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…asks alert reader LC spiffus, and His Imperial Majesty can only agree. The only thing to “consider” in this case is how to best prolong the agony of the swine perpetrators as they’re excruciatingly slowly tortured, maimed and mutilated to death.
Anderson and McEnroe, both 29, were each charged with six counts of aggravated first-degree murder. Authorities say they have confessed. Conviction on aggravated first-degree murder in Washington is punishable only by death or life in prison without possibility of parole, and Satterberg said he would give “serious consideration” to the death penalty.
“Serious consideration”, you say?
Well, why don’t we go through what those two beasts did?
Anderson was upset that her parents were insisting that she pay rent for the trailer she was living in on their property, and teed off as well that they had dared to not take her side in a dispute with her brother over some money that she had allegedly let him borrow. So what to do?
Court documents said McEnroe, a store clerk, and Anderson, who is unemployed, told detectives they armed themselves on Christmas Eve and went to her parents’ home near Carnation, about 25 miles east of Seattle. There, they confronted Anderson’s parents, Wayne Anderson, 60, and Judy Anderson, 61, in their living room.
Satterberg said Michele Anderson fired once at her father’s head but missed. McEnroe stepped in, leveled his gun and fatally shot Wayne Anderson in the head, documents said.
Judy Anderson heard the shots and ran from the back room where she had been wrapping gifts. She was shot by McEnroe, who apologized to her before shooting her again, this time in the head, the court documents said.
Oh, but they weren’t done yet, not at all. Executing her own parents wasn’t enough for the trailer trash bitch and her demented boyfriend:
I don’t usually get involved in blogwars, but this time I’m going to make an exception. A very loud, profane one, so hide the children because this is about to get ugly.
Some of you may remember the name of “Chuck Adkins.” I say “some of you” because he really is the very epitome of “insignificant”, a whiny little unemployable turd living with his momma while blaming everybody else, particularly George Bush, for his own shortcomings, shortcomings too numerous to even begin listing here. In other words, he’s a Nutroot.
All of this doesn’t really matter, however. After all, who really, truly gives a flying fuck at a rolling donut about yet another fat fuck with zero talents and even less value to humanity, maintaining a web site being read mainly by himself and his mother? Sure, he managed to get some attention when he started posting Michelle Malkin’s personal info on his shitty little site because he disagreed with her, and he got a bit more when he started throwing out threats about “taking out a hit” on other bloggers who dared question him, but he was still an insignificant little prick. What? Think I’m exaggerating? This is what the fat bag of pus had to say in email:
if you get your god damned head out your fucking ass or out of George W. Bush’s ASS you’d see that.
damned idiot, now go run your lame ass blog and leave me fuck alone, before I call a damn hit out on your ass. I know people in Georgia, ya know.
When informed that this was, as a matter of fact, an actual death threat and that the police would be informed, Chuck’s mother, G-d bless her for having to deal with a sorry ass excuse for a son like that, intervened and somehow managed to get it through the moron’s skull that he’d better lay off that kind of crap if he wanted to stay outside of jail. So he “decided” to “take a break from politics” and lay low. Which he should’ve stuck with, considering what comes next.
But of course the loudmouthed, morbidly obese little prick couldn’t stick with it, which led to one of LC & IB (and long time friend of mine) Mike Hendrix’s co-bloggerstaking a humorous shot at his lack of willpower. Quite a mild one, if you ask me, and to make sure that everybody’s on the same page here, I’ll repost Randy’s exact words:
I’m also not even a tiny bit startled to find someone who not so very long ago was claiming to be cutting back on political commentary back at it full bore.
Ye gads. If principles were gasoline, some folks wouldn’t have enough to run an ant’s motorcycle halfway around a BB.
Nothing much here but a mild chuckle at Chuckle’s expense.
But Chuckleberry didn’t quite take it that way. Oh no he didn’t. He flew into a spittle-drenched rage, at which point he crossed every line known to mankind by posting this (since taken down without apology):
This might explain why this Christina Hendrix bitch is dead, If I had to hang around idiots like that, I’d fucking die too.
Yeah, I said that, I meant ever fucking word of it.
