Short Form Deed Of Trust And Assignment Of Rents: Fill & Download for Free

I moved into Student House (henceforth the house) at the beginning of my sophomore year and stayed there through the end of my college career. In the course of those 3 years in the house I not only got to experience life in the house as a member, but also as the house Vice President and later the house President. For the short answer -- it was a fun and excellent training in social living, with a real sense of shared responsibility and trust between the house members. I would certainly live in the house again if I could somehow find myself back at MIT and in college. For the details, read on.Located at 111 Bay State Rd., Boston, Student House is a coed MIT Independent Living Group (ILG). ILGs are considered off-campus housing, but they are not Greek. The house historically provides some of the cheapest housing at MIT, and it is actually the product of an independent cooperative for financially needy MIT students. During my time there, rent fluctuated between $370-$400 per month. Having heard about this from a friend who was already living there, I visited the house in the spring of my freshman year to check it out. I have to admit I was expecting to walk into something worse than a dorm -- I mean, cheaper typically implies diminished quality. I may even have been ready for an encounter with some rodents, such details escape me. What I remember clearly is walking into an elegant and well kept house right in the heart of Boston's back bay, just north of Kenmore Square. I was dazzled, and immediately knew that I was going to move in.The house has a kitchen in the basement, a game room/lounge and a dining room on the first floor, a library on the second floor, and 16 rooms scattered across the basement to the 4th floor. I may err a bit on these specifics but I believe these 16 rooms are divided into 3 triple-occupant rooms, 8 doubles, and 5 singles.Assignment into a single, double, or triple occupant room is based on a points system. You earn 1 point for the semester if you live in a single-occupant room, 2 points for living in a double, and three points for living in a triple. Your points accumulate for the duration of your stay in the house, so for example if you lived with two room-mates (in a triple) for 2 straight semesters you garner 6 points. At the beginning of each semester, everybody fills out their rooming preferences. Assignments are then made preferentially starting with the person with the most points, ending with the person with the least points. This system was embraced by all during my time, though it is clear that a new member basically has very limited rooming choice. It is rather easy to turn this to your advantage though, with some patience. When I moved into the house I stayed in a triple for 3 straight semesters (it isn't hard to get into a triple) and those 9 points that I earned were enough to keep me in a single for my final three semesters. I may have been lucky because I moved in with several of my friends and we shared the same triple, but you can make something similar work for you if you build your team.The house is officially a dry house (no alcohol in the house), and the house Resident Assistant (RA) enforces it. This translates to no alcohol in public places, since nobody bursts into your room to see what you are up to. Well, unless you are *that guy who plays loud music at 5am on a Thursday morning because you are starting your weekend early. House members respect the alcohol and noise rules. That said, there was maybe just one or two teetotallers in the house during my time there -- what am I saying? Of course I am not saying anything. While you are unlikely to throw a big party at the house, its location is such that majority of the MIT fraternities, Kenmore Square bars, and even some Boston University fraternities are barely 5-10 minutes away. Somehow, despite the tiring travails of being an MIT student, I regularly made use of this locational advantage with many house mates as well as friends from campus who came to hang out at the house before heading out and about in Boston.I know there is a looming question, "What makes the house such a cheap living option?" There are several factors, for example I believe the house pays less for insurance since it is a dry house. The house is also owned by the MIT Student House Corporation which operates it as a non-profit (I believe this lowers Uncle Sam's annual check from the house). I speculate that the corporation maintains some kind of endowment fund to subsidize costs. What I know for sure that contributes to the lower living cost is the fact that house members run the house, and I mean this in the absolute sense. There is no cook for the house, but dinner is served Sunday through Thursday. There are no dedicated cleaners, but toilets and common areas are cleaned twice a week. The house members make this happen. At the beginning of every semester, each member is assigned (by lottery, if no decision is reachable straight up) either a cleaning or cooking duty. If you are a cleaner, you are expected to maintain the general cleanliness of your assigned area through the week. If you are a cook, you get to prepare dinner for the house with a partner on one of the five days that dinner is served. Each person also completes 12 "house hours" in the course of every semester. This is time that you can spend fixing something around the house, for example; painting a wall, replacing broken bulbs, etc. There are really no restrictions on what you can do for house hours.Personally, living in such a small group and