Riding in Cars with Diabolical Rapists

Before tossing out an unread newspaper a week or two ago, I browsed through, making sure I didn't miss out on a celebrity scandal, a relative's death, or a new way that the President has devised to screw this country. While I didn't find anything like that, one headline did catch my eye: Rapist Gets Life Plus 25 Years. Granted, it is kind of vague but you wonder what kind of brutality could lead to such a sentence, so I read on.

Rapist gets life plus 25 years
By Robert Patrick
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
02/10/2008

St. Louis — A man who brutally raped a woman in her Dogtown home and beat her with a baseball bat — then called her boyfriend to gloat— was sentenced Friday evening to life plus 25 years in prison.

James Thomas Fujimoto, 26, broke into the home of the woman, then 23, in the 6300 block of Berthold Avenue on Sept. 1, 2002, struck her repeatedly in the head with a bat, then sodomized and raped her for three hours. At one point he said, "Tell me you love me," Assistant Circuit Attorney Mary Pat Benninger told St. Louis Circuit Judge Philip Heagney.

After Fujimoto left the woman's apartment, he called her boyfriend. "He wanted him to see it," Benninger said. "He wanted him to know what he'd done."

Fujimoto pleaded guilty last month to forcible rape, forcible sodomy, assault and robbery charges on the day his trial was supposed to begin.

The attack was so violent that the woman had to have about one-third of her face reconstructed. She still suffers vertigo from crushed ear canals, officials said, and has since moved.

Benninger called Fujimoto a predator and a sadist and said he was excited by violence and fueled by control. He had stalked the victim and was also stalking other women, she said, and was "beyond rehabilitation."

Fujimoto apologized for the "horrible thing" he'd done and told Heagney that he had broken into the woman's apartment to burglarize it, not to rape her.

Fujimoto was arrested in 2005 after a DNA sample from the crime scene matched a sample collected from him as he was being paroled from prison on other charges.

I immediately recognized the name. I went to high school with this nut job for 3 years. I sat at the same lunch table as this cocky S.O.B. with this the chess team and computer club, neither of which I was a member of, yet they were one of the few groups I felt comfortable around. He didn't fit in with them either, but if how I felt about him was any indication, he was too annoying for any others to deal with him. He wasn't complete reject though. He tried to have his way with the ladies, and I'm sure he did at times.

Did anyone see this coming though? I certainly didn't think too much of him, but hardly ever do you consider people around you to be capable of such psychotic episodes. I mean, I now know of someone that is in prison for life for some heinous things.

When I saw Jim's name though, I thought back to around 2005, when I was working as a fertilizer merchandiser, such a respectable profession. I was having lunch at a nearby Burger King with a coworker. As we left, I noticed Jim on a pay phone outside, so I mumbled "Hey Jim" as I passed him. He screamed back some name that wasn't my own, but that got us talking about high school.

Now I try not to hold how folks were in high school against him, so I was congenial with the guy. He told me that he didn't have a car and that his sick grandmother was not answering the phone. He proceeded to ask me for a ride home, which was about 15 minutes away. Since my job didn't necessarily require my presence, I agreed. He told me he'd give me some gas money once we got there. My coworker didn't have much of a choice and tagged along.

I don't remember too much of the conversation. I'm sure it was your typical small talk about the good ol' days. Who do you still talk to? Have you heard about or have you seen so-and-so? And of course, he still rubbed me the wrong way.

When we arrived at his destination, he left his orange windbreaker in my car and ran inside. He left the front entrance open and left us waiting. We proceeded to wait for at least 10 minutes. After some discussion with my coworker, we decided to take off. We couldn't figure out what was going on. He obviously wasn't in a hurry to give me gas money and if something was wrong with grandma, I would assume he would run back out to us for assistance.

After reading the article, which deals with an incident that happened before this occassion, I wonder if that was his house, if there was a grandma, and even if that windbreaker was his, which I gave away to a friend of mine.

I researched further on his crime.

