Here, you can marvel and ruminate upon the contents of the Platypus Maximus Media Filter (PMMF). I am the PMMF Custodian. I claim no righteousness, only duty.
I like watches. The look and feel of a sparkly chunk of metal strapped around my wrist makes me feel (and look) like a hundred bucks. Plus tax.
So you can imagine my happy surprise when I recently learned that Smith and Wesson -- which according to its website is in the business of "designing and manufacturinginnovative solutions that are unparalleled in the field of personal safety and protection" -- is also hocking its own sharp-shooting timepieces. Below, for example, is the Smith and Wesson S.W.A.T. Watch, which I'd wager is worn more by wannabe commandosthan the real professionals.
Of course, Smith and Wesson is really known worldwide for its 157-year history of making and selling guns. (As opposed to "innovative and unparalleled solutions in the field personal safety and protection." That was a good one, eh?)
Smith and Wesson's mega-zillions in gun sales span from its Old West heritage of gunfighter classics to its modern-day line-ups of assault rifles, semi-automatic pistols and revolvers, and its awesome metal mountains of well-used and discarded Saturday Night Specials, piling up into the gunsmoked heavens.
As such, let's correct the company's hamhanded, PR-pooped deceivery. I hereby submit to Smith and Wesson's CEO and board of directors that the new and truthful company description on its website and other PR/branding materials be changed to:
"For 157 years, Smith and Wesson has designed and manufactured guns that have the specific function of killing and maiming human beings. Who knows how many people have been killed with our guns? But you can bet it's a staggeringly gigantic number that is far larger than the number American casualties in any U.S. war. Our hunting rifles and shotguns also kill people, but have mostly been used to shoot animals."
Speaking of Smith and Wesson's executive stewardship, CEO Michael Golden has done much to extend the company's well-recognized brand name into numerous other profitable product lines, everything from venison smokers to bicycles and ... yes, it's true ... men's cologne. (And watches, which we'll get back to soon.)
The Smith and Wesson Cologne bottle depicted here, by the way, costs a mere $49.95 and is described by the company as: "Igniting Smith and Wesson fragrance in a solid glass 3.4 fluid oz. spray bottle with the heavyweight Zamak metal cap, this bottle has the perfect fit for the large metal frame."
(Cologne that ignites with a heavy cap from a large metal frame? I bet this fragrance just kills.)
And that's a big 'ol Smith and Wesson 460 XVR Extreme Velocity Revolver Magnum that Mr. Golden is wheezing and struggling to hold up in the fetching photo above. (If Clint ever does a new, geriatric-version Dirty Harry flick, this could be his new toy. But, in all likelihood, the dinosaur detective would still blast his '70s-era vintage Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum. It was "the most powerful handgun in the world," remember?)
Mr. Golden has a lot to smile about these days. In addition to Smith and Wesson's expanded product offerings, the company is enjoying the ig'nant spoilsof the uprising of uneducated teabaggersand assorted gun nutswho continue to stockpile weapons and ammo in response to the gun-confiscating federal storm troopers who are on the way to your town. Right now. (Seriously, they're coming and they will kill you and your family if you don't surrender your guns.)
Quick bit of trivia: In 2004, Smith and Wesson Chairman James Joseph Minder had to step down scandalously because published reports revealed he spent at least 15 years in the joint in the 1950s and 1960s for armed robberies, a bank heist and an attempted prison break. He was known to brandish a sawed-off shotgun.
Anyway, back to the watches.
You see, Smith and Wesson has these various watch models for "public safety" groups, such as the Police Watch, the Firefighter Watch, the Soldier Watch, the Special Ops Watch, the S.W.A.T. Watch and ... get ready for the kicker ... the Paramedic EMT/EMS Watch, which has the EMT logo printed on the dial face.
According to the eBay listing, this watch is "made to honor the brave paramedics and EMTs ... and to serve with precision, too!"
I wonder if any paramedics presently rushing to and fro amid America the Beautiful's unceasing carnage (276 gun deaths and injuries a day, is the most recent statistic) are wearing these very special, honorary Smith and Wesson watches?
So there's this new flick out, Paranormal Activity, reportedly another faux-documentary, jerky-camera horror film, this time about a young couple's troubles with a hoofed demon that gallops and gallivants about their house while they're asleep.
I'll wait for cable. But given my, shall we say ... "colorful" ... background, you can perhaps indulge me for a strange-but-true paranormal tale of a former substance abuser and eccentric trouble magnet who looks back neither proud, nor ashamed. Just glad I'm here, I suppose. (The Great Platypus has again directed me to delve into my personal experiences as an entrée to the terrestrial trappings of his unearthly filter. Annoyed, yes. But duty bound, am I.)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered the ugly prospect of being enrolled down south at Con Collegeand wearily practiced my patented technique of kicking ass at a corporate stress factory job, I lived alone in a house.
A good many of my sleepless nights were spent in the company of a quasi girlfriend who, while seemingly grounded in other ways, believed in ghosts, demons, psychic intuitions and tarot cards. As did her wacky mother. And the mother before her, and the mother before her -- and so on, all the way back to the dark ancestral woods of their credulous family tree, in all likelihood.
At night, we hung out at my place. By day, I auto-piloted my zombie self into an office tower parking garage, and she went to a career college to become one of those ridiculously unrealistic CSI investigators on television. It was one of those bizarre times that failed to normalize. I was on the edge. The cards had forecast a fateful turning point, hinging upon the uncertain outcome of justice against the The Hanged Man, and The Knight of Wands against the gathering storm.
For months, my witchy girlfriend had been saying she sensed a "presence" in my house, a shadowy entity that allegedly hovered in the back corners of the master bedroom. She had consulted with her mother about the situation, as well, and they agreed there was some sort of Beelzebub in my crib.
My amused and dismissive response, of course, was always the same: preposterous superstitious nonsense. But I humored her, focused on keeping the "feel good" alive. Besides, in my manic moments, it was kicks for me to entertain these things.
Until something happened.
After one chemically indulgent evening, she went home where she lived with her mother and young daughter. After she left, I lay on my side in bed, staring out the bedroom door into the hallway, which shot out about eight feet or so before turning left into the living room. The master bathroom light was still on, the door slightly ajar and providing only a dimly lit view when a very short female figure -- 5 feet tall, at the most -- appeared suddenly in the hallway.
Draped head to toe in some kind of heavy, gray shawl, the opening to her face was completely obscured. She scampered straight toward me into the bedroom, stopping at the edge of the bed, then leaned over me and whispered in my ear, "You have 30 minutes to live." It was the thin, tinny voice of an elderly woman, yet unmistakably taunting in tone. As the words were uttered, there was the uncannily vivid sensation of her breath on my face. She then did an about-face, and tip-toed hurriedly back down the hallway, turning left into the unseen living room.
I was startled. OK, sure. But more than that, I was absolutely bewildered. Had I been asleep and dreamed this photographically realistic event, or had I been ... awake? Did I have a dream, or did the dream have me? There were eerie thoughts that perhaps my unwanted guest was still in the house, flitting about in the darkened cavern of the living room. Should I get up and investigate? My ears began noticing noises -- muffled bumps and creaks and shuffling sounds.
Spooked as I was, I am a born skeptic (and cynic), so I decided to try to forget about it and get some sleep. What followed, however, was a terrible bout of sleep paralysis, in which a freakishly tall, shadowy and implicitly evil figure approached the bed from the far end of the room, getting closer and closer, growing larger and larger ... Realizing that I was, in fact, not awake but dreaming, I struggled to move and shake myself awake before I was overtaken, finally breaking through the paralysis and sitting up in bed.
Upon awakening, I immediately recalled the tangibly lifelike experience with the shawled, dwarfish hag and her message of unkindness. I picked up the phone on the nightstand called my girlfriend, the pseudo paranormal expert, who was still awake at her mom's house. I told her exactly what had happened, thinking that perhaps I could snap myself back into the World of Scienceby talking it through with her. But before I could begin intellectualizing and constructing plausible explanations, she said she would be right over and hung up.
Feeling at once foolish and relieved, I next found myself following her about the house as she sprinkled frickin' olive oil (from a bottle fished out of my pantry) between every doorway and entrance in my house. (To my later irritation, this made permanent stains on some of the freshly starched dress shirts hanging in my closet.) Upon each finger sprinkle, she would utter some kind of obligatory "Satan, begone" pronouncement, of course.