knowing that, for example, everyone is showing up for dinner and they are all counting on me to make it happen every Tuesday night, or they count on me to maintain the cleanliness of the house library which we all use every evening -- it is these sensations that built in me a strong sense of mutual responsibility and expectations. I quickly learned to get my part done in time, [and/because] everyone else does their part in making your life easy in the house. There is the occasional person who moves in and can't live in such a system for any of many good reasons, and they normally move on. Of course there are the occasional bad weeks when everyone has midterms and what not, and generally the in-charge(s) are fellow students and they understand.Begs the question, who's in charge? The house president runs house meetings and is also in charge of external relations. For example she/he represents the house in the FSILG (Fraternities, Sororities and Independent Living Groups) council as well as communicating with the FSILG office which frequently needs updates on members and calendar of planned house events. The vice president is probably the most important person. He/she runs the house internally by organizing the duty rosters and doing occasional rounds to ensure that everyone is doing their job. There is also a treasurer who collects rent and runs the house finances, a steward in charge of stocking the house food supplies (oh did I mention breakfast is not served but the house provides cereal, eggs, bread, etc that you can use to make yourself breakfast or packed lunch?), a sports chair who organizes the house teams to play intramural sports, a social chair who masterminds social events like the semesterly formal. There is an active MIT Student House Alumni Corporation that organizes one event (think a corn maze tour, or a dinner/evening out at Endicott house) to interact with the incumbent members each semester. The president of the alumni corporation shows up in house meetings every once in a while with stories and photos of times gone.Culturally, the house kind of morphs as residents come and go, which is both good and bad. Good in the sense that you can make the house what you like when you move in, and maybe bad because having a distinct character is enviable! This sounds a bit cliche, but the best part of living in the house for me was the people. When I moved in, the house had maybe 8 or 10 international students, but when I moved out the house probably had the same number of non-international students. In my time at the house, I had housemates from the USA, Kenya, Nepal, France, Brazil, Kyrgyzstan, Japan, Uganda, Mexico, El Salvador, England, Germany, China, Poland, India, Thailand, Switzerland, Nigeria, Serbia, Bulgaria... and that is just how much I can get off my head. Living with all these different people, from all over the world, and learning to build trust and expectations to the level of keeping the house running amongst ourselves, was an excellent lesson (and in deed an experiment) in social living.Like anybody who spent 3 college years living at one place, I could go on and on, but I think the big picture is adequately painted.

To Chris Williams,ONCE BURNED, TWICE SHYA few years ago, I gave an older homeless woman the “break” of living in my home. It did not go well. I let her stay for six weeks in the dead of winter before I started getting scared for my safety. I would not invite someone in like this again. I changed the locks immediately after she finally left.I had talked with her multiple times at church and hadn’t realized she was homeless. Before offering her a place to stay, I checked with pastors at the church I attend. They knew her and said they wouldn’t talk me out of it, but they wouldn’t advise me to do it. It was my choice.Margaret had been attending our church for months, she was probably 65 or 70, she brags about having a law degree (but had never practiced law), we had always had pleasant conversations, and she had a winning smile (albeit missing some teeth). She always dressed nicely in black leggings, fashionably long black sweater, white turtleneck, and brown boots. The simple outfit was “invisible,” and didn’t clue me in that she wore the very same thing every week. I discovered she had been camping out in her van. It was January in the middle of a bitterly cold winter. I felt compelled to offer her a place to stay (at no charge) to get out of the cold.Appearances can be deceiving …She seemed balanced enough when I first knew her. I was wrong, so very wrong.Unbeknownst to me when I invited her to stay with me, she had a myriad of unresolved mental issues, and had actually abandoned a subsidized senior apartment because she was convinced the person on the floor above was running a train on a track all over the floor and aiming some kind of death rays through the ceiling at her. To avoid the rays, she would sit either on or under her wooden dining room table. She actually HAD a home, and threw it away. She is divorced, and her adult children were not able/willing to give her shelter. (That should have been a red flag …)RED FLAGSOnce she was in my home, I should have noticed other red flags, but I ignored them. I later found out she has three children, but none of them would help her. One son has a high position in the Pentagon, and at that point she had never even been to his house. All she had was his phone number.I was newly retired after a government contract ended, and had time on my hands to help. I hadn’t yet started doing editing gigs, so my schedule was quite flexible.First, she demanded to park in my driveway, because