Marty cradled the Ruger Sportsman lovingly, Circassian walnut cool against his cheek. In the lush park below, a puff of earth appeared beside the carved fairy tree.

Deidre gathered his grimy jacket around her knees. ‘Jesus Marty, can we go now? You said “one shot” – that’s three! I’m cold, and we’re going to get caught if we stay any longer!’

Counting to ten in Latin, Marty lay his weapon with exaggerated care on its carry sheath and faced his girlfriend. She looked away as he stroked her bra strap, then put her hand over his. Marty slid his fingers around her throat, his voice quiet and measured.

‘You insisted on coming, remember? I explained to you in detail the importance of today’s exercise. You said you understood my pain and would support me during this difficult time. I’m almost finished. You can either stand by me…’

‘Or what?’ Deidre plucked at his iron grip, tears welling.

Marty stilled and his eyes clouded.

She shuddered. ‘OK baby, I’ll support you. I’ll wait. I’m sorry.’

He endorsed her capitulation with one look and returned to the business of the day. Taking a cloth from his bag, he carefully wiped his hands then pressed them to his face, exhaling slowly.

New laws would soon separate him from his beautiful machine. After agonising deliberation, he’d decided not to seal it in his bedroom wall. Though the risk was slim, discovery would mean jail and he wasn’t going back there for anything.

Settling face down into the travel rug, Marty clutched his rifle and peered past the air conditioning units. The barren roof of the office tower was deserted, as it had been since dawn. Deidre curled into a ball between his splayed legs, warming them pleasantly.

He breathed carefully: in while looking away and out with each return to the sight. Gradually his concentration returned, along with the sense of solemnity he desired.

**********

The Fitzroy Gardens are a paradise for brides: rolling meadows, mighty avenues, follies and ponds. Dozens marry there each year. Hundreds more come for photographs. As a consequence, the gardens have become Melbourne’s premier bride sniping ground.

It began during the recession. Intersections filled with menacing youths, smearing car windscreens with jagged rubber devices. Oblivious to protest, they extracted change from red-light maroons, then fled before two-minute tides.

With the traffic-light market quickly cornered, the poor had to seek alternatives. One Saturday, a dishevelled woman approached a regal bride at the end of her photo session.

‘I’ve just taken two dozen behind-the-scenes shots of your lovely party.’ The dishevelled woman produced a film from her battered Pentax.

The bride regarded her sternly. ‘Yes, I saw you. I wondered why you were creeping around in the bushes like that.’

‘They’re yours for twenty bucks.’

An excited bridesmaid scampered up. ‘What’d you get?’

‘Oh, the best man tripping over the Esky; you pinning the broken strap; the chauffeur pinching a champagne. That sort of thing.’

‘And you want twenty?’

‘Yeah.’

The bridesmaid fished a note from her purse and traded it for the roll, which she pressed into her sister’s gloved hand.

‘Present, babe; from me. Who knows? Some of them might be ace. And what’s twenty bucks on your wedding day?’

‘Too right,’ beamed Melbourne’s first bride sniper, before darting away.

The craze spread like wildfire. From Collins Place to the steps of Parliament, photo sessions were plagued. Canny snipers raided opportunity shops for frocks and morning coats. Thus camouflaged, they became the bane of professional photographers.

Police were disempowered after early arrests led to lawsuits from snap-happy relatives (whose only crime was poor dress). Composition went out the window, ruined by strangers in frayed formal clothing – leaping, grinning and holding ancient cameras aloft to capture every Special Moment.

**********

Martin Banff had been a bride sniper. An honours degree in arts had earned him only a brutal factory job. Desperate for a better life, he took a redundancy package and failed miserably in a lawn mowing franchise – flogging his recalcitrant ride-on to death in a hailstorm.

He next tried pizza delivery, only to be savaged by the wolfhound of an incautious pensioner.

Too proud for the dole, Martin decided to use his expensive Canon rather than pawn it. He targeted an early morning wedding in his best suit and was immediately arrested. He was the first victim of bridal party fight-back, in which family friends pointed out unfamiliar faces to hired guards (who checked identities before calling police).

Martin was given the option of prison or a fine. Too ashamed to contact anyone, he chose incarceration.

On his last morning, four assemblies of sweat, tattoos and missing teeth held him down while a fifth went sloppily last. Marty’s atrophied personality shattered. He returned to society with only mismatched shards. And the human immunovirus.

He secured a cleaning job and a paper round. He rented the cheapest flat. He saved. A disinterested member of his father’s shooting club for years, he started honing his skills with the weapon he’d received for his eighteenth birthday.

He grew to understand and respect it. Then he fell in love with its latent power and began polishing it behind bent venetians in a nightly ritual of obeisance.

