Inordinately Tall Woman Stops Traffic!

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FILE #: SLF-001

Case Status: Unsolved

Filed By: Manifesto

Date of Occurrence: 10/17/2025

Location: Balmer Drive and West Silver Lake

FIELD NOTES

Incident:

Multiple witnesses reported a large, beautiful woman, approximately 12-46 feet in height, lumbering down Balmer Drive toward the reservoir at approximately 8:27 PM, stopping traffic, disturbing the peace, engaging in Tesla driver harassment.

Anomaly Classification:

Possible Mass Hysteria

Risk Assessment:

High

Witness Statements / Recovered Evidence:

“She better have insurance,” Trenton Smith, Cyber Truck owner, mustache enthusiast.

Summary

When I arrived at Balmer and Silver Lake, a fire hydrant had been knocked off its bolts, cascading warm ground water upon the disgruntled crowd. Babies were crying, distress was in the air. Regardless of scant evidence to support their claims, it was clear a strange event had just transpired, leaving only pandemonium in its wake.

I’d picked up the call on my pocket police scanner. Numerous reports flooded in of a giant woman ranging from 12-46 feet in height prowling down the main drag, picking up cars, generally disturbing the peace. At first, the cops thought they were being pranked. When more calls came through, they started calling it a public disturbance, possible 5150’s or 918’s. Sadly, it was only after a strongly worded complaint by a particularly wealthy citizen claiming extensive vehicular damage that the fuzz jumped to the scene.

The cops were labeling it 'mass hysteria.' At face value, it was a ludicrous claim. Even so, a Tesla Cyber Truck was somehow lodged into the lower branches of a particularly large tree adjacent to the lake, with no skid marks leading to it, nor damage to the car’s front end.

The consensus was the giantess in question was on a rampage, consumed with anger, fueled only more so by her ire toward the contemptuous male gaze. Undaunted, the Cyber Truck owner drove right up to her stiletto clad feat, horn a ‘blaring. Provoked, she picked up his vehicle and shook it profusely, attempting to dislodge him from its bare stainless-steel frame. According to multiple eyewitnesses, it was only at the sound of helicopters approaching that she lost interest and cast the vehicle into a grove of eucalyptus before stepping over the fence and diving into the lake.

The police would have undoubtedly brushed this under the rug like everything else. But this time, the witnesses weren’t about to let it go. Following their only lead, the cops made overtures to investigate the fenced-in area surrounding the lake, but the agents of DWP were already barricading the gate in formation, ubiquitously denying entry.

“Police have no jurisdiction inside here,” their leader—ever-present aviator sunglasses, thrush soul patch—announced to the commanding officer on the scene. “Come back when you have a warrant.”

Bullshit stonewalling; typical of the DWP. Still, the guy had some stones on him, you had to give him that.

They were staring each other down when the next call came in. I heard it through the scanner as the cops booked it to their cars. It was for an estate on Balmer, back up the road the giantess from which the giantess had came.

The call was for a 459—breaking and entering—but when I got there it was clear this was something different all together. From what I picked up from the chatter on the radio, this was the third time they’d been called to the home in the past two weeks—first for a domestic disturbance, then a missing person, now this.

The homeowner was some big-wig CEO of an experimental cosmetic company on the outs with his girlfriend, some ex-runway model who he’d just rotated in. At first, they couldn’t be separated. Days later, she couldn’t be found.

The nature of this call was less routine. An immense hole gaped through the roof of the estate, directly above the master bedroom. The homeowner? They found him at the top of a telephone pole halfway down the block, white knuckling a utility rung as he dangled above the world below. They had to bring one of the firetrucks with the telescoping ladders just to get him down.

When his feet hit the ground, his face was stark white. He didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. From the vantage of the fire truck’s ladder, the first responders looked down upon the black composite roof.

On it, scrawled in thick red lipstick, one solitary word:

LIAR.

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