I managed to earn a living online without subjecting myself to pornography. It’s a fairly easy strategy that tends to work given you have the time, patience, and stomach for it. It’s a seldom talked about genre that’s bigger than you might think. If you’ve watched the festering sewage pipe that is American news, you’ve probably caught a glimpse of this genre without being any the wiser.
To achieve that sweet, sweet internet coin, all you really have to do is show people dying. That’s the nitty gritty of it, as blunt as it sounds. In order to pay the rent these days is to show a clip of some poor unlucky bastard crossing the green mile. I wish there was another way of saying it, but there isn’t.
I should you, this genre of content isn’t for the faint of heart. You need to have a cast iron stomach to even start in this business, that and a stainless steel mind. Wadding through a topic this dark will make you see some demons, I will admit. I’m sure you heard that stupid quote of staring into the void long enough. I don’t need to repeat it. Despite being a cliche, there is some truth to it. Having to watch people expire all day will make you a shrink’s wet dream.
Personally, I’m not the lead belly you get the impression I am. I feel bad when I kill an npc in a video game, I’m not foaming at the mouth looking for some ultra graphic cartel video. I can’t stand seeing innocent people die like that, it makes me sick to my stomach and completely ruins my day. To keep it straight forward, it fucks me up seeing something too graphic.
In this hidden industry, there’s an invisible spectrum when it comes to violence. At the very low level, you have babys falling over and fat people slipping on falling. However, in the very high end of the spectrum, you have flaying videos. I’m somewhere in the middle. It’s important to have a middle ground available, an even playing field rich in the essence of moderation. I hate gruesome content, but at the same time I like seeing people getting punched in the face.
I’ve cultivated this little following online because of this. Online I’m known as Serbian Pete, 31,000 people follow me to satisfy their genuinely sickening blood lust. Speaking of the topic of invisible spectrums, I think some of the people who watch me are on some sort of spectrum themselves, because they are way too into my content sometimes. What I post, despite being censored to avoid demonetization, is apparently enough to keep the freaks of the world at bay. It scares me genuinely, that’s why I, no matter what, never show my face. I’m always Serbian no matter what, my persona is a defense mechanism to not only keep me safe, but to bring in the money as well.
I remember when I first started out. The day I became Serbian Pete. It was my Heisenberg moment, a moment so defining yet it’s occurrence so unlikely. I was a senior in high school when this happened, during the final couple of weeks of school. My friend Seth and I skipped 4th period to get a soda at the corner store.
Seth and I have been friends since, gosh, when we were little kids. He used to be this scrawny kid with wild blonde hair, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and freckles. It seemed unlikely, but thanks to the power of crappy cafeteria food, we hit it off. I had a can of mountain dew, he had a cup of pudding, supply and demand. We became close after that, all through out grade school. In high school, he wasn’t this scrawny little kid anymore. He bulked up and got himself a six pack.
I however, wasn’t so fortunate. On that day, Seth asked me if I wanted to sneak out and grab a soda, maybe even smoke a joint as well. I wasn’t really doing anything important, it was science and we were watching Bill Nye. I snuck out when the teacher wasn’t looking and met Seth in the hallway. We got outside, jumped the fence, and made our way to little Saigon. That’s where the corner store is. I didn’t have any money on me but Seth, being the absolute Alpha he is, offered to pay my bill. He was a real lad for that, I used to wonder why he’d do that for me, it wasn’t until years later I found out why.
I go to fill up my soda when this guy ran in. I smelled the overpowering smell of weed before he even came in. His name was Eric Dumont, he was sort of the neighborhood bully. Every town, school, neighborhood, whatever had a bully. At least that’s what I tell myself. Someone who makes people’s lives a living hell for no other reason than shits and giggles. Eric thought he was hot shit because he ran with this backwater Bloods set called The Empire. He was always seen with too other goons beside him, accompanying him whenever he was up to some shit.
Him and his posse would go around picking fights with everyone and anyone he could. He liked fucking with my friend Boris. He’s this Russian, Australian kid who moved here when he was just a wee lad. This might make me sound like a jackass, but I honest to god had no idea black russians even existed before I met Boris. Eric sweated him because of his slight accent. It makes him sound like Dracula. I like it personally.
