A court in the southwestern Chinese city of Chengdu has convicted a veteran human rights activist on state secrets charges and sentenced him to jail for three years…. From VOA. Full story

This site may contain information about: virginia city. The blog is also related to: most populated cities.

A court in the southwestern Chinese city of Chengdu has convicted a veteran human rights activist on state secrets charges and sentenced him to jail for three years…. From VOA. Full story

This site may contain information about: china open. The blog is also related to: china store.

Source : http://freeaafia.org/

Unlike almost any other specialty area, correctional nurses get involved with dental issues. Whether during intake assessment or as a sick call request, we must initiate treatment and referral for a variety of oral conditions. It is important to determine which are emergencies requiring an immediate dental evaluation and which can await a standard dental visit.

Meth Mouth

Meth Mouth and other Drug Issues

Generally speaking any substance abuse is not good for mouth health. Drug abusers are not focused on dental care and often don’t even notice tooth pain until they are in jail and withdrawing. Mouth infections or abscesses can go on without notice while they have access to the drugs.

Meth mouth is a particularly unattractive mouth condition brought on by the common circumstances of methamphetamine use.  The drug decreases the production of saliva, a natural tooth enamel protector. Meth users crave sugary drinks and foods and the drug induces clenching and grinding of the teeth which leads to cracking and wear.

Smokeless Tobacco and Oral Cancer

Chewing tobacco and snuff increase the risk of oral cancer by 80%. These products are popular with inmates in some parts of the country. Heaving drinking and smoking, common behaviors for the inmate population, also contribute to oral cancers. Surprisingly, oral cancer is the sixth most common cancer in white males and the fourth most common in black males. Be alert for growths in the mouth when performing intake assessments and screenings. Common areas are under the tongue and the upper lip.

Oral Infections

Poor nutrition, substance abuse, and negligent dental hygiene leads to oral infections. Left unattended, a simple oral condition can turn into a systemic emergency. Oral infections can encompass the entire face and extend to sinuses or lead to airway obstruction.

Avulsed Tooth

When is Emergency Treatment Needed?

Emergency treatment is needed for a dental condition any time the patient is having difficulty breathing or swallowing. If the mouth cannot be opened or there is facial space involvement, immediate treatment is necessary. A ‘toxic’ appearance with a high fever would also be an indicator. In any of these situations immediate intervention should be sought.

Have you experienced dental emergencies in your practice? Share your story in the comments section below.

First, the pithy. From Gawker, a blog post about criminals tweeting from jail, such as “The Hipster Grifter” Kari Ferrell:

In contrast, New York Times blogger Alison Leigh Cowan discusses one college working to educate inmates to lower rates of recidivism:

Cowan discusses the selective admission process for prisoners in Wesleyan’s program: 120 prisoners competed for 19 spots in the program. In addition to the 19 students at the penetentiary, students from the residential college visit the Cheshire prison for joint classes. The two-month old program began this fall with Composition and Sociology courses:

CHESHIRE, Conn. — In many ways it was just another day, another class of Wesleyan University, one of the more selective colleges in the Northeast. The topic was multiculturalism in schools. The discussion focused on methods of evaluating the rhetorical skills of various commentators, from Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr. to Dinesh D’Souza.

I’m fascinated by this article because of a friend who began to educate me on the detrimental effects of prison several years ago. What’s the role of the prison industrial complex to the U.S.–a country that puts more of its citizens behind bars than any other nation? How do we fight recidivism? Who exactly are we sentencing, and what can we suss out from the demographics of race, gender, and socio-economic status?

As a means of introduction to prison conditions, one of the texts that I recommend is Malcolm Braly’s On the Yard, a fictional take on his years in San Quentin in the 60’s. I’ve been teaching it for years and my students love it. It’s useful not only for its social commentary, but for its mastery of literary craft. Braly has sharp turns in plot, a revolving third person point of view, and characters–from inmates and wardens to families and employees–that will make your heart ache.

WE KNOW THE WHITE SUPREMACISTS OF MSNBC DO NOT KNOW WHAT GOD MEANS  -THOUGH AMERICA’S GRASSROOTS KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT IT MEANS!  HEY CHICKEN SHIT ISLAM COME ON OVER AND TRIE TO THROW ACID IN OUR FACES LIKE YOU DO TO MAN’S EQUAL ( WOMEN ) AND WELL SHUVE A QUARAN UP YOUR  ASS!

Socialist Billionaires Using Islamic Barbarians To Cause Chaos In America – Islam Killing & Maiming Islams For Centuries!!

By Matthew Vadum  Monday, November 23, 2009

Christopher Edwards, a former Nevada ACORN executive, received a sentence of three years probation and a $500 fine today for his role in an illegal voter registration conspiracy, theLas Vegas Sun reports.

In August the former ACORN field director pleaded guilty to two counts of conspiracy to commit a crime of compensation for registration of voters. The newspaper reported

Sure There Are Nice Muslims - But Why Should They Take Offense To This, When Obviously We Are Talking To The Murderous Islamic Barbarians. The Bad Guys Are In The News, Not The Good Guys!

The attorney general’s office said Edwards organized and operated a quota system called “blackjack” or “21+” through which the group paid canvassers based on the number of voter registration cards they collected each day. The canvassers were to gather at least 20 completed cards daily and anyone who turned in 21 or more would be given an extra $5.

Edwards has agreed to testify against Amy Busefink, a former regional director for ACORN who allegedly participated in the scheme.

