🐱 Interesting clickbait, op-eds, fluff pieces and other smaller stories

CatParty
102943266-caitlyn.530x298.jpg


http://www.cnbc.com/2015/08/24/caitlyn-jenner-halloween-costume-sparks-social-media-outrage-.html

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/ne...een-costume-labeled-817515?utm_source=twitter

It's nowhere near October, but one ensemble is already on track to be named the most controversial Halloween costume of 2015.

Social media users were out in full force on Monday criticizing several Halloween retailers for offering a Caitlyn Jenner costume reminiscent of the former-athlete's Vanity Fair cover earlier this year.

While Jenner's supporters condemned the costume as "transphobic" and "disgusting" on Twitter, Spirit Halloween, a retailer that carries the costume, defended the getup.

"At Spirit Halloween, we create a wide range of costumes that are often based upon celebrities, public figures, heroes and superheroes," said Lisa Barr, senior director of marking at Spirit Halloween. "We feel that Caitlyn Jenner is all of the above and that she should be celebrated. The Caitlyn Jenner costume reflects just that."
 
Statute of limitations prevents the situation you're describing (as well as a general reluctance of people to convict for 'lesser' crimes after enough time has passed).

The process is the punishment. It doesn't matter if the jury no-bills (though they might convict), the State can't be allowed the ability to threaten people with the prospect of endless trials.

Murder is a different ball game. IMO this is no different than a gangbanger's charge for a stray bullet getting upped to murder after the victim's family decides to pull the plug.

Yes, they upgrade the charge prior to trial and conviction. No problem, totally reasonable. It's unreasonable to convict for reckless endangerment then come back 30 years later with a 'well actually it's murder' and put them on trial again.
 
It's unreasonable to convict for reckless endangerment then come back 30 years later with a 'well actually it's murder' and put them on trial again.
They didn't say "well actually it was murder", it became murder when he succumbed to the injuries she inflicted on him when he was a child. It doesn't matter if that happens 5 days, 5 months, or 5 years after the actual incident, if you manage to skate by on a technicality (because we live in a civil society that doesn't charge people with crimes that will happen in the future), then I don't have any sympathy for you getting your ass clapped by that same technicality decades later. It was always going to be murder, they just didn't have the body yet.
 
  • Agree
Reactions: downloads
I don't agree with baby-shaking, but I'm not sure I see how it's murder if the person lived a whole 35 years after the incident. Doesn't making a murder charge stick involve intent and proving that the responsible party is directly the cause of their victim's death?

She should have received a proper sentence 35 years ago. Maybe because she was younger back then they felt bad for her.

The article says Terry McKirchy has always maintained her innocence. It could be possible that mom or dad shook the baby and then pinned it on the babysitter. 1985 was a different time. Nanny cams and cellphones weren't a thing and forensic techniques were not as advanced.

She could also be lying.

The kid ended up really messed up from this as you can see in the photo in the article.

If you can't handle babies crying and being fussy you shouldn't be around them.
 
yeah im interested in the legal justification for charging her.

Double jeopardy? Arent there statute of limitation for that sort of thing as well?
The old common law rule was you could only be charged if the victim died within a year and a day. It also isn't really double jeopardy if the charges are different. An attempted murder is not a completed murder. There is also generally not a statute of limitations for first degree murder, and specifically in Florida, none for felony crimes that result in death.

Thirty seven years later is ridiculous, though, and it sounds like a showboat prosecutor trying to make a name. I get that it's utter shit she got a ridiculous nothingburger sentence in the first place, but 37 years later? They should have done their jobs in the first place, and it's too late to fix it now, or should be, even if it may not actually be constitutionally prohibited.

The issue will be whether there is something like "proximate cause" in civil law showing that the original attack caused the ultimate death, and that the ultimate cause of death is not too remote to draw that conclusion. I actually think they can show that.

I think the issue is more whether or not it's good policy to allow additional prosecutions after such a long time and whether the law actually allows it. I am inclined to think it's bad policy, but I don't know whether it's actually permitted by Florida law.
Image a robbery, first they try and convict on plain robbery, you serve your time, then on release day they arrest and try you again, this time for weapon possession in the commission of a crime, then on release day you are arrested and they try you for simple kidnapping of the clerk, etc over and over again subjecting you to a dozen trials for a single criminal act. We have half a dozen standards now about what should be a straightforward concept (separate sovereigns, fuck you) because people want to play duck around games.
This would probably be a substantive due process violation. The general policy is any party bringing a case is supposed to bring all they have to the table in one prosecution. This is an actual rule in many jurisdictions for civil cases, i.e. you can't just serially sue someone over and over for torts arising from the same set of operative facts. I.e. someone hits you with a car. First you sue them for your injuries. Then you sue them for damages to the car. Then you sue them yet again for negligent infliction of emotional distress. And so on. You're supposed to bring it all in one suit, or you waive what you didn't bring (part of why many lawsuits include a dozen or more causes of action).

There isn't any such simple rule in criminal prosecutions, though.

Even if there were, it probably wouldn't preclude this, because she couldn't have been tried for murder before the victim died. The crime had not even been completed, although the attempted murder had already occurred and she already served time for it.

I just don't think it's good policy to have prosecutions decades later when the specific criminal act was already known. Maybe the "year and a day" rule is obsolete, but we're not talking 15 months later or even two years or three, but 37. It seems at some point there just has to be a cutoff. Maybe not at a a magic number, and I'm not sure what would be the criteria for an actual rule, but whatever the rational rule is, 37 years is way too fucking long.
 
Last edited:
She should have received a proper sentence 35 years ago. Maybe because she was younger back then they felt bad for her.

The article says Terry McKirchy has always maintained her innocence. It could be possible that mom or dad shook the baby and then pinned it on the babysitter. 1985 was a different time. Nanny cams and cellphones weren't a thing and forensic techniques were not as advanced.

She could also be lying.

The kid ended up really messed up from this as you can see in the photo in the article.

If you can't handle babies crying and being fussy you shouldn't be around them.

Look, I hate her as much as anyone else and I don't think any reasonable person would argue that she didn't ruin her victim's life, but I also very much agree it's wrong to wait 37 years and then trying to get a criminal conviction when there can't possibly be any substantial proof directly linking this woman to the victim's death.

I already knew the charges were different enough that it wasn't double jeopardy, but murder charges have concrete criteria