How I Found the Truth About Jeff Dahmer and Unravelled the Biggest Lie in “True Crime”
For thirty plus years we’ve been fed a campfire story about a lone monster in Milwaukee and his fridge full of horrors. Pull at a few loose threads, though, and the whole thing collapses, revealing a state-sponsored circus act built to distract, to sell headlines, and to sacrifice one man’s life on the altar of institutional rot.
How Netflix Accidentally Made Me Dangerous
If it weren’t for Netflix, you wouldn’t be reading this, and I wouldn’t be writing it. That’s the origin story of all this. One night I was bored, brain-dead from scrolling, and I clicked on Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story. I wasn’t a “true crime” buff. I wasn’t even mildly interested in this stuff. My entire knowledge of “Dahmer” could have been summed up in one phrase: something about heads in a fridge. That’s it.
I don’t think I could have picked Jeff Dahmer out of a lineup if you’d offered me cash. Maybe I’d have recognized the famous mugshot, the one plastered on T-shirts and coffee mugs, but beyond that? Nothing. I was as far outside the “true crime community” as a person can get.
And here’s the part that still makes me wince: when I watched the Netflix series, I believed it. Hook, line, and freezer chest. I fell for it like a chump at a rigged carnival game. Shameful, really. They could have told me Jeff Dahmer was also D.B. Cooper and the second gunman on the grassy knoll, and I might have sat there nodding like an idiot with popcorn in my lap. That’s how thoroughly I got played.
But here’s where my story veers off from most viewers. Most people watched Monster and closed the app. They moved on with their night, a little creeped out, maybe a little smug that they “knew” the story. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Something in me refused to move on. It wasn’t curiosity, and it wasn’t obsession…it was a summons. As strange as it sounds, it felt like that scene in The Matrix, when Morpheus talks about the splinter in Neo’s mind…that itch you can’t ignore, the sense that something is wrong with the world you’ve been shown.
That’s how it felt. A presence I couldn’t name kept tugging at my thoughts, whispering that there was more beneath the surface. It was as if some part of me knew…before I could articulate it…that there was a seam in the story, a thread that, if pulled, might unravel everything.
So I started poking around…googling names, cross-checking details, digging up court documents, newspaper archives, anything I could get my hands on. And that’s how I happened upon a video of Carolyn Smith, the “grieving sister” of alleged victim Eddie Smith.
The problem was she didn’t look like a grieving sister. She didn’t even look like a woman. She looked like Eddie in a wig, auditioning for a roadshow of La Cage aux Folles. The voice? Let’s just say it had more chest hair than tears.
On a lark, I dropped Carolyn’s face into Photoshop with Eddie’s, lined them up, slid the opacity down. Perfect match. It was like catching your dog walking on two legs when he thinks nobody’s watching…hilarious and horrifying at the same time.
And that’s when it hit me: if Carolyn is Eddie, then the whole story isn’t crime. It’s casting. Fake, through and through.
So yeah, blame Netflix. If I hadn’t been bored that night, if I hadn’t clicked play on their freak-show miniseries, I wouldn’t have found any of this. And you, dear reader, wouldn’t be here now either…reading the truth about Jeff Dahmer.
In a perverse way, Netflix deserves a slow clap. They didn’t hand me the evidence…they just lit the fuse. And that fuse led me straight to “Carolyn” Smith, the first loose thread that unraveled the whole thing.
Sixty Minutes to Sanity: The Fastest Recovery in Psychiatric History
The Carolyn/Eddie Smith revelation was the first loose thread. Once I tugged at it, other things started to look off. The next thing that hit me in the face was how fast Jeff supposedly morphed from full-blown lunatic to calm, contrite confessor
According to the official script, one minute he’s rocking and chanting like a man possessed, waving a knife at Tracy Edwards, and the next…literally an hour later…he’s downtown, perfectly lucid, politely waiving his rights, and ready to spill his guts like a repentant altar boy.
Think about that whiplash.
If Jeff really believed he could create sex zombies by drilling into skulls or that a shrine of bones would give him power, that’s not “quirky.” That’s clinical psychosis: hallucinations, delusions, scrambled thoughts. A delusion is an unshakeable belief in something impossible…like believing you can fly, or, in this case, DIY sex zombies. By that standard, the Jeff they describe at the Oxford Apartments on July 22, 1991 was delusional…in psychosis. Period.
And yet, by the time he hit booking? According to Detective Patrick Kennedy’s testimony, the psychosis had completely vanished. Kennedy told the court:
“I rode along with the suspect Jeffrey L. Dahmer in Squad 93 down to the CIB. Once at the CIB I advised Jeffrey L. Dahmer of his constitutional rights and he stated that he fully understood them and that he wished to freely make a statement regarding the incident.” (Det. Patrick Kennedy testimony, State v. Jeffrey Dahmer (Milwaukee County Cir. Ct., 1992), Court TV recording, timestamp 6:01–6:22)
Evidently, a Milwaukee police cruiser doubles as a mobile exorcism unit.