After this comical yet somehow essential exorcism of my house, we smoked a joint and agreed that things, well ... things were somehow still not right. There remained a palpably paranoid pall of danger in the place. (Go figure, eh?) And then, as if struck by a bolt of unholy revelation, my amateur exorcist/occultist medium girlfriend proclaimed she knew what the problem was. The tarot cardsshe had brought over months earlier were still in my nightstand drawer. I had to get rid of them, you see, because they were acting as a numinous, neon-lit welcome sign for evil spirits. So I grabbed the dang things, walked outside into the predawn darkness and threw 'em fluttering down a street gutter. And then things felt better.
Problem solved? Momentarily, perhaps. But perception is reality only for as long as it takes to cede to truth. And the truth was that I was a mess, embarking on a lengthy run that would culminate in a particularly nasty dance with the yayo. Demons? They were between my ears, and I was feeding them by entertaining my girlfriend's superstitious hocus pocus. We had even become diehard watchers of the momentous first season of Ghost Hunters on the SyFy Channel. (Which we'll soon be addressing.)
Sleep paralysis? A recurring phenomenon of my dreams since my earliest living memories. The Shadow Peoplehave visited my nightmares since I was a toddler. In case you didn't know, the word "mare" comes from the Anglo-Saxon "merran," which is literally defined as "to crush." Hence, the term "nightmare" means "the crusher who comes in the night."
As depicted in his 1781 work, The Nightmare, Henry Fuselimight have considered it a case of "the devil sitting on your chest." Or, in my case, it seems I had more than a little touch of "Old Hag Syndrome," given my Little Old Lady of Doom's cheery pronouncement, "You have 30 minutes to live."
But this is also easily explained. Only a few weeks or so before the incident, the girlfriend and I had rented and watched the movie, The Ring. I trust you remember the scenes with the ringing phone, then the creepy girl's voice saying, "You have one week to live." (Another thought is that the apparition could have been Paranormal State'sChip Coffey in drag, channeling the ghost of an ancient gypsy woman.)
The bottom line is that my brain was influenced by drugs, stress, a longstanding fascination with the supernatural, a superstitious girlfriend, and a knack for screening vividly realistic sleep-paralysis dreams; thus, it's really not a big stretch that I could have imagined seeing some weird things. Part of me also wanted to believe in my girlfriend's supernatural beliefs and divinations, or at least play along with them. They were sort of a fun deviation, another trippy element I could add to the overall environment of escapism I was cultivating.
Hey, the mind is a funny thing. (Especially mine.)
Right?
As previously mentioned, we watched the entire first season of Ghost Hunters in that time of zaniness. Little did I know that five years later the sprawling shitscape of network programming would be haunted with hordes of paranormal "reality" shows.
The Web also has swelled with paranormal fansites, blogs and scads of skeptical debunkers who dissect and debate the ever-multiplying ectoplasm of noises, blurry images, EVPs and physical encountersrecorded by TV ghost posses and their high-tech paranormal gizmos. (We just gotta take their word for it that the "evidence" is genuine, don't we? I suspect the best nuggets are often concocted and staged before the actual onsite investigations even begin.)
Regardless, you gotta hand it to Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson of Ghost Hunters. These two former Roto-Rooter plumbers are the pioneering fathers of today's explosion of paranormal programming, and, by all accounts, they were initially motivated by genuine fascination with the supernatural. They founded The Atlantic Paranormal Society (TAPS) on a shoe-string budget, long before it shroomed into their mad-cash reality TV show. (They both claim to have been inspired by personal paranormal encounters, but say they don't want to talk about them.)
Admittedly, I still occasionally tune into Ghost Hunters and find myself actually roto-rooting for these guys. I struggle to see them as kindred skeptics, instead of money-grubbing con artists, who are earnestly exploring a curious realm of otherworldly possibilities.
With Ghost Hunters, skepticism is boldly advertised as an integral aspect of the team's investigative methodology, approaching each site with the intent of trying to disprove it is haunted.
Or is this professed allegiance to skepticism just a pretentious part of their shtick?
The truth, of course, is that Ghost Hunters and other copycat paranormal shows are first and foremost about money, ratings and entertainment value. No paranormal reality show can survive without scary stuff happening in every episode, enhanced with the electronic dread tones of horror movie music and bouncy, Blair Witch-style camera work.
After all, what entertainment value could possibly exist in these shows without mysterious occurrences, startling dramatics and ominous music? How could they be entertaining without the perfectly timed footsteps, odd noises and mumbling EVPs that are always right on-cue when the cast members ask the ghosts to announce their presence? Absent all this, we'd have nothing but excruciatingly boring footage of folks squinting in the darkness and tripping over each other with their flat-lined recording gadgets, with no break in the monotony except for an occasional fart from the key-grip guy.
If you really want to goose things up, however, why not do so hilariously like helium-biceped, douchebag wunderkind Zak Bagans of the Travel Channel's Ghost Adventures?
My favorite episode is the madcap Goldfield Hotel investigation and its priceless Flying Ghost Brick of Cowardice scene. Ever the drama queen, Mr. Bagans at first struts about the historic old place telling the ghosts that he's not scared of them. But when a brick seemingly comes off the floor by itself, Mr. Bagans flees while channeling the spirits of Fay Wray and the The Great Wilhelm, as you can see below.
Getting back to Ghost Hunters, however, I must say I was disappointed (if not completely surprised) by the controversy surrounding last year's live Halloween special at the Fort Delaware Civil War prison. It appears that Mr. Hawes and Mr. Wilson got royally busted on that deal, perhaps not anticipating that the dynamics of live television are far less amenable to fakery than taping the shows in advance.
But hey, I just might tune in, anyway. With Ghost Hunters, I still inexplicably find myself wanting to believe there is an authentic core of serious inquisition, in spite of the alleged special effects.
Dear Jason and Grant: It's not all about the money, is it? Because if it's not all about ratings and your celebrity bank accounts, then perhaps there's a chance that some of the so-called evidence you've collected truly is unexplainable. Right?
Because, to me, if just one or two of these things can't be scientifically explained, well ... now, that's what I would call real entertainment.
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"We sometimes catch a window A glimpse of what's beyond Was it just imagination Stringing us along? More things than are dreamed about Unseen and unexplained
Looking out my open hotel room window, the humidly familiar subtropical night broke in to subdue the air conditioning. Below, the mighty Southwest Freeway pulsed nocturnally in red, white and yellow laser streaks, cutting a glittering glass-canyon swath, and I passed into a reverie of bygone Bayou City days.
Houston. The best and worst of you still courses the expressways of my mind. As a child, I nursed upon the teat of your oil-boom bosom, running in aimless middle-class kid packs, alongside the progeny of economic refugees who picked up sticks for the boomtown wages and get-rich opportunities of Houston's signature Laissez-faireentreprenuerial euphoria.
In the '70s and '80s, apartment families moved out into new suburban tract houses faster than Earl Campbell could bust through a holeand eject rolling, crumpled defenders out from under his mud-flap thigh pads. Love Ya Blue. These were fast and heady times, when Houston's population zoomed up from being the 7th-largest American city to the fourth-largest, where it still stands today and continues its boundless big-bang business expansion. Houston's mushrooming suburbs, however, hadno charms to soothe the restless dreams of my youth. Doubtless, no American city would have. The ensuing rebellion of my teens and early 20s had its consequences. Fueled on booze, drugs and adrenalized disenchantment, I zig-zagged the Bayou City's vast muddy underbelly as a young man and got caught up more than once. I was introduced to the city's infamous law-enforcement chokehold.
Growing up, you heard a plenty of stories about Houston police and the processions of nightstick-bludgeoned, bloated bodies floating belly-up in the swampy backwaters of Buffalo Bayou. From Jose Campos Torresand the Moody Park Riots to routinely fatal "street justice" beatings and the throwdown-gun murder of Randy Webster (made into a 1981 TV movie), word on the street was that if you got on the wrong side of the Houston Police Department, you might have to worry more about going to the morgue than going to jail. Texas Monthly- a perennial winner of National Magazine Awards and one of my faves - covered this very well in the September 1977 article, Support Your Local Police - Or Else, by the excellent journalist Tom Curtis(whom I had the honor of interning with as a reformed delinquent and college journalism major in 1990).