she had difficulty walking (a result of childhood polio). That meant I had to park on the street. I was OK with that.Gradually, she demanded more and more.We agreed she could stay at my home for no charge (even though she did get a Social Security check every month), but I didn’t say how short or how long it would be.I bought and made food for both of us — three meals a day every day. I think she only cooked one meal for us in the six weeks she was at my home.My home was not the structured situation she needed, though. She came and went as she pleased, at weird hours, and would not consider getting medical or mental help, because she didn’t trust doctors and because she was convinced she didn’t need help.She was unpredictable and heard voices and imagined people were following her.I gave her a separate bedroom just for her, and she chose the first bedroom because it has a sturdy wooden bunk bed, and she said the heavy wood on the top bunk prevents “electronic rays” from getting to her (you know, those rays the bad guys aim at you).Then she decided she didn’t like that room, so I let her move into my guest room with the lovely, comfortable double bed. Eventually, she started complaining about the new room, because it has a skylight and three other windows, and she was convinced the solar lights in my neighbor Harold’s garden were sending rays through her front window.She would stay up all hours of the night reading and “filing” scraps of paper.A young couple moved into the house next door, and she was convinced their cute little VW Bug was owned by a CIA agent hired to follow her. I was tasked with writing down the license plate for her just in case we had to report that car. Sigh.She often told me she knew a band of agents (CIA? NSA?) had been assigned 24/7 to watch and follow her. (Even “important people” don’t rate that kind of surveillance!)I found myself lending her money, doing her laundry, buying and making food for both of us, taking her on overnight visits to my friend’s inn in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, and yet she still complained. I felt trapped. (No good deed goes unpunished …)Because she gets Social Security payments, tied to the lifetime income of her ex-husband who was a professor and highly paid consultant, I set up an appointment with Social Security so she could see if she was getting all she was entitled to get. I even drove her to the appointment, but halfway there, she backed out, because of her fear she was being “watched.”tl;dr —She threatened me.She would get angry over nothing.She got angry when I accidentally turned off the front porch light. She accused me of doing it on purpose to make her life harder.She insisted on parking in my driveway so I had to park on the street.She yelled at me often for no reason.She imagined the CIA had hired dozens of people to follow her 24/7.She was convinced the solar lights in my neighbor’s yard were beaming rays into her bedroom at night.She expected me to do all the cooking.I provided all her meals.She borrowed money but didn’t repay it (she has money from Social Security, with no expenses except for her van, so she should have had plenty to take care of her meager needs and/or to pay me back especially since I bought all the food and I never charged her rent!).UNPREDICTABLE & SCARYI finally figured out I was being used. She was unpredictable.Toward the end, I had become scared for my own safety, and figured out (after decades in my home) my bedroom door actually had a lock on it, which I started using when I went to bed at night. I had never needed to lock my bedroom door before with my sons in my home.After five weeks or so, I hid all the sharp instruments (knives, scissors) in my home. She noticed they were missing within a couple of days when she needed a pair of scissors, and asked me about it. She got violent when I explained I had hidden the sharp objects because I was scared of her. That’s when I gave her an ultimatum, that she had two weeks to move out. Spring was coming, and she would no longer be in danger of freezing in her van. She didn’t leave that night, but she called me about two nights later around midnight from a gas station half an hour away claiming she had no money for gas, and could I come get her/pay for her gas. I just said no, and went back to bed.A couple of hours later, I heard her unlock the front door, enter the house, and go up to her room. Lots of noises, then she stomped down the stairs about 2 a.m., dragging her wheeled carry-on bag without even saying goodbye. I heard her commotion as she trundled her meager belongings down the stairs, but I didn’t dare open my locked bedroom door and confront her in her anger. The icing on the cake? She didn’t even lock my front door as she left. Did I mention it was 2 a.m. — and I live near Washington, D.C.?PEACE AT LASTOnce I realized she had actually vacated the place, a tangible sense of peace settled on me. I breathed a sigh of relief and gratefulness it was finally over. She also never returned her key, but that was a minor inconvenience because I immediately had the locks changed.This experience has made me cautious about ever doing this again …My heart goes out to these people. There are so many, many reasons for homelessness, but I’m not trained in how to deal with someone’s imaginary foes.ANOTHER STORY, same old, same old …A few years before that, I had helped a homeless couple, but that’s another story. They didn’t stay at my home, though. The husband had issues with drugs and how to handle money. My church provided money for them to get off the streets and live inside. I finally cautioned my well-meaning pastor not to give them cash to rent a basement apartment, because they always ran out of money before they could pay the rent. If the church wanted to help them, it should give the check directly to the landlord, which it did. They were eventually evicted from the nice basement apartment (for drugs or behavior or both), and landed in a dive where they had one room and shared a bathroom with half a dozen people in a house that was probably an illegal rental. There were too many unrelated people crowded into a house that was physically unsafe and that had added “bedrooms” in rooms that should not have been for that purpose including the basement.—Sarah M, written 11 Feb. 2019 (updated 14 July 2020)QUESTION: Why don't people give the homeless a place to stay? (asked 19 September 2018)