He picked up a girl at an early opener pub and told her he was infected. She didn’t care. A fragment of his former self insisted on condoms. Each night Marty sat smoking in the shadow of his rusty balcony – watching tar-bound trees and car parts and vowing revenge on those responsible for his heinous prison experience.

But before his ideas could crystallise, Tasmania’s Port Arthur massacre triggered a revolution in gun laws.

Marty had neither the time nor the resources to identify his targets. Morose and irritable, he spent hours with his rifle, bitter that their brief affair was almost over. Like meeting the perfect girl on school holidays and knowing he’d never see her again, Marty decided to make the most of his remaining time.

The Ruger was beautiful. Sleek and compact, its oil sheen was a potent pheromone to the fluttering thing in Marty’s brain. Cool even in summer, the blued steel clove to his face whenever he sighted: at the television, the toaster, a neighbour’s silhouette or the pulsing temple of his sleeping girlfriend.

Each leapt large in the powerful scope, free from fetter and his to dandle without interference.

He did not want to hand in his gun.

**********

Marty took a sick day on the last Friday of the amnesty. Restless and depressed, he hired ‘Lawrence of Arabia’, again. For the seventh time he watched Peter O’Toole stagger from Turkish headquarters, beaten and raped almost to death.

Later came Marty’s favourite scene. Mounted on a white stallion, beneath the disapproving glare of Omar Sheriff, Lawrence regarded a fleeing enemy column and screamed with spittle-flecked mouth and wild eyes, ‘No prisoners! No prisoners!’ Unable to resist his passion and conviction, his entire army joined him in massacre.

Marty brooded in the gathering darkness. Lawrence’s tormentors hadn’t been part of the column. Yet his revenge had been absolute. Perhaps the death of any bride would grant Marty the catharsis he craved. One shot, one life – and goodbye to his lovely, lovely Ruger.

The following day was Saturday; the office building he cleaned nightly would be deserted. The roof overlooked the place where he’d been arrested.

**********

Marty pocketed his jeweller’s screwdriver. The scope had taken a knock during the fifteen-flight ascent. Nerves were doubtless interfering as well. After this last adjustment, however, he was confident of accuracy.

He panned to a grove of elms, far from grey suits and gay dresses. Pale leaflets trembled in a gentle breeze.

The possums lay curled together like caterpillars. Marty selected an old, grey male. With a harsh PFFFTT! the bullet rocketed from the Ruger’s silencer. Marty observed the distant impact and the insane scramble of bloodied, sunblind animals. The sight was fine.

The bride was tall with sharp cheekbones and almost horsy teeth. She was handsome rather than beautiful; features to last long after pretty faces had gone to pot. Marty watched her laugh and converse with her entourage.

The rotunda ceremony had been brief; now champagne sparkled. The solid groom stood next to his wife, arm round her waist as if to stop her growing any taller.

Licking his lips, Marty settled his crosshairs over the woman’s heart. Her décolletage rose and fell. Abruptly, she stooped to kiss an elderly man – the father-in-law, if size ran. Marty switched aim to the back of her head. Annoyingly, she then left the rotunda to embrace a knot of friends.

Marty regarded his gun and suppressed a choke of sorrow. Behind him, Deidre snored softly. Sunshine streamed onto his unruly hair, the effect mildly intoxicating. First it heightened his sense of loss. Then, as he basked, it made him feel light-headed; even reckless.

The week had been serious and depressing. Now he was safe in his hiding place. His would be the first crime of its kind in Australia. Surprise guaranteed escape. Could he not have a little fun before consigning the Sportsman to destruction?

With mounting excitement, Marty targeted the groom’s champagne glass. How tempting to take it out first, just to spice things up. He grinned, then gasped as the flute exploded into a cloud of particles. His mouth fell open.

‘What the F*CK?’

He checked the safety, which he’d applied automatically on taking out the possum. He looked at the crowd. There was consternation, but not panic; the groom was uninjured. Had he gripped the glass that tightly? Marty shook his head at the coincidence then rose to his knees and stretched – scanning the horizon to refresh his eye.

Deidre murmured a sleepy protest and pulled a corner of the rug over herself. To his right, Marty noticed a breath of steam drifting from a pipe in the neighbouring roof’s air conditioner. Eyes wide with disbelief, he crouched back into cover and levelled his binoculars at the pipe, just in time to see it withdraw.

He wrenched his gaze back to the wedding party. The bride lay among bent heads, carmine blooming rapidly on her breast.

Stunned, Marty turned to see a dark figure sprinting to the stairwell. Through blinding rage he brought his weapon to bear on the fleeing assassin who had stolen his idea and ruined his revenge. Leading slightly and allowing for the breeze, Marty fired.

And missed.

The round smashed into a louvered window, echoing loudly. The figure dropped, rolled and came up scanning for the source of attack. Marty froze, monitoring his target’s fervent search. From St Vincent’s Hospital came the wail of ambulances.