What I discovered in the late '80s was that if you survived being taken down, hog-tied and trounced like a handcuffed pinata by HPD, then you had the absolute hellhole of the Harris County Jailand its maniacally violent sheriff's department deputies to contend with.
How bad was it? The third-largest jail in America was (and, by all accounts, still is) a lockup in which the greatest threat of bodily harm comes not from other inmates, but from the deeply ingrained, institutional brutality of the guards. Inmate gang fights and race wars? Forgedda'bout it. As I saw for myself in 1988-89, it was the guards who could kill you.
If you so much as inadvertently met eyes with one of these jackbooted goons, they'd sucker punch you and slam you up against a wall, triggering a beserker feeding frenzy in which other nearby guards would drop everything and race up to get in on the action. I saw moaning inmates dragged across the floor into nearby beatdown rooms, where gangs of deputies would run inside with rubber gloves to pummel them into lifeless pulps. (The gloves caused less visible bruising and cuts.) The inmates' cries of pain and pleas for mercy, and the sickening meat thuds of fists and boots striking flesh and bone, would echo and reverberate throughout the jail's extremely overcrowded inmate pods. (A 24-man pod would be overflowing with 100-plus men, with flimsy mattresses and refuse covering every square inch of the filthy floor.)
A bitter bile of anger would rise up as I witnessed the deputy beatdowns, their shrill laughter and taunts punctuating the outrage. Once, while working as a jail trustee, I witnessed two deputies throw a decrepit old man down a flight of stairs. I have no idea if the poor guy lived through the experience, but word on the block was that as the man was being gurnied into the emergency room, the guards told hospital staff he had a "seizure" and accidentally tumbled down the stairs.
"If you don't like jail, don't come here," was the popular refrain of the deputies, as if inflicting terrible pain and humiliation on inmates - frequently jailed on non-violent charges - was some kind of justifiable deterrent. This dumb philosophy, of course, continues to display its effectiveness with America's world-leading prison population, which is the ultimate role model of how to achieve rampant recidivism rates. (Alas, so many jobs and so many billions in criminal justice profiteering relies on the awe-inspiring rehabilitative failure of the U.S. Law Enforcement Industrial Complex.)
So you can imagine the cold slap of resentful recollection when, during my recent Houston visit, I picked up a copy of the Houston Pressand read the very same words highlighted above, as quoted in the Sept. 10 article, Jail Hell, by staff reporter Randall Patterson. Mr. Patterson, who waited outside the jail and interviewed numerous released inmates about their experiences inside, presented eyewitness accounts that clearly indicate that nothing has changed at the abominable Harris County Jailin the 20 years since my experiences there. This, in spite of many media exposes and five-plus years of investigative intervention by the U.S. Department of Justice.
From Mr. Patterson's Houston Press report:
The inmates couldn't help but perceive a general lack of concern for their welfare.
They noticed it through the many acts of omission, as when, during intake, Charlotte Lavan informed the guard that she was both anemic and pregnant, and the guard replied, "We don't give a fuck!" And left her to her fate.
But the inmates mainly felt the disregard as they were being beaten. Justice Department officials were not the only ones with "serious concerns about the use of force at the Jail," as the June report stated.
The guards will "beat your ass," said Wade. "They beat my ass."
He told of an earlier arrest on a drunk-and-disorderly charge, and of being handcuffed to a table at a precinct station, "mouthing off" to the cop, when the cop started hitting him in the face. Wade's nose was broken. There was "blood everywhere," and in that condition, he arrived at the jail, where three "big old boys" dragged him into a room in the receiving area, sat him down and resumed beating him in the head.
"They kept telling me, 'Put your face up, pussy,'" Wade remembered, and when he wouldn't lift his face to the blows, "that's when one big old cop kicked me in the chest with his boot." ...
... Jarret said there was a man in his holding cell who was picking food off the floor, storing it in his shoe and eating it. "The guards were like, 'What're you doing — are you retarded?' And the dude was standing there like, you can tell he's retarded. They asked him what his name was, and as soon as he said he didn't know how to spell his name, they just started slapping him to the ground."
There were other stories — of a prisoner being slapped in the face for trying to explain he wasn't making noise; of a female prisoner being thrown into the wall, kicked upon the floor and pinned there for stepping out of line; of another female prisoner being tossed head-first into the concrete for looking suspicious during a strip search.
What most of the stories had in common was some effort to conceal the violence, at least from other prisoners. Before the inmate was slapped in the face, the guard, according to 18-year-old Salvador Santillan, shouted, "Everyone turn your head! Face toward the left!" And as the other inmate was knocked down for stepping out of line, another guard, according to Rodney, told everyone else to face forward: "All you motherfuckers look forward!"
Wade said prisoners are often dragged out of the holding cells, "but you know they're getting their ass beat, because you hear screams, and then you don't hear nothing." Roy Lee Colbert said, "They'll try to hit you in the body where it won't leave a mark." And if perchance the guards do mark you, Colbert was not the only prisoner to say, they'll tell your family you've lost visiting privileges and put you in solitary until you heal ...
... Jarret has heard the guards shout, "Y'all going to act like animals, we're going to treat you like animals!"
And Colbert was told, "You don't like jail, don't come here."
In 1990, after receiving treatment and getting involved in 12-step programs, I began a three-term stint as editor-in-chief of my college newspaper. I was on my way to a journalism career in which I would work as an award-winning reporter and editor at three of the Lone Star State's biggest daily newspapers.
It was during my reformed stage as young Houston reporter that I first fell in love with my hometown. I moved into a duplex in the incomparable Montrose - a resplendently eclectic, sprawling neighborhood rich in art, culture and eccentricity. It's hard to describe the countless layers of coolness in Montrose, a harmonious conglomeration of fine art galleries, museums and street "pop art," speckled with coffee shops, ethnic eateries and sidewalk cafes, junk shops, tattoo parlors, tarot readers, and vintage clothing boutiques. A pedestrian-friendly neighborhood, filled with the lush greenery of old-growth oaks and blossoming botanical shubberies, Montrose encapsulates a charming variety of clashing architectural styles and structures, from kitschy retro diners and stucco mansions to gingerbread houses, gentrified contemporary town homes and rows of brightly painted, hardwood-floored duplexes.
Montrose is also one of nation's largest gay and lesbian communities. As any urban development expert knows, gays frequently lead the charge of gentrification, and Houston's vibrant gay community was undoubtedly the pioneering force of Montrose. Today, my favorite neighborhood of all time is a peacefully co-existing mishmash of hippies and hipsters, bohemians and goths, affluent professionals and starving artists, and immigrant families speaking dozens of languages from dozens of countries of origin.
But hey, that's just one cool neighborhood in the enormous, 581-square-mile expanse of Houston, the nation's fourth-largest city and far and away more cosmopolitan, artistically colorful and culturally diverse than Dallas, which is perhaps the most pretentiously vapid, plastic metropolis in the world. (Gotta give props to Fort Worth, though - great town.)
Houston is mighty, a veritable global powerhouse. The "Energy Capital of the World" label, while true, is really a distraction to everything else, which is far too much to list in one day. Suffice it to say, the Houston economy is high-tech, diversified and internationally influential. Houston is ranked as the No. 2 city for Fortune 500 headquarters, and it currently has more Fortune 100 fastest-growing companies (16) than any U.S. state except for California, which has only two more. The Houston MSA’s Gross Area Product (GAP) in 2007 was $416.6 billion — slightly larger than the GDPs of Belgium, Malaysia, Venezuela and Sweden.
Personally, I have never travelled the streets of any city where you can hear more different languages being spoken by international visitors, except for New York. Much like the Big Apple, this is a city where you stroll along and listen to a group of suits walking next to you speaking in German, while behind you is a woman on her cell phone having a conversation in Chinese. Only New York has more than Houston's 88 foreign consulates.
And Houston's populace is one of the most racially integrated and harmonious to be found in any city of its size. I've often said that Houston is the friendliest big city in the world. This city gave me the priceless pleasure of getting along swimmingly with everybody, regardless of race, creed, sexual preference or political persuasion. It's the melting pot, done right.
The arts? Once again, only New York has more theater seats than the Houston Theater District. Houston is one of only five cities in the world with permanent professional resident companies in all of the major performing arts disciplines of opera, music, ballet and theater.
