TRUE CRIME STORY #1

This is the tale of how Robyn Smith almost got murdered, or is already dead.

So I logged onto MySpace while my ex-girlfriend was at work. It was 2005. I was twenty years old and hadn’t seen this girl named Robyn since I was fourteen in this rehab in Louisiana, but now that MySpace had just come out, I wondered if I might be able to find her.

So I frantically search for her all over MySpace but there’s like a million Robyn Smiths (which isn’t her real name but it’s just as generic). Then one day I FUCKIN FIND HER!!!!!

DOOOPPPPPPPPE!!!

So I send her a TRILLION friend requests but she keeps turning me down cause she looks like a porn star and I’m thinkin fuck, she must get twenty requests per second from weird dudes all day plus I don’t look a damn thing like I did when I was fourteen when she knew me… or maybe I did?  Shit who knows, but point is she kept denying my shit.

But this ONE time… I sent her another fuckin request, the eighty billionth request, but this time with a note that said

‘did you go to a rehab called New Beginnings?’

And

BOOM!

I get a note back from her.

‘OMG GREG?!?!

and she left her number… So I called her, no answer. Then she called me, but I was waiting tables at Osteria Laguna on 42nd and third in Manhattan. We finally get ahold of each other.

“GRAIG?!?!” (she had serious twang)

“ROBYN!”

“ARE YEW GAIGH (gay)???”

Literally, that was the FIRST thing she asked me. If I was fuckin gay.

“Huh? No why?”

“CUZ YEW LOOK GAIGH!!!”

I guess I did look kinda gay? I dunno but I explained to her for like an hour that I wasn’t gay and how I was just an actor (cause back then I was an actor) with gay headshots and that the gay profile pic that I had was just another gay headshot.

So I told her she needed to come visit me but only after I explained that I had this girlfriend I been living with for four years. She didn’t give a flyin Fig Newton and got some rich dude to fly her up to New York and she fucked him at the Bryant Park Hotel and as SOON as the dude left to hop on another plane to like Hong Kong or some shit, I get the call.

“He’s gawn.”

“On my way.”

So I leave Harlem where I crashed out the night before on my boy V’s couch and hightail it to the Bryant Park Hotel at like ten in the morning.

Then I saw her.

Holy shit.

I didn’t even know women were made like that. She greeted me at the rotating door and soon as I walked in the hotel clerk dude says we can’t go back up to her room cause checkout time was now.  But I push her back in the elevator anyway determined to get like… I dunno… Ten mins to try an fuck her? Yeah, somethin like that.

So we get in the elevator and disregard the hotel dude clerk guy.

She took me to the presidential suite or whatever, the enormous room reserved for royalty that she stayed in the night before. I tried to get a ten minute waiver from the hotel dude cause he had followed us up to the room to make sure we didn’t try and go back inside the room, which we did, but he said fuck no and finally kicked us out.

So Robyn says she needs a dirty martini. It was like half past ten in the morning, like I said, and most bars were still closed, I think they couldn’t serve booze till like noon or somethin, but I found this one white-trash bar in Hells Kitchen on like 43rd and Ninth underneath this overpass that’s open.

So we walked in to the bar and—

—SCREEEEEEEEEECH.

Everybody stops what they’re doing.

There’s like ten alcoholics in there. Even in New York City nobody had ever seen a girl that looked like Robyn.

She pays no attention and goes straight to the bartender and the bartender looks her up and down and says “Hi doll face”.

Then she replies

“Oooowwweeee!!! Doll face!!! Yer sweet, you know that?” And she smiles at him like she might start blowing him on the spot. Then she keeps on goin “Yer a handsome sexy man-” By the way… this was NOT a handsome sexy man… “I’ll have two dirty martinis yew sexy man yew, two for me and— whattayew want Graig?”

she kept callin me ‘Gray-g’… whatever…

So I ordered the same but my voice came out as a whimper once I realized how literally insignificant my life had become ever since strolling into that bar with a porn star lookin hooker-talkin southern bell. Anyway, yeah, two martinis. By now it’s like 11AM or somethin.

“How dirty you want that martini sweethahrt?” The bartender asks Robyn, completely ignoring me.

“ggooooooLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEYYY!!! just listen to that sexy New York accent… Mmmmm”

What a hooker.  I thought she might have an orgasm at the bar. Then she looked the bartender in the eyes and said:

“Dirty as fuck.”  She was talkin about her martini.

Then she looked at me as if nothin outta the ordinary had occurred and said:

“Griag.”

“Yeah Robyn.”