ACORN the group is also charged in the case. The trial is scheduled for April 19 next year.

Meanwhile, lawyer Chris Berg wonders why there is no serious investigation of ACORN happening at the federal level.

CFP

Justin Bieber is protesting the arrest of his record label vice-president after a riot broke out at a planned appearance in Long Island, New York last Friday.

A scheduled performance by Bieber at Roosevelt Field Mall drew such a large crowd Friday that Nassau Police had to be called in to control the melee. The show was eventually cancelled. The crowds had gathered to see the 15-year-old Canadian who released his first eight-song CD, My World, on Tuesday — give a performance at the tween clothing store, Justice.

Def Jam VP James Rappo was led away from the shopping center in handcuffs after young Justin failed to Twitter a request to fans that his appearance had been scrapped in a timely fashion.

The mall, I guess, should have had more security. They weren’t expecting 10,000 people to show up, Neither was I,” the singer said. “I’m gonna make T-shirts that say ‘Free Rappo,’”Justin joked during an interview with KIIS-FM’s “On-Air With Ryan Seacrest” Monday.

“I wanna see my fans. I don’t wanna look like a jerk, like a no-show… I wanna say hi to my fans, but when I got there the police threatened to put me in cuffs and take me and my mum to the penitentiary.
“They were threatening to put me in jail. They were like, ‘If you don’t pull off right now, we’re gonna arrest you and your mother,’” Justin explained.

“We’re not trying to get deported – me and my mum are Canadian. We were just like, ‘Whatever.’ So we pulled off, went away and it turns out the cops were holding another person… the vice-president of the label. They had him and were like, ‘If Justin doesn’t Twitter for everyone to go home, then we’re gonna send you to jail.’ My phone was dead; I had no clue what was going on. They sent him to jail because I didn’t Twitter on time,” Bieber adds.

“I’m very sorry for my fans. I’m really pleased everyone showed up.”

At around eleven-thirty in the morning, having completed the form at last, Ozawa told me I was free to go out and have lunch somewhere so long as I returned by, he checked his watch, by twelve forty-five.

I wasn’t exactly famished, but I jumped at the opportunity to get out of that sickly illuminated, smelly little room and as far away from the narcs as possible.

Popping into a convenience store across the street, I picked up some onigiri (rice balls) and a bottle of green tea, and walked to a small park next to the station. Near the entrance was an empty bench bathed in the bright noon sunlight. I plopped down hard on it and sighed heavily.

I’d been with the narcotics agents for about three hours and so far so good. I had my doubts, however, that the afternoon would be as easy. We hadn’t even touched the reason why I was being investigated. There wouldn’t be any more softball questions when I returned for the afternoon session. Ozawa and Nakata hadn’t asked me to leave the whole day open for the sole purpose of writing down my resume. No question about it. The gloves were going to come off.

The urge to flee had its grip on me again.

What the hell am I doing? I’m still a free man, aren’t I? I haven’t been arrested . . . yet. And didn’t Ozawa tell me the morning of the raid to come in for questioning not only today, but tomorrow afternoon, as well? So, they are going to let me go home today. I could be on a train to Kagoshima this evening. Yeah, I could. Then, I could catch the ferry from–where was that again, oh yeah–Shibushi. I could be in Okinawa by tomorrow afternoon . . .

What little appetite I’d had quickly dissipated when warmed over by the dismal prospect of being arrested. I tossed the onigiri to the pigeons that were cooing and mooching about my feet.

Before long, it was twelve-thirty and time to head back. I looked up at the blue, cloudless sky.

“What a waste,” I said, standing up. It was the first Sunday that wasn’t overcast or rainy a month. “I should be at the beach checking out the peaches rather than cooped up in that room with those sons of bitches.”

On the way back, I rang Azami up from a public phone. I knew she had to be sick with worry.

“Everything’s going fine,” I told her. “Much better than I expected.”

“Oh, Rémy, I’m so relieved to hear that.”

“Azami.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know what time I’ll be back,” I said. “It might take some time yet. Wait for me, though, will ya?”

“I’ll wait for you . . . Rémy?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Thank you . . . I, uh, I love you, too. Bye.”

I hung up the phone, pocketed the postcard with Azami’s photograph and telephone number on it and reluctantly made my way back to the office of the Narcotics Crime Squad.

__

注意：この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

© Aonghas Crowe, 2009

I hope that my fellow Americans will join me in petitioning our members in Congress to take timely precautions to house adequately and humanely the masses of prisoners soon to be created by provisions within an impending healthcare reform. I write specifically of provisions calling for just fines and penal confinement for defiant people, excluding certain non-citizens among us, who fail to comply with regulations requiring the purchase and unbroken maintenance of healthcare insurance. Our existing prisons are even now overcrowded to the point of discomfiture, and I know that few of us wish for murderers, rapists, burglars, arsonists and such to be further corrupted by defiers of a law to be benevolently enacted for a populace in direful need. To be enacted I add by a generous government elected by free and appreciative voters, assisted here and there by assorted community-action groups.

Those subject to punishment will fall into two categories: those who cannot afford payments and those who purposefully invoke the wrath of all right-thinking citizens by refusing to purchase policies, either the usurious private policies or the more democratically and economically fair public policy.

Those who cannot afford payment in my opinion will be comparable to earlier inhabitants of debtors’ prisons. Therefore, I think that as in the past we should provide accommodations in which they may be accompanied in confinement by their spouses and significant others of any and all varieties, their children, and their other relatives or associates who would be dependent upon the primary detainee for the provision of food, clothing, and housing had the felon been able to afford the minimal required policy. Such people deserve our sympathy and concern, within reason.