As you may recall, Christiana, Mike’s wife, was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident about half a year ago. Christiana who, by the way, had absolutely fucking NOTHING to do with whatever it is that got fat fart Chucky’s adult diaper all tied up in knots. Unless you call being married to somebody who runs a blog on which somebody else posts a snarky comment about the Detroit Dickhead known as Chuck Adkins “having something to do with it.”
Which is the point where I saw the RCOB descend before my eyes, and it’s never very fucking funny, nor an omen of good things to come when that happens. I really, truly hate it when The Machine pops up in my mind as if to say “you rang, master?” For the rest of the story, including Mike’s take on it and his correspondence with momma’s boy, go here.
All I have to say at this point is that Chucky, you really, truly done gone and did it now, you oozing, fat tub of rotten lard. You should’ve taken your momma’s advice and kept your fat pie hole shut, really you should, because at this point I wouldn’t sign you up for life insurance if you were the last fucking potential customer on Earth. I don’t know if you believe in Karma, as a matter of fact I highly doubt that your puny, double-digit mind has even heard of it since it doesn’t feature in your average Kindergarten readers, but she’s a bitch and she’s about to park a fucking semi on your doorstep and start unloading, you disgusting, pathetic excuse for a bipedal life form.
And yes, you can fucking take that any way you want too. I am a firm believer in “what goes around, comes around”, and if you have ever even heard of the concept, you cocksucking shitbird maggot pile of pus, you’d do yourself a huge favor by hiding deep inside a cave located in some turd world banana republic, because when yours does come around, in whatever shape that might take, it’s going to be so massively ugly that it’ll be used by toothless grandparents to scare their children into eating their veggies for generations to come.
You’re an accident waiting to happen, asshole, and I have a feeling that it won’t have to wait for much longer.
Sleep tight, fuckhead, sleep tight with one eye opened.
UPDATE: Jabba the Chuck has “accidentally” deleted his entire website, apparently, but not before some helpful souls mirrored the whole thing. Too bad, dumbass, but The Internet Is Forever™. Enjoy the rest of your miserable, pathetic waste of a life, especially if you somehow manage to get off your lardy, lazy, obscenely oversized arse and go in search of a job. It’d be fookin’ hilarious to see you get kicked out the door approximately 23 nanoseconds after you prospective employer Googles “Chuck Adkins.” If you don’t croak from a massive cardiac arrest before that, you grotesquely misshapen land whale.
But before the shitbird decided that trying to hide was the best option, he put up post after self-excusing post about how it wasn’t his fault and how Mike “started it.” The best part, however, was the bit about how everybody were being mean. To him. Call the Waaaaaah-mbulance Chucklehead, why don’t you. This bit was particularly rich in irony (thanks to LC Moriarty for providing us with it):
The point is folks, you can be angry with me, I’d expect this, I said something offensive. But leave my family out of it.
Yeah, he really said that. Embrace the irony, slapped on in multiple layers so thick that even Chuckles the Chimp wouldn’t be able to gnaw his way through it in less than a week. The slime that thought it appropriate to insult and denigrate the dead wife of somebody who had nothing to do with any of whatever the fuck it was that got twinkle-toes all tied up in knots actually whined about somebody dragging his family into it. Not to mention that, to the best of our knowledge, nobody ever DID drag his family into anything. G-d knows that his poor mother already have enough shit to deal with, being the unlucky soul having to provide the Creature that Ate Sheboygan with a shelter, not to mention *shudder* FOOD. Poor lady. Her grocery bill must read like the GDP of an industrialized nation.
It’d be a major financial windfall to her, were her offspring (if her offspring it is, seeing as how we doubt that anything human could give birth to that. Maybe aliens snatched her real son and replaced him with a giant amorphous glob of barely sentient snot) to have a tragic accident which, given its behavioral pattern, it’s bound to have sooner rather than later.
Regardless, the doubts about “Shock Troops” resonated. All over the blogosphere, people who presented themselves as “experts” and “veterans” and claimed that the events described in the piece could never have happened. Some of these assertions were vague and meaningless– “They are not ‘Shock Troops.’ They are our best and bravest,” Kristol wrote–as if our soldiers were dainty plaster saints, immune from the traumas of wacky practical jokes of war. One wonders if Kristol has actually read the IMDB film reviews of Redacted, let alone actual seen it. But others were more specific and troubling. Denizens of FOB Falcon insisted that they had never seen a woman who matched Thomas’s description; some familiar with the Bradley asserted that it couldn’t be maneuvered into a 90 mph four-wheel drift, or pimped out with 22″ spinners, or setup with hydros to hop on stray dogs.
