The Penny King's Blog Saturday, June 12th, 8:14 A.M. PST.
There have been some interesting developments in my life lately, and of course my whole life has been anything but dull.
Take my recent visit to Las Vegas where I must return on July 12th, 2004 to appear before a judge to explain what happened when my soon to be ex-wife bought a round trip ticket from Reno to LV in order to seize what she believed to be stolen property that belonged to a public company which I still control but now have to prove in court so people are not damaged by the massive fraud that she and three other co-conspirators have been and are continuing to be involved in.
It is really quite true that you really get to know who your real friends are when the chips are down, or in this case, when your entire life and empire are being blackballed and hog tied.
I happened to be staked out at the Las Vegas lounge, a place where a lot of drug dealers, cross-dressers and trannies hang out. In some cases, unless they were naked, you could not tell which ones were really men underneath.
I was always fascinated by the big deal many people in our society make out of a man changing himself into a woman and becoming just as bitchy as most American women tend to be, particularly just before that particular time of month when their natural body functions are expelling the dead.
While I was talking to one of these cross-dressers in the back seat of my car about the philosophy of transvestitism, I observed a hand reaching for the door handle of the drivers side where I was positioned behind.
We were just both commenting on the fact that many native American tribes had many of their clansmen dress up as females and become Shaman's in the process, and how the word itself once meant "Male Medicine Woman".
This was fascinating to me, but just as the heshe was about to explain to me why heshe liked to don women's clothing and make up, I spotted that hand attempting to open my car door with a key and instantly I flew into a rage.
The main reason for the rage I suppose was that this was not the first time that my soon to be ex-wife had taken my car or left me stranded in the middle of no where, taking away my freedom of choice as to who I would talk to, who I would befriend, who I would associate myself with, or how I would conduct my transporation needs.
My mother had a tough time with my freedom as well and had frequently enough banned me from hanging out with certain "people".
I had never met a woman as mean, cruel and ornery as my mother until I met Sandy, or Sandara as she endearingly likes to be called by her soon to be ex-husband.
The other factor in my sudden moment of temporary insanity was perhaps the fact that while we were in Oakland visiting Paul Mataras, she came up with a plot to accuse him of molesting my son as a way to get some of the property he had stolen from the public company back.
This was also something she had said about me in previous police reports which cost me about $3,500 in legal fees to get certain charges dropped, and she was terrified to testify because she knew she had lied to the police on at least three other occasions.
I never agreed to such a conspiracy but apparently after I left her in Reno with the children for what I thought would the last time, she decided to conspire with the other side of the fence.
In any event while we were there I got angry because she didn't like the multi- million dollar house I was trying to buy and resell from a Hungarian Doctor friend who was kind enough to let Paul live there while he transferred to Beverly Hills at a new medical practice he was to become a partner in.
Before then Paul was living in downtown Oakland in a back room about the size of a King sized bed and running a newstand and a candy store out on Webster.
Once when I went to visit him to discuss his proposed $50 million wi-fi technology for baseball stadium score keeping, he mentioned that the technology owned by the public company which I had hired him to become Secretary of after my wife couldn't get a clue on what needed to get done, would fit right in with his needs. That should have been my first red flag!
When I returned from that one of many trips to Oakland from Reno and back that good old melodramatic Sandara began insinuating that I was having an affair with Paul.
Despite his bragging to me about his manliness and his often easy conquests of attractive and seductive women, I was not impressed or in any way turned on by his presence, his mannerisms, or his general highly overweight appearance.
It was during that argument that I discovered she had a key to my $777 a month car, which was sort of a bargain when I bought it because I didn't have to make any payments for a year, wasn't being charged interest on my loan, nor did I have to put any kind of down payment on it.
When I turned around from my anger I demanded the key back. She insisted that she had thrown them in the bushes and I spent a good ten minutes rumaging in the Bushes next to Dr. Levay's house. I took her at her whining words.
An obvious lie designed to play me the fool and manipulate my life once again by playing her pissant power poker games, I was now enraged by the fact that some hand which by then I recognized as her's was attempting to open my car door which was in fact unlocked.
Imagine her surprise when I lept across the front seat in an attempt to lock the doors, but which by then I had failed because she realized the door was open and was pulling it about half an inch ajar, wherein I then lept out of the back seat and grabbed her by the shoulders as she attempted to climb in and take my car right from my presence.
Later she would claim that she was only trying to keep me out of trouble, but what happened next is even more bizarre.
As I pulled her out of my vehicle by the shoulders while she tried to climb in, she spun around and smashed the edge of the car door into my left lower rib cage.
Despite the pain, I managed to drag her away about five feet from the door as she concurrently bear hugged me (something she has done do our 8 year old son when he gets into a rage at her incessant nagging, criticism and complaining about his behaviour) and as I pushed her away from me she dramatically, as if it had been preorchestrated and acted out just for this big scene in front of the Tranny Lounge as I like to call it, she fell to her knees and grabbed hold of the back of my upper thighs and hung on for dear life.