This may help dampen your infatuation, and it’s nothing personal. I believe Bundy to be one of the most awfully fascinating specimens of abhorrent study, but he's definitely not the typical boyfriend material.Although intelligent and holding the ability to succeed in whatever endeavors he put his mind to, he could never follow through with what he had begun, showing his true juvenile and irresponsible self. This behavior resulted in Bundys ultimate failure at most things constructive he ever attempted; law school, foreign language, relationships, politics, etc., and he was well aware of this, carrying an ulcerous inferiority complex. Bundy would never admit any responsibility for his many shortcomings, and intended to ride his superficially charming and handsome facade to "Easy Street," using unethical tactics while campaigning for a Republican governor in Washington State and sustaining himself emotionally while manipulating weak and sympathetic women into "relationships" and taking advantage of all he could.Bundys long-festering problem was his extreme and deep-seated loathing of women, especially attractive young girls, even children, with a specific look and a certain homicidal allure only Bundy could pinpoint. The internal roiling of such a dark intrinsic pathology would overwhelm Bundys every waking moment, when on campus, during class, and even shopping was enraging due to all of the many beautiful coeds surrounding him, yet also frustratingly arousing, stoking a uniquely abhorrent sexual desire that he soon would have to satisfy.Bundy, despite claims of granduer, murdered 20-30 innocent female women, luring most of them with his ploy of disabilty, usually at night, to assist him in carrying his books to his car. Once there Bundy would ask her to unlock the door of his '68 VW Bug and while she was distracted he would quickly retrieve a tire iron or pry bar from beneath the vehicle or secreted in its wheel well and shatter the poor girls skull before throwing her limp figure into the vehicle, where the passenger seat was already removed for this purpose, and then speed off to seclusion to finish his macabre and horrifying rituals.Usually driving in an alert, frenzied rage to his forested destination, and often inebriated to work up his courage and dull his senses, Bundy would sometimes scream profanities at his unconcious or dead passenger, even clubbing her repeatedly without provocation and visciously sinking his jagged teeth into her breasts, buttocks, and thighs. One victim, according to Bundy, regained conciousness and was apparently so damaged from blows to her head that she mistook Bundy for the boy who was assigned to tutor her in spanish. Later, Bundy confessed this detail to Robert Keppel, callously describing it as "funny."Soon they would arrive at Bundys familiar killing ground where he knew he was finally in control; over life and death and how that made him a God. Then he would pull his victim from the vehicle, dead or alive, and savagely rape, bite, beat, degrade, and, if not deceased yet, strangle her with a ligature or bludgeon again, sometimes needlessly berating her, showing his truely hideous face, finally unmasked, of a real human monster. Moments later Bundy would again rape the corpse vaginally, anally, and orally, and repeat this for hours, immersed in the darkness of the silent night, hiding his true nature as a degenerate necrophile and murderer who's only love were death and sex, apparently preferable in that order.It was the sunrise that usually jarred Bundy back to the stark reality of his current situation and he could then see the dead, battered, human woman beneath his nude body. Illuminated by the soft early light seeping down through the canopy, he could look into her eyes, pupils fixed and dilated, lips blue, skull caved in and deformed, dried streams of blood leaving small dark rivulets down her pale, cold face, and her body beginning to stiffen from rigor mortis.At this point Bundys fantasy had ended and his fun was over. This is where he would vomit in mortified disgust at his past nights deeds, sobbing for himself in selfish despair, pondering his own deviance, but his psychological protection mechanism had already begun to rationalize and diminish his heinous acts. Later it would get so routine there wouldn't be much afterthought, beside mentally reliving the act itself for his own gratification. Frantically gathering any evidence he may have left at the scene, Bundy jumped into the Bug and accelerated off into the breaking dawn.This was the typical abduction/murder scenario for Bundy until he changed his Method of Operation and chose to impersonate a police officer in broad daylight to lure another woman from a mall under the pretense that he had apprehended a suspect attempting to break into her car. The