We could go on forever here. "Houston," the first word uttered by the first human to set foot on the moon, speaking to NASA mission control at Johnson Space Center. The Houston Bay Area - one of the nation's largest boating communities. Houston, home of the Texas Medical Center , the world's largest and finest medical center that treats some 5 million patients each year from all over the world.
And, to get back to the bad and the ugly ... Houston, one of America's most historically brutal law enforcement strongholds. It's the undisputed "death penalty capital of the world," whose former handlebar-moustached district attorney, John B. Holmes, Jr., once remarked on the phenomenon of city cops firing dozens of slugs into unarmed suspects, saying, "The analogy I use, is that if it is okay to kill a guy dead, it is okay to kill him dead, dead, dead."
Mr. Holmes, who I interviewed once as a reporter with the Houston Chronicle in the early '90s, was a real card. Every other word out of his mouth was a profanity. His office was a ridiculous theater of taxidermy, the antlers of slain deer and antelopes and various Wild West conversation pieces enhancing, in my view, the silly stage character of someone who should have never come close to having the government-sanctioned power to kill humans.
A lot of Houston reporters really thought good 'ol Johnny Holmes was aces - the guy cussed like a sailor and colorfully spoke his mind, unlike the evasive, PR-polished gobbledy gook of other city politicians. (Funny how his profanities and crudities never made it in print; he had the Chronicle's reporters tied around his big death-row trigger finger.) But he was shrewd, ambitious and committed. Fueled by the "get tough on crime" political hysteria of the time, Mr. Holmes built one of the most well-oiled and powerful prosecutorial machines our nation has ever seen, doubling his office's staff to 230 hard-nosed prosecutors and operating a $32 million annual budget.
During his 21-year tenure as DA, from 1979 to 2000, Mr. Holmes' hang-'em-high "justice" machine sent untold thousands to populate Texas' exploding prison system - with over 200 of them dispatched to the state's internationally notorious Death Row. Since 1982, the Lone Star State has executed 420 men and three women by lethal injection. Running a distant second is Virginia with 103.
Legendary Houston defense attorney, Richard "Racehorse" Haynes, once said of Mr. Holmes: "Johnny is a west-of-the-Pecos kind of guy. He is not a Renaissance man. His theory is, 'Let's kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out."
Hey, slice it anyway you like. But if this rapacious pursuit of state-sanctioned executions doesn't make a richly revealing statement about the violent psyche of Houston's law enforcement institutions ... well ... pardon me if I just keep on dreamin'.
In addition, it was always abundantly clear to me that any charges or inquiries that had likely come across Mr. Holmes' desk regarding suspicious inmate deaths at Harris County Jail somehow never saw the light of day. The 24/7 routine of brutality and neglect at the jail was never addressed, to my knowledge, in any kind of prosecutorial way. The civil courts have historically been, and continue to be, the only real recourse for the many familes whose loved ones have mysteriously died in Harris County Jail.
Consider the findings regarding the "unnecessary force" used by Harris County Jail deputies in the U.S. Department of Justice report, released only a few months ago in June 2009:
These and other similar incidents suggest that staff use hazardous restraint and force techniques without appropriate guidance or sanction. In some cases, medical records confirm that detainees may have suffered notable injuries, such as lacerations to the scalp or eye. Notably, when force was investigated by supervisors, it appears that the supervisors often determined that staff’s use of force was appropriate without obtaining statements.
Jail policy does not clearly require the individual using force to file a use of force report; nor does Jail policy provide for routine, systematic collection of witness statements. When supervisors review use of force incidents, they do not have ready access to important evidence. Instead, they appear to rely excessively on officer statements to determine what happened during an incident.
If you ask me, these guys have been literally getting away with murder for decades. Courthouse digging will turn up scads of wrongful death suits against Harris County concerning inmates who were checked in alive and checked out in a body bag. According to a Houston Chronicle investigation, at least 101 inmates died while in custody there between 2001 and 2007.
And here's the kicker: a large percentage of these folks, unable to afford bail and down on their luck, are being held on petty, non-violent charges as they await trial for a year or longer, with the presumption of innocence. From last month's excellent Chronicle report by Lise Olsen:
More than half of the 11,500 inmates crammed into the Harris County Jail have not yet been found guilty of a crime but await their day in court confined with convicted criminals in conditions that repeatedly flunk state and federal safety inspections.
The most common accusation against them: possession of a crack pipe or minuscule amount of drugs.
Though the U.S. Constitution guarantees the right to a speedy trial, at least 500 county inmates have been locked up for more than a year as they wait to be judged, according to an analysis of inmate data by the Houston Chronicle.
About 1,200 have been jailed six months or more though many face only minor felony charges, such as bouncing checks, credit card fraud, trespassing or even civil violations. In fact, around 200 inmates, theoretically innocent until proven guilty, appear to already have served more than the minimum sentence for the crime they allegedly committed, based on the newspaper's analysis of inmate data provided by the Harris County Sheriff's Office.
As detailed last month in this Houston Press report, the latest wrongful death suit comes from the family of a 44-year-old woman who died in custody last year. The suit alleges that jail staff ignored the woman's severe leg pain for three days and taunted her until she died. Nice.
In addition to the atrocity of Harris County Jail, it always seemed clear to me that county prosecutors have greased the grand jury skids for Houston cops who have been caught beating and shooting unarmed citizens. The list of inexplicable no-bills in these cases is astonishing, but typical of most American cities. More often than not, bad cops beat the rap.
Let's hope this doesn't happen with the case of poor Robbie Tolan, who was wrongfully accosted by cops this past New Year's Eve on bogus suspicians that he stole his own car, then shot in front his horrified parents while lying on his back in his own driveway. The shooting officer, Sgt. Jeff Cotton, was recently charged with aggravated assault, but that's a long way from a jury finding he did anything improper.
Houston, you've got a problem. And you've had it for a very long time. I tend to think that nothing short of a complete federal takeover of Harris County Jail can root out the long-entrenched, institutional barbarism of the county jailers. But that will probably never happen - the locals usually con and outsmart interlopers.
In 1977, the discovery of Jose Campos Torres' bloated and bludgeoned corpse in Buffalo Bayou capped a terrible period of escalating revelations and scandals about the Houston Police Department's notorious brutality. Exasperated, then-Mayor Fred Hofheinz lamented, "There is something loose in this city that is an illness."
Flash forward to 2009: Has anything really changed?
Hey, we haven't even touched the tip of the iceberg, here. Did I mention the HPD crime lab, which has performed thousands of shoddy and utterly unreliable tests that have produced tons of tainted evidence used in convictions, including scientifically unsound DNA tests? DNA Super Lawyer Barry Schecksaid Harris County is the worst place in the world for a crime lab scandal: "We already know that they couldn't do DNA testing properly. Now we have a scandal that calls into question many thousands more cases. And this jurisdiction has produced more executions than any other county in America.''
It should also be noted that a 2007 Houston Chronicle investigationof HPD's first 900 taser incidents revealed that no crime was being committed in 350 of those cases. As you know, tasers or "stun guns" are meant to be an alternative to deadly force. (Although many Americans have died from the shock, anyway.)
The Chronicle analysis showed that HPD officers still "shot, wounded and killed as many people as before the widespread deployment of tasers." Moreover, Houston cops used their stun guns frequently in situations that did not warrant violent force, such as "traffic stops, disturbances and nuisance complaints, and reports of suspicious people."
Typical. Used to be that the folks in Houston's most impoverished minority neighborhoods received the brutal brunt of the city's legion of crooked officers, but I think it's much less about race today and much more about the generational, genetically ingrained violence of the city's law enforcement agencies and the plain power-tripping arrogance of being above the law because you are the law.
That's too bad for the good cops and decent jailers in Houston whose commitment to serve, protect and treat citizens humanely is obscured by the goon squads. But it's mostly too bad for the good people of Houston, one of the greatest cities on Earth, still choked with corrupt cowboy cops in an antiquated and unconstitutionally abusive law-enforcement death grip.
And it's more than a little disturbing to me, obviously.
When I closed my hotel room window, I walked across the room to turn up the air conditioning and decided I might try to hit an old Montrose lunch spot the next day for lunch. Then I considered driving out to see my old neighborhoods and check out my childhood homes and hangouts. Nope. Not enough time.
So I may be coming back to see you again soon, Houston.
I just had the lucid realization that in spite of those ugly memories and lingering resentments, I'll always be proud to call myself a Houstonian.
