay? Always have a lawyer. Holy shit. Oh, by the way, listen to your fucking lawyer. Don't be like me and be all autistic and angry and not listen to your lawyer. Because not listening to your lawyer will fuck you up way worse than anything else. I'm telling you, I'm trying to warn all fathers, just listen to your fucking lawyer, do what they say. I kind of didn't, and that's on that's on me. Sorry, Brian. Well, I mean, I don't care if he or I don't know if he cares if I apologize. He got the money. So whatever. I don't know. He's a judge now anyway, so he's doing good. So I had all my legal stuff ready to confront them, right? So my phone rang the night before. Uh dear friend, a source I will never give up under any threat of contempt. You can forget about it. Tells me the truth. So dad was planning to set me up. Dad is gonna push my buttons in the courtroom so I'd take a swing at him. Jesus fucking wife.

unknown 24:03

Dumb motherfucker.

SPEAKER_01 24:05

It's just f dude. Y'all don't understand how bad this shit pisses me off and the incredible fucking restraint that I possess. Thanks to God. Oh man. If you assault a person over sixty in North Carolina, it's a class A1 misdemeanor under North Carolina General Statute. Section uh fourteen-thirty three C six. In the courtroom, it's criminal contempt under North Carolina General Statute Section 5A-11. Allowing for immediate summary judgment and incarceration. Ain't no lie, baby. Ba ba ba ba ba jail time. Prison time. I would have lost my permanent done. Fucking done. Imagine the neurochemical cascade of that disaster. If I had let him bait me, my basal ganglia would have bypassed my moral reasoning entirely. In a microsecond, the motor cortex fires. My fist could potentially connect with his face in front of a judge. And the biological reality of autistic meltdown is instantly reframed by the state as criminal intent. This motherfucker, I'll tell you what, dude. This this Psyop shit he did is just like it's genius. You gotta respect it. Like what a cunt. To hate your kid this much. I can't imagine it. I can't. I just can't. Can't imagine it. The legal consequences would have been a rapid-fire execution of my freedom. Under North Carolina General Statute Section 5A-12, a judge can find you in direct criminal contempt and throw you in the Alamance County Detention Center for up to 30 days before you even get a lawyer for the actual assault charge. Then comes the Class A1 misdemeanor for the assault on a person over 60, carrying up to 150 days of active jail time. Because it happened in a courthouse, the prosecutor would have argued for the maximum, painting me as a violent, uncontrollable threat to the sanctity of the court. Socially and parentally, it would have been the kill shot. Under North Carolina General Statute Section 50A, a conviction for a violent act in a courtroom would be the substantial charge. Oops. Sorry. Please forgive me. Allow me to repeat that I apologize. I got that wrong. Under North Carolina General Statute Section 50A, a conviction for a violent act in a courtroom would be the substantial change in circumstances that Monica would potentially need if she wanted it, which my god, if I punched my dad in the face in a fucking courtroom, of course she would want it. Like that's insane. Yeah, of course. I'm dangerous. I'd be dangerous. Of course. I acknowledge this. But she would have what she would need to strip me of every parental right that I would have had left. Which I I've worked my ass off. I've got we shared uh custody together, so that'd be gone. And I wouldn't just be in a cell, I'd be a ghost in my daughter's life. The state would have achieved what my father couldn't. My total erasure. So here's what I did. Now that I'm armed with this information, and I'm realizing I can't walk into this courthouse. I I don't I didn't have the emotional strength to withstand this psychological operation. And I didn't want to be put in a position where the growth that I was attempting would fail. Meaning at that point it would be following the court order I was trying to save for the $900 for the three hair follicle drug tests that I needed to prove to the court and to Monica that I wasn't using drugs. I've since done that. That's long gone. So at 9 o'clock in the morning on March 3rd, I called Judge Larry Brown's voicemail. Like I called the courthouse, I asked for his chambers, it went to his voicemail. I respectfully told him I wasn't coming because of a credible threat. I said, I want to show you that I've grown by not putting myself in a position where he can manipulate me into making a terrible decision. You can go ahead and grant the order. So they got their default order for one year, by the way, that motherfucker's expired, as we already know. Because, you know, people who are afraid of you, you know, let orders expire, right?

