David Robert Riehm (born September 2, 1987) is an American writer and film student most known for his 2004 essays writings. Writings which led to his arrest and hospitalization.

As of 2007 Riehm is curently residing in Moorpark, California studying filmmaking.

Biography

Early life

Riehm was born in Duluth, Minnesota. He grew up in Grand Portage, Minnesota. Riehm's parents divorced when he was only 6 years old.

High School

Riehm attended Cook County High School in Grand Marais, Minnesota. He graduated in 2005.

Red Lake School Shootings

Virginia Tech School Shootings

Present

Currently studying Television and Filmmaking at Moorpark College, in Moorpark, California.

Writings

Poor John Redfield

The first installment.

Poor John Redfield
By David Riehm

   This is a story that everybody needs to know. The story is about my friend John Redfield, and it is about the worst day that John ever had. For John this day sucked an incredible amount of poop.

It all started when John woke up after a long, restless night of sleep, only to discover that he was completely covered with his own nocturnal emissions. He struggled for several minutes to free himself from his prison of sticky bed sheets. His released body fluids had slowly dried into thick a glue-like textured paste. He winced as he pulled the sheet from his body, only to discover that he had removed large amounts of his body hair with it. This was no a good start of the day for John, although an interesting experience.

Having taken so long to escape from his bed, John now sprinted down the hallway knowing that he was late for school. The hallway was an obstacle course of John’s little brother’s baby toys. Not watching where he was running, John slipped on a roller skate and fell backwards.

You remember those little yellow “fisher price” cones? You know the ones that you put the little colored rings of assorted sizes on?

Anyway, John fell smack dab square on the tip of that. The toy was crammed a good seven inches up into an orifice that I care not to mention. John panicked and forcefully ripped the cone from his anus.

As he ran out the door and down to the bus stop, John was unaware that his anus was gushing large amounts of blood. John stood there waiting patiently for the bus, as a pool of blood collected silently at his feet. Finally the bus approached. John took one innocent step towards the bus and slipped in the blood, he fell to the ground. Unable to stop in time, the bus rolled slowly but surely over John’s head. After a slow second, his head collapsed in a red misty explosion, I like to think that he died instantly.

So now you know the story about my poor friend John Redfield, and the worst day, he ever had. So take this as a lesson to all, and the moral of the story is, don’t have wet dreams or you’ll die a horrible death.

View Number One/View Number Two

The second installment.

Bowling For Cuntchenson

The third installment of essays written by Riehm, "Bowling For Cuntchenson" was the longest and most serious of the trilogy. Although Written in October of 2004, the same time as the first two essays, "Bowling For Cuntchenson" wasn't however discovered until January of 2005, triggering the chain of events.

"Bowling For Cuntchenson" borrows it's name from the 2002 Michael Moore film, Bowling for Columbine, about the 1999 Columbine High School Shootings. Most likely due to the facts of the essay's nature and Riehm's interest in film.

The essay is as follows:

Bowling For Cuntchenson

David Riehm

<small>The yellow lines on the road were only a blur as they zipped by. They meant nothing to Tad. He sat there, feeling alone with his head rested against the bus window, his thoughts wondering. Mostly he was thinking about the events that had taken place earlier that day.

He was trying to understand others’ reasoning, often it’s hard for someone to know, why it is others people do things. Possibly one of the most difficult things to ever understand, but he was trying just the same. Everyone is different, along with their thoughts. They may not always be understood in the way they intended. Maybe it was just because never before in his life has he ever been in a predicament like this. He never thought that any one person could emotionally knock him down so low; so low the air of humiliation was thick enough for him to choke on, and choke he did. He never thought it possible, especially not by a teacher that he had learned to trust.

So he sits here alone, thinking to himself; why was it? How? Was what he had done really all that bad? Sure, his audience could have been considered a little more closely, but still, it was only a story. A complete fictitious and creative work conjured out of nowhere and nothingness.

Tad chooses to write about violence, sex and gore because these things are a part of life. They are life. It is important to view life as it is, not as someone tells you. He had his view; so he went with it. He had no way of knowing that his view of life would get him to where he is, or would be; nor did he know that Mrs. Cuntchenson was going to over react in the way she did, such an inappropriate way. She was way out of line. A simple “don’t write about this stuff anymore” would have sufficed, if she had treated him like an adult. But to go out of her place and to tell him that he is obsessive, disturbed, sick and that he needs serious help; now that’s just absurd!

So he guesses that he just doesn’t know. Maybe he’s not supposed to know, yet. And now she tells him that they need to have a serious talk. Well screw that, he’s not going to go sit down and let her slam and walk all over him again. She probably doesn’t even care enough to take the responsibility to approach him. She’ll just wait to see if he comes to her. Well Tad doesn’t have that kind of time in his life to waste on her. He has no need for her to preach him her views of her pathetic and ignorant bliss. But if by chance she does come to him; her words will fall upon deaf ears. He has enough worthless opinions of his own and he doesn’t need to throw hers on top of the pile.

So now you can see why it is that Tad had to write a response. He wasn’t going to just lie down and take this one like a schoolgirl. He had to let her know how he felt. How he was hurt. How she was wrong. Maybe that would open her eyes and make her realize that it isn’t okay to say things like that to students. To shatter their feelings, tell them they are wrong and that they are not good enough. So it was in her mailbox that he left his retort as he left the school. She would surely find it upon returning to work the following morning. He can’t wait to see her reaction; see her realize just how ridiculous she really is. Maybe this will all work out, Tad is glad he will have the last laugh.

The school bus slows and in doing so withdraws him from his thoughts. He looks up, over my seat. It is his stop. His eyes burned, he wipes away a few tears. He didn’t realize that he had been staring out the window with such an unnatural intensity; and that his eyes had begun to water. He stands up and makes his way to the front of the bus.