Concentrating on his opponent’s next move, Marty tried to ignore a strange flicker of light playing over the opposite roof. Then the sun dazzled him and the penny dropped. The scope! Its caps were off! Marty lowered his weapon in panic and the reflection flicked over the face of Bruno De Souza, who immediately fired at the sparkling source.

The bullet slammed into Marty’s cover, releasing a vicious jet of coolant. Deidre sprang in terror from the screaming plume. Bruno saw her vault and was surprised at her sex. Without hesitation he drilled three rounds into her body, cocked his head toward the sirens and reached for the door to safety.

Marty stared aghast at Deidre’s broken form, then took fresh aim. Bruno’s headless corpse tumbled heavily down two flights before slithering to a halt.

The police helicopter descended, wheeling angrily at Marty’s pot shots. Marty knew that Special Operations would be along shortly. He snapped in a fresh clip of ammunition and looked back at the gardens.

A brace of gleaming limousines had just arrived for a shoot.

FOOTBALL managers regularly give press conferences and parade the usual array of clichéd catchphrases.

Not Ipswich Town boss, Roy Keane, who after launching a tirade against the Irish FA, then directed his anger towards one of the reporters.

Wealthy Wife Fakes Kidnap to Scam Hubby

video:  http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/crime/2009/11/10/ng.wife.abduction.cnn
transcript:  http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0911/09/ng.01.html

Ponte Vedra Mom Held On $1 Million Bond

Investigators Unravel ‘Complex, Bizarre’ Case

ST. AUGUSTINE, Fla. — A 10-day investigation into a reported abduction over the Labor Day weekend led detectives to sex tapes, discussions of fake kidnappings, ransom notes, money drops gone wrong and two arrests — including the woman who claims to be the victim.

Quinn Gray, the 37-year-old Ponte Vedra Beach woman who said she was kidnapped and released three days later, was arrested Wednesday afternoon and charged with extortion.

. . .

According to the arrest report, Jasmin Osmanovic delivered two letters to Gray’s home saying he was owed $50,000. He also told investigators that he had a sexual relationship with Gray and the couple spent that weekend together.

http://www.news4jax.com/news/20962746/detail.html#

Husband Sticking By Wife’s Side

http://www.news4jax.com/news/21543262/detail.html

The victimized spouses of sociopaths/psychopaths often are the most ardent defenders of  the victimizing psychopath.  To do otherwise, to face the facts would be to see that every word, look, touch, backrub, sexual union was a fraud.  They were in a relationship/marriage with their own fantasy, which the psychopath “read” and played into — until the psychopathic partner wanted out.

Reid Gray is standing by his wife.

Appearing on the “Today” Show this morning, Quinn Gray’s husband admitted he’s hurt and confused, but he’s supporting Quinn’s defense against extortion charges.

“It’s because she’s mentally ill that I have to stick by her.  The minute you put the divorce hat on, the next second you put on this is a family member who has a mental illness, and I can’t abandon that person”.

http://wokv.com/localnews/2009/11/reid-gray-stands-behind-his-wi.html

Timeline and other details:  http://www.news4jax.com/news/21576839/detail.html#related

Space exploration has long been hampered by the risk to astronauts’ lives.  NASA will remedy this by offering missions, where the chance of survival is highly unlikely, to prisoners scheduled for execution.

This initiative will bring forward the quest to put a man on Mars by a good 20 years.  Kenneth Trey Hafronin, an incurable psychopath, will embark on this historical mission on July 12, 2015.

NASA will not anticipate Hafronin making humanity’s first contact with aliens on this mission.  A spaceship from the peace loving planet of Tolmi will dock with Hafronin’s craft, and NASA will watch on helplessly as Hafronin enters their vessel and kills everyone on board.

Word travels fast in space, and Hafronin’s hostile act will be the catalyst for a multi-planetary attack on Earth.  By the second day of this attack, our entire planet will be reduced to dust.

Alright, fun story time!

I had the air conditioning in my dorm room on “low” for several days (it has four settings–off, high, medium, and low).  Being a reasonable person, what would you do if you were cold?

Acceptable answers include:

1. Drop hints that, hey, it’s kind of cold.
2. Ask to turn it off.
3. Just turn it off, getting the point across.
4. Ignore it and deal with it.

Okay, now imagine that you’re the most unreasonable person on the planet.  What would you do?

If you answered “turn it off, then break off the knob and hide it somewhere,” chances are that you’re either:

1. A psychopath of some sort.
2. My roommate.
3. All of the above.

Seriously, the guy didn’t even say anything. Not once. He never turned it off before, never dropped a single hint, he just stole the knob and ran with it.

Of course, this was the stupidest idea ever. I know not to retaliate to this kind of thing, but my friend had an idea and I sort of had to go with it. There wasn’t really any option, since her idea was stinking fantastic.