            Those who can afford but choose not to purchase private policies, public policies, or either deserve much less consideration for their and their families and associates’ comfort. If prison cells become inadequate, as they invariably will, for this type of incorrigible unlikely ever to experience correctional rehabilitation, one solution to avoid the expense for massive penitentiary construction would be summary execution. Though this solution may at first seem somewhat harsh, at least to a degree, four among our highest judges (Beyer, Stevens, Ginsberg, and Sotomayor) can if pushed find six constitutional penumbrae to justify the punishment and two more to discipline local, state, and federal officials who are slow to render justice. Justice Kennedy may present a temporary roadblock, but he can often find a reasoned position under a constitutional cloud when adequate press coverage is expected.

            To repeat, I hope my neighbors will join me in urging our elected federal officials to protect the law-abiding citizenry by providing for the incarceration, or other effective and permanent chastening, of the multitudes of criminals who will shortly hopelessly or willingly defy a government that is acting as a compassionate elder and bigger brother for us all.

As is traditional in proposals of this genre, I assure my dear and respected reader that I have nothing to gain from my advocacy of a solution to problem that could without firm preventative action inhibit our entire law-abiding population from enjoying the benevolence shortly to come down upon us. I am of an age at which numerous governmental programs guarantee me full state-of-the-art healthcare so long as they remain solvent or so long as the Treasury Department printing presses remain operational, and I have no investments in healthcare-associated.

J. Grant Swank, Jr.

He faced twenty years for being accused of a heinous crime.

I was substance abuse counselor at the jail at the time of his admittance.

“I fell to my knees. I cried out, ‘If there is a God, help me. My life is over.’” That was the agonizing prayer of the young, white felon.

“Then I opened my eyes. I stared into the corner of my cell. There was this Bible.”

When I first met Stan, he was walking down the jail corridor to his work station. In his hand he held a Bible. At first glance, I asked him, “Why are you reading that book?”

“Because it helps me,” he answered in a low-key voice.

The next day I asked him the same question. I got the same answer.

The next day I asked him once again the same question. Once again, I got the same answer.

The next time I asked him, getting the same answer, I told him I was one with him. I informed him that I am a Christian.

With that, we became conversational friends in jail.

One day we were talking about the strength the Word provides us when under pressure. He obviously was under a severe strain with twenty years in prison in front of him.

“The more I read this Book, the more the outside world recedes. Now I have read it through three times. I can honestly say that with this Book in my heart, I don’t care any more about the twenty years. If it’s twenty years behind bars, then it’s twenty years behind bars. I accept it as God’s will.”

It is amazing how the Bible can insulate a soul for sound mental and emotional health. The Word is powerful. It can redeem and cleanse. It can rejuvenate and implant hope. It can retrain thought patterns and emotional networks. It can perform miracles.

Stan was experiencing in jail all of these changes within his very person. From the first night, slamming his body against the cell floor in desperation, to this moment of confessing liberation, he had traveled quite the inner journey.

Being in ministry for nearly half a century, I could trust this man to be relating to me the whole truth. He had no reason to fabricate. If he had tried to fabricate, it would have shown itself without doubt, considering the twenty years in prison that was hanging his life.

I promised him that I would intercede for him in my own humble prayers. He thanked me sincerely.

We continued our friendship. Though I was employed in a secular position at the jail, yet there were opportunities for me to speak with Stan, even though briefly, about grooming his soul in the Holy Spirit’s presence.

I could not get over his words about the outside world receding the more he immersed himself in the Word. I thought of how many believers outside jail could come upon such release if they only took the time to do as Stan.

Our lives are so filled with nonsense and worldly lures.

We don’t know the freedom that we could experience if we only immersed ourselves in the Bible with greater discipline. Instead, we content ourselves with a five-and-dime religion of superficial spirituality. Television, MP3s, chit-chat on cell phones, trivia, movies and all the rest of our culture’s sidelines keep us away from soul depth.

Stan came upon God’s treasure house only because his crime had corralled himself inside a jail cell with a Book. That became his key to real-life freedom.

He was imprisoned in a July. By a miracle, the next February he was released. There is no human explanation. It is sheer miracle. It is nothing but the divine hand.

Years have passed.

Stan has proven over time his surrender to the Christ he met in the Book. Today he is a model believer, happily married and rearing a family, serving in his local church and witnessing to the power of God to set a prisoner free.

This is really amazing no fair trial, no justice, baseless allegations on an innocent mother of 3 children two of which are still missing (if alive) and still they call their selves civilized fighting a so-called war against terror. The imperialists are real terrorists and hypocrites ruling the world with their power,brutal killings,economic exploitation and lies.

They Zionists/Neo-Cons don’t consider others as human beings , they are real fascists and modern face of Nazism.

Can Aafia get the share of civilization and system of justice she deserves? Is there any conscience left in our government which is busy in licking feet of their imperialist masters? Is there any Kerry-Lugar bill for Aafia? Is there any humanity left for an innocent lady who has suffered a lot for being a muslim women who loves her religion?