Jeff’s lawyer, Gerald Boyle asked what time that was. Kennedy’s answer: about one o’clock in the morning, an hour, tops, after the supposed demonic episode.
So here’s the official miracle: in the space of sixty minutes, Jeff goes from raving, delusional drama to polished, media-ready confessor. From zombie sorcerer to oddly self-aware and even quipping that Kennedy would be famous for taking his statement.
That isn’t psychiatry. That’s plot development. It reads less like clinical reality than like stage directions: cut to station, cue contrition.
The chanting, the Exorcist references, the demonic possession flavor…that was stagecraft, window dressing to set up the redemption arc. The quick lucidity downtown was the pivot, the script change. from batshit crazy delusional to calm narrator of his own script in less than an hour.
It’s not believable as mental health. It’s believable as theater.
Mugshots.com. Because They Knew You’d Never Check
This was the “oh, come on” moment. One lazy search on mugshots.com and the whole “Dahmer” story short-circuited. “Curtis Straughter,” supposedly butchered and buried in the early ’90s, is in fact Timothy Straughter…same guy, same freckles…with a nice little collection of mugshots starting in 2008. And in case there was any doubt, he also posted a photo on Facebook in 2015.
If this were a magic show, it wouldn’t be the magician slipping up…it would be him not even bothering to hide the trick, because he knows the audience is too dim or too dazzled to care. The deck hits the floor, every card is the ace of spades, and the rabbit…who’s supposed to stay hidden for the big reveal…is hopping around in plain sight. The illusion doesn’t just fall apart. It’s performed with such naked disdain for the audience that the magician isn’t even pretending to respect them. He knows he can hand them the con with the strings still showing, and they won’t just applaud…they’ll beg for an encore.
The Avalanche of Anomalies
Once you start pulling at “Dahmer,” you realize there was never anything real there to begin with. It isn’t a criminal case. It’s a Potemkin village built to keep the public’s eyes locked on the spectacle. It was engineered as a distraction…a loud, grotesque sideshow staged to pull scrutiny away from the cassocked crime syndicate down the street and its problem with pedo priests.
Take Jeff Dahmer’s alleged confession. Sitting right there in black and white is a Social Security number…except it wasn’t Jeff’s. It belonged to a man named Eric Lamar Stanley, who went on living for another eight or nine years under that same number. He wasn’t an alleged victim, he wasn’t even connected to the case…just some random guy’s ID pulled from the prop closet and slapped onto the script. And here’s the punchline: I only found it because I checked the number to see if it had even been issued in Ohio, the state where Jeff would have applied for it. That’s how little effort it took to blow a hole straight through the official story. In a con this size, the mark’s stupidity is part of the design. They’ll swallow anything as long as it’s stamped with an official seal and delivered with a straight face on the nightly news.
And the bodies? They vanish faster than a stage magician’s rabbit. Richard Guerrero, billed as a victim, died in 1960 before Jeff Dahmer was even born. Which means what? That baby Jeff was strangling people with his umbilical cord? The world’s first prenatal serial killer? Please. Then there’s “Konerak” Sinthasomphone, the emotional centerpiece of the courtroom drama. Except Konerak wasn’t even a person. His face was lifted from an old photo of Somsack Sinthasomphone and slapped into the script like a stock model on a toothpaste ad. Swap the caption, cue the violins, and you’ve got America weeping over a victim who never existed.
And then comes the knockout punch: the address where Jeff Dahmer supposedly molested Somsack Sinthasomphone. The discovery started with an anonymous tip: “Run a reverse address search on 808 N. 24th Street.” The result blew the whole façade apart. The address didn’t belong to Jeff. It belonged to Michael McCann, the district attorney. If that’s not a smoking gun, nothing is. It’s Kafka drunk at open mic night… the DA playing both prosecutor and prop master at the same time. At that point, you’re not in a courtroom anymore. You’re in a theater, and you’re the idiot who bought a ticket.
That’s when the story stopped resembling a criminal case and started looking like farce, a traveling improv show performed with state letterhead. Nothing looked like evidence anymore; it was all prop comedy: IDs traded like wigs, corpses conjured out of thin air, and a justice system so sure of the audience’s gullibility it didn’t bother to hide the trick.
The Realization: This Wasn’t Crime, It Was Trafficking and Psychological Torture
After the avalanche, the courtroom mask peeled away and the tent poles came into view. This wasn’t law; it was a circus. And Jeff Dahmer wasn’t the ringmaster…he was the chained “freak” in the center ring, trotted out nightly for applause.
