Guys, all people who are arrested and sentenced to prison, must spend an amount of time waiting in jail. The reason for this is simple because (in the United States) the jails and prisons are full, and there is a long waiting list that you have stand in until you can get placed.
In my sorry experience at the ADC, I ended up waiting nine months in jail.
And I will tell you that the jail was better than the ADC prison in certain respects. We didn’t eat that much, but at least the food resembled “normal food”. We had two oreos as a dessert. We ate chicken wings, and hot dogs. We had french fries. While in Prison (well the Arkansas ADC) you ate mashed turnips, boiled okra, and Global.
Anyways, during that time it was terribly boring. Most of the time was spent in the cell, and we would be able to hang out in the common room to watch some television (WWF wrestling, the local news, and bowling for dollars), and play some cards.
I spent a lot of my time writing. I wrote up a couple of my MM volumes while waiting. All hand written on paper.
And when I was transferred to the ADC and went into “intake” at Pine Bluff, they looked at all the stuff that I left jail with and threw most of it away. You see, it wasn’t “state issue”. The paper, the pencils, and the toothbrushes were not regulation. And so was my writings.
They collected all of them, and together they threw them into the big trash can, and that was that.
You see, once incarcerated, you are nothing.
No. Let me correct, are are below nothing.
And as I entered the old (former) slave plantation to start hard labor, I did so raw. I did so fresh, and I did so with a big empty.
They threw everything away. I was able to keep my glasses.
That was it.
So people, every now and then, we need to be reminded about our place in society; in the world, and in this universe.
And if you are a misfit, then you pack yourself up, and go to somewhere else where you are appreciated. Life is too short to live in a shithole like the United States has become.
May I suggest Thailand.
The land of smiles… where everyone loves you and you are a handsome man, no matter how butt-fuck ugly you actually are.
Today…
Can a judge place an on-duty police officer in jail for contempt of court?
Originally Answered: Can a judge place an on duty police officer in jail for contempt of court?
Oh, yeah. And I’ve got a great example.
My stepfather, at the time a D.C. homicide detective, got home very late from work. Not in itself unusual, it happened from time to time. When I got home shortly after he did, about 9:30, and saw he was just getting dinner, I asked out of interest what kept him, he said he (in jest) he thought he was going to need me to bail him out of jail. So, Dad, what happened?!
Dad and his partner were in court for preliminary/discovery murder hearing. Lots of pretrial stuff. Prosecutor, case file, a couple of crime scene guys, Dad, his partner, defense counsel, . . . But NO DEFENDANT.
The judge queries the defense attorney why the defendant isn’t present. The defense attorney doesn’t know, hasn’t seen or heard from the defendant recently.
The judge rifles through the court file and says the records show that he, the judge, authorized the release of the defendant on a PR ( personal recognizant) bond.
That’s when Dad muttered under his breath he magic words . . . “You idiot.”
The judge orders Dad to come before the bench and tells him to repeat what he said. Dad does so — first lesson of life is always conceded the obvious, and it was obvious to Dad that the judge heard exactly what Dad said.
The judge holds Dad in contempt and orders him held in detention. So Dad is taken to court holding cell area, surrenders his pistol, handcuffs, keys, wallet, cash, belt, shoe laces, and tie. He was placed in a cell by himself, not with several other prisoners waiting for their own hearings.
Hours later, like at the end of a long court day, the judge orders Dad be brought into chambers. The prosecutor is there, Dad’s partner is there, and the defense attorney is there. The judge asked Dad if he had anything to say. I’ll never forget what Dad told me he said: “Yes, your Honor, I do. There was a mistake made. And apparently I made it. I apologize for what I said.”
Dad said the judge acknowledged that PERHAPS he, the judge, had erred when the authorized the defendant’s release on PR bond. The judge accepted Dad’s apology, rescinded the contempt charge, and released Dad.