Man pleads guilty to brutal rape in Dogtown
By Robert Patrick
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
01/08/2008

St. Louis — James Thomas Fujimoto, 26, admitted Monday that he was responsible for the violent rape and baseball-bat beating of a woman in her Dogtown neighborhood home in 2002.

Fujimoto, of St. Louis County, acknowledged that he broke into her home in the 6300 block of Berthold Avenue on Sept. 1, 2002.

He beat the then-23-year-old woman in the head with an aluminum baseball bat, then sodomized and repeatedly raped her for three hours.

Fujimoto's trial was supposed to begin Monday, but he pleaded guilty of forcible rape, forcible sodomy, first-degree assault and first-degree robbery rather than face a jury.

Assistant Circuit Attorney Mary Pat Benninger told Circuit Judge Philip Heagney that she plans to ask for two consecutive life terms for the crime.

Fujimoto had the victim try to bathe away any physical evidence and then raped her again, Benninger said in court. He stole money from her piggy bank and took the keys to her car before leaving.

Fujimoto was not the first man arrested in connection with the crime. A drifter found near the crime scene confessed to the attack but was released after his DNA did not match semen found at the scene.

Fujimoto was arrested in 2005 based on a DNA match. His DNA was in the Missouri database because of a recently changed state law that expanded DNA taking to all convicted felons in Missouri, not just the violent ones.

He was serving time on second-degree burglary and attempted burglary convictions from 1999. He also has been convicted of tampering with a motor vehicle in Franklin County, and fraudulent use of a credit device in St. Louis County.

Fujimoto, who dropped out of school in the 11th grade but later got his high school equivalency certificate and attended some college classes, still faces a stealing charge in St. Louis County.

The victim sat about 10 feet from him during Monday's plea hearing, at times staring at him and at times crying. The attack was so violent that she had to have about one-third of her face reconstructed, and she still suffers vertigo from crushed ear canals, officials said.

She has since moved.

So to make it creepier, he was originally arrested for this incident the year I gave him that ride and probably not too long after, considering that was during the summer that I did him the favor. You never know with people, but you should probably follow that intuition. I didn't have the intuition that he was a brutal rapist, but that he was generally a loser, and perhaps that should have been good enough.

When I broke this story to those I went to school with, I received quite a few messages from shocked females, some even stating that they had crushes on him back in the day. It's fortunate that they left it at that, but makes me wonder what else he may have done out there.

In Memoriam

8 years ago on this day, my brother Matt passed away.

Remember to cherish those you have while they're here and even when they're gone.

Facebook member? Join our cause.

My Dogter, The Victim

After an easy day at work last week, the wife and I decided to take our dogter for a walk and pick up dinner while we were out. Gray skies loomed overhead though in a physical and metaphorical sense.

We arrived at our local St. Louis Bread Co. (Panera Bread to non-St. Louisans--yes, it is ours) with a light drizzle falling. My wife went inside to order the eats. I took Sadie, our boxer, over to some sidewalk seating to wait. A rough looking homeless man was at the table adjacent to ours.

"That's a boxer, right?"

"Yep."

At that point, I was actually quite impressed that he recognized her breed, considering most people think she is a pit bull for some reason. He asked me to bring her over, to which I did. He pet her and seemed so pleased. I was happy to make an unfortunate person's day for a minute even. He explained how he had a full bred boxer as a child. Her name was Sadie too. He kept saying how good looking my Sadie was.

My wife came out while waiting for her pager to go off signalling the food was ready. The man told us we should breed Sadie, but we said she was fixed. He kept saying he didn't understand no matter how many times and different ways we tried to explain it. She needed a companion, he kept saying. She needs a man.

She was perfect though. The right color and everything.

The rain started to come down. We moved under the little bit of shelter available outside the front entrance. My wife went inside to check on the grub.

The man followed Sadie and I and pet her as we stood in the rain, which was quickly appearing to be a monsoon. She sit and let him do so. It felt good to put a smile on his face. He did ask for money, but I explained we didn't carry cash on our walks, which was true. He seemed to take it okay and said he knew we were good folks and would give to him if we could.