“Mah boyfriend tryina keel me.”

Pause.

What’d this chick just say?

“He’s tryin to kill you?” I was thinkin, bitch, you’re bout to hop off the deep end aren’t you?  But I didn’t say that.

Then came her story…

“When I was nahn I saw a murder. And ah saw who done it. It was Clyde. The sheriff’s son that done it. Ah seen it. You can search for it on the inernet! They did a whole cold case fahile own it!”

“Okay…”

“Now see, mah boyfriand, and ah know yer gon think ah’m crazy, everyone duz… but ma boyfraind… he’s gaigh.”

“Your boyfriend is gay?” This chick thought everyone was gay.

“So is Clyde. The sheriff’s son. The killer. They both gaigh. And they fuckin each other.”

Then the bartender gave us our drinks and like this convo wasn’t even happening Robyn turned to him and in a flirty manner said: “Ooooweeeee thank yew yew sexy hot New York man yew.”

And she swigs back the whole martini in one gulp then starts on the other as she turns back to me and continues talkin, but not before the bartender comes back and hands her a free tee shirt. It’s like a tee shirt with the bar’s name and logo on it or some whack ass shit. He didn’t bring me one. Just her.

“Thank yew sexy man yew!”

But that was all the time she had for the bartender. She put the tee shirt on the crud covered shitty ass sticky bar and continued her insane story.

“He’s gaigh, so is Clyde, they fuckin, and I been with him two years and ah JUST figured out… He gonna keel me an thas what ah had to tell yew.”

“Wait, why is Clyde gonna kill you?”

“No Grady gon keel me.”

“Grady?”

“Ma gaigh boyfriand.”

“Oh, right. And cause—”

“—Cause ah know too much Graig!!! Ah remember! He thought ah wouldn’t but ah dew! I seen it all an now he gonna (she finishes martini number two) keel me cuz he an Clyde, cuz they fuckin!!!“

Yo this bitch is crazy.  She kept goin…

“Ah saw a murder Graig! When ah was naign! And he done it! Clyde! An Grady-” she milks whatever vodka is left in her already empty martini glass, “Mah gay boyfraind… Grady, he in love with Clyde, not me, and he gon keel me!! He already tried!!!”

“But I thought Grady was your boyfriend.” I was super confused.

“HE IS! BUT HE’S GAIGH! Tha only reason he’s with me is cause ah Clyde! To see if ah remember! And now he knows! Ah dew!!! AND HE TRIED TO KEEL ME!”

Then she looked at me with a dead stare and said:

“Graig. Ah need yer help.”

I stared at her big ass tits.

Back to the story.

“GRAIG SEARCH IT I AINT LAHIN!”

Then she said she had to go cause her plane was leaving at four, which she had failed to mention till then.

So we hailed a cab and I say

“Forest Hills.”

I was determined to fuck her. So I told the cabbie to take us to my apartment in queens. It was 11:30am.

AS SOON AS WE GOT IN THE CAB Robyn undoes my belt, not quietly, loud. Then she unzips my zipper, not quiet, but loud. The cabbie turns his mirror so that he can’t see us. I’m like

“Yo what’re you doin?!?”

And the she says “Ahma suck yewr dick” and she says that not quiet, but LOUD.

Then she starts blowin me and makin all these slobbery noises that even to me sounded nasty, she’s makin these noises the whole way to queens.

Then we got to my apartment.

“Where’s the airport?”

“Here first”.

We walked in my apartment and I turned all the photos of me and my ex-girlfriend around so I don’t feel guilty and she says

“Aright, Ima suck yer dick make yew cum an then I gotta go.”

But NONE OF THIS IS THE POINT… I’m just tryin to tell you what type a chick this was.

Anyway so I googled the murder she was claiming she witnessed and it did in fact show up. Hmmm… and the timelines and locations she gave me all corroborated with what was published on the internet but the entire backstory she gave me was fuckin chaotic. Did she just read the article and make all this shit up?

“GRAIG.”

“What?” I say before she gets outta the cab at the airport…

“Yer not gay are you?”

Huh? Is she really askin me this AGAIN???? Even after she blew me?!

“You are aren’t yew?”

“NO I’M NOT FUCKIN GAY!!”

“You swear it you’d tell me if you was, RAIGHT?”

She thought everybody was gay!! What a lunatic. But after she told me the story about how her boyfriend tried to kill her, she was SO damn convincing and this story was SO twisted that I was determined to find out what the fuck really happened so for the next seven years I tried cracking this case.

But THEN… she went missing.

Welcome to the story of ROBYN SMITH.

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