SPEAKER_00 30:23

Dumbass motherfuckers, I swear to God. Motherfuckers.

SPEAKER_01 30:27

Anywho, it's also worth uh noting that it wasn't Judge Brown who granted the order. It was Judge Catherine Oberby. And I respect Judge Overby a lot. Um, I've seen her in action, personally, up front, in a trial, where I was the defendant for possession of marijuana, up to a half an ounce, and I was found not guilty by trial. And Judge Overby was the one who rendered the verdict. I don't respect her because she gave me a not guilty verdict. I respect her because she is honorable. That is why. But it gets deeper. That exact same morning. Oh, wait, I left out one thing. Uh so if you don't uh show up, if you wave your right, or you do show up and wave your right to uh confront your accuser and you're just like, I don't contest the order. They can't read what the plaintiffs put into the order into uh record at all. So it's like it doesn't fucking matter. You don't get to see what kind of a monster I got painted to be. Fuck you guys. Dad and Sue. Not not the court. I'm cool with that. I got not the court. Oh my god, not the court. No, no, no, no, no, no. I'm I got no I got no I don't think I have any beef with the court um personally. I mean, I don't know. Like, I don't know much about it to criticize it, to be honest with you. I don't I I don't know.

unknown 32:02

I don't know.

SPEAKER_01 32:04

We're not gonna go there. But no, dad and Sue, fuck you guys.

SPEAKER_02 32:09

So that shot misfired on their end because they didn't get to be like, Victim's he told us he was a drug dealer and he's gonna beat us and set us on fire, and he's gonna shove a bunch of battery acid in our assholes and make us listen to K-pop demon hunters for hours.