My wife started coming outside with dinner, but the rain was starting to come down sideways, so we moved into the lobby area of the establishment. Yes, we had our dog, but these were special circumstances. Once again, the homeless man followed. He had a seat towards the rear of the area while we stood closer to the door.

We watched the winds collapse umbrellas on three different people. It didn't look like we'd be moving anytime soon. We thought about calling my mother-in-law who lives closeby, but that was nixed because we didn't have pocket space to bring a phone.

He called Sadie to him to pet her and I smiled at him. His voice was rough. It had a Black Jesus quality to it.

She stuck her butt right out at him, waiting for him to pet it. The homeless man obliged and rubbed her beautiful coat. So perfect. He took one look at her positioning and told us, "She's horny, see."

"No, she just is friendly and wants attention," I replied.

A woman walked through the lobby. She glanced down at Sadie and the man and made a gruesome face. Confused, I smiled back. She ran into the rain, turning back at us and screaming something unintelligible. I looked down at the two new friends and the man was rubbbing my dogter's genitals. There was full motion that made it easily identifiable, yet unbelievable. I was in shock. He had reached third base with her, with us present.

If someone were to present the situation as a hypothetical, I'd say I'd stomp on his crotch, kick him in the face, and tell him off. The shock of the situation overcame us though. I yanked Sadie away and stared into the storm. Never would my wife run out into something like that, but she agreed and we did.

We screamed as we ran through the rains across the busy street. We had to run what had just happened by eachother to confirm it. I felt horrible and disgusted. I felt guilt for not annihilating the animal that I thought I was just being friendly to by letting him pet my dog.

It all made sense. He kept saying she was perfect and needed a companion. I think he already had an agenda. Having no home and not being able to afford a prostitute, what's a guy like that to do? I would never come to the conclusion of getting his jollies from a dog in front of its owners, but now I can.

We raced home throught the storm, which was still close to full force. We felt disgusting and wondered what Sadie was thinking. Once we arrived home we put our wet dinner to the side and gave Sadie a hot bath to rid her of any of that man's germs. I thought about what exactly he was doing back there. Did he stick to one entry point? How long was he doing that before we caught on? Does this make me a horrible father?

It's been a while since this happened, but it still affects me when I look at my dog or go near that part of the neighborhood where this occured. My wife doesn't want to discuss it and is considering leaving the neighborhood, which we couldn't imagine ourselves leaving until this incident. So when walking you best friend, be weary of where folks are petting, and stay away from those that may be needing some sexual healing.

My dogter, the victim

This Day in Diabeto History: 10 Years Ago

10 years ago today, Princess Diana died. I had no attachment towards her, but for some reason, the event brought out a lot of what other crap was going on in my life. I watched the 24 hour coverage of the tragedy after returning home from a trip to Vintage Vinyl with friends. I did overhear a worker say something like "Did you hear about Princess Diana's car crash? Apparently her boyfriend's dead and she's looking pretty bad." And by the time we got to my house, pretty bad went to pretty dead.

I was transfixed by the news coverage for some reason. Yes, maybe I am the guy that slows down to look at an accident. It's because of my concern for the folks involved. I don't really know why, but I grabbed a notebook and started scribbling away, even with company around me in my parents' basement. It probably had to do with intense reading of Jim Carroll and Jim Morrison poetry at the time.

For the next 2 or 3 years, I filled notebooks of this stuff. Sometimes it doesn't seem too bad. It at least helps archive my mindstate during some tumultuous high school years. What I wrote from that span around Di's death is below. I may post more at a later time.

i. Labor Day Weekend

Yesterday Diana died
I’m a petty, preteen eighth grader.
Irish girls give mean head
in the midst of seratonin shortages.
Needy muscular distrophy patients begging
in the night, Princess Di—deceased, and the bleached diabetic needs sleep. Sidney Omarr is idolized... under pitch black martian skies; playboy Egyptians crushed.
Jealousy is heavy in the oxygen, crotchless underwear jokes give belly laughs, the Princess of Wales is dead.