As Dad and Jimmy left the judge’s chambers, Dad said he muttered again, under his breath, “You’re still an idiot,” and Jimmy shoved him through the door before he got locked up again.
California Pizza
Ingredients
Pizza
- 1 Boboli or homemade crusxt
- California Oil Sauce
- Mozzarella cheese, shredded
- Marinated artichokes, quartered
- Goat cheese, crumbled
- Sliced sun-dried tomato strips
- Olive oil
California Oil Sauce
- 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
- 2 cloves garlic
- 1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
- 1/4 teaspoon dried basil
- 1/2 teaspoon parsley flakes
- 1/4 teaspoon marjoram
- 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
- 1/4 teaspoon ground black peppercorn
Instructions
Pizza
- Lightly oil crust with California Oil Sauce.
- Top with mozzarella cheese, artichokes, goat cheese and sun-dried tomato strips.
- Drizzle with olive oil.
- Bake and serve.
California Oil Sauce
- Puree all ingredients in blender and store.
USA SENDING SOLDIERS to UKRAINE – greasing the slippery slope to WW3…
What’s something you can’t believe you had to explain to another adult?
Oh I have a doozy of an answer, so my current career is one in the NHS, in particular an ambulance service, now we are told when training as long as you’re attending a emergency call that providing we drive safely we can effectively break the speed limit if we are on blue lights and sirens because obviously driving to a cardiac arrest at 30mph is probably not the best course of action and the same goes for parking, so long as the vehicle is parked safely and preferably not blocking the road where possible so long as the lights are on we’re good anywhere.
Now, just yesterday I was called up to the Fleet Office at my Base, the Fleet Team are our administrative team, they deal with fuel purchases, ambulance purchases, repairs, accidents and Notices of Intended Prosecution aka parking/speeding/CAZ tickets and they are actually really smart women who I know some of my colleagues look down on because they aren’t paramedics but whatever, some people are just divs. Now the reason for my visit to Fleet? I had got a parking ticket in an ambulance, and they knew my crewmate and I had been on a 999 call and already appealed it last month however the appeal had been rejected, why? Because we didn’t pay for parking in the carpark…yep you read that right.
My crewmate and I looked at each other then back at Becky the girl talking to us, we must have looked confused because she told us she had spoken to the people who had issued the fine, a company called XCel, and they wanted to talk to the driver, me, was I okay with making that call? Um sure? So Becky dials the number and asks to be connected to the person handling this Notice someone called Jack, the call is connected and she tells him she has the driver with her, does he want to speak to me still? Yes he does. His first question, my full name, you can call me Pancake, second question, why had I not paid for parking upon arrival at the car park?
I asked if he knew what vehicle I had been driving and he reels off the registration plate of that ambulance so I asked again do you know what vehicle that registration plate corresponds to? He says yes a yellow Mercedes Sprinter, he’s right it is, I then asked if he had photos of the vehicle, he confirms he does, so I asked if he can see what’s stuck on the side of the vehicle? He says what do you mean? JACK, I was driving an ambulance on a 999 call that day, I tell him.
So? You can’t park anywhere you like, he replies. Yeah he’s right, however I was parked in bay was I not? Yes but you didn’t pay, nope because I was dealing with a woman who had collapsed and gone into cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated. If that was your wife, Jack, would you demand the paramedics pay for parking whilst your wife’s life ebbs from her body as your kids stand crying a few feet away? Jack goes very quiet, then asks if it was a serious call? I confirm it was and whilst I was sorry we hadn’t paid £1.50 surely the fact that woman is alive more than makes up for it? She might not be a relative of yours, Jack, but next time who knows and would you like it if this was you or your family? He asks for Becky in a shaky voice and I hand the phone back.
Long story short, fine has been cancelled and Xcel parking suck.
China’s MASSIVE Ocean Project Is About To Change The World!
Very interesting.
What is the most amazing thing you overheard because people didn’t think you understood their language?