We got some pliers, turned the air conditioner back on to “high,” and left. Round Two goes to me.

RT @USArmy: …those in ICU are no longer on ventilators and are stable. <— Damn. I was hoping more Fort Hood pussies would die.
about 8 hours ago from UberTwitter

Just once, I'd like the opportunity to spit on a military widow or veteran. Especially the widows at Fort Hood. Bring it. #forthood
about 8 hours ago from UberTwitter

@Burninb They weren't innocent. By virtue of being there, they asked for it, there at Fort Hood. #fthood #forthood
about 9 hours ago from web in reply to Burninb
I have to respect Nidal Hasan (@nidalhasan). I consider the Fort Hood Killer to be an hero. #forthood #fthood. #heroes
about 10 hours ago from UberTwitter

Michael Crook’s Twitter Account

Michael Crook, the anti-American, troop hating, Fred Phelps loving scumbag strikes again. He always sides with scumbags like Lori Drew, Fred Phelps, and Nidal Hasan. He is no better than Al-Qaeda. Michael Crook, Fred Phelps, Nidal Hasan, Lori Drew, Osama bin Laden, and all moonbats deserve each other in the worst layer of Hell, who I really hate. Here is an article I wrote about Michael Crook.

Diabolical Minds-Michael Crook

What can be worse than waking up to a discerning fact, one fine morning, and realizing that the person whom you thought of spending the rest of your life with, is nothing short of a devious psychopath? I don’t blame you for not being able to decipher his sociopathic behavior while you dated him as I am sure he must have mesmerized you by his charming and condescending ways. That’s how such people project themselves in public. Perhaps they have a deep seated desire to get what they want, be it attention, appreciation, affection or recognition. This kind of behavior is, normally, an offshoot of a twisted or a neglected childhood, consistent failures in life, poverty (especially in childhood) or a constant nagging by an abusive parent or a partner / spouse. Well, there is an exception to this rule, though. We see children with psychopathic traits born and raised in homes of loving and caring parents. It’s tough for the parents to deal with such children; somehow nothing seems to work for such kids and finally the parents give up which makes things even worse.

READ MORE

Quoting Liberty from Lies quoting Kathy Krajco:

Facing Facts

One reason why the victims don’t face facts about a narcissist is because we don’t want to face the fact that we mean nothing to them. The ego doesn’t want to know that. For, being valued by another at absolute zero is a degrading value judgement.

When this is someone in your family, that fact is traumatic. We think about how much we have loved them, how often we have stuck up for them, how many times in the past we sacrificed for them. And here all along they cared NOTHING for us in return!

They just fed off us like a parasite, taking us for a sap.

This is why denial is so dangerous. Facing facts, no matter how unpleasant, is better. Because when you do address the issue in your mind, you see who is degraded by the narcissist’s refusal to relate humanly to human beings.

Not the human beings, that’s for sure.

Knowing that makes you able to accept the truth about them. And when you accept the truth about them, you break the cycle of abuse.

Kathy Krajco [who passed away unexpectedly and suddenly]

http://libertyfromlies.blogspot.com/2009/11/facing-facts.html

What Kathy termed narcissists I would term sociopaths (or psychopaths).

From transsociopathica:

For a normal human being at the end of a relationship with a Demonic Sociopath Entity, one of the most startling aspects/horrors of them ending a relationship with you is how they can literally switch you off as if you never existed.

http://transsociopathica.blogspot.com/

One of the reasons that narcissists are often confused with/considered sociopaths is that they can do the above also.  Without going into it here, I think narcissism is a deep psychological choice but sociopathy is an alternate genetic arrangement.

I often feel I should be spending more time posting, but as you can see there is a lot out there.

Only Mr. P knows for sure what my utility was to him, but I have spent a good deal of time reflecting, analyzing, weighing his comments and actions, and I have my theories on what my utility may have been.

First, I was attractive enough when he met me, so I think looks and sex were a draw.  But looks and sex would  probably be a draw for most any man who is looking for a woman .  But I was also “easy” due to my circumstances, trusting nature,  naivete,  and lack of boundaries, so he didn’t have to do a heckuvalot of work to snare me. 

Second, before even meeting me, since he was renting a basement room across the street from me, he could surmise I was fairly well off financially since I was living alone in a rented house located a block off the beach in an expensive area.  I had the entire house to myself.  This alone equaled money in his eyes.  Our second conversation, which was brief and held with him walking down the street and me sitting on my deck, he found out I was getting a divorce.  Our third conversation, which was up close and personal, he was very chatty and charming and I felt as if I had known him forever.  During this converstion, he found out (because my big mouth told him) that my ex was buying out my half of a beach house.   Did I mention MONEY already?   On a humorous note, a couple months into the relationship he made the comment that he was so lucky to have met me, that he felt like he “had hit the jackpot”.  Silly me, I thought he meant the “love jackpot”.  Interesting thing on this one, is that on down the road he made a comment which clearly showed he thought I got about double the amount of money than I actually received.  So, he obviously only hit half a jackpot. Sorry to disappoint, asshole. 