"I'm not sure the role of the United States is to go around the world and say 'this is the way it's got to be…' I would be very careful about using our troops as nation builders." -Presidential Candidate George W. Bush, Oct. 3, 2000
But today was a real doozy, as you can see in the above photo of stunned Iraqis shambling about the freshly truck-bombed ruins of their Khazna village, near Mosul. At least 50 civilians were killed today in a starburst of bombings throughout Northern Iraq and Baghdad. Hundreds more were wounded. (Actually, more than 100 Iraqis have been killed in the past four days, the worst death toll since the U.S. troop pull-out on June 30.)
You may recall that U.S. Col. Timothy R. Reese, chief of the Baghdad Operations Command Advisory Team, made quite a stir last month with his leaked memo, in which he proclaimed it's "time for us to declare victory and go." This so-called "victory" can be found in the comforting knowledge that while "Iraq may well collapse into chaos of other causes ... we have made the Iraqi Security Forces strong enough for the internal security mission." In other words, the Iraqi government and security forces have a fighting chance to ward off an overthrow by Al Qaedaor Baathists, but the country will likely collapse into utter upheaval on a scale not yet seen after the troops go home. Mission accomplished, right?
According to news reports, today's deadly bombings were carried out by Al Qaeda operativesas part of their strategy to attack and kill Iraqi civilians and foment sectarian tensions. It could be a bloody taste of exponentially worse carnage to come.
Nonetheless, let us savor the sweet victory. Our objectives have been "achieved," according to Col. Reese. (Or we're pretty darn close, anyway.) Moreover, the Iraqi people are better off, according to our trustworthy leaders. Hey, we've done a big favor for Iraqi citizens.
If anybody's interested, Helen & Harry Highwater of Unknown Newshave a well-sourced and credible count of the the cumulative death toll in both Iraq and Afghanistan, which today stands at 753,118 (of which 733,232 are in Iraq). These numbers include civilians, U.S. and coalition troops, contractors, journalists and others. Expect the toll to continue its bloody rise for decades to come. (By the way, if you haven't been to Unknown Newsand kicked back for a relaxing, intellectually enriching visit at Helen & Harry's comfy apartment, you should do so immediately. Helen also makes a mean tunafish sandwich, which she'll mail to you for only $5 bucks. In case you couldn't tell, we are huge fans of these fine folks and the long-standing excellence of their wonderful website.)
Question: Will the maimed and traumatized Iraqi childrenwhose parents, siblings and loved ones have been slaughtered as a result of the U.S. invasion grow up with fond feelings and goodwill for the United States? Surely, none of them will be resentful and want revenge or anything like that. Right? And America's tarnished imperialistc image will surely recover nicely after the troops are gone and Iraq metamorphizes into a gigantic, rubble-heaped bomb hole. Yes?
Ah, well. Americans don't care. Cascades of civilian body parts are just what happen in a good and just war, and diligent Defense Department media censoring keeps most of these unsightly images under wraps, anyway. Americans are entertained, however, by television showsand movies about Iraq and the derring do of our G.I. Joe Super Soldiers. The real stuff is a bore and requires reading.
We like to dress up our wars as entertainment extravaganzas for flat-screen home theater systems. If you think about it, only America can make riveting shows about its own wars while they are still ongoing (or failing). The real horror and maleficent consequences of war are mere fodder for dramatic programming.
Even so-called "objective" news coverage comes with dramatic theme music, exciting war graphics and ratings-calibrated, infotainment enhancements. For example, which stirring network-news war theme did you like the best:
Speaking of Call of Duty, the kids can soon look forward to a thrilling new video game about Operation Iraqi Showdown, to be titled Six Days in Fallujah. Heck, with all their video war games, these kids are already skilled enough to man the remote-controlled dronestations. This is excellent for long-term military recruitment.
U.S. intelligence agencies, by the way, farm out up to 70 percent of work to private contractors like Blackwater, which recently changed its name to "Xe" and urges us to join the National Rifle Association on its weird new "U.S. Training" website, which was obviously slapped together in haste to replace the original Blackwater site after the new outbreak of allegations.
As a result, we have fine patriots such as the two Blackwater Gangstas depicted above running amok in Iraq. (For more about how Iraq has been parcelled out and sold to outfits like Blackwater and other war profiteers, check out Iraq for Sale.)
Now, if the neo-cons would hire these mercenaries to provide security for the rabidly ill-informed Republican ninnies who are gassing up all these healthcare-reform townhall meetings, the GOP would really be getting somewhere.
When we last left you, my soulmate lover, Sandra Sam, was trying to get me to send her cash via Western Union so she could buy a passport, escape her Burkina Fasorefugee camp, and come live with me in America with her deceased father's $8 million inheritance. (She was even going to send me the $8 million for safe keeping in my bank account while I waited for her to come be with me.)
But much has happened since then. For one thing, the romance scammer who impersonates the ficticious Sandra Sam has been tricked into going to the Burkina Faso Western Union station, thinking that $500 had been sent, only to be informed there is nothing there for him.
This is a humiliation for the African Internet scammers, and something they seek to avoid by insisting you send them the tracking number so they can go onto the Western Union website and ensure the transaction is real. As you can see below, however, our scammer was manipulated into making the journey without the number and had to endure the shame of a clerk telling him there is no such transaction.
This made him angry, of course. Yet through continued obfuscation and sleights of hand, the dummy keeps believing that my ridiculous ficticious charactermight somehow come through with the cash after recovering from a malaria-like illness.
At this point, who is scamming who? You decide.
Enjoy.
----------
From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Saturday, June 27, 2009 7:46:41 PM Subject: God bless yeu
My dearest
I feel on top of the world each time I tried to estimate the magnitude of encouragement your communications gives me any time I am compel to think of it. Anyway, I don’t really know what to say but all should be set aside until we meet face to face.
I felt more than exited reading your email to me because I have this believe that with you I can make it again in life. I love you but there is no way to express the love at this point in time hence I am not there with you, if you really love me, this is the time to prove it. Help me out, I ask the barrister the cost of obtaining an international passport and he told me that the consular accept the sum of £200 from the indigene.
Here is the information I collected from the reverend for you to send the passport fees if possible.
Name: Romanus Obalim Address/ bp 301 Ouaga Burkina Nationality: Burkina Faso Question/ YES Answer/ SANDRA
My dear is you do this to me hhhhm I really don’t know how to express my feel but that should be pending until I come to your country.
Thanks and God Bless Your sincerely love Sandra
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Sunday, June 28, 2009 9:16:32 AM Subject: RE: God bless you
Sweet Sandra:
Once again, I am blown away by your loveliness, my sweet Sandra.
And I have terrific news for you, my dear. The funds have been sent! I have sent you $500 for extra spending money, as well as the passport. The funds should be immediately accessible. I do have the receipt but haven't been able to scan it because I don't have a scanner at home. But please, my dear, tell the Reverend to pick up the money at his earliest convenience, and let me know when you receive it.
From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Monday, June 29, 2009 3:46:42 PM Subject: Mail me the sender informations
My Dearest
Romanus was not able to receive the fund yesterday because the management of the western union insisted that the sender and receive name most be provided before they can release the fund.
so please if you're so occupy not been able to scan the payment slip, you can equally write down the information on the senders, the receiver name and secret question and answer please send it as possible as you can to enable us cash the fund here
and please dont forget to send the mtcn number'control num' 2. your information as the sender just as fill in the payment slip and the information i gave you as the receiver. i am waitin
thank you, i love you thanks for giving me hope
your love Sandra
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Tuesday, June 30, 2009 9:55:15 AM Subject: I am very concerned!
Sandra:
I am very concerned. Please look at the message I have pasted below, which I received this morning just I was about to scan the receipt from Western Union. How can this be? I find it unbelievable that someone else from Africa would have a large bank account they want me to get involved in, just after I have fallen in love with you and have done everything in my power to help you.
I have since learned there are many "scams" coming from Africa, including Burkina Faso, in which people pretend to have money and then somehow steal money from good people like me in the United States.
Please, please, please tell me this isn't true, Sandra. I am so very worried that I have been fooled and that I will be broken-hearted. I have already begun to make preparations in my home for you to live with me, and I sent you $500 dollars yesterday through Western Union, and there is no way I can get that money back.
Please, Sandra, tell me you are not a scam artist, and that you are real. I am very worried and upset.