From a distance it could have looked like she was giving me head but she hadn't done that in over a year, despite her incessant demands I go down on her between those 16 inch diameter thighs, something that has always thoroughly disgusted me about her.
Anyway, as I tried to pull away from the bear hug around my upper legs, my pants were torn so you could see half the crack of my ass cheek and a good portion of my right leg. I guess you could say I was willing to give my right leg to maintain control of my own vehicle.
Next thing I hear her screaming for "Help! Help! Help!" at the top of her lungs as I am trying to pull away from this animalist premenstral anti-hedonist and her knees start scraping the asphalt five feet away from the front door of my vehicle. But she hung on to the back of my ass for dear life. She knew I was determined to end our relationship and this was her way of saving it I suppose.
I looked at the open door of my car, my keys in my hand, and quickly thinking if I can only jerk this bloated ass chick off my legs I can escape her evil clutches one more final time.
But it wasn't to be, because as I looked beyond my car toward the front door of the Tranny Club, two of the security guards who worked there, (they were actually bouncers) started heading toward my vehicle. Try as I might, I could not escape the scene that was about to unfold.
I made one last ditch leap backwards and as I pulled away from her, she lost her balance and smacked her forehead on the pavement. Nothing serious really, but a nick enough to appear that she may have been stricken by something other than the desire to keep the person she supposedly loved from getting into trouble.
As I was free of her tenious grip for but a second, she did finally let go and stopped her incessant cries for help when I told her the security guards were coming.
Fortunately for the both of us, there were no witnesses to this big scene that certainly will wind up in someone's movie sooner than later.
What happened then, even I could not have imagined or made up, but nonetheless it happened to me and it has taught me one very valuable lesson.
The security bouncers called the Las Vegas Police Department. Five minutes later I was telling my version of what had just happened to three police officers who arrived in three different cars. All together about six vehicles showed up.
By then, Sandara had told her version of the story with grievous drama and lots of tears. Her story was that I had stolen some property belonging to a public company and I was planning on selling it and she was there to recover it on behalf of the company.
Now what business she had with that public company is very interesting because she didn't do a darn thing for it, owned no stock in it, was never really formally hired to do anything for it, and even after this incident she tried to distance herself from it by asking me to sign something that would state she was never an officer or director of the company.
She she did manage however to engage in certain acts that assisted in causing the stock price to collapse, driving my indirectly controlled net worth from over $60 million to a $2 million negative net worth within a 60 day period.
That aspect of the story will need to come out later but for now, suffice it to say that at the very least she will get caught in all her lies when she is forced to testify in front of a grand jury for all of the high crimes of the past ten years that she committed since I have known her, starting with the money laundering she did even before I met her.
After being handcuffed and further discussion between the officers and Sandra Leigh Sargent Gabor Acs (one of several different aliases she uses) it was determined by a vote of no confidence in my side of the story (he was in the back seat of a car with a Tranny who bolted the scene of an attempted crime) that I should be booked into the Clark County jail.
Now some people know my sleeping habits and she in particular can, if she is honest enough and willing to cooperate for the sake of her two children who may well wind up in a foster home if not allowed to see their father again, attest to the fact that I sometimes run a 24 hour on, 4 off and 24 hour on again shift on my research and writing career path.
It so happened that I had been contemplating becoming a cab driver, an undercover police officer, or a private investigator depending on my qualifications and I had been seeing how good I could get at finding a meth lab and a cook.
By then I had given enough of the local trannies, most of whom use crystal meth in their prostitution operations, rides home that I had learned quite a bit about the underworld in Las Vegas.
In fact I had not had any sleep in about 24 hours and was planning on getting some sleep after giving this cross dresser a ride back to his wife at his room at the Sahara.
The officers had asked me why I kept rubbing my left rib before they had handcuffed me and I explained to them that I had a hernia and had been smacked hard by the front door of my car in the struggle that had just taken place.
As I was being led to the squad car, all I can remember is the extreme excruciating pain I felt as my hands were being crushed by my back as it slammed against the asphalt and my legs went into a sort of involuntary sideways jiggish dance.
I had passed out and landed on my back handcuffed. When I was finally able to turn sideways to get my hands out from under my back, I passed out again, such was the magnitude of the pain.
I remember floating above my body, seeing it lying there with a crowd of people now standing in front of the lounge with more people pouring out to see what all the horrible sounding painful screaming coming from a male was about.
I could barely make out the whimpering sounds of my wife as she stood off in the distance watching her half dead husband finally get loaded onto a guerney, face up but still handcuffed, and shoved into an ambulance. I heard the roaring thunder of a fire truck in the background as it drove off.
The medico's inside the ambulance were a riot. As one of them shoved something way up to the back of my nose while joking with two others about whether I was a crack head, speed freak or a faggot, (I am none of the above) it felt like someone was jamming an ice pick up both my nostrils when I slammed back into my body once again in excruciating pain.