Third, within weeks of my meeting him, he and his landlord had a “rent” dispute and he moved from his little rental room and was living in a tiny place that had no shower, just an outside water hose.  Seriously.   It was winter and having a warm place to shower was an issue for him.  Try not to laugh.  Ok, go ahead. It didn’t occur to me to wonder why his parents who were very well off financially didn’t allow him to stay in their home.  Soon, he was spending every night at my place, basically living with me within about 5 weeks of our meeting.  Within two months or so, he was moved in lock, stock, and barrel–but his belongings didn’t take up much space, because he didn’t come with much more than the clothes he owned.  

Fourth, he was obsessed with getting into his parents good graces again and spent alot of time talking about what he would inherit.  They were loaded financially and lived in a beautiful house on the water.  He was cut out of family gatherings because of his bad behavior  (although I did not know this at the time I met him).   He told me how much he admired me because I was so reliable, followed the rules and tried to do the right thing (unlike those other women from his past), was conservative, reminded me of dear ol’ Mom and Dad’s values, etc.  He couldn’t wait to drag me to his parent’s house, unannounced, so they could meet me.   They were very nice and gracious, and I just thought he was proud of me when he told them all about how I owned a beach house and that I did not drink, and all of my other “wonderful” virtues.  Apparently, “I” was proof he was back on the right track and had seen the light, because he was back in the family and suddenly we were invited to all family gatherings.  Note:  I am a social drinker–probably don’t drink more than 7 or 8 drinks a year.  But I later discovered “doesn’t drink” to him really meant that as long as I didn’t toss back over a 6-pack or so a day, I was a NON DRINKER in his eyes.

Fifth, I think alot of my later utility to him was that I was isolated in a State with no family or close friends around and he could do pretty much what he wanted to me, with no interference from anyone.  He has a sadistic side, and I think I was just “the best fun ever” to torment and terrorize.   As he later said:  “You’re too easy.  I got over on you better than any of  ’em. You’re my best dupe ever.”  Naturally, he later denied ever saying this.  But since he also managed to leave a similar message on voicemail, ”You’re my best dupe yet” ,  I used a recorder and taped it off on tape and still have it, so I do have proof I’m not “imagining” things like he tried to convince me I was.

There could be more things about me he found useful–well, doing all his laundry and all the housework, 99 % of the cooking, loaning him my car and GAS (actually gave him the gas would be a better choice of words because he NEVER refilled the tank, plus we most always went everywhere that we went together in my car and on MY gas), loaning him money when he was broke (this does not count the bills he neglected to help pay), not to mention running most of his errands—-but anyway that is all I can think of right now.  Oh wait, I thought of something else.  There was that damn HARLEY (sorry but it will forever more be a DAMN harley to me) that he talked me into buying for “us” (translate that into “him”) to ride around on.  He accomplished this  four months after I met him.  Count ‘em:  One, two, three, four MONTHS.   I must have been insane at the time.  But he made it sound like we would have such fun riding around the beach, told me how I had been married for so long and needed to loosen up and let my hair down and have fun for a change, just painted a glorious picture of the delicously good time we “soul mate lovebirds” were gonna have taking trips and sightseeing and riding around on that harley together.  He was going to pay me monthly payments for it, of course, until he got it paid for

.  After receiving 500 bucks total over a two year period–which translates into less than 20 bucks per month– and with me paying the insurance on it without a penny contribution from him, I finally did manage to recoup most of the value of the bike itself.  Nearer to the end of our relationship he loved to tell people what a “pussy magnet” it was, and of course he managed to do this within my earshot.   He also loved to disappear on it for days or weeks.  As you can see, “I” wasn’t having a good time at all riding the bike, but he certainly was. Salt in beach areas is hell on vehicles so the thought of it rusting right out from under his now fat ass  does not break my heart at all.

I believe as time went on, my utility was almost entirely the power he felt when humiliating, controlling me—devaluing then reeling me back in, then blatant humiliation and terrorizing me.  He tries to continue with this even to this day, even though I am hundreds of miles away from him.