————————————————————————————————————————

Source: http://www.nation.com.pk/pakistan-news-newspaper-daily-english-online/Politics/21-Nov-2009/Dr-Aafia-to-boycott-trial

Dr Aafia to boycott trial

The Nation
NEW YORK – While a defiant Aafia Siddiqui declared that she would boycott her trial in January, a federal judge Thursday rejected her lawyers’ plea that she could not be tried in the United States as they pointed out that the Pakistani neuroscientist’s alleged crime took place outside the country. Ms Siddiqui, who was brought to New York in August 2008 from Afghanistan where prosecutors say she allegedly fired at US interrogators. No American was hit but she was shot in the abdomen and was charged with attempted murder and assault.
In a pre-trial hearing on Thursday, her lawyers, led by Charles Swift, argued that Dr Siddiqui could only be tried on terrorism charges in the US, and not on murder charges. In this regard, he quoted various international regulations.
But US District Judge Richard Berman ruled out the motion, saying that the US courts have jurisdiction if American citizens were subjected to attacks abroad, citing some precedents.
But Ms Siddiqui, who is languishing in a maximum security jail, interrupted her lawyers in US District Court in Manhattan to announce that she did not plan to participate in her trial, scheduled for Jan 19.
“I am boycotting this trial,” she declared. “I am innocent of all the charges and I can prove it, but I will not do it in this court.”
Since the very beginning, Ms Siddiqui has said that she has no confidence in the American judicial system or the lawyers appointed for her by the court – even those retained by the government of Pakistan – and that she wants to make peace and knows how to do it.
She has vigorously protested against what she called humiliating strip searches before she is brought to the court.
Judge Berman said that her trial would proceed after her lawyers and prosecutors visit Afghanistan to interview eyewitnesses to finalise their case.
Lawyers for Ms Siddiqui tried to convince the court that she was mentally incompetent to stand trial, citing in part her refusal to cooperate with lawyers and the reports of a psychologist who said she suffers from delusional disorder and depression.
Judge Berman rejected that argument after prosecutors pointed to psychological reports that concluded she was faking mental illness.
Berman on Thursday rejected defence arguments aimed at tossing out charges against Ms Siddiqui that carry a potential minimum prison sentence of 30 years and a maximum penalty of life in prison.
Before he ruled on the request, Dr Siddiqui said visits by her lawyers were “torture for me” and it was a waste of money for lawyers to go to Afghanistan to interview witnesses because she was not participating in the trial.
“I’m not dealing with them anymore,” Dr Siddiqui said of her lawyers. “They’re just people coming to my door and talking, talking, talking.”
During a break, Dr Siddiqui was led out of the courtroom by US marshals when she would not stop talking loudly. “Take me out,” she said. “I’m not coming back.”
She was not present when the judge made his decision.

Produced by Grand Hustle affiliates Nard & B.

T.I. feat. Brandon (of Nard & B) and Big Kuntry – Let Em Talk

Via: Nah Right

And speaking of threesomes, those two narcotics agents and I had one going all morning long.

Terahara had left the interrogation room and Ozawa was now sitting right across from me at the desk, typing up the information I had already written down into a notebook computer.

Having spent a good hour and half answering questions about my family circumstances, and filling in the boxes with my educational background and work history, my writing hand started to cramp up. I pushed on to the next page just the same, hoping that the sooner I finished up, the sooner the cops would let me go.

On the third page, I bumped up against a Chinese character I couldn’t read.

As good as everyone claimed my Japanese to be, there were still many things I didn’t know, hundreds upon hundreds of kanji I couldn’t read, even more I couldn’t write. Like a cripple leaned on his crutches, I depended heavily on my electronic pocket dictionary.

Whenever you come across a Chinese character you can’t read, the first thing you’ve got to do is count the brush strokes, or the number of lines required to write the kanji. For example, the kanji for “person”, 人 (hito), is written with two strokes. “Big”, 大 (dai), is written with three strokes, “heaven” or “sky”, 天 (ten), is written with four, and the character for “beauty”, 美 (bi, etc.), with nine. Once you know how many strokes it takes to write the kanji you can then look it up in a Japanese dictionary where the characters are listed according to, among other things, their stroke number and components called as radicals.

This is the word that stumped me: 勲章. I knew the second character could be read as “sho”, but I wasn’t familiar with the first character. I tallied the stroke number–fifteen–then, looked it up. When the search came up with over a 100 characters written with fifteen brushstrokes, I added the radical for “strength”, 力. That narrowed the results down to eighteen characters. 勲 was at the top of the list and was, I now understood, pronounced “kun”.

Putting “kun“ and “sho“ together and got ”kunsho”. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was almost there. Looking up the ”kunsho” in the Japanese-English dictionary I discovered that the word meant “decoration”.

I was being asked if I had ever been decorated. “Decorated? Like a Christmas tree?”

“No,” Ozawa said, looking up from his notebook computer. “Have you ever been decorated by, for example, the emperor or a governmental official.”

I was tempted to ask Ozawa whether he thought I would be here if I had, but replied that I hadn’t.

“Just write ‘no’ on all these places,” he suggested.

Yeah right. I wasn’t about to take anything for granted, not when it meant the possibility of getting thrown in jail.

I continued to answer each question as thoroughly as possible–something that must have been driving the man up the smoke-stained wall. The last thing I wanted to do was tie the knot that they would hang me from.

File photo of Kaing Guek Eav, better known as Duch (AFP photo)

PHNOM PENH, Nov 23, 2009 (AFP) – Lawyers for Khmer Rouge victims Monday accused the regime’s jailer of duping Cambodia’s war crimes court with “crocodile tears” as he faces final arguments over “Killing Fields” atrocities.

Former prison chief Kaing Guek Eav — better known as Duch — has apologised repeatedly for his role in the horrors of the hardline communist regime, which killed up to two million people three decades ago.