victim reluctantly allowed Bundy to drive her to a supposed police barracks but when he suddenly slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrist she tried to jump from the vehicle. Bundy jabbed a pistol into her face and screamed a profane threat, but the 18-year-old fought ferociously anyway and managed to jump from the moving vehicle. A passing motorist frightened Bundy away as the girl fled to the safety of the strangers vehicle, who seemingly may have been the only deterrence from Bundy coming back to finish her off.This was the beginning of Bundys downfall, his arrests and escapes, his deterioration, and his inevitable, and some would say self-imposed, demise in a Florida prison. His surviving victim eventually identified him as her attacker and kidnapper in a Utah police line-up after he was arrested for possession of burglary tools, a rape-kit, and handcuffs, all found in his VW during a traffic stop instigated after police spotted him parked on a dark street, allegedly smoking marijuana, when he fled from the approaching cop. Bundy was apprehended, convicted, and sentenced to 1 to 15 years for kidnapping but was soon extradited to Colorado to stand trial for another crime: murder.Bundy wasn't about to suddenly start following the rule of law, and so, after careful preparation, he leapt from the second story of the courthouse law library and vanished. Apprehended a week later, nearly frozen and starved to death, Bundy was transferred to the county jailhouse, with greater security and supervision, but just five days after Christmas, 1977, a slimmed down Ted Bundy wriggled up through the ceiling light fixture of his cell and exited down through the jailers apartment next door where he exchanged his inmate jumpsuit for street attire. Bundy then simply walked right out the door and into unlimited and unfettered freedom for the second time.Bundys absence wouldn't be noticed until the next afternoon, but by then he was out of the reach of Colorado, or any of the states that wanted to pin more murder charges on him. This time he would use his freedom to relax and enjoy his new life in sunny Florida. After renting a room with most of the cash he had gathered for his escape, Bundy went walking to absorb the Sun and to also relish his great victory over law enforcement back in CO, and enjoy the fact that he was more clever than an entire state full of cops, all of whom knew his name and his face.In Florida though, his name was Chris Hagen and Chris was just another young face amongst the throngs of students that paraded across the FSU campus everyday. Hundreds of young women, far too many to count and all so overtly sexual, the girls whistled at him and almost every girl he spoke with was either a tease or a flirt, some were both. Quite different from the Northwest, but so easily trusting were these tanned beauties that they seemed even more willing to assist a stranger in need. Living in paradise so long must had dulled their senses to detect, or even suspect, when danger was nearby them and death was staring them in the face with that charming smile, innocently asking, "so, which sorority are you in?"That frustrating arousal was back again but after so long the intensity was almost too much; to not act upon it soon would take every ounce of willpower. FSU is the quintessential hunting ground for a young attractive predator to find his perfect prey, an unlimited feast for a starving beast that can hide in sheep's clothing and pounce when they're at there most vulnerable.To not take part in his favorite pastime with so much fresh and tender fruit just longing for the plucking, and with more than enough time to do it in, was staggeringly depressing for Bundy. A choice between freedom or fulfilment. The campus was a bad idea, a very bad idea. Now that this painful lust was fully permeating his overactive, yet wantonly depraved libido, and had diminished much of his impulse control, it was only a matter of time before he struck, and when he did it would be a massive release of the ugliest, most evil, rage; the purest hatred and bloodlust that would splatter the front pages across the nation.After about two weeks of personal restraint, Bundy had only watched the nubile bodies bouncing up and down day after day, tormented. He had hoped alcohol would dull the monstrous urge, or at least slow the tortuous compulsion, but, as Bundy always knew deep inside, it would only gain in strength. January 15th was Bundys breaking point.As dawn loomed a few hours below the horizon, Bundy set out to enact and satiate his burdening fantasies and finally release himself, if for only a short time, of his virtually crippling, underlying obsession that haunted him even beyond his waking hours. He crept upon a white, two story sorority house with the words "Chi Omega" written in bold black lettering across the front. Bundy chose his implement that night out of convenience, a heavy oak log about three inches in diameter and approx. 