Dictator
Adolf Hitler
Joseph Stalin
Pol Pot
Mao Zedong
Kim Il-Sung
Kim Jong-Il
Saddam Hussein
Hugo Chavez
Fidel Castro
Yasser Arafat
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
Vladimir Lenin
Mengistu Haile Mariam
Nicolae Ceauşescu
Béla Kun
Ho Chi Minh
Benito Mussolini
Vladimir Lenin
Josip Broz Tito
Salvador Allende
Juan and Evita Peron
Víctor Paz Estenssoro (Bolivian dictator)
Muammar Gadhafi

Terrorist/Assassins
Osama bin Laden
Al-Qaeda
Shamil Basayev
Riyadus-Salikhin Reconnaissance and Sabotage Battalion of Chechen Martyrs
Che Guevara
Bill Ayers
Theodore Kaczynski (Unabomber)
ALF
ELF
PETA
SLA
Abu Sayyaf
Black Panther
Huey Newton
PLO
Hamas
Lee Harvey Oswald
Samuel Byck
Mark Essex
Nidal Malik Hassan
Japanese Red Brigade
ETA

Mass Murderer/Serial Killer
Jim Jones
Charles Manson
Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold
Seung-Hui Cho
Jeffrey Weise
John Allen Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo
Steven Kazmierczak
Andrew Cunanan
John Wayne Gacy
Michael Bear Carson and Suzan Carson

Miscellaneous
Michael Crook
Fred Phelps

They are all radical leftists. Communists, Fascists, Nazis, Socialists, and Islamists have a lot in common. They may have some differences, but they are all the same. They hate Western Civilization and want to destroy it. They are really obsessed with romanticizing the past to a point they want it again.

Childhood:

Per his Mom, Mr. P was an accomplished liar from early childhood.  He would often taunt her with cruel things he would say and  when she would tell his Dad of things he said and did, little P would look her straight in the eye and deny that he ever said or did the things.  She said he was so convincing her husband would doubt her and believe little P, so  she was always threatening to buy a tape recorder to prove SHE wasn’t the one lying or exaggerating. 

He also got into alot of physical fights during childhood and teenage years, and he also got into trouble for vandalizing a building.  To my knowledge he was never actually arrested during his youth.   He and his Grandma also liked to shoot at dogs that came into her yard, and Mr. P said Grandma loved watching him shoot dogs.  His parents also said they had problems with neighbors complaining because he liked to pee outside.  This is a habit he never lost even as an adult, as frequently he would go outside and pee off the porch, even when a bathroom was less than 20 feet away.  Per the P he began drinking and having sex at age 12.  When I said, “You’re kidding, right?” he said, “Well, it could have been 13, but I am pretty sure it was 12.”  He said he dabbled in “light” drugs such as pot in his early and late teens, moving on to harder drugs while in his 30’s.  He dropped out of high school at age 16, but you would never know it to talk with him as he sounded both articulate and smart and he actually was very intelligent.  He told me his Dad offered to buy him a sports car and all sorts of things if he would stay in school but he said he was not interested because all he was interested in then was partying.  Other than that, I do not know a whole lot about any “bad” activities from his childhood. 

Financial/Employment:

He couldn’t finance a bag of chips. He didn’t have just poor credit, he had NO credit, due to non payment of past bills.    He was also over 30,000 in arrears for child support.  If he went to the Doctor (when he worked long enough to have insurance), when the bill would come he would toss it in the trash, saying the Doctor wasn’t getting any more than insurance paid.  Although it was a State law to carry car insurance, he never had insurance the entire time I knew him. 

He had a very good job when I met him and actually climbed the ladder to Supervision.  He lost this job eventually for falsifying his overtime worksheet.  He had a total of seven jobs in the four years we were involved.  He was let go from some and quit others on impulse. He quit one job one day by walking into the office and telling them:  “This just isn’t fun anymore,” and walking out the door.  He did not look for work for over two months.  I later discovered that prior to my meeting him, he had fourteen jobs besides the seven mentioned above, and that is just the ones he could remember–said he couldn’t remember all of them  (he came up with this list when completing an employment application). 

Criminal:

He had a string of run of the mill traffic violations.  In addition, he had one felony theft conviction in his early 20’s .  He was arrested numerous times for public intox, had FIVE DUI’s, a driving on suspended license after a DUI conviction, several eluding for running from the police, several resisting arrests, one domestic violence arrest and conviction (by a Judge) which was later overturned by jury trial, menancing with a firearm, non-supoport for children arrest involving jail time.  He also burned down a relatives small out building years earier before I met him (he says it was an accident, the relative said they had been arguing earlier and thought it was done out of revenge), but they did not press charges.  Although he got involved in drugs (per him light drugs only until he was in his 30’s.  Then he started using cocaine and crack in his late 30’s.    I did not know of this drug usage until well into our relationship.  He said prior to our relationship that at one point the DEA talked to him due to suspected drug dealing, but he was never arrested.   He admits using drugs, but denies ever selling.