---------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Tuesday, June 30, 2009 9:55:15 PM Subject: RE: I am very concerned!
Dearest heart, good afternoon,
I have been crying throughout the day because i don't really know why things should turn out this way. Anyway, i have shown your message to the reverend, after reading through it, he advice me to warn you not to respond to those people any longer, thence he continue by telling me that these day, Africa is rated as one of major continent that are involve in scam activity as such, there is every possibility that those people are scams trying to catch a victim.
My dear, i am telling you the gospel truth, i don't know these people and i am not a scammer OK. i don't know how i can explain for you to understand but it is the lord almighty who sees the heart of all men can tell.
Please if you don't mind, i will suggest you create a new email address where we shall be communicating with each other, likewise me, i shall create a new one too and email you with it I wouldn't want any one to come between us and please keep away from those people before they get you into troubles.
You are saying that you sent your heard earning to me and i was like flattering or victimizing you, it is not true, it is not what you think, i swear and to be frank with you, i have not lay my hands on the fund. I want you to realize that i am not coming to you because of what you are but because of who you are, i am not interest in your money, the money that my dad left for me is more capable of satisfying all my wants though its out of reach at the moment.
I like you because of the words of encouragement and hope which you have bestow in me. Now i don't know where i went wrong that things should turn out this way.
Please forgive me if i offend you in anyway, for if not for the law abiding my fathers agreement with the bank, i would have withdraw the fund and continue my life maybe if we were predestined to united together, it would not have been this way.
I have seen that you are no longer the man i used to know, maybe its because of the emails you received. All the same, if you are truly sure that you sent me 500, then i need the information and mtcn numbers to enable romanus collect it and if you want the fund sent back to you, i will order it be done so. But if the fund is no longer there and you are sure of what you said, i promise you that as soon as i can get hold of the fund deposited on my behalf by my dad, i shall repay you the 500. Please bear with me
What i need now is the information and i want you to keep away from those people even if you dont love me any more.
i am stoping here with tears of sorrow in my heart
Thanks and God bless Sandra
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Wednesday, July 1, 2009 12:36:12 PM Subject: RE: I am very concerned!
Oh, Sandra. How much I want to believe. If you are not real and you are one of these scammers, then it is the cruelest joke that has ever been played upon me. All my life I have waited for a girl like you to come into my life. These photos that you sent me that I have carried with me everywhere – are they really you?
Anyway, I wish I could have more assurance from you that you are real and that your love for me is true. Do you really love me, Sandra? Are you really the girl of my dreams?
As for the money – it is there. Romanus Obalim just has to get it with proper ID. It's just that simple.
I have no way to get that money back, so even if you are fake, you might as well get it. I just pray and hope that you are real, Sandra. If you are real, I promise I will love you and take care of you forever and ever.
Your Worried Poomfy
----------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Thursday, July 2, 2009 3:09:32 PM Subject: RE: I am very concerned!
My dearest if only you can believe me, i am not a scam, i am a single girl of good reputations, i descended from a good family, i dislike any thing that will hurt my fellow human, thus if you think that loving me has cost you much pain, please pardon me.
Remember, love does not count on offense so if you really love me, forget about those obstacles let move on with our life for the bible Say ‘surely they will gathered but they will never come near us’ if you believe this saying, i want you to just create a new email where both of us will be communicating and don't try to communicate with those people any more OK.
Concerning the fund, i want you to know that it is not possible for Romanus to receive the fund you sent without the money transfer control number, senders information's, receiver information's, question and answer.
Please do hack other peoples fund here, as such, if all the above mentioned information is not provided, no one can receive the fund. That is how is done hear. So i want those informations and i want to know if i should resend the fund back to you after he may and cashed it or should i use it for the passport ? the choice is yours OK
But if only you can believe me The rev is no longer how because of how i have been disturbing him to allow me to send you a message so please lets forget this argument OK
I cannot lay the blame on you either because the email you received is somewhat suspicious, but that shouldn't make you to think i am fooling you no my heart ! is not what you think
I am sending my more of my pic maybe that would make you to believe and please i want yours in return and the payment info
You are still the one i love
Thanks Sandra
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From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Thursday, July 2, 2009 10:38:30 PM Subject: RE: I am very concerned!
Oh, my sweetest! These new photos are delightful. I am so attracted to your beauty, and I quiver uncontrollably for your touch. It just seems so hard to believe that a good Christian girl like you would be so cruel and greedy to run such a scam. Only a very terrible person would do such a thing, and I always want to believe the best of people. I always want to think that people are as good in their hearts and souls as I am.
Give me a little more time to pray and to find God's answer to this, and when I return home from work I will decide whether to send the account numbers you are requesting. If I decide to give the numbers, then it will be for you to keep and to use for your passport and other things that you need.
If you are really not Sandra, but a scammer, I will never the funds again, anyway. I will now complete my day's work and talk with God about this decision. You must now that I want to believe you more than life itself. If you are not real, Sandra, it would devastate me and bring terrible suffering, humiliation and sadness. But if you are real, then I will be the happiest man on all the Earth.
I will get back to you shortly.
Your Hopeful Poomfy
---------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Friday, July 3, 2009 9:14:12 AM Subject: The Choice is yours
Ok the choice is yours; I like your idea but you know i belong to the school of thought who believes that a clear conscience fears no accusation
I am totally innocent of all that has happened but only if you can believe
And that “believing” is one of the fundamental reasons why I am somewhat scared of you. You claimed you love me yet you don’t trust me. Love without trust, its resultant can not go beyond fruitless because there won’t be concordance agreement
if you love me, let me have your picture
Like I said, the choice is yours Yours heart Sandra
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Friday, July 3, 2009 1:47:18 PM Subject: RE: The Choice is yours
Sandra, I am afraid that I will be such a fool if I love you and you turn out to be a fake. I do love you! But how silly will I be if you take the $500 I sent you and never speak to me again because you are a scammer?
I am still working, but I will be home tonight. I can send you this photo of me from work. I want to know what you think, Sandra, of how I look. Maybe you will see this and decide I am not attractive.
But maybe, just maybe, you will see this photo and you will still love me and want to be with me forever and ever. And then maybe I will know that you are real, that you are true.
Love,
Your Poomphy Poo Pooh ---------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Saturday, July 4, 2009 12:22:43 PM Subject: Dearest love
Dearest Lover
i have seen your photo, you are a handsome man you know. i wonder why you never wanted to send your pic to me until this time.
anyway the picture is nice, i love you and i promise to remain faithful to you till eternity only if you we can trust and understand each other.
please stop killing me!! why most you think i will made away with the money you claimed to have sent and stop communicating with you? no no! my dear you are getting it all wrong i cant live you, i need to make my way to USA only if you can give me the opportunity. i want to come and stay with you.
the point is that you don't really know the rate of hardship that i am facing here right now; i need to move out from this place. stop saying that i will run away, no not at all. despite the hardship, i can equally instruct Romanus to resend the money back to you as soon as he collect it. maybe that is what you want
all the same, i am desperately waiting for the payment information as soon as you get home so that the fund can be pulled before some other person tamper it you know this is africa. i wish you journey mercy on your way back to home and the lord help you in all your endeavours
lost for loveeeeeeeeeee Sandra
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Saturday, July 4, 2009 7:17:52 PM Subject: RE: Dearest love
Oh, Sandra, I am so relieved that you find me to be so handsome. My mother thinks I am the best looking man she has ever seen, you know. She still likes to give me my haircuts.
Life has not been easy for me, yet I have always succeeded in my professional endeavors because of my IQ of 220 and the fact that I have psychic powers unlike others who may mock me, such as the many women who have giggled at my manhood.
Sandra I have given this much thought, and I do apologize to you sincerely, my sweetest sugary buttercup, if you were at first offended that I called your love into question.
But I know that I love you, Sandra. I want you to be my wife and be the living host of my progeny. It is important that I spawn, Sandra. This brings me to some difficult matters that I must confess to you that so that a huge weight would lift off my shoulders.
Sandra, I have never kissed a girl, or even held a girl's hand. I am unsure about the process of sex and delivering my seed. Does this disgust you? Will you run away from me? Do you think me a loser and a dog? If you can still see my beauty, even with this horribly embarrassing admission, I will know you are my sweetest love of the cosmos, my star-crossed girl toy.
Yours Forever, Poomfy Lover Boy
----------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Tuesday, July 7, 2009 10:31:35 AM Subject: Where are you?