SPEAKER_01 32:26

That exact same morning, a childhood friend named Kevin Fur messages me. Hi Kevin, how you doing, buddy? Are you listening? You gonna tell me this didn't happen? I'll be goddamned. Quote unquote. Do you still mess with those ice drinks? Ice drinks. Methamphetamine. I don't fuck with drugs anymore. We've already covered this. Comedian Sam Miller talks about this extensively. He's one of my favorite comedians. The ghosts of addiction or the ghosts of escape popping up when you least expect it. With me, it's escape. I've already publicly talked about what my addictions are. I mean, you remember uh good medium stake, uh, Grand Theft Auto and Resident Evil. Uh we can keep going. I've already done this, so what the fuck? Ooh, I fucking this motherfucker. I loved this kid like a brother, like for years. Like, for years. It's like since we're teenagers. He went down one path and I went down another path. And I'm not gonna say that my path was more righteous because it wasn't. I just never got addicted to drugs. I only did them to escape. You do drugs because your life fucking sucks for whatever reasons, and you just don't want to think about it, you want to escape. That's why people do fucking drugs. Alright? That's it. It's that simple. And then the physical properties, you if you get addicted to it, well, you fucking you pay the piper when you get off the fucking shit. I don't know what to tell you. We all have to. Over to his fucking coddling, but look, let me get back to this. Uh this is something I want my listeners to think about deeply. If you look at the NC court's records for March 3rd, 2025, Kevin Fur was scheduled for an electronic warrants assigned hearing at 8 30 a.m. in Alamance County. He was facing a charge of felony, possession of cocaine, and possession of drug paraphernalia. He was sitting right down the hall, or outside. I'm gonna say rather outside, forgive me, uh, because there's no way you can be on your phone in the courthouse. Um, they don't let you take it in. Uh, when you go into the courthouse, or any courthouse in LMS County, because you got the J.B. Allen criminal court, and then you got uh the other shit, the civil court and family court and all that jazz is in the other building over off of uh Elm. And when you go in, there's a metal detector right there, and two usually very friendly uh court staff deputies or bailiffs that will fuck your day up if you disobey their orders or you know be an asshole about it. Can't take your phone in. So I'm gonna uh forgive my I didn't mean to I was just talking off the top of my head, like, because you know, it would be one thing to be outside the courtroom being all like with your phone. However, you can't have your phone in the courthouse. So um he's gotta be outside. Okay? He's gotta be. But here's the audit. What did I just say about the courthouse cell phone policy? It's prohibited in the courtrooms. You can't take him in, so he's outside where he should have been handling his business. So I allege he's not in there focused on his felony. I allege he's out in the fucking front of the building trying to set me up to give him meth, likely looking for a way to snitch me out for a lesser sentence or a crime stopper's payout. I don't fucking know. All I know is is like calling me and asking me for meth is like calling Santa Claus and asking him to change the oil in your car with molasses. He's gonna look at you stupid like I don't change oil in people's fucking cars, and why the fuck would you use molasses, you mensa reject, insipid, dotard? I don't get it. So, was my dad using him? Were the cops? I don't know. Kevin, tell me. Cause you told me on the phone, Kevin, Kevin, I'm talking to you directly, bro. Bro, you told me on the phone, you typed back after I was like, uh after I messaged you back um when you asked me about the ice drinks, I sent you a voice message, Kevin, and I told you directly, I don't think one of my best friends that I love like a brother would be trying to set me up for drugs. And he types back, oh no, man, I would never do that to you, blah blah blah. Really? Okay. Okay. Really? I don't hate you for this. Like, I'm not like life's too short, man. I just know who you really are now. Like what you've to what you've turned into. And I love you, man, but what the fuck? What the fuck? I love my dad, but I still think he's a fucking righteous pig fuck cunt. Motherfuckers, motherfucker, dude. Motherfucker. So yeah, like I said, I sent Kevin a voice message, and I said, no, I absolutely do not, and I really don't want to believe one of my dear friends since we were teenagers is trying to set me up. Like I said, Kevin backpedaled instantly. But I do know Kevin later scammed a friend of mine. Well, she's not my friend anymore, she don't talk to me. Her name's Emily Stroop. Uh, E-M-I-L-I-E-S-T-R-O-U-P-E. I was I had uh recommended Kevin to fix her car, she really needed her car fixed, and he took her money and took off, and she stopped talking to me, and I'm just like uh mother. Epilogue The Expired Fear Yo, I just like this affects me so deeply. Like, I'm talking about this whole like everything. You know, maybe I'll add a little to this and discuss why that's it's so important that people know that while my this story has to be told. God, if anything, so like you know that I can move on with my life. So that one year restraining order expired. Like I said, uh in the previous episodes, uh nobody renewed an order. We're now focusing on dad and Sue. Angela by proxy was in the order. Coward couldn't file her own order, but whatever. Always have someone else do your dirty work, right? If I was really the violent, terrifying threat that they claimed I was on those papers, why let it drop? I allege it's because they were never afraid of my violence. I allege it's because they were afraid of me exposing the truth. I survived every ambush involved with this. Because my prefrontal cortex, the center of executive function and cognitive control, won out. I stayed home. I audited the situation, and now you have the full ledger. So the episode was supposed to end there, but there's a little more information that I feel is relative, so we're gonna go ahead and we're gonna share that now. The how do you say it? Uh let's let's talk about the HPA axis, yeah? Now this is the hypothalamic pituitary adrenal axis. A X I S. If I mispronounced anything, I apologize. It's the neuroendocrine highway that manages stress. Now, when a normal person gets cut off in traffic, their HPA axis squirts out a little cortisol, they flip the bird, and it's it's over, whatever, you know.

SPEAKER_00 41:40

But when you are autistic, and remember, I am diagnosed, this isn't like, oh, look at me, I'm neurodivergent because I I don't need to be Instagram stories, Snapchat.