When he wasn’t fucking with Boris, he was picking fights with other gang members. I heard he stabbed a guy at the park once because he was in the rival set. I don’t know for sure, it’s merely a rumor. Nowadays, that’s something I’d make a video about personally. Eric was alone this time, his henchmen nowhere to be found. I could tell he was high by the cloud of weed funk that swarmed around him. This wasn’t gonna be good.
Bad shit happens when Eric gets high. The story of him stabbing a guy started with him getting high. Seth and I could sense the approaching shit storm, we stood in our tracks waiting for something to happen. Eric goes up to the counter and starts arguing with the owner over his hoodie. They argue loudly for a moment until I see Eric pull something out of his pocket. It was silver and metallic, he pointed it at the lady and starts loudly demanding for all the money in the register.
“Shit, he’s gotta knife. RUN!” Seth yelled, running for the fire escape.
I was right behind him. I dropped my soda and ran like hell. But before I left the building completely, I felt the sudden urge to take my phone out. Something told me to stay behind and film. The reason why I didn’t know until later, deep down I hated Eric. We all did. Catching him in the act of something this egregious might be enough to put him away for good. If he did some crazy shit like trying to stab her or something, I’d tackle his ass. I’m taller than he was, I could drop him like a jigsaw puzzle if I wanted.
I start recording everything. Not a single moment was left out. I even captured his rather distasteful comments on the woman’s ethnicity. He maybe an armed robber and possible murderer, but he doesn’t have to be disrespectful.
I should mention that the store owner is this little old Korean lady. What you gotta know about Korean shop keepers in California is, they do not fuck around. Ever heard of roof Koreans?
There I was, guerilla filming the entire robbery. Without so much as a warning, the shop keep pulls a pistol from a drawer and shoots Eric twice in the chest. It caught me off guard, in the footage I let out an audible “OH FUCK!” As soon as the last shot rang out.
My ears were ringing so bad I couldn’t hear anything for the next 5 minutes. Eric was on the floor gasping while the shop keep was shaking with the pistol in her hands. I stopped filming and bolted. I didn’t stop running until I reached home. My shirt was drenched in sweat and I couldn’t breathe. Eric was waiting for me on my front porch, still amped up by the whole thing.
“That was fucking crazy dude!”
“She shot him, she fucking shot him!” Was all I could say.
The whole incident was on the nightly news. Our high school was put on lockdown as soon as they heard the gunshots ring out. Eric ended up dying that day, in the hospital surrounded by his friends and the police.
It was so surreal. I just captured the last moments of someone’s life on camera. It made me nauseous just by thinking of it. Sure I had a distain for the guy, but I didn’t exactly want him to die! Lord only knows what that poor woman is feeling right now.
2 days after the incident, things quieted down media wise. However, it was still fresh in my mind. I was browsing online when I got a notification for this true crime forum I’m on. What separates them from the rest is they allow crime footage to be uploaded. Under my screen name, Serbian Pete, I uploaded the footage to the site. I forgot about it after a while, until a couple hours later when my phone was buzzing from all the notifications I was getting.
People, actually liked the video I sent in. There was non stop praise of the shop keeper and an almost total distain for Eric. There was even a handful of comments offering me money to upload more. They were made by 60 year old dudes asking if I could capture more footage. Some of the geezers were offering me up to 40 bucks for footage. At the time I didn’t know why they were willing to fork over so much cash, but I didn’t care.
And that’s how Serbian Pete was born. I had a reputation that spread all over the internet. From the clear web to the infamous deep web. Folk from all over the world were clamoring for Serbian content. I was the man to deliver.
My friends and family had no idea I was even doing this. Not even Seth knew. It was my little secret, a secret I was willing to take to the grave.
Whenever Christmas rolls around, I’m available to give the people I care about, and the man I’m fond of, worthy presents. Non of that bargain bin crap. The good shit.
When I’m standing there, waiting for the family Christmas photo to happen, I can’t help but smell this faint aroma of cheap weed creep in through the window. As well as the sound of convenience store doors being open.
And two, far off shots.
The Siberian Winter has just set in