That’s the realization that rewires everything: Jeff Dahmer wasn’t the monster. He was the merchandise. A man trafficked, psychologically tortured, and scripted into a role that fed the machine. His unsigned, unrecorded “confession” reads like lines handed to an actor. His “trial” played like community theater in hell. His face became a franchise plastered on coffee mugs, Halloween costumes, Netflix dramas…every retelling another round of human trafficking disguised as entertainment.
And the beneficiaries? Easy.
The media…carnival barkers, hollering “Step right up, see the cannibal!” while selling you Pepsi between acts.
The Archdiocese of Milwaukee…grateful to have a convenient monster to wave around while its own predators slunk back into the shadows. Nothing hides a degenerate priest quite like a cannibal trying to cook up sex zombies.
The state…running the tent, selling the tickets, and raking in credibility for taming the beast it had built from cardboard and bloodstains.
But the ugliest truth? It wasn’t just them. It was us. The audience. We bought the popcorn, we gasped on cue, we streamed the Netflix series that turned legal fraud and psychological torture into binge-watching. The monster story worked because we paid to keep the lights on.
Made by the State. Marketed by the Media.
Once you see the circus for what it is, the next question is obvious: who kept the tent lights on? The answer is the media…they were the spotlight operators, the ticket-takers, the guys shaking the tin cup under the bleachers while pretending they were just “reporting the news.”
From the very beginning, the press didn’t investigate “Dahmer”, they marketed it. They weren’t uncovering facts, they were selling a monster. Every headline was another poster stapled to the midway: The Cannibal of Milwaukee! The Ghoul Next Door!
The Archdiocese’s abuse scandal? Quietly buried under the pile of sex zombie and acid barrel headlines. The state’s procedural fraud? Never touched. The spectacle was too profitable.
The media weren’t watchdogs here. They were circus barkers with cameras, running the loudspeaker for a show built on human trafficking and psychological torture. They told you it was crime. They told you it was justice. In reality, they were selling you tickets to a human sacrifice, one reprint and one rerun at a time.
Why I Can’t Stay Silent About What They Did to Jeff
I didn’t write all this because I’ve got a quirky hobby or a bone to pick with Netflix. I’m writing it because the stakes are bigger than Jeff Dahmer. This isn’t just about one man being turned into a monster. It’s about how entire institutions – courts, churches, media – can manufacture demons out of thin air to cover their own rot.
Look at the pattern. The state got its shiny victory. The Archdiocese of Milwaukee got its perfect distraction. The media got decades of headlines, reruns, and Netflix deals. And the public? We got played. Lied to. Sold a cartoon ghoul while the real predators ran the tent.
And in the middle of that grotesque circus was Jeff…not the predator they told us to fear, but the man they used, manipulated, and destroyed to keep the public looking the other way. He wasn’t a monster. He was the merchandise. He was trafficked, coerced, and rewritten until he ceased to be a person at all. They stole his name, his image, his humanity, and they sold them for profit.
And honestly, it’s insulting. They didn’t just fake a trial. They didn’t just recycle photos and invent victims out of thin air. They spit in the face of public intelligence and dared us to notice…knowing full well that almost no one ever would. Why would they? Someone who believed the story would never, not in a million years, run a reverse address check. (Even I didn’t think to do it at first; it was an anonymous tipster who pointed me in that direction.) And in 1991, they couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to. The tools we take for granted now didn’t exist then. The internet hadn’t cracked open the archives yet. So we nodded along, bought the T-shirts and the pulpy “true crime” books, never once suspecting that the truth was hiding in plain sight…and that one day, we’d all be able to expose it with a few keystrokes.
Jeff doesn’t need exoneration. You don’t exonerate someone from fiction. He deserves to win the biggest defamation lawsuit in history, and every institution that built its power on that lie deserves to be hauled into court and made to answer for it.
Want to See the Evidence for Yourself?
If you’ve read this far, don’t stop here. Explore the original records, contradictions, and source documents that prove this story was never what you were told.
Frequently Asked Questions
Was Jeff Dahmer really a serial killer?
No. The records don’t support the story we’ve been told. Court documents, police files, and public databases reveal contradictions so large that the official narrative collapses under scrutiny. The evidence shows a man cast into a role — not a killer caught in the act.
What do you mean by “human trafficking” in this context?
Under the United Nations’ definition, trafficking isn’t limited to sex or labor. It includes coercion, fraud, psychological manipulation, and exploitation for profit. By that legal standard, Jeffrey Dahmer was trafficked: his real identity was commandeered and used to create a fictional identity to serve institutional agendas.
Why would the state and media fabricate a story like this?
Because it served powerful interests. The spectacle distracted from scandals like widespread clerical abuse at the Archdiocese of Milwaukee, bolstered law-enforcement credibility, and generated decades of profit for media companies.
Where can I see the evidence that proves Jeff Dahmer was innocent?
You don’t have to take anyone’s word for it. The documents, filings, and records that expose the inconsistencies are publicly available. See the Evidence.