But civil lawyers representing 93 victims of the Tuol Sleng prison at the UN-backed court argued that Duch had failed to acknowledge the full extent of his guilt, as his trial entered its closing week.

Attorney Kong Pisey told judges that Duch had sought “to cleverly evade responsibility when it suits him” and wept “crocodile tears” in the dock.

“The cooperation with the court and his pretended truthful admissions is half-hearted,” Kong Pisey said, speaking through an official translator.

“However the accused’s defence strategy of denying any personal involvement of torture, killing and arrest is unsuccessful.”

Lawyers used part of the day’s hearings to recount how Tuol Sleng prisoners were beaten, electrocuted and then executed.

“Your honours must objectively, we say, review the evidence to determine whether or not what has been accepted by the accused amounts to full disclosure and the full truth,” lawyer Karim Khan told judges.

The prosecution is scheduled to begin presenting its arguments Tuesday.

Duch, who wore a white turtleneck sweater as he watched Monday’s proceedings from the dock, is expected to apologise again this week as his defence bids to lessen his sentence.

Since his trial began in February, Duch, 67, has repeatedly asked for forgiveness for overseeing the murders of around 15,000 men, women and children at the S-21 or Tuol Sleng prison, a former high school.

He is charged with crimes against humanity, war crimes, torture and premeditated murder, and faces a maximum term of life in prison by the tribunal, which does not have the power to impose the death penalty.

A verdict is expected early next year.

Hundreds of Cambodians attended the specially built courtroom on the outskirts of Phnom Penh on Monday to watch Duch, who sat behind a huge bullet-proof screen to prevent possible revenge attacks.

This week’s proceedings will be broadcast live by all Cambodian television stations, court officials said.

Tuol Sleng prison was at the heart of the Khmer Rouge security apparatus and inmates were taken from there during Duch’s tenure for execution at nearby Choeung Ek, an orchard now known as the “Killing Fields”.

Led by “Brother Number One” Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge was responsible for one of the worst horrors of the 20th century, wiping out nearly a quarter of the population through starvation, overwork and execution.

Rising to power as a tragic spin-off from the US conflict in Vietnam, the movement emptied Cambodia’s cities to take society back to a rural “Year Zero”, purging city dwellers, intellectuals and even people who wore glasses.

The four-year Khmer Rouge reign of terror ended in 1979. Pol Pot died in 1998.

Duch has been detained since 1999, when he was found working as a Christian aid worker in the jungle, and was formally arrested by the tribunal in July 2007.

The court has faced controversy over allegations of interference by the government and claims that Cambodian staff paid bribes for their jobs.

The joint trial of four other more senior Khmer Rouge leaders is expected to start in 2011.

The court is also investigating whether to open more cases against five other former Khmer Rouge cadres after a dispute between the international and Cambodian co-prosecutors over whether to pursue more suspects.

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Rapper DMX is the subject of a new $1 million dollar lawsuit for backing out of a celebrity boxing match scheduled to take place in December in Birmingham, Alabama.

DMX was originally scheduled to fight boxer/actor Eric Martinez during an event titled “Alabama Pride,” promoted by Thunder Promotions.

The rapper was scheduled to box Martinez for three rounds but backed out of the fight when Thunder Promotions allegedly refused to fix the fight or guarantee DMX’s safety.

DMX’s abrupt cancellation left promoters scurrying to find a replacement.

Shortly after it was announced that DMX would be pulling out of the fight, Thunder Promotions signed up rapper Coolio to face off against Martinez in the ring on December 12th.

According to Coolio, he has no plans to fix the fight or to even lose the contest.

“I’ve been doing martial arts for 18 years…somebody [is] gonna get knocked the f**k out,” Coolio exclaimed to radio host Angela Yee during an interview last week. “Coolio don’t take a** whoopin’s well. I’ll tell you what, if I get into trouble, you gonna know because it’s gonna go from boxing to f**king wrestling and choking because I hate to lose.”

Thunder Promotions filed the $1 million dollar lawsuit against DMX in Birmingham County Court on Friday (November 20th).

Thunder Promotions claims DMX’s cancellation has caused them hundreds and thousands of dollars and damages.

The lawsuit is the latest financial set back for DMX, who also owes $1.5 million in back taxes to the IRS.

Via:AllHipHop.com

Chinese activist Huang Qi gets a three-year prison term for "illegally holding state secrets", but few details are released…. From BBC News. Full story

This site may contain information about: china games. The blog is also related to: china today.

Microtrends states that there are 109,000,000 heterosexual women and 98,000,000 heterosexual men. The author suggests that when we take into account the black men in prison or who die young due drugs, crime, etc. Black Women are at an even greater disadvantage. Bottom line is that some women will never get married and men never had it so good with all of these women chasing them.

For the sake of maintaining my speaking/writing decorum, I’ll simply say…’whatever’ to these statistics.   There are stats that  state the presence of more black men in HIGHER EDUCATION institutions than in jail–depends on who’s doing the math…and how.

Consider also the lopsidedness of these numbers:

When there is a large number of black women experiencing the very same fate as some of these black men, the data begs to be both qualified and quantified times over. My point is that LOVE has more to do with the matter/condition of the heart–and not perceived numbers. I am already excited for ANY woman’s next ‘growth spurt’ who has made a conscious decision to lay fear aside when it comes to finding their soul mate.