Second-hand story here:
Over 40 years ago I shared a house with a musician buddy who had a long-time girlfriend. Sonja was a stunning brunette who was frighteningly smart and had a sharp sense of humor. She was the daughter of Ukrainian immigrants and had a very good job at a financial firm on 85th floor of what is now the Willis Tower (aka Sears Tower, Chicago, USA).
One day Sonja left her office in the stratosphere and got in an elevator car with two men in business suits at the back. When the doors closed, the two men started trading increasingly lascivious comments about her, what she was wearing, what they would like to do with her, all flagrantly sexist and offensive. They were speaking in Ukrainian and must have thought “what are the odds….?” and that they were “safe”.
Sonja waited until the car stopped, then hit the “STOP” button before the doors could open, and then laid into those two guys for a solid 30 seconds…… in fluent Ukrainian. She then hit the 80th floor button, the Close Door button, and the Emergency buttons in quick succession and stepped out, turning just in time to see the “priceless” look on the faces of the men in the elevator.
Wish I’d been there to see that, but Sonja’s satisfaction in telling the story was a treat.
TIME TO GET OUT OF HERE! (Serious Warning Issued After Fierce Exchange)
Shorpy
Upside Down (A little different than usual)
Have you ever been glad you were carrying a gun? What happened?
I sure was. I was driving home from work on route 30 eastbound about 4 pm. I was about halfway between the Hellam and the Wrightsville exits. It was a hot day and even though I had a conceal carry permit. I had my Star 9mm BKM lying on the passenger seat because the holster was uncomfortable while sitting. Looking in my rear view mirror I observed 4 cars behind me. The fourth car moved into the left lane and as he passed the third car he slammed into it forcing it onto the shoulder. He continued on and as passing the second car he slammed into it also forcing it to the shoulder. He did the same thing to the car just behind me. As he pulled up beside me. He started over toward me. He was less than a foot from me. I quickly grabbed my pistol from the passenger seat and stuck it out the driver’s window. He immediately moved back into his lane and sped away. I managed to get his license number as he pulled ahead of me. At that time in the early 80’s I didn’t have a cell phone. I got off the Wrightsville exit, went to a pay phone, called the police, and reported the incidence. I was told a few days later by the local police that the driver was caught by the Coatesville, PA. police. It was a stolen car and the driver had mental issues.
A Voice From The Past
Submitted into Contest #251 in response to: Write a story about a future academic (or another influential person) “rediscovering” a book that, in its time, was dismissed. The book can be fictitious or real.… view prompt
“Yes. And I’ve also heard that you’re going for it.”
“Absolutely!”
I smiled at his wild enthusiasm, knowing that it was a bubble I was about to burst.
“You’ll remember, though…” I paused to allow him to connect the dots.
“No!” he exclaimed, his hopes crushed.
“It’s what we agreed. You’d get the Dickens and I’d get … whatever this one is.”
“But maybe–” he began. I cut him off.
“A deal’s a deal, Harris.”
His shoulders sagged visibly.
“All right, I’ll withdraw,” he mumbled.
Pausing only to tell the robo-sec to cancel all my appointments, I packed up my compu and rushed out of the office, making the biblioteque in record time, despite the midday congestion in the corridors. For me, lunch would have to wait.
I caught the Director just as she was leaving. She kindly agreed to a brief meeting, in which I laid out my credentials – not for the first time. She must have been convinced by them and my earnestness because she signed there and then the access digi-form. I made a point of thanking her profusely (you never know when being on good terms with the high-ups might come in useful). Then I made straight for the biblioteque lab.
Barber842 was on duty. We get on well together, so he smiled when he saw me.
“Word gets round quick!” he joked.
“It does! So tell me – what have we got?”
He led me through to the inner room, bathed as usual in filtered light. And there it was, lying in the middle of the steel table.