SPEAKER_01 41:51

This is this is this is fucking real. And when your primary caregivers spend your formative years rewiring your nervous system for constant warfare. Your HPA axis doesn't just drip cortisol, it floods the engine. Your sympathetic nervous system is perpetually redlined. You're walking around with a loaded gun. In your neurochemistry, and my father knew exactly where the trigger was. The March 3rd ambush wasn't just a legal trap, it was a biological one. Now, like, I talked about stand-up comedy, but I talk about stand-up comedy a lot because it's it's it's better than therapy. It saved my life. Like, genuinely, genuinely. I can't tell you the amount of times I might have become somebody's 13th reason why, and listening to stand-up kept me from doing that. It let me wait until the next day. Like Christopher Titus Fuck, dude. It's like Christopher Titus says, just wait another day. Listen to his new special, uh, Carrying Monsters. He talks about his sister's suicide. He makes it really funny. It's fucking hilarious. I promise. I fucking promise. I promise. But one of the things he says is just wait one more day. Just wait one more day. Well, I waited one more day because of stand-up comedy. Y'all realize that somebody bashed my car's windshield in the day after I announced this podcast was gonna exist. Keyed the side of my car. The death threats, the I mean, I gotta four of those so far. Four serious ones. Um the things I deal with to tell this story. Believe me, like stand up comedies. A laugh will save you from killing somebody. A laugh will save you from killing yourself. Bill Burr has this bit. Uh it's about the visceral psychopathic anger that just bubbles up out of nowhere. The kind of rage where your brain casually suggests you should put someone through a wall. Burr says you have to suppress it. Push it down. Go fly a helicopter or something. Now my dad was counting in that Burr level rage. He wanted me, I think, to walk into that Alamance County courtroom, look at him playing the victim, and let my basil ganglia, I hope I'm pronouncing this right, excuse me. Feel free to correct me if I'm not. You can always send a text or send fan mail, go to Spotify. That's on every episode description. And it'll shoot me a text directly. But my basal ganglia completely bypasses my moral reasoning, yeah? So in a fraction of a second, the mortal cortex fires. The fist, yeah, it connects. And kaboom! Class A1 misdemeanor. Again. Under North Carolina General Statute Section 14-33C6. Immediate criminal contempt under Statute 5A 11. So look at, it's not like we're just talking shit, guys, okay? Excuse me, my apologies. I allege openly that my father wanted the state of North Carolina to execute the violence he wasn't man enough to commit himself and me. That's what I allege. This is a s I know my father, like he's been trained in psychological torture. I know what he did in the army, and that motherfucker raised me. I've s this has psyops all over it. Like, get out of here. Fuck out of here. But here's the problem with their plan. They treated me like a reactive animal. They forgot that I am a multimedia prince. They forgot how hard I'm working to change my life, to keep moving forward, to make sure I don't escape with drugs again, to make sure that my main focus will always be Chiara. Maybe one day I'll get to see Olivia again. That would be fucking nice. My focus isn't on their nonsense. My entire life is built on auditing systems. Sorry. Finding the broken links and optimizing the output. So when I read those 50 B papers over breakfast with my two friends, I didn't see a threat. I saw a profoundly flawed script. This was a bad comedy set. Like fucking awful. It's like it's like just somebody going up there and bombing worse than all the Trade Centers put together and the shit that I took this morning. Steve Hofsteder. And