Women: 

He had three marriages and four cohabitations (that is, cohabitations that lasted one year or more).  He also had two additional cohabitaions that I know of that  lasted only a few months each. God only knows how many that lasted just weeks, or only days.   On one on the “few month” cohabitations, he moved her into his place and lived with her about 2 or 3 months after he and his last girlfriend broke up.  He managed to successfully woo back the former girlfriend and as soon as he did, he kicked the current live in out, telling her she had to get out because he was back with XXXX.  Per him, current live-in was furious because she had no idea he was trying to get back with XXXX.. (I imagine).   In spite of him initially espousing the virtues of monogamy and saying he was always monogamous in relationships and only had serious relationships  (when we first met, his story was that the WOMEN ALWAYS LEFT HIM–him who cooked and did so much for them and once they were through using him, they, who were WHORES did him (who was faithful) wrong by sleeping around and leaving him).  He swore he was the loyal and serious type in relationships and would NEVER stoop to picking up some slut in a bar blah blah blah (laughing again, aren’t you?)  After our relationship ended, during one of our brief “get back togethers” (Gawd, what the hell was I thinking?), he told a friend (within my earshot, of course, because he no longer gave a damn and his game at that time was to destroy anything of my emotional existance that he had not already destroyed) that he had slept with over three hundred women.  THREE HUNDRED!!!!  When I asked him if this was true, he shrugged and said, “Well, that figure might be a little high.  But at least two fifty.  Probably closer to three.”  I guess his version of monogamy was that he was having sex with one woman at a time, instead of say, a threesome or foursome.

Army says 12 dead, 31 injured at Fort Hood
Gunman killed, two suspects — all soldiers — in custody in Texas incident
BREAKING NEWS
NBC News and msnbc.com
updated 7 minutes ago

A U.S. soldier opened fire Thursday at Fort Hood, Texas, killing at least 11 people and wounding 31 others, military officials said. The gunman was shot to death, and two other soldiers were in custody.

Lt. Gen. Robert W. Cone, commanding general of the Army’s III Corps, who briefed President Barack Obama on the shootings, said the gunman used two handguns.

NBC News’ Pete Williams reported that a U.S. official identified the gunman as Maj. Malik Nadal Hasan, who was 39 or 40.

MSNBC-Army says 12 dead, 31 injured at Fort Hood

This is horrible. Condolence to anyone who lost loved ones. The shooter Maj. Malik Nadal Hasan, who is a a mental health professional. I wonder if this could be terrorism. The DC Sniper, John Allen Muhammad, is set to be executed next week. This could be terrorism. Hopefully, the death toll will not rise. At least another person with a gun killed Hasan. More proof that gun control is a bad idea. Fort Hood is not far from Killeen, where once the deadliest mass shooting happened at a Luby’s on October 16, 1991. George Hennard attacked Luby’s and killed 23 people before he committed suicide. It was the worst mass shooting until Seung-Hui Cho killed 32 people at Virginia Tech on April 16, 2007. I will keep you posted.

Here is a photo of
ABC 13-Gunman kills 12 at Fort Hood

Brian Schroeder, Ivy League grad accused of setting fire to a sacred 9/11 chapel, loses job offer
BY Katie Nelson
DAILY NEWS WRITER
Originally Published:Monday, November 2nd 2009, 1:55 PM
Updated: Monday, November 2nd 2009, 2:07 PM

An Ivy League law grad told his mom he must have been out of his mind to spark a blaze at a sacred 9/11 chapel – and now he’s out of a job, too.

White-shoe firm Sidley Austin yanked Brian Schroeder’s employment offer Monday morning, firm partner Bill Conlon said.

Schroeder, a Harvard Law School grad, worked in the firm’s New York office for part of the summer, Conlon confirmed.

He was supposed to return but lost the opportunity after cops say he set fire to a Manhattan chapel containing the remains of 9/11 victims in a drunken prank early Friday.

New York Daily News-Brian Schroeder, Ivy League grad accused of setting fire to a sacred 9/11 chapel, loses job offer

What kind of sickfuck is this person????????? Setting fire to a sacred place and of all things, 9/11. His defenders are just as bad. I couldn’t help noticing these in the article:

“I know him as someone who has traveled extensively and taken time to see parts of the world that many of the rest of us ignore,” said Patrick Kelly, a board member of HLS Lambda, an LGBT law-student group where Schroeder was co-president.

Alice Schroeder also defended her son as an ace student who wants to fight for human rights.

Sounds like a raving moonbat to me. Anyways, he lost his job. Too fucking bad for him. Cry me a river. Schroeder should be disbarred.

Man sentenced to death in Tenn. torture slaying
By DUNCAN MANSFIELD (AP) – 8 hours ago

KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — A Tennessee man convicted of kidnapping, rape and murder charges in the fatal carjacking of a couple on a date has been sentenced to death.

The defendant, 28-year-old Lemaricus Davidson, showed no reaction Friday as jurors announced the death sentences for the murders of 21-year-old college student Channon Christian and her 23-year-old boyfriend, Christopher Newsom.

Davidson was found guilty of abducting the couple in Knoxville during a 2007 carjacking by several armed men.