Remember to have plenty of refreshments on hand, but make damn sure that you wrap your monitor in SpewProof® brand plastic wrap before you go over and start reading.
For years, a black robed intestinal worm made a habit of trespassing on somebody else’s property until, one day, he claimed that his illegal behavior had led to an “emotional attachment” to said property.
Oh, and the property owners spent $100,000 in legal fees trying to defend their own property from “legal” theft, money that they most likely won’t ever see again either.
Yet another good reason to shoot trespassers on sight. Or, if you want to save the ammo, a good rope and a tree will do the job just fine. Leave his rotting carcass dangling on the property pour encourager les autres.
Sometimes, I swear, these stories write themselves. It is expected that the use of garden gnomes as a housebreaking tool will decrease from now on.
A 37-year-old man has bled to death after slipping on broken glass while allegedly trying to climb through a bedroom window in Adelaide’s south.
The fact he is dead sorta gives the “alleged” part away..
The man was almost decapitated after slipping on broken glass at a Moorong Rd property in O’Sullivan Beach about 2.10am today, South Australian police said.
Should have quit whilst he was ahead.
It is believed the man sliced his neck, which caused fatal bleeding. The house’s occupants were in the bedroom as the man, from Christies Beach, tried to enter the house, police said.
“Indications are that the man threw a garden ornament through a bedroom window which woke the occupants and … slipped and suffered a severe laceration which killed him,” Senior Constable Mick Abbott said.“The man’s death is being treated as non-suspicious.”
That’ll be good for the roses this summer.
Police were investigating the man’s death, he said. The man is believed to have used a garden gnome to break the window, Sky News reports.
Goblin breaks window. Goblin kills self trying to break into home. Give garden gnome a medal, bury goblin, write report, go home to dinner.
The house’s owner found the man in a pool of blood, but ambulance officers called to the scene were unable to revive him.
Amidst all the celebration and merry-making for our new digs, AND furthermore being Friday for some of us. Why not turn off the idiot box and tune in some Radio? I can’t dance (it’s rattles the monitor off the desk) but you sure can.
Freaky Friday on RadioCIA. I’ll be on from 7 pm CT until I give it up. It is MIX night and I’ll take all requests. ciarequest AT gmail.com or on the tuesdaytruth Yahoo IM.
Go read the story, then tell us that you’re not pissed off too.
A 67-year-old lady walking her dog gets attacked by a psychotic, knife-wielding madman, who proceeds to stab her at least 10 times. In the middle of Manhattan. In the middle of the fucking day. Plenty of eyewitnesses, yet only ONE guy, a guy who, by the way, just got his ear almost sliced off by the same madman, only ONE guy intervenes and tries to help.
Gottdamm worthless fucking pussies (minus, obviously, the one guy who apparently wasn’t a neutered, metrosexual son-of-a-bitch yellow-bellied fuckhole worthless coward).
The rest of them can go straight to Hell, because they are of absolutely no fucking use to the rest of humanity. Quit wasting precious oxygen that could be better used feeding higher lifeforms such as maggots.
A stunned silence was heard, followed by a torrent of rage, including at least fifty Australians who would like nothing better than to personally pull the trigger, and send these little monsters to the Hell they so richly deserve.
Myself amongst them.
To add insult to anguish, Amnesty have added that this is in line with the “human rights” of the condemned.
What about the human rights of the TWO HUNDRED they murdered in cold blood, you fucking quisling?????
On 12 October 2002, a suicide bomber inside the nightclub Paddy’s Pub detonated a bomb in his backpack, causing many patrons, with or without injuries, to immediately flee into the street.
Fifteen seconds later, a second and much more powerful car bomb hidden inside a white Mitsubishi van, was detonated by another suicide bomber outside the Sari Club, located opposite Paddy’s Pub
Those fortunate enough to survive the first bomb, died in the fireball that followed.