“The robo-scavs found it yesterday,” he whispered; this particular room always engenders hush. “It was concealed under rubble and a reinforced-concrete beam – on its own, I’m afraid. Whoever left it had the presence of mind to place it in a vac-pac.”
I nodded, disappointed at there being only one, but eager to get on with the job.
“You’ve geigered it, I suppose?”
“Of course! The box was saturated, but the artefact’s clean.”
“No radiation at all?”
“Tiny traces, but harmless.”
I rubbed my hands together.
“So, can I get started?”
“You’re keen, aren’t you?! I’ll get you a kit.”
I sat down at the table and looked longingly at the orange and cream object of … yes, my desire.
Barber842 returned with the treatment kit.
“It’s all yours,” he said, patting me on the shoulder and retiring.
…
And so here I am.
I boot up my compu and take some bio-plas gloves from the kit, along with a pair of fine tweezers. This moment is delicious: observing and wondering where to begin.
“From the beginning, I suppose,” I giggle; I feel like a young child.
My first move is to smell it. There’s nothing that quite matches this sensation. I don’t have references to liken it to other smells, but it’s unique … or rather, it’s similar to the other three I’ve had the privilege to handle, but unlike anything else in this confined world.
I spend several minutes on this act, such is the pleasure I derive from it. While I inhale the intoxicating scent, I register the seemingly incompatible sadness I feel: that this would have been one of millions – no, billions – incinerated in no time at all. I bemoan the simultaneous frying of systems, destroying digital copies. And I rage silently at the lack of foresight of engineers, who had designed and produced back-up systems for functional operations – we wouldn’t be here otherwise – but had failed to provide protection for cultural heritage.
The scent pulls me out of the bitterness and returns me to the task at hand. I sit up straight and regard the cover: that orange and cream – which was probably once white – and a word that stands out: Lover.
Love. A thing I’ve heard of, naturally, but have never experienced – as far as I know. I’m sure, though, that it’s a positive thing. I follow some simple logic: if a person who teaches is a teacher, and a person who writes is a writer, then a ‘lover’ must be a person who loves. For some reason, this little exercise warms my inside and I feel myself smiling.
The Director has entrusted me with an important task, though, and I force myself to concentrate. I have to read, analyse, and rate, then recommend – or not – that this artefact be placed in the biblioteque itself, along with the almost one hundred companions which have gone through the same process. Others have been destroyed after analysis – a fact which pains me – because of their apparently subversive nature. ‘Subversive’ is a subjective notion, I’d say … though never aloud.
I take the tweezers, pinch the side of the cover, lift it. And here again I spend several minutes inhaling the scent of the inside, which is even more exhilarating than before.
The first few pages I turn very gingerly – they’re extremely frail and flake a little under the pressure of the tweezers. Later, if recommended, it’ll be treated to make it more resilient. There’s important information on these pages, most notably the date: 1960. I shake my head in wonder at the vastness of time between then and now, and if anything, I proceed with even more reverential care.
Then I get to the first page proper, and I have to sit back and pause; I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I can see the block of text waiting for me to consume it, but it’s out of focus for the moment. I must be ready. This is a momentous occasion, and I cannot rush into it, however much I’d like to.
…
I’ve relaxed enough. I’m breathing relatively normally. I lean forward.
Parts of the first paragraph hit me like a hammer:
The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes.
It appears to be speaking of these times. How can it be? It feels like magic. And then:
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
I feel dizzy with the striking voice speaking to me from distant times. And my heart races as I read on, impatient now to find out who the person of the title is.
This Lady Chatterley, who has a lover.
Russia Retaliates. Russian Warships heading to south of Florida, move into the Caribbean
How do you tell whether someone is a good person or is just faking it?
By listening carefully and paying attention!!
I had a friend who was constantly blathering on on her Facebook and Instagram accounts about good energy, paying things forward, saving the rhino, etc. etc. You know the type.