it was a glorious shit. Oh my god. Do you ever just take a shit in your life? Or forgive me. Do you ever just have a shit rather? And you're just like. Because where do you take a shit? Do you actually take it somewhere? Like, do you poop and then pick up the poop with your hands or like a shovel or I don't know, kinetic memory or some shit, and like take it somewhere? And then put it in the toilet? Because take a shit doesn't make sense to me. That English, I don't get it. And we say it, I say it all the time. Hey, I'm gonna go take a shit. Okay, you're not really taking it. Like, am I gonna reach into your asshole and take your shit? I'm so confused on where take a shit comes from. I don't understand it. And Steve Hofstetter built a career on clinically dismantling hecklers. He doesn't just yell at them. You need y'all need to look up his videos. Holy shit. He uses cold surgical comedic logic to humiliate their premise and well, him being incredibly witty and funny. Derp, that helps. And he's really fucking good at it. That's why, like when you go to a comedy show, you either laugh and clap. Or whatever. Or be silent. But for the love of God, don't heckle. Fuck. Don't heckle. Moving forward, sorry Bob, that just didn't mean to get off topic, but you don't want to heckle at a comedy show. It's a bad fucking idea. So that's what reading page nine of that proxy form felt like. Um, I think it was page nine. I hope I'm getting it right. Again, memory. Uh I could look back at the order, but you know. I set them all on fire after doing that last episode. And really, I burned them. Like I fucking burned them. They're gone. Here's a bad part. There was like a fucking statewide burning man. I had no idea. And I'm like, oh shit, this sucks. But they were already gone, and it's like, well, fucking write me a ticket now. I don't know what to tell you. Um, it was very uh cathartic for me. But I've got pictures of them in the cloud, if I need to go back and look. I just can't remember what page it was. But there's also, you know, Lindsay Thurston uh on the other page on both orders claiming she called a tip line out of concern. Another one of my comedians uh that I have a go-to for, um, if I need a laugh, because I'm just having a bad fucking day, and I don't want to have a bad day anymore, is Doug Stanhope. Doug Stanhope would have a fucking field day. Did you see the shit he just did at the Bisbee Council where he turned into an open mic? God! And everyone was laughing, dude. Comedy makes people not want to murder. Oh my god, you should have seen it. Even the council was just laughing their fucking ass. Oh my god. And they went right back to uh business as whatever, but like it's not like you know, what what Doug Stanhope was saying was no less serious than it was funny. It was very, very, very humorous, but it was also very, very serious. And uh, you know, they're gonna be there. So I'm gonna have some uh Bisbee City Council to watch, and I'm not even fucking in Arizona. I'm uh now in uh North Carolina. Well, I mean, I've always have I always no, no. I'm in North Carolina now, and that's where clearly like everyone knows that. I'm no longer in Alamance County. Uh, we left last week. We being me and my 1400 personalities. But here's the thing. I'm getting off topic. Doug Stanhope would have had a fucking field day with the dark, grimy reality of all this shit. Stanhope thrives in the gutter, alright? Pointing out the hypocrisy of human nature. Like, you should listen to Acid, the bootleg, or like uh um before turning the gun on himself and fucking all the other beer hall push. Like, oh dude, like this is three of like many. This guy is amazing. He's amazing. The reality is though, Alamance County Crime Stoppers is a financial transaction. You call in a tip, dup, dip, and you get a code and go to Bank of Merka and you get cash. Merka!