Many women fear the feelings of loniless when in truth it should not be feared at all, but embraced completely.  All of our lives [men included] are nothing than a growth experience, and how we process life’s lessons.   That is ALL any of us were put here to do.   As you lose some of the leaves of a broken relationship or marriage, new ones are going to take its place.  And chances are high that YOU already possess the tools you need during the process of their unfolding. So when you decide to get comfortable accepting the emotional ‘you’, you will realize all the more your truest power and essence of your femininity.

…How I love black women!

What do you do when a stranger walks into your house on a Saturday morning, unannounced at 8 am asking for a beer?

Our otherwise calm weekend was shattered….someone I barely recognized just strolled into my sitting room – it took me a moment to recognize him as a friends boyfriend.

It was not much after 9 am – he walked into, just like that , as if invited, and asked us for a beer.

For a moment Peter and I were stunned. We just stared at him. Peter for one had never even met the guy -a tall Indian dude.

I realized from the pong that this chap, lets call him Charlie, was quite drunk. I asked Peter to get him some Ribena and began wondering how we’d get rid of him. We don’t know him well enough to feel comfortable with him being around us on an otherwise intimate Saturday morning, but I know him enough to feel it was a bit too rude to simply say “F- OFF you aren’t invited”.

Dressed rather oddly for a Saturday morning it became clear that this was a Friday night turned Saturday morning. I made a comment that it had been a long night and he revealed that he’d been in a car accident, rolled his car 3 times and had walked over to us. Luckily he wasn’t hurt we all agreed.

I felt as if the pieces were falling into place …but what a perfect con.

The next ten minutes he’s bragging that he’s a trained rally driver, and that he’s a magnificent driver and at age 42 had never rolled a car, that he was in a state of complete shock, as if the car had somehow turned against him. The bashed car was at the garage – he said he’d sent a cheque of half a million to pay for the damages “no big deal he says” – does this retard think we are impressed with talk of cheques of half a million shillings? The only thought going through my head was “What an ass” how do I get rid of him?

“Does your girlfriend know?” I ask “I don’t know” he says, “my three phones were broken” (three phones my ass). “I’ll call her” I offer,

“No, don’t” he replies.

I go to make coffee detouring to my office to send her a text.

“Not sure if u r aware Charlie is here says he had an accident is traumatized, says I shouldn’t call u”

I turn on the kettle and Peter emerges “he says he broke Annes arm”

“WHAT? “

“He broke her arm”

“How? In the accident?

“No, says he got angry and threw something at her”

Now I’m totally confused and very very mad, no FURIOUS.

I call her – it’s true she’s at a local clinic. Shell shocked, she’s asking if he’s being a pain what can she do to get him out of our hair. I tell her I’m coming for her.

*?*! (deleted expletive) beats up his girl and comes over to my house for sympathy. What the *^$%?

I ask him to leave, he puts on that stupid British school boy attitude “I understand” and stands up and wobbles about. I leave Peter to get him completely out with instructions to lock all doors of the house.

We  leave, the @^% is somewhere wondering around the garden, instructions to staff – get rid of him.

Peter and I rushed off to help Anne who is at a clinic waiting in line. She is complete shock. She tells us that  he had crashed his car at about 4 am on his way to her house. He says it rolled 3 times and that the roll bar saved him and his seatbelt. She sounds thankful that he’s safe… what a poor guy traumatized and all. “The  %$#@^&&%%$#  has broken her arm” my head screams!

He told us that he was playing with the steering wheel when the car lost control. I can’t even bring myself to do a Duh! He told her that after the accident a crowd gathered at the scene and someone called a tow truck. He gets the crumpled vehicle towed to her house at 5.30 am. Calls her, she opens up and is sympathetic to his accident, but he drinks some more (he was already completely drunk) then gets angry accuses her for causing the accident (because she didn’t go out with him the night before – THANK GOD

She says he goes into a wild rage, starts breaking things and throwing things around including a full jar of Tahini that hit her on the elbow causing quite some considerable damage. I look at it – her elbow is totally deformed with the swelling, it’s turning blue.

The clinician refers her to a major hospital for an x-ray and we agree to take her immediately. As we were driving she gets a phone call from her house keeper. She listens silently then tells us that the *^&%  has come back and has broken all the windows.

The she breaks down into a pool of tears. We stop the car and I advise her to go straight to the police.

She agrees and we ask the police to arrest him – we know he’s still around, very drunk and is on foot somewhere. He’s easy to spot. Two police officers move off on foot to “catch him”  …can’t be tough, tall skinny Asian guy in an totally African neighbourhood.

They keep calling saying they can’t find him and keep asking for descriptions – this is silly, we know he’s around – there’s only one road  – he’s on it somewhere. A lady drives up to the police station – she tells us she gave a tall Asian a lift to a bar across the way, and that immediately after she dropped him two police ask her for a lift  – they tell her that they are looking for a tall Asian. She said she took them to the bar – at the entrance someone said the Asian got on a boda boda motorbike and left. They head off in the direction the boda boda went in.

We leave the police station furious that he  has escaped but as we drive past the bar I look over only to see the ASS sitting at the very bar– he can see us.  *&%^&^%$#$#$!

We go straight to the two foot patrol men and point them at the guy – they arrest him. We proceed to hospital. It’s now lunch time.

By 5 we’re done with X-rays and are driving back home. She’s agreed to stay with us  – her house is a mess anyway.  At 6 the police want to know what to do with the fellow. Follow your procedures we say – he’s beaten her up and destroyed property. Put him in.