14-16 inches in length, an extremely dense, wieldy, and very destructive weapon.When Bundy entered the house it was dark and quiet; he was now in his element. Heart fluttering with excitement and anticipation, he climbed the stairs to the second floor corridor. Low voices could still be heard behind one or two of the closed doors but Bundy didn't worry about being interrupted, his focus lay in finding a sleeping victim. He approached one of the doors without light showing from underneath and listened closely; steady breathing from inside. Bundy turned the knob silently, and stealthily entered the darkened room, then quickly latched the door shut behind him.As his eyes adjusted to the low light he could see a single woman asleep and alone. He brought the club down on her sleeping face, shattering it, then several more blows to permanently disable her, and then strangled her to death with pantyhose. Bundy then raped the dead girl, bitting off a nipple in the process and licking at the gaping head wounds until he ejaculated.Moving to the next room across the hallway where he found another single girl, he repeated his viscious bludgeonings and strangulation, then ferociously sunk his jagged teeth into the woman's buttocks and brutally mutilated her vagina and anus with a can of hair spray.Bundys wasn't done yet and chose his third room where two twin beds lay to his left, they each appeared to be occupied by one sleeping form. Bundy positioned himself in the narrow isle between the beds and with explosive force brought his oak club down on the unconscious girl to his right. There was an audible crunch over the deep thud of the impact, and as the other sleeping woman awoke, the club was violently embedded in her skull. She brought her arm up in futile defense but the club shattered it and Bundy alternately bludgeoned each girl, again and again, without a sign of mercy or pity, spreading blood across most of the small room with each rebounding arch of the club.Bundy finally relented and began to retreat from his repellant deeds, but as he fled through the front door he was unknowingly observed from the darkness by a sorority sister returning home late. She would later be the only eyewitness placing Bundy at the Chi Omega house on Jan. 15.Less than an hour later, blocks from the Chi Omega house, where the police where in full presence after the savagery just forty-five minutes earlier, another SFU student was blitzed in her sleep by a club wielding lunatic, but she survived, perhaps only due to the neighbors investigating concerns over an extremely loud pounding that shook the house.Bundy was losing total control of his once seemless mask of normalcy and composure. He was now unkempt, disheveled, and unwashed. Disorganization had overwhelmed his every action now and alcohol fueled those desperate impulses. Almost a month after his first attacks in Florida, Bundy chose a less riskier target to satisfy his perverse needs: a twelve-year-old girl whom he was seen leading to his van from out front of her middle school. Her partially decayed body was found two months later, strangled and stuffed beneath a pig shed near the Suwanee River, semen stains left on her panties.The ultimate ending to this true crime epic would come in a form that would, by now, be very familiar to Bundy: a police traffic stop. After he had stolen his signature VW Bug, a Pensacola patrol unit had ascertained the vehicle as stolen and began persuit. Bundy would initially attempt to evade but inevitably submit to the chase, perhaps at this stage so diluted, hoping to persuade the officer into letting him go free. After the cop's attempt to cuff Bundy, the realization that his freedom was at its end and that his return to the wretched confines of prison was inevitable must have hit Bundy like a shot of adrenaline and he broke free and ran. He was quite forcefully subdued by the officer when he fought to escape, a literal fight for his life, that he lost. Bundy then confessed to the officer, nearly in tears, that, "You should have killed me."Yet Florida still had no idea that the car thief they had was Ted Bundy. He began dropping subtle clues about his identity, and how important he was and that they would be famous. Bundy eventually gave his real name and Pensacola finally knew what they had on their hands. Bundy would participate in over 40 hours of interviews.Bundys trial for the Chi Omega killings found him guilty and mandated two death sentences. Convicted next of the twelve-year-old girls murder, Bundy was given another death sentence.Theodore Robert Bundy11/24/46 ~ 1/24/89I could be petty like some people who have interviewed Bundy and mention his chronic nailing biting and nose picking, but when you’re on deathrow for ten years you probably pick up a couple nervous habits, especially when you’re under constant threat and intimidation by inmates and guards.How difficult it is to put all of Theodore Robert Bundys nauseating and shockingly degenerate acts into a cogent narrative. The truly unique perversities of Bundy, like the fact that after moving his victims from their original scene of assault, he would revisit these degraded and putrefying corpses repeatedly to engage in yet more necrophilia, even applying lip stick, eye shadow, and rouge to make them more attractive during sex to better fulfil his fantasy, and even going so far as to shampoo their hair weeks after death. Utilising a hacksaw, Bundy would sometimes decapitate certain favoured victims and take their head back to his vehicle or apartment and use it to fellate himself at his leisure, also applying makeup to these disembodied faces and storing the heads in the fridge to slow decomposition. Bundys documented acts of mutilation upon his victims’ genitals and anus, include forced vaginal and anal sodomy using an iron bar, a speculum, aerosol cans, tree branches and logs, amongst other objects. This probably indicates another signature behaviour repeated with most of his victims, but Bundys dump-sites simply proved to be too secluded or elusive and as a result the majority of all Bundy victims recovered were either in advanced states of decomposition, or merely just a scattered collection of bones, and any information we may have learned from them has long deteriorated.