SPEAKER_04 51:43

Fuck yeah!

SPEAKER_01 51:45

It's an ATM, right? For snitches, narcs, and drug addicts. She wasn't an upstanding citizen. She was just trying to fund a habit. I think. Because why the fuck else would you do this? There's no reason. As a matter of fact, you know what we haven't done? We haven't gone to NC courts, right? And we haven't looked to see uh whether or not she even has a fucking record in Alamance. Oh my god, like how fucking ignorant, right? Of me not to have done this. That's stupid. Holy shit, I'm dumb. Listen, we're gonna take a second and we're gonna look into this right now. So I looked her up and she's got nothing in the NC court records uh for Alamance County that I could see. So there's no real way to tell if she has a history with drugs. Um I just know that I had never met this bitch, and she messaged me out of fuck all nowhere. Yeah? So there you have it. Normally, women don't message men unsolicited unless they want something, and you have to find out what their motive was. I didn't know if hers was dick or to get stoned or what. I she she was, like I said, a solid six out of ten. So I wanted to find out what was up. I was lonely and sad and depressed, and it would have been nice, you know, to have a chance to be around a woman that A wasn't a scumbag, and B, wouldn't mind that I spent the past few years not doing so great in relationships, and that was on me. But no, no, no, it was a setup. So I like I said, quacks like a duck, has feathers as a fucking duck. Uh I challenge them openly, again, to produce these disturbing Facebook messages, and they can't because that motherfucking phone is just like done. But, you know, I I just don't think they're gonna take it seriously. Uh I've already openly declared where the digital archive is. Uh it's locked inside a crushed iPhone 12 that's secured by AES 20 or 256-bit hardware encryption and a shattered logic board. It's a cryptographic fortress, much much like my boundaries are now. The minute I've got an extra $250 to piss away, you know, when gas isn't so high you have to suck dick for rock to get it, maybe I'll be able to afford to get the fucking phone fixed. And, you know, I don't really care so much about that dumb bitch's messages as I do about the pictures of Chiara and Olivia that I have on there that I'd really like to have because uh I'm st I've been working on this book, or I'm just collecting photos and you know what I'm saying? I got the idea from uh an old girlfriend named uh Stephanie Love. She had made a book of uh photos of my brother's last birthday party and sent it to Bridget. Um and look, like I I got no B personally, I don't I don't got no B for her no more. Like I mean, she might hate me, and that's okay. Um, I can't take away her feelings or her emotions or how she feels about anything. But um if I were to look at that situation positively instead of negatively, I would say that Stephanie provided uh Bridget with a final reminder of what our family was like and on that night and how we were all together and we had love and all that shit. And uh I can't hate her for that. Uh you know, I'm that that was a nice gesture. Um I I looked at it differently for years, but um, I'm too old to give a shit, honestly. And I I mean like she might hate me, but Stephanie, uh, if you're listening, uh that was that was pretty solid. Um I didn't see it then, but uh cheers. And if you hate me, well, I mean like that's on you. Uh uh my phone number is open in public. You can always call me and tell me I'm a piece of shit. I'll listen to you. It's all good. I don't hate you. Um anywho, moving forward. Uh I think that the ultimate biological victory wasn't just staying out of the courtroom, it it was outside. I mean, you've got March 3rd. Between 8:30 and 9 a.m. Yeah, I get these text messages from Kevin Fur asking me about do I steal mish with those as drinks? I mean, fuck out of here, dude. And I've already openly talked about comedians that have had actual addiction issues. I never had an addiction issue. Mine was always escape and partying. They were just like, and I'm not judging them saying it was worse. I mean, they're both equally fucked. Alright, they're both Pinocchio at the end, you're at Pleasure Island and you're a jackass. But I still love comedians like Sam Miller who speak brutal, unvarnished truths about recovery. Like, ghosts don't tap you on the shoulder when things are going great. They text you when you're standing on the edge of a cliff. And Kevin is sitting right down the hall for his own felony possession of cocaine hearing under North Carolina General Statute Section 90-95. And here is the audit. Alamance County Courthouse has banned cell phones inside the courtrooms. You can't take them in. We've already covered this. So that might mean Kevin was actively ignoring his own felony, standing outside, and trying to orchestrate a Crime Stopper's payout or a plea deal by baiting me into a meth transaction. I wouldn't have been able to do anyways, because I don't fucking use drugs anymore, dipshit. In my 20s, my dopamine receptors would have taken the bait in my 30s, yup, before Chiara, yup, during the custody case, and I was losing my mind, big yup. The trauma bond would have demanded the escape. But neuroplasticity is real. Your brain can rewire itself. So I sent the voice note. No, I absolutely do not. I called Judge Larry Brown's voicemail. The wrong judge, by the way. It was Judge Catherine Overby, like I said. But you know, if I knew it was her, I would have left it on her voicemail. And I waved my right to confront my accuser. Do you know what happens to a narcissist? Or you know what? Let's not throw that word around. I'm sorry. Do you know what happens to a piece of shit when they throw a party and the scapegoat doesn't show up? Their own toxicity has nowhere to go, but back into their own system. The one-year restraining order expired and they never renewed it. This is the second one. They didn't renew the first fucking one. That's because I think the fear was always a projection. Now I survived the ambush because I allowed my prefrontal cortex, the center of executive function, logic, and long-term planning, to maintain absolute dominance over my amygdala. I didn't give them the meltdown. I gave them silence. And then I took all that heavy, dark, catechloamine soaked energy. I sat down at my desk. Well, I