They say they are going to lock him in at the main station. Good.

By 8 pm and we’re at her house evaluating the damage and getting a night bag. Broken bed, broken bulbs, broken lights and a broken door. White gloss paint poured over the newly finished house. She’s in tears again. The place is a mess.

His parents call and beg Anne not to press charges, to get him out of the cell. They admit he’s done wrong but he’ll be molested, attacked, injured even killed in the cell.  She’s torn.

We ask her what she wants to do  - it’s clear. She’s a wreck, her arm is blue and three times the diameter but she doesn’t want him raped or hurt in a cell. She says he’s remorseful (My *&^%!)  I know she’ll never forgive herself, and he’ll never let her forgive herself if he has to sleep in a cell.

So we have to head back to the police station – the Officer in charge is not available. The Duty Officer does not have authority to let someone out. Well we tried, its good enough for me, let him rot in the cell.

But no, someone suggests we ask the Officer in charge of the Division – the guy is in and wants to see us. What happened next could easily be made in a movie. Kenyan policemen are thugs.

I know that spouse abuse is common in Kenya but that does not make the victims pains any less. The police responsible are doing their jobs but they could hold back the laughter and fun they are getting out of this particular situation. They speak in Swahili and poke fun knowing Anne does not understand – but their expressions reveal the fun they are making. They say they don’t understand, the guy has injured her, destroyed her property and why? Because he rolled his car and was frustrated.
“But what did YOU do to make him hit you” the OCPD asks.

She is being asked to admit that she is the reason he got mad, that she triggered something, that it’s all her fault. If its not her fault the officer says then he could come back and hurt you again tonight.

“If it’s just frustration and drink ” he reasons “Why didn’t he go home and wreck his own house – why drive across town at 5 am to break your houses?” the police man asks

It’s a Good *&^* ing question.

Part of me wants to yell at the stupid cop but what good would that do in this situation – we are all his victims now. I feel like a prey stuck in a spiders web. The spider torturing each one of us in turn. It’s taking forever, we have no  idea where his line of questioning is going.

But after an hour of the police logic I knew what I’d do,  let the fucker rot in the cell for the night. He could deal with his plight tomorrow – and his damn parents who claim to love him should come rescue him. Asking his victim to rescue him is obscene and totally retarded.

But I also knew that Anne wouldn’t sleep tonight if he was in a cell. She’d worry and feel extreme guilt. She’d probably punish herself somehow. The police man notices that she has mercy, he can see that she worries about him and asks why. He asks “Why didn’t he worry about you when he started attacking her and destroying her new home?”.

She knows the answer, but logic seems to be on vacation.

They bring the &^%$ out of the cell and haul him in front of us. His attitude alone made me want to instruct the police officer to throw him in with the worst offenders for the entire weekend.

Normally a strong, beautiful, lovely, loving, happy and elegant woman is reduced to a quivering puddle of tears. She can’t escape.

But Charlie, he is enjoying this scene. He has a smirk on his face, he’s actually smiling, enjoying the pain he’s brought to her, the annoyance to us and the police station.  He is feeling loved that someone cares enough to make such an issue out of him. What a ^*&&%$!!!

We get back into the car to leave and I try to talk to her about it, I just don’t get it. The guy is a complete and utter Ass. She says she knows he’s controlling, dangerous  even, he drinks too much (sorry but that’s not an excuse). She tells me she worries that he’ll come and wreck my house if she stays with me. I tell her he cannot. I remind her he hasn’t wrecked anyones house but hers, he hasn’t hurt anyone else but her. He does it because she lets him.

I give her time for that to sink in – he does it because she lets him.

She can’t see it. She says he’s sorry and remorseful – “yeah” I think “just like Kagwai  who says he’s sorry for gauging out his wifes eyes”. She was blinded for life.  He did seven years for, Anne can’t even imagine this Ass doing one night in a cell!

Logic is truly on vacation.

She, ’s a puddle of tears and I feel angry – double angry. Angry because she isn’t angry at the injustice, angry that she’s letting this *%&$  manipulate her. Angry that she’s making excuses for him. Angry that she can’t see – no matter what, she can’t see what I do.

I tell her my own bitter spouse abuse story. Walking out was tough but it was a walk to freedom. And, I’ve never looked back. Everytime I see my &*(*^%  and his wife I feel so grateful it’s not me.

I decided that being alone, lonely, unloved and all that came with it was far far better than in an abusive relationship.

I’m also angry because after all that, we bailed the Fucking Bastard out.  After putting him in, we bailed him out. Retards.  It cost us Khs 10,000/- and an entire day of my life. He doesn’t deserve it. He probably won’t show up for court either.

She left this morning. I know she’s gone to clean up the broken glass, to remove the paint, fix the windows, anything to avoid dealing with what she needs to do to save herself.

I know I have no right but I asked her anyway, if she could imagine writing him off completely, never seeing him again.

She said she could not.

It’s a day later and I feel certain that she will drop the charges, continue seeing him in a fatal attempt to mend his broken being. He isn’t like this every day… he’s a troubled man, a spoilt boy with no boundaries…. she is convinced that he needs her. He’ll apologise, cry genuine tears, even see a councelor and shower her with gifts, take her to great places. He’ll probably even propose to her.

But he’s still the same &*(*^ . I dread what he’ll do to her next time. She knows that we will be there to pick up the pieces, …she’s too nice to do anything that will hurt him. It’s as if she’s trapped – she just can’t let go of him. He has infected her.