Man sentenced to death in Tenn. torture slaying

Sick case all I can say. This scumbag deserves to die a slow and agonzing death. Make these scumbags do hard labor in Siberia for life. Lamaricus Davidson, Letalvis Cobbins, George Thomas, Vanessa Coleman, and Eric Boyd deserve to rot in Hell in the worst layer along side with Jeffrey Dahmer, 9/11 Terrorists, Adolf Hitler, and Joseph Stalin. Worthless scumbags in company with other worthless scumbags in Hell!!!!! Anyone who does not agree with this is A CLUELESS AND NAIVE MORON!!!!!!

Copyright © 2009 – Diyanah

Happy Halloween to everyone! I hope you’re having a good time This is a picture Diyanah drew for this occasion as she enjoys the horror genre very much. These are actually her original comic characters but dressed up as her favourite monsters from famous movies. Below is her description, in case you might not remember who the characters are.

“D (the girl in the middle) as Tabatha from The Ring, as she fits her profile so well. I liked the movie too but I always have one question in mind; how did she get her curse in a tape? Did she video herself? If so, she’s an excellent director! Anyways, creepy little ghost girls are always a win.

Dee (second from the right) as Mary Shaw from Dead Silence, as she’s dressed as the more elegant killer. Loved the movie because it sent chills down my spine; the good kind. The puppets were a plus to the scariness. Speaking of which, hope the movie doesn’t mind if I borrow Billy for a while.

Sano (far right) as Freddy Kreuger from Night on Elm Street, as I reckoned he’d look cool with those knives. I like Freddy because he was a psychopath, was sarcastic and he made jokes occasionally. I know Freddy’s supposed to be bald because of his burnt skin but I didn’t want Sano to lose his awesome hair.

Zim (second from left) as Jason Vorhees from Friday the 13th, due to Zim’s sort of bulky size, he reminded me of Jason. Jason is my second least favourite because though he’s powerful and can’t be killed easily, he doesn’t speak… At all. Kind of dull, no? For me, yes. Made his skin a grungy color because he’s technically a zombie.

DJ (far left) as Chucky from Childs Play, as I thought it would be funny to put him in overalls. Chucky, even though the most wicked of them all, is my least favourite because he was the first horror figure I watched at four years old and he gave me nightmares. I did enjoy the last movie, Seed of Chucky, only because the family issues was a little funny.”

I welcome your comments and answers to these questions:

1. Are you familiar with all the scary movie characters? If so, which one is your favourite?

2. What do you do to celebrate Halloween?

3. What do you like most about the holiday?

4. Do you actually enjoy such horrifying movies?

Four charged in Richmond High rape case
By Karl Fischer, Malaika Fraley and Shelly Meron
Contra Costa Times
Posted: 10/28/2009 05:15:47 PM PDT
Updated: 10/29/2009 07:32:06 AM PDT

Four teenagers face potential life sentences in connection with the gang rape of a 15-year-old girl outside her homecoming dance at Richmond High School, Contra Costa County prosecutors said Wednesday.

Three minors — ages 15, 16 and 17 — are each charged with felony rape with a foreign object. The charges all carry an enhancement that they acted in concert, which could make them eligible for life in prison if convicted, deputy district attorney Dara Cashman said.

The 16-year-old also has been charged with robbery. Cashman charged a fourth suspect, 19-year-old Manuel Ortega, with robbery, assault causing great bodily injury, rape in concert and an enhancement that also makes him eligible for life in prison.

Four charged in Richmond High rape case

This is sick. This makes me want to puke in anger! I am a male and anyone who rapes is sick in their head. Rapists are cowards and scum, besides child molesters, bullies, murderers, and terrorists. What is worse is that there were other people watching and did nothing. There is a law against it, but only if the victim is under 14 in California. Why 14? Why not all rape victims regardless of age. Those rapists deserve to be drawn and quartered alive. Anyways, prisoners hate rapists and they are at the bottom. SICK!!!!!! Those rapists should all rot in Hell.

Baby Grace’s stepfather denies having part in slaying
By HARVEY RICE Copyright 2009 Houston Chronicle
Oct. 28, 2009, 9:07PM

GALVESTON — Royce Clyde Zeigler II says he was in his bedroom listening to his 2-year-old stepdaughter’s screams and took no part in her slaying, according to two videotaped statements shown to the jury Wednesday during his capital murder trial in the death of the girl who became known as Baby Grace.

“I did not harm Riley to kill her,” Zeigler said during a Nov. 3, 2007, interview he requested with investigators after his arrest in the death of Riley Ann Sawyers, whose then-unidentified body had been discovered a month earlier in a blue plastic box that had washed ashore on an island in West Galveston Bay.

The nine men and three women jurors, on the first day of a trial before District Judge David Garner, also saw a second videotaped interview that Zeigler requested the following day.