made it a desk. It wasn't really a desk, it was just a table in a bedroom and a staying in f for uh a good portion of ten or eleven months. Um it was from uh June of 2025 until last week. Dear friends who took me in that uh I can never repay for what they've done for me. Allowed me to rebuild my life. I'll tell that story soon, too. I love you guys. You know who you are. I just don't know if I can talk about them openly. Um I'll I'm gonna ask them, of course, but they know who they are. They're a family. And in that room I put on my Stephen Slate VSX headphones, opened up Reaper, and starting turning their crimes into a permanent digital ledger. A punch is temporary. A class A1 misdemeanor fades. But an audited truth, routed, mixed, and mastered, that echoes forever. I get my freedom. I get my daughter, Chiara. Maybe one day I'll get to see Olivia again. This is Stephen Myers Jr. On the next episode. We go back to nineteen ninety-eight and my legal troubles with a computer and you really want to talk about when I ruined my life. When I ruined my life. I mean, I allege that when Bobby, um the son of Rose, the brother of Lisa in Lake Ariel, Pennsylvania, fucked me in the ass on top of the Hot Wheels toys. I'm five years old and he's 16. I allege when he did that to me, that's when my life was ruined. I'd put a bullet in that motherfucker's head if I could. Is what I wish I could say, but I don't do it. But we're gonna talk about how my life was ruined by me. Fuck that guy. Yeah, fuck you, Bobby. I hope I never see you. I hope you're dead. Like I hope you're fucking dead. I do. I do. I hope that if somebody in Lake Ariel hears this, they just smack the dog shit out of you. If you're still alive. I don't even give a fuck about catching charges for saying that. This I've made so many jokes about what that motherfucker did to me to cope with it and laugh so I wouldn't do something I regret or something criminal, or something immoral, you know, turning his life into a living Saw movie. And I was able to always walk away from the conversation, uh okay. Right now I'm not okay. I didn't realize reading that sentence would uh it's a hundred percent true. This this happened. This 100% happened. But that was when my life was ruined by somebody else. That destroyed my life. You know what? Actually, let's before I go, let's let's uh let's talk about that. Let's talk about what happens when somebody fucks you in the ass when you're five years old. When somebody molests you and you're a kid. Let's talk about that real quick, okay? Let's discuss what really happens when abuse takes place. At age five, right, the red line nervous system with hyper-arousal, the brain is in a state of massive neuroplasticity. When a child is molested, the amygdala, the brain smoke detector, becomes oversized and hypersensitive. And here's the result. As an adult, your baseline is high alert. Your body is constantly dumping cortisol and adrenaline into your system as if a threat is imminent, even when you're just sitting in a studio. This is why you feel emotionally drained. Your battery is constantly being used to power a defense system that never shuts off. Hippocampal volume reduction number two. The Hippocampus is responsible for processing memories and distinguishing between past and present. Chronic stress from early childhood trauma actually inhibits neurogenesis. The birth of new neurons in this area. So here's the fucking result. Trauma feels like it's happening now. A trigger in 2026 can make your brain re-enact or react rather with the same exact chemical intensity as it did in the 1990s. The brain loses its ability to file the fucking trauma away as old news. Number three, disruption of the free of the sorry motherfucker, I'm so pissed off right now. Number three, disruption of the prefrontal cortex. The PFC is the director or the engineer of the brain. It handles logic, impulse, impulse control, and emotional regulation. Yep. So early trauma weakens the neural pathways between the PFC and the amygdala. And here's the result it takes a massive exhausting amount of manual effort for me to stay logical, while a normal person's PFC regulates their emotions automatically. You have to work twice as hard to maintain that restraint you've been showing. And this is why you feel like you've run a fucking marathon after just doing anything, you know. I feel like I walked 10,000 miles after recording an episode. But the good thing about it is that once the episodes are done, I'm done. The story has to be told, and you have to pay the piper. Number four. Oh, yeah, there's more. Epigenetic alterations. Science now shows that extreme early trauma can actually change the way your genes are expressed. This is called epigenetics. It can alter the receptors for dopamine and serotonin. Here is the result. This often leads to a reward deficiency. It makes you more prone to seeking external regulators. Whether that's the dopamine hit from a video game, the calming effect of cannabis, or the intensity of a high-stakes legal battle, my brain is physically trying to find the chemical balance it was robbed of at age five. And now, number five, no pun intended, the betrayal blindness and social carding. When a child is victimized, it shatters the attachment system. Here's the result. As a man, this manifests as a profound difficulty with trust and an avoidant or disorganized attachment style. I become an expert at reading the room. That's hyper vigilant, but I also struggle with the feeling that the floor could fall out from underneath me at any second. It makes the betrayals of people like my father or friends feel like a biological threat rather than just a social disappointment. Okay? So what I'm experiencing isn't weakness or craziness, it's a physical injury to the brain that occurred just before I was old enough to defend myself. Try doing that shit to me now. So the fact that I'm using my prefrontal cortex, the logic center, yeah? To write these scripts and audit these people is a testament to how much work I've put into overriding a damaged system. Most men in my position would have let the amygdala take over a long time ago. Choosing to document the truth instead of succumbing to the fight response is me literally forcing my brain to heal itself through narrative. It's exhausting. Because I'm getting tired of rebuilding the bridge while I'm walking across it.