Well, I can see that you are disgusted by me now. You think I am unattractive and you have no desire to train me in the sexual arts. I am sorry, sweet Sandra, that you find me so horrible. I am heart-broken, and I have lost $500 for nothing. The money does not matter, however. It is your love that is the deepest loss of all.
----------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Thursday, July 9, 2009 8:25:15 PM Subject: WHY???
Sandra, why? Why have you forsaken me?
My mind is crazy with thoughts about you. Have you decided to leave me? Or has something happened and you're in danger? I have gone through dozens of Kleenex boxes. My home is overrun with piles of tissues.
Please, if you love me, let me know if you're OK. I have decided you must be real, my sweet, and that our love is true.
---------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Friday, July 10, 2009 2:25:34 PM Subject: RE: WHY???
Dearest I know you are not worried over my ignorance from responding promptly to your email, hence you know the reason why its so.
Why you do you to accuse me of what I am innocent of? Is it because I beg to assist me in obtaining a pas port? If you never wanted to assist me, why not let me know rather than accusing me of what I did not do whereby you sent nothing.
You see I now realize you don’t Love me, as a result of that, I shall not respond to you any more until you sent the payment slip which you claimed to have sent in the name of romanus. You have cost me pain, I accuse bro romanus for stilling the money that was sent to me not knowing that you actually did not sent a penny.
I must get to the root of this matter! so if you really sure of what you said and if you still desire to communicate with me, do not hesitate from sending the payment info as you claim or tell me the true that you did not send the fund.
Don’t border to reply if my request is not granted because I am not going to respond until I get to the truth of this issue.
God Bless you Sandra
----------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Saturday, July 11, 2009 9:41:10 AM Subject: RE: WHY???
Sandra, I am so ashamed. I have sobbed on soggy, drippy wet pillows for two days now. I could not even get of bed or go to work. You must think that I am such a terrible loser, and that just KILLS ME. All my life I have been waiting for a girl like you, and then you finally come along and I blow it.
I have no excuse, except my own mistake. You are right. The money did not come for this Mr. Romanus. I made a mistake and sent it the name of Reverend John Dialo. I have been so busy working on my revolutionary patents that I must have sent the wrong name.
So can the reverend pick up the money with his ID? I am so very very sorry. I see how how you must think I am so stupid, and I am thinking about ending my own life. Despite my superhuman genius, I have long felt a failure, and this could be the final straw if I lose you.
Baby, it was just a mistake! For this, my little sweet pimple puppy, I can only beg your forgiveness. And I know I was also wrong about doubting you and thinking you a scammer.
I am wrong about everything! If you do not reply, or never want to speak to me again, I understand. I can only say that I am a scared little man, and that I get nervous and afraid all the time, and this makes me screw things up. Sometimes, sweet Sandra, I spend hours and hours doing nothing but sitting alone while trembling, crying and making anguished mewling noises.
I will do anything to make this right for you. Let me know what I can do.
Very humbly yours,
Poomfy Poop Head
---------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Monday, July 13, 2009 4:34:47 PM Subject: My dearest
Dearest i never meant to hurt you, the point is that people don't really value what they have until they lost it..
I gave you my heart and all but all that i get in returns are negative expression and false accusation.
I told you about the trouble i make with romanus over the money you claimed to have sent with his name where by you did not send any, now you want to involve the reverend. do you expect me to believe you? what is your proof which shows that you actually make the payment with father john's name? or do you want me to start making trouble with him? no no please keep away from me.the reverend is the only person that really care for me in this whole globAL wORLD and now you are looking for a way to put misunderstanding among us. why?
please i repeat again keep away and if you want me to believe you, then send the western union payment slip which you used in making the payment.
no proof no responds PLEASE! PLEASE!!
bye for now and God bless YOURS...Sandra
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Wednesday, July 15, 2009 7:55:15 AM Subject: RE: My dearest
Sandra, why did it take you so long to get back to me? Do you understand the emotional trauma I've been going through? I was convinced you don't love me anymore, and that you had moved on and left me. I have bitten off all my nails and am now chewing the flesh of my raw bleeding cuticles.
Sweetie poo poo, I don't have the receipt any more. I thought you were gone and I just wrote the $500 off as a loss. What should I do? And is this all you care about? The money, the money, the money! What about me? What about my poor poor little sputtering heart?
Darling, I will get the money to you, but please just let me know that you love me still, and that you still want to be my one and only truest lover. If you do, I will send you another $500 and copy and scan the receipt for you immediately and email it to you.
I had no idea that sending a Western Union thing is so utterly complicated! Why must it be this difficult? But I promise I will send it to you immediately with all the freaking infernal numbers, etc., if you will once again pledge to me your eternal love and devotion.
I am in New York City now, doing some more business. Several government agencies want to purchase my new patents. I think you will see, if you come to live with me, that I have all the money you could ever want. I have so much! I don't even know where to spend it. This is why I've always needed a special lady to share it with, and delight my skinny flesh.
You see? Your father's inheritance doesn't mean a thing to me. What I want more than anything is your love and devotion, and I need you to have my babies. I believe it is my destiny to have a son who will eventually take over my company and carry on my important work, including my miraculous atomizing multidimensional transporter, which has given me entry into two-dimensional worlds populated by sentient kitchen appliancesand dancing candelabras.
For this, my sweet, I need you. Please get back to me as soon as possible. My poor little quivering heart cannot take too much more of this, and I'm having terrible gas pains. I need to get on with this, and I have concluded you are not a fake. What I need, however, is your promise to be my loving wife and the bearer of my fruit.
Love, Your Suffering Poomfy Heart
----------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Thursday, July 16, 2009 9:51:11 PM Subject: Today is new
Dearest How are you today?
I carefully read your email I came to understand that I still have a place In your heart. I want you to know that it’s never my intention to bring about such magnitude of pain in your life but when you take a closer look at the accusations you level against Romanus, I need no mathematician to tell me that you have not been true to me.
I mean it scare me alot even until this very point in time. Though we have not seen each other with our naked eyes ever since the beginning of this relationship but that should not give you the impetus to consider others irresponsible as you may think, it is not proper, that is just what denies me the impression to believe you anymore because you don’t trust me, you don’t tell me the truth yet you purported to have an atom of love for me.
You tell me lies now that I am not in the state with you, what happens them when we will be living together? May be you will be maltreating me???
Any way, you have seen the reason why I insisted you send those payment slip not because I am so interest in the money after all, I have been surviving without you all these day but just to believe in you.
I am still floating in the air! Please put me in the right path, stop toiling around with me to enable me determine my stands.
I know you have all the money in the world but you must understand that my dad was a very rich man, I have seen money; money don’t push me, I never fall in love with you just because of what you have, I have not seen you physically and I can not ascertain your class or financial capability but all that I know is I love you because of who you are, your sensational expressions, your words of encouragement and your seriousness in your businesses just as you told me. But on the long run when you started lying to me, I was compelled to discover that I am stepping my toes on the wrong path.
Finally, my people use to say that when the left hand washes the right, the same measure should also be given to the left. Thus you cannot expect me to be expressing how much love I have for you while I am here facing multitude of hardship all day long. If you really love me, if I have a little hole right there in your heart, you must put in your possible best to get me out from this country to your country.
I can marry you but we have to stay for a while and understand each other the better before jumping into marriage you know marriege is something you do once and forever So if you desire to help good and fine, if you don’t alright
Thank you Sweet dreams Lost for love
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Friday, July 17, 2009 6:36:50 PM Subject: RE: Today is new
Thank you so much for this message of love and hope. Once again, my dearest schnookums, I feel tingly and alive with love for you. The thought of you gives me such frisky pants!
As I said, I am currently in New York in the midst of important negotiations over my Extenze and Enzytepatents, which are proving fruitful and erect. Once I get a free minute, I shall send you $1,000 at a Western Union somewhere here in Manhattan.
Is that enough, sugar blossom? Or should I send you more? And to whom should I send it this time? Would it be Romanus Arabhim? Is he angry with me for going to the Western Union station and having the embarrassment of the funds not being there for him? If so, I am very sorry and I promise it will not happen again.
Please let me know ASAP, my loveliest bird of paradise. And please know I would never mistreat you, or put you in my dungeon. I want you to give birth to my hatchlings and be my lovely wife. I could never hurt you.