But maybe she can escape, she can if he lets go….

I’m not hoping, but just saying….maybe the roll cage won’t hold next time.

Post note:

Charlie and Anne are real people but these are not their real names. Over a 12 hour period I discovered what it takes to effect an arrest in Kenya for spouse abuse – its not easy and you need stoic friends to help you through. Spouse abuse happens every day but most cases never get reported because it’s a fucking drama at the police station and male policemen tend to ‘understand’ male urges. They encourage victims to ‘make up’ and withdraw cases. Victims of spouse abuse need to be strong. Know your rights, make a statement, get the P3 form, take photos of the damage and injuries, and put the Fuckers away for a long long time.  Oh, and turn off your phone so that his parents can’t reach you. The incident happened yesterday and as you can probably tell, I’m still fuming.  And, I know that men are also abused – either way it’s wrong. Get out of toxic relationships fast.

t2

If things had been going well for me in 2001, why then they couldn’t have been better for my friend Jean. His flagship, The Zoo, was making a killing on magic mushrooms, paraphernalia, and sliver accessories, and the money that poured in from the shops funded further expansions in both his retail and wholesale businesses and gave him the room to embark on new ventures.

In early September just as he was turning forty, he finally found a building that suited his needs in Yakuin and leased the whole damn thing, opening a new boutique for young women called Le Fétiche on the first floor, housing his office on the fourth, and using the two floors in between as a warehouse.

It was a bold move, but then everything Jean was doing at the time was bold, if not audacious. He acted no differently when it came to his relationship with Nori, the lovely Amazonian he had met half a year earlier.

Nori would have had any other man eating out of her hand, but not Jean.

“That friend of yours has some nerve,” Nori said to me one evening in mid September. The two of us were having drinks at stylish bar called Neon, waiting for Jean to arrive.

“What’d he do this time?” I said, taking a nip of my cocktail.

“He had another woman at this flat is what!”

“Am I supposed to be surprised by that?”

“No, but . . . “

Jean had quite a few potted cactuses, giant prickly things, throughout his apartment. It was a message, he had told me with a wink, to the women who came back to his place: “He might look cool, but you don’ wanna get too close.”

“But what?” I asked Nori.

“Listen, listen,” she said animatedly. “When I found out he was with another woman, I went straight over to his flat to give him a piece of my mind and, and, and he chewed me out! He’s with another woman and he bawls me out. Can you believe that?”

Just then Jean arrived, and, giving his Amazonian a big kiss on the cheek, sat down between us.

“What are you two talking about?” Jean asked.

“The other night,” Nori replied, getting up and heading for the restroom.

“She told you?” he asked me once Nori was gone.

“Yeah.”

“Astonishing,” he said shaking his head. “That woman is astonishing.”

I could be wrong, but I think that may have been the moment at which Jean started to fall in love with Nori.

“She didn’t tell you everything, did she?” Jean said, looking back towards the restroom.

“Everything?”

“I was with the Chinese bitch when she came over.”

“I figured as much,” I said. “She said you chewed her out.”

“Of course, I did. She’s lucky I didn’t slap her, too, the way she started to carry on. What are you drinking?”

“Cynar and soda,” I said, letting my friend have a sip.

“Not bad,” he said and ordered the same.

Let me tell you, ask any Japanese woman what kind of man she’d like to marry, and, nine times out of ten, she’ll answer, “someone gentle and kind”. But, mark my words; show a woman kindness, generosity, patience, and she’ll run you into the ground with selfish demands and pettiness only to leave in the end you for a drunken lout who slaps her around when he’s not frittering away his salary at a pachinko parlor.

When Nori returned from the restroom, she was smiling broadly.

“That reminds me,” I said, hopping off the barstool. “My turn to recharge the ol’ batteries.”

As I was taking a couple hits meth in the restroom I could hear that piercing laugh of Nori’s that always sounded like glass shattering. I had to shake my head, too. Jean was right: the woman was astonishing, one of kind.

Not until a year later would I learn that I didn’t know the half of it when it came to what had happened that night at Jean’s apartment. After the two had cooled down, Nori made a demand that intrigued her boyfriend enough to through the door wide open and let her in: Nori wanted to know what it was the Chinese woman did for Jean that she herself couldn’t do better. And so, Nori stepped into his apartment and out of her clothes, and Jean enjoyed the first of many ménage à trois. Three’s company too, indeed.

Later, as I was drinking a Pernod and Pampelmuse on the rocks, a customer sitting a few seats away from me looked up from his cell phone and announced that a small plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center.

“Must be an accident,” I said to Jean.

Not fifteen minutes later a news flash appeared on the screens of everyone’s cell phone saying that another plane had crashed into the south tower.

“Accident, my arse! This is a terrorist attack,” I said, dropping a handful of bills on the counter and telling the bartender to keep the change.

I bid Jean and Nori a quick good-bye, and scrambled out the door. Once home, I would spend the next fourteen hours, on the edge of my seat, eyes glued to the television set, watching the Twin Towers burn, people jump to their deaths, and then, at midnight on September twelfth, the first tower came tumbling down.

Needless to say, I did not need drugs to stay awake that night.

注意：この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

© Aonghas Crowe, 2009

D-d-damn. In Atlanta this past January, members of Fabolous’ entourage were accused of a taking a white Lamborghini after a hotel valet mistakenly gave them the keys. Now 10 months later, local authorities want Fabolous to identify the culprits. Please believe it. Believe it please.

WSBTV

Via: Rap Radar