I enjoyed her company, although she enjoyed talking about herself too much for my tastes, but I believed she had a good heart and was in need of a friend. She didn’t seem to have many so I did what I could as a good listener.
But the more I listened the more I heard about the injustices she had suffered, money issues (she was obsessive about money and never seemed to have enough yet I put this down to insecurity), how no one invited her anywhere, etc., etc.
Fast forward a couple of months and there was a an elderly man we would run into during our walks at lunch hour. I truly enjoyed talking to him, he was very nice and had interesting things to say so I always tried to give him some time on our walks.
One day, however, my friend stated that she didn’t like talking to him. That he was old and boring. I stated that it may be the highlight of his day to talk to us as he probably doesn’t get out much and he was so nice, what was the harm. I’ll never forget her reply,
“Well, I’m not being nice to anyone unless I want something from them!”
That shocked me so much my head snapped back and I finally understood why she was lonely. On the cover she ticked all the boxes of good energy, spirituality, giving back, etc. But the truth was, she didn’t give a shit about anyone but herself.
And that, my friends, was the end of our friendship. So listen up and pay attention, not just to what people say but how they behave.
Does China have a Tipping culture?
In many ancient texts, labourers known as 小二/”little twos” who worked at tea houses and inns were given gratuities by the upper classes. Some of these young men were described as grovelling before their wealthier patrons, in the hopes of having a few extra copper coins dropped at their feet.
That said, it is believed that tipping did not exist as a social convention in China at the time. It was mostly done to flaunt one’s wealth (i.e. “flex”).
Tipping as a culture was only introduced to China during the late Qing/early Minguo era, first existing in foreign-occupied territories such as Shanghai. Restaurant owners supported such a custom, as they could get away with paying their workers way less.
The “little twos” were expected to make their living by bothering the patrons. If the patrons refused to tip, their servers would decline to provide any further service, or harass them (e.g. blocking the door, spilling tea on their clothes) until they were tipped. Quarrels and fights over tips were a common sight.
As the fights were beginning to affect business, restaurant owners came up with a new strategy: a mandatory 10% “service charge”(加一服務費) along with the bill. In theory this extra 10% would go to the servers, but in reality the owners would keep most of it for themselves.
To counteract the tip-theft, many servers resorted to “tip-shaming” their patrons. As a patron paid for his meal and the 10% service charge, the server would shout out how much tips they received. On the surface this was to prove they weren’t pocketing any extra money, but in truth this was to shame the patrons into tipping just a bit more under the table.
And if the patron didn’t get the message the first time, the server would find ways to make his life more difficult than it had to be.
Tipping was banned after the communists came to power in the mainland, as it was considered exploitative and degrading to both the patrons and the servers. Instead, restaurant workers are now expected to be paid a fair wage for their labour. Tipping a server in modern day China would bring back ugly memories of the past, and would be seen as an insult.
In Hong Kong, however, tipping culture still exists. Most restaurants here still charge you an extra 10% for “service”, even self-service restaurants. It is an open secret that most restaurant owners simply pocket that money, but there appears to be no law against this sort of thing, and the locals just go along with it.
Killer Patents & Secret Science Vol. 2 | Forbidden Medical Cures
Cast-Iron Skillet Pizza
I would name this “Caprese Pizza.” It’s heavenly!
Prep: 10 min | Cook: 20 min | Yield: 2 (9 to 10 inch) pizzas
Ingredients
- 1 pound store-bought pizza dough (room temperature)
- 1 ripe tomato, thinly sliced
- 1/4 pound fresh mozzarella cheese, diced
- Coarse sea salt
- 2 tablespoons Filippo Berio Extra Virgin Olive Oil
- 1/2 cup shredded fresh basil
Instructions
- Heat well-oiled cast-iron or nonstick 10 or 12 inch frying pan over medium heat for 5 minutes.
- Divide dough in half; roll one half into round 1 inch smaller than diameter of pan.