I am yours forever and ever and ever,
Poomfy Kissey Man
----------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Saturday, July 18, 2009 6:14:09 AM Subject: Hello my love
yes you can use the information of romanus to send the money but please if your intention is to flatter, please stop it and if you know that you won't send the payment slip to me here to enable of recieve the fund after you may have made the payment over there, please dont border to send...
i am waitin as you said
i pray for you to have successful business over there in New York and i wish you safe return.
thanks for the sweet email and promises
yours lovely Sandra
---------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Saturday, July 18, 2009 2:21:03 PM Subject: RE: Hello my love
Sweestest Sandra, how exhausted I am in my dealings here in New York. And yesterday I became very sick with a stomach virus in which I was violently expelling feces and vomit. How I wish you were here to tend to my sore little bottom.
Tomorrow I return to Texas, and I will make the Western Union payment. Tell me once again the last name of Romanus. I am afraid I have misplaced this information. Also, tell me again the correct address in Burkina Faso.
Your sickly lover, Poomfy Poopy Puke
----------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Sunday, July 19, 2009 9:41:12 AM Subject: Dearest
Dearest, i am so sorry for your illness, the sound of it made me to fall prostrate on the floor asking the living God to lay his healing hands on you and i am so convince that you have receive the healing where ever you may be now.
please my dear ;don't fall seek, if you do, whose gonna help me out from this camp? if the stomach problem persist, i think you should see the doctor for better prescription you can count on me, i am by your side always and you know that a situation like this is one of the fundamental reason why i wanted to come over to your country, to be assisting you in time of happiness and sickness though it never my potion for you to fall sick.
here is the information you requested but i want you to abide to my previous advice. if you know that sending the payment slip after you may have made the payment will be a problem, it is better you don't border sending it
so if you really desire to help me, here is the information you have to use and try as possible as you can to send the payment slip as well.
Name: Romanus Obalim Address/ bp 301 Ouaga Burkina Nationality: Burkina Faso Question/ YES Answer/ SANDRA
Thank you and may God heal and bless you. Sandra
----------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Sunday, July 19, 2009 7:32:15 PM Subject: RE: Dearest
Oh, how lovely it is to receive your precious words of healing and hope. I am still suffering but have just been able to ladle some porridgeinto my parched lips and drink some milk of magnesia. Because of my illness, I have been unable to travel and am still not home.
Mostly, I lay here in this hotel room bed, and moan and groan for the sweet nestling of your sumptuous bosom. How much do I long for your loving embrace! I am hoping that I will be able to catch a flight to Texas tomorrow or the next day. I have been very ill. My dearest and bestest friend, Julio Iglesias, believes I have suffered food poisoning from eating a soiled batch of jumbo conches, possibly containing soured sperm whale ejaculates.
My dear, I grow so weary sitting up in bed and typing this that I must again rest and pray that the magnesia milk and porridge help regain my strength. I have the information about about Romanus, and the address. And when I make the payment in Texas, I will send along a scanned copy of the receipt with the appropriate tracking information.
Yours lovliest, Poomfers
----------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Monday, July 21, 2009 3:47:56 PM Subject: How are you?
Dearest
How are you today? hope you are getting better...anyway, i keep on praying for you to recover from that sickness and return home safely, and i know that God almighty shall harken to the voice of my suplications.
i am still waiting for your promises and i believe that you wont flatter me anymore this time.
Good Wishes...
----------- From: PMMF Custodian To: Sandra Sam Sent: Thursday, July 23, 2009 10:11:43 AM Subject: RE: How are you?
Ms. Sam:
This is not PMMF Custodian. I'm afraid he is in bad shape with what appears to be some form of malaria or dysentery. The doctors are still conducting tests. He is currently hospitalized in New York, and has given me instructions to respond to his e-mails and make phone calls on his behalf until his condition improves. I am not sure who you are, but he mentioned that I should inform a "Sandra" that he regrets his inability at this time to respond to you and hopes he will be able to contact you directly soon. He is a compassionate and benevolent man, and he has spoken very highly of you. We are hopeful for his quick return to good health.
Sincerely,
Mary Tyler Moore Lead Administrator PMMF Enterprises
----------- From: Sandra Sam To: PMMF Custodian Sent: Friday, July 31, 2009 4:56:12 PM Subject: in my prayers
HELLO SWEET HEART, how is your health?
i have been so worried over your illness hoping that you will write to tell me that you have recover but to know avail.
please get back to me, ever since i got a responds from a friend of yours who claimed that you instructed him to reply me, tears has been my daily hobby. all night long, my pilo is been soaked with tears. i am going crazy, i don't know what to do, the situation is becoming unbearable to me.
why must sickness attack you now that i need you most.
please come back to me
you are still the one i love and i do put you in my prayer even at this point in time.
This is something that is oft-overlooked amid today's red-faced religious vitriol and the pious posturings of right-wing politicians, leaders and various conservative windbags who claim they possess "the way, the truth and the life."
Jesus is a dang librul. He is, in fact, the biggest progressive of all time. Moreover, the Great Platypus has revealed to me that it's true: Jesus did vote for Obama. (This can be readily confirmed by interpreting the radio pulsar surveys from the Cat's Eye Nebula, according to PM.)
Now, we wouldn't go so far as to proclaim Jesus a socialist, or anti-business. But we are certain He supports health care reform and the public option.
Christianity in the United States has been hijacked by ignorant, blowhard philistines and greedy conservative moneychangers -- their temple is the marketplace.
Does Pope Benedict XVI want to be the ruler of the world? We are inclined to wonder, given today's issuance of his newest encyclical, "Caritas in Veritate.” (Or, in English, “Charity in Truth.”)
This is Ben's third encyclical since 2005, when he was divinely selected to be God's official spokesman. Clearly, this holy attention-suck wants to be a big player on the world stage.
(But, the question remains: Why should someone who dresses like this be taken seriously?)
Nonetheless, we have read this grandiose papal treatise with great interest, and we are somewhat surprised to find some sensible parts. Consider this statement:
“The so-called outsourcing of production can weaken the company’s sense of responsibility towards the stakeholders — namely the workers, the suppliers, the consumers, the natural environment and broader society — in favor of the shareholders. It is erroneous to hold that the market economy has an inbuilt need for a quota of poverty and underdevelopment in order to function at its best.”
Yet we also find things to scoff at, such as Ben's apparent endorsement of a global governing body to regulate world financial markets. Call us hopeless cynics, but we just can't help imagining that Ben's divinely inspired fantasies feature him throned as the supreme potentate of his proposed new world order, with the leaders of nations lining up to kiss his feet.
According to this New York Times report, it took His Holiness two years to complete the new encyclical, which proved difficult for his underlings to translate from Latin. “In the search for solutions to the current economic crisis, development aid for poor countries must be considered a valid means of creating wealth for all,” Ben writes.
That sounds great, except the Vatican strongly condemns the use of contraceptionthat could ease the horrible, overpopulated living conditions in the world's most impoverished areas and prevent the rampant spread of AIDS. Ben has come out more than once to steadfastly reinforce the Vatican's ridiculous position against birth control, and reaffirm the righteousness of the hallowed "rhythm method" and "natural family planning." (This despite evidence that the rhythm method is a bigger cause of embryonic deaththan condoms and other birth control methods.)
In his new encyclical, Ben also bemoans the wages of sin upon financial markets, calling on business leaders to "rediscover the genuinely ethical foundation of their activity."
I am the PMMF Custodian, entrusted by Platypus Maximus, who sees through eyes that only see what's zen. His roots were formed by twisted roots. His roots were twisted then. (I'm also a communications strategist, writer, cultural critic and social commentator.)
I like watches. The look and feel of a sparkly chunk of metal strapped around my wrist makes me feel (and look) like a hundred bucks. Plus tax.
Speaking of Smith and Wesson's executive stewardship, CEO Michael Golden has done much to extend the company's well-recognized brand name into numerous other profitable product lines, everything from venison smokers to bicycles and ... yes, it's true ... men's cologne. (And watches, which we'll get back to soon.)
You see, Smith and Wesson has these various watch models for "public safety" groups, such as the Police Watch, the Firefighter Watch, the Soldier Watch, the Special Ops Watch, the S.W.A.T. Watch and ... get ready for the kicker ... the Paramedic EMT/EMS Watch, which has the EMT logo printed on the dial face.