As I writhed my hands away from the front of me toward my face I managed to yank whatever felt like a six inch double plastic tube out of my brain and nostrils while the medicos and the officer laughed and cried, "He's not unconscious!"
I then passed out again only to realize when I began to come to that I had vomitted all over the guerney which then renauseated me further to the point that I was coughing and gagging so hard I passed out once again.
I came to slightly as one of the arresting officers who apparently followed the ambulance to the hospital grabbed my hand and said "This is to make sure you show up in court" and proceeded while using my hand with a pen jammed into it to sign my name on the citation which charged me with "Minor assault against my wife."
This was not to be the end of the ordeal, it was merely the beginning. When I arrived at the hospital they poked me full of holes and put me on intravenous feeding. Blood samples were taken.
After catching up on about 8 hours sleep I awoke to a nice meal after which I had asked one of the nurses for various things like towels, soap, and hot water so I could get the vomit off my chest.
After bathing myself, I was cold and asked for another blanket so I could go back to sleep. I was still half dead tired.
I began to criticise the nurse who was rudely looking at me every time I asked for something and was reluctant to act on my requests in any manner close to prompt and courteous.
I believe my statement to her was "maybe you should get out of the nursing profession with that kind of attitude" and after repeated polite requests following that snide comment by me and her continuing to ignore me deliberately I finally yelled "You're fired, now can another more responsible professional nurse please bring me some water."
Apparently the entire floor and patients there in the emergency wing heard me, and some even snickered and chuckled, and moments later "Nurse Wratchet" showed up with a security guard who locked me down to my bed with some sort of straight jacket.
She seemed to take great joy while injecting me with some unknown sedative that knocked me out against my will for another what seemed like 24 hours.
When I finally awoke I was told I would be released to a safe house and would be driven there for further recovery.
Fortunately for me I didn't see nurse Wratchet around any more thank goodness.
Then to top off the entire wasted weekend, (I was booked into the hospital on Friday night and got out Sunday afternoon), while I was sitting in a wheel chair in the out patient area, waiting for what seemed like hours, I passed out again and slumped onto the floor.
What brought me to concsciousness was an orderly who had grabbed the fatty part of my underarms with his thumb and forefinger and proceeded to lift me off the floor and slide me back into the wheelchair. The pain left two huge bruises under both my arms that made it look like someone had blasted me with a softball.
When I finally arrived at the safe house hours later, I was interviewed and told that because I did not have a drug problem and had not done drugs recently I could not stay, and after obtaining a clean pair of pants from their lost and found bin, I left there and proceeded to walk 8 miles to the airport.
No one in Las Vegas picks up hitchhikers, I didn't feel like taking the bus and after that nightmarish ordeal I needed a very long walk.
My wife had taken my car back to Reno and when I told her on the collect phone call that Sunday about what had happened in the hospital she must have felt sorry for me and she made a flight reservation for me to walk.
By the time I got to the airport however, we had had an argument over the phone and she had cancelled the flight. That's when I started buying pennies for a nickel and got myself situated in Las Vegas.
I managed to walk back to the Crown Plaza Hotel on Paradise Road, a fitting place for a Penny King who is as hedonistic as they come.
A woman who was using their free internet service like I was and who was without a house or a place to live told me that the sauna stayed open for 24 hours a day and I could sleep in there without being detected by security for the building so that is where I spent the next six nights, in the sauna of the Crown Plaza Hotel.
And she was right, I was never detected. Las Vegas gets very cold at night being in the desert around April. It is amazing to me what some of us must go through just to survive in what used to be the greatest free nation on earth.
The same woman told me about the food at the Residence Inn just up the street.
"Just walk in their like you own the place and help yourself to all you can eat, they usually have good breakfast and dinner varies between chile and stuffed baked potatoes."
I had purchased several pennies from her for a nickel each and she loved the reasons I was doing it.
She even gave me a long rundown on all the free shuttle services between various casinos after she observed the giant blisters on both my feet.
So I must thank the Residence Inn and Mr. Marriot for his thinking about people and their welfare and allowing me the opportunity to be fed while I was down on my luck in Vegas.
And thanks to the management and security of the Crown Plaza for the free internet and warm 8 hours for six nights suana given to a man who could have half frozen to death on the streets of Vegas.
Most people who know me understand that I am not a gambler but after gambling the past ten years away on this relationship I think any man and even the majority of women would agree that this relationship is over and should have been over ten years ago. Some of us just get love and sanity confused.
It is better to love someone from a distance than to subject oneself to the insanity and psychosis of an abusive relationship. That is the great lesson I have learned from this incident. I hope you the reader learn from it as well.
P.S. If you like my writings, feel free to pass this story on to other men who might be having similar problems with their spouses. My legal team is open for additional business. You can never have too many trusted friends and loyal partners in this world when the time comes to execute your business plans.
Market Data 
Markets 
AI