- Cook dough in hot pan until dough begins to rise and bottom starts to brown. Using metal spatula, turn carefully. Layer half the tomato slices over dough; scatter half the mozzarella over top. Lower heat to medium-low; cook until mozzarella melts.
- Using metal spatula, transfer pizza to cutting board. Sprinkle with salt; drizzle with half the olive oil.
- Cut into wedges; sprinkle half the basil over top.
- Repeat with remaining ingredients.
DOWNTOWN Los Angeles COLLAPSED
What should you never buy in life?
- Latest iPhones every year.
- Amazon prime subscription if you want movies and shows. (Completely useless, has got nothing)
- Vixen, brazzer , tushy or blacked subscription.(Everything latest is available on pirate bay)
- Regular shampoos available in supermarkets. ( Go for sulphate and paraben free ones, like skin elements or mama earth)
- Head n shoulders to get rid of dandruff. (Use neutrogena T Gel, expensive but 100% effective)
- Stop buying anything blindly that your favourite YouTubers suggest. Those guys are fucking paid. ( Like nowadays WOW company has been doing)
- Never buy something (clothes or accessories) just because it’s currently the latest fashion trend. They are usually costly and would become completely obsolete after few years eg. Tiger printed at the back of a leather jacket or Knee ripped jeans or some cool ass funky sunglasses. Always remember.. stick to basics. Wayfarers and Aviators always look good and will always remain in the scene even after 50 years.
- Please don’t buy a Siberian Husky if you live in a place where tropical climate prevails. These breeds cannot endure Indian climate. They have a thick coat of fur that withstands cold upto -40 degree Celsius, imagine their condition if they have to survive at 35–40 degree Celsius.
- Fairness creams. Come on man if you could become fair by just applying a cream then there would have not been any brown or black skin people.
- And the biggest thing is please don’t buy Bollywood’s attempt to clean up Sanjay Dutt’s image through the film Sanju. Ak56 is a weapon that can’t be obtained easily. This is a highly sophisticated weapon which can never get into a normal citizen’s hands. He is a criminal and would always remain a criminal.
What happened to your school bully?
I’ve had a couple of bullies in my day. However, there is one in particular who really stands out to this day. I was attending a school where my father was a custodian. My father would of course be the one to open up the school doors every morning and because of that, my siblings and I would be the first children in the building everyday. He made sure all of the classrooms were unlocked for the teachers, made sure the cafeteria tables were set up for breakfast time and other things to have the school setup for opening at 8 am for students. Every grade had a certain section in the school where they would line up and wait for their teachers to get them and walk to class. I was in 5th grade, so the 5th and 6th grade classes lined up in the gym, because that was our designated area. Now within the gym, there were labels on the gym floor for each class. Being that I was always in the school before the rest of the students, I would always be the first in line for our class spot. Well, on this particular day, a girl named Angela thought it would be funny to do something that she was dared to. As I was standing in line, minding my business, a swift open handed arm extended slap from the pits of hell came out of nowhere from behind me, and burned the heck out of my face. In shock, I turned around while holding the right side of my face and asked her why she slapped me. Meanwhile, the boy I had a huge crush on was laughing like a dang hyena. The bully proceeds to say “ Because you’re always first on line and you think you’re better than all of us because your dad works here”. When I tell you I thought that was the most idiotic reason to get slapped, that was the most idiotic reason! At the time I was so shy and wasn’t a fighter, so I immediately ran off crying trying to find my dad. I ended up finding him and told him what happened. He was furious and began walking so fast and asked if I slapped her back. Of course I said no, and he was infuriated. We walked back to the gym and he immediately told the girl to keep her hands to herself and that the next time she put her hands on me, that it wouldn’t be good. Now, I don’t know what that meant, but she didn’t bother me for the rest of the school year. Where she is to this day, I have no clue, and honestly don’t care. She was such a bully to other kids and I really disliked her. A memory I would give anything to erase!