On a sweltering July day in 2001, Ken Gomes mother finally murdered his abusive father. Some people think her tipping point was when the repugnant control freak refused to pay to have the broken air conditioner repaired in the middle of a summer heat wave. They were fat with cash, he did it just to piss her off and it worked great on a 105 degree day in Woodland Hills. He cut off his nose to spite his face and did such a good job he ended up getting himself killed in the process.
Now he was laying dead in his own bed with six bullets in his head from his own gun. The wife he kept financially and intellectually isolated from the world held the gun to her head and clicked away as the hammer only dry fired upon the spent casings. Her husband had prevented her from learning anything about money, paying bills, life or guns and so she didn’t realize that she was simply out of bullets. “Oh God!”, she death rattled, “Now I’m dead and in hell!”
Free At Last
The police investigation determined that they probably laid in that bed together for twenty-four hours until she finally figured out how to reload the gun. Then she sang a little song, did a little dance, and blew her brains out. It was the only thing that girl ever truly did on her own. A few days later Ken’s brother did a welfare check and found the bodies baking on their bloody bedroom battlefield.
LOS ANGELES TIMES | CALIFORNIA | LOCAL
Explanations Offered for Murder-SuicideJuly 12, 2001 |A history of domestic discord may have compelled a 67-year-old Woodland Hills woman to fatally shoot her husband and then take her own life, police said Wednesday. Lillian A. Gomes shot and killed her husband, Charles Gomes, 71, before shooting herself at the couple’s home in the 5300 block of Dubois Ave., said Officer Ladonna Cissell of the Los Angeles Police Department. The two had been married for 49 years, but neighbors said Charles Gomes could often be heard shouting at his wife.
Ken Gomes Plans His Own Murder
Some people think Ken Gomes is trying to get one of his gay lovers to murder him and then commit suicide. It almost happened to his lover Glenn Nelson who moved out of the Balinese jungle house and it almost happened to me. Ken Gomes tried to get me to murder him but I refused to take the bait. My life in the gay social scene was beginning a slow decline that would take a few years and then I would finally be set free of the emotional disease of gay promiscuity. I would rather look at women online and masturbate in the privacy of my own home than be involved with most of what passes for gay life. It feels good to be an old man, safe at home. I have been around the block enough times. I don’t need to meet any more gay people or learn any new gay fetish lifestyles.
Bungle in the Jungle
When I was working for Ken one of my jobs was to find a new pool cleaner. A prospective cleaner I was describing the job to said, “Wait a minute, is this that jungle house with all the parrots and cockatoos?” When I replied in the affirmative my prospective pool cleaner blurted out, “Fuck that guy!” and hung up on me.
Escape From Murder-Suicide
One of the greatest things about moving out of Dr. Allen’s house is that my jock itch went away. The secondary benefit was having my privacy in the form of living in my RV in my RV mechanic’s repair lot in Hawthorne. Hawthorne, California, home of the Beach Boys.
Medically Supervised Homosexuality
The Monday before Thanksgiving 2012 I was working in my RV/Paralegal Office, when Dr. Allen called and asked me to come to Ken Gomes house in the Valley for a shaving ritual party. I politely declined because I had already made plans to masturbate in my RV. The good doctor called me repeatedly and I finally relinquished and drove to the Gomes residence. I have written two or three blogs about this already. The point of this article is that if I had of continued my relationship with Ken Gomes it could have ended up in a medically supervised murder-suicide.
Gay Crime Zone Palm Springs
Another potential crime scene that I somehow managed to avoid is the criminal residence of Jeffrey R. Cowan at 200 East Racquet Club Road, Unit #200, Palm Springs, California. I was forced to issue a citizen’s arrest restraining order against Mr. Cowan for stealing my Nissan Sentra, Lenovo laptop and Samsung flat screen.
Cured by Swallowing the Poison
Mr. Jeffrey Cowan, CPA, is another gay man who constantly complains about his mother. Cowan actually helped cure me of the sick and dirty forms of homosexual mental disease by functioning as a form of immunization. Cowan tried to get me to murder him but I refused. I just moved out instead. By curing me of diseased gay life Jeff Cowan did me a huge favor. The repulsiveness gay life is the thing that saves me from it now. I am really and truly afraid of catching a sexual or emotional disease. I got the best of gay life and to continue would be to court disaster. I have dodged every gay bullet so far and so now I will stay safe and home and practice advanced anal masturbation. The only contact I would like with my former sexologist Dr. Paul Allen is to experience the schadenfreude of observing his hunched, waddling, grotesque countenance. I need to hear Dr. Allen explain his hypothesis that he is gay because his mother scrubbed his penis too hard when he was a baby.