ii. The Weekend After

Mr. Omarr can kiss my ass in hell,
the A.C. can’t return my splendor.
But anyway, my mother in Calcutta passed—synchronicity reigns the night.
Replacement spectacles can misrepresent emotions, another loved one rides into the sunset.
Underbellies of sasquatches frighten my inner child—
I’m a lad in a fetal position—whining and waling—
someone come and rescue me,
someone grab my hand,
I need to feel the touch of human flesh.
[Did you hear Diana died?]
I strive for a happiness I once knew... there’s a black hole sucking at my Paxil.
Forgive Diabeto for being so selfish; his passion for a returning paradise is no longer at an underground status.
Next in the series of three, the stars point to the Pope or myself.
Cocks and pimples stare at me... singeing the hairs on my anal passage.
The Irish mumble and I remain silent.
What future lies ahead for endocrine patients?

Jorblessness and the Measure of Success

I received two passionate responses to "Things Have Changed", a posting in which I dwelled upon the success of NBA players younger than I and compared it to where I am now in my life. I thank Jeremy and Sergio for being consistent readers and for looking out for the Diabeto.

I didn't mean for it to seem like my measure of success is solely based on money. Those b-ballers and shot callers aren't the greatest people on earth, even the best athletes. Considering my plight though, and looking at things from my side of the fence, it would be nice to have some cash, and those boys seem to get it easy.

The posting also dealt with the flow of life, how things can be a certain way for a while, then suddenly change. It certainly keeps things interesting, but can also be a pain in the ass.

I cannot ask for sympathy. Several job leads have come my way, which I have passed upon simply because they were too similar to my last situation. I'd rather keep looking because the taste in my mouth is still pretty friggin' bitter. The "Ramp Down" effect, as the leaked memo from my former employer referred to it as, took me down hard. I don't understand why companies need to change the wording of these things so much when they could just say, "We're downsizing to keep the greenbacks coming", or "Instead of skimming from the bottom of our seniority, we're skimming pond scum...and you're it."

As Sergio suggested, mooching meals works well and keeps the wife fed and happy. She has found employment, but unfortunately the checks won't be seen for weeks, given the time she entered the pay cycle and the stage of the moon at that point.

I am certain that this is all for the better. When you have to create a fictional world of mobsters and intrigue to cover the boring nature of a job as a glorified stockboy, it's probably better off to cut loose. That isn't to say the job didn't have any intrigue, but I'm not so sure that "Secrets of the Retail Servicing World" could bump the ratings juggernaut of "Internet Predators Caught".

It is disturbing to me though, that my charismatic self could be shaved off of the donkey, leaving behind men that torture innocent animals by stomping on them and dragging their feet, leaving behind a bloody mess.

And that's the truth.

Things Have Changed

"People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care, but things have changed."

--Bob Dylan, Things Have Changed

Bobby is right, times are strange. And it's odd how I can gauge that. Last night, the annual draft for the NBA occured. That is when the general managers and other head honcho's for the 30 teams in the National Basketball Association get together to pick players from college teams and other international organizations to better their own teams.

For some reason, even though I am not always the biggest fan of watching basketball on TV, I get a great kick out of the business of it. That goes for a lot of sports. In fact, when I play the video game versions, I spend more time on the business aspect of thins than playing the actual games.

I began watching the NBA draft in 1992, for 2 primary reasons--Shaquille O'neal and Anthony Peeler. Shaquille was touted as an animal athelete. He was 7 feet and 1 inch tall and around 300 pounds of man. The Orlando Magic drafted him with the first pick, which they earned through a lottery of the worst teams. He was to be their savior. Shaq did take them to the NBA Finals during the 1995-96 season, but left them in the following offseason for the L.A. Lakers.

During that 1992 NBA Draft, the Lakers selected Anthony Peeler with the 15th pick. Peeler was from the University of Missouri, and the first big pick from my area since Anthony Bonner went to the Sacramento Kings as the 23rd pick in the 1990 Draft. It was exciting since this type of thing didn't happen often. Peeler's career hasn't amounted to much, except for him being a solid player to have off the bench. He did lead the league in three point field goal percentage during the 2003-04 season with the Washington Wizards.

We know where Shaq's career has gone. He just nabbed his 4th NBA title ring with the Miami Heat, the team he left the Lakers for in 2004 after some public feuding with Kobe Bryant.

Since that amazing draft in 1992 that reeled me into the drama of the business of sports, professional basketball in particular, I have watched it every year, at least the first round, since. Keep in mind, I am not the jocky, sporty type of guy. I fit into a more dorky, nerdy mold, if any.

During my high school years, this annual observance involved my good friend, Picklehead, who shared the same passion as I did. We even incorporated the video games, by creating many of the drafted players and trying them out on their new teams. After I graduated, I still watched, but with less enthusiastic parties, that laughed at me for my enjoyment of the business and not the sport itself.

It still was a ritual for me that lasted until this year. It wasn't because the prospects for the draft weren't as good, which they weren't. It wasn't that I didn't have anyone to share my love for it with, which I haven't in a while. My wife thinks it is silly, as much as some of my previous friends have.

Things have changed though.

I have moved out of my parents' place, becoming more independent, but with that, poorer and without cable. Now I am married and currently jobless.

I did have the internet to keep up to date on the happenings of the Draft, but it wasn't the same. Seeing names appearing on my screen wasn't like watching it all unfold with predictions from commentators and interviews with the draftees, who are now all younger than me, and once their name is announced, much richer than I will ever be.

That's how this country works though. In a way, it is still a beautiful thing. Within seconds, one can become a millionaire, based on athletic prowess, or some other talent, which probably doesn't deserve a pile of money. We pay to see their show for us, though, whether it be professional basketball or some rock star playing a guitar on a stage of pyrotechnics, because it's an escape from the nonsense of our daily lives. We can't bash them for that, because we fund their lives.

I think I'll go shoot some hoops now...shit...can't, I have a job interview.

The Angry Rant of a Downsized Diabeto

Since I am angry, there are things I must address. My analyst says it would be healthy and wise.

To my landlady:

The grass is 3 weeks grown again. Tiny little trees are sprouting that Bob Ross would be proud of--god rest his soul. I refuse to pick up my dog's dung anymore until it is cut, especially considering the insects that now inhabit the wilderness that is the backyard I put rent money towards. They got a healthy lunch in the form of my shins and calves.

In other news, a month and a day after my nuptials, the Don informs me that a week from yesterday will be my last with the company. The official word is that someone had to be downsized. The unofficial word is that, well, I guess my thoughts on that will wait until I separate from the company.

I did think though, as an observation, that downsizing usually skimmed from the bottom of the totem pole. Considering where I am on the ladder of seniority, that theory certainly wouldn't work here. It makes one wonder who to believe and trust.

Since, being put it this lonely and awkward position by a company I put a good 9 months in for, I have no choice but to dissolve the Italian Retail Service, including the honorary Pinoy wing. This will take effect immediately.

Now what do I do during my lame duck week with the company? It feels strange putting forth effort for an organization that deemed me unfit, or too pooped to pop for them. Speaking of that, why is it that it is respectable for employees to give employers two weeks notice, but the employees are not given such respect? Rodney Dangerfield hit the nail on the head with a big ol' Ludell sledgehammer.

Why must business be such a dirty thing? Why must drama and politics infiltrate every aspect of life? I know money has a lot to do with this, because profits are the bottom line. One guy goes, more money is saved. Riddle me this though...what happens to his money while the fat cats add more greenbacks to their bubbly money baths? I'm sure there are plenty more sob stories of those that were spared, but thinking of myself for a moment, I'm trying to start a new life here as a married man, and this is a hell of a fungus ridden foot to start it off on. To continue the analogy, whose gonna be my BOOM!--Tough Actin' TINACTIN?

Save me John Madden.

This also makes me wonder, what do rich people dream about? Apparently our President has plenty of time to dream. It must be alot easier in positions of power, in which your decisions have no effect on your place in life, except maybe bringing you closer to all of those virgins in heaven. I only hope that if the virgins exist, that they are packs of angry nuns. And they'll give them physicals too. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Like it was for Corky on Life Goes On,

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da, Life Goes On, whoa, la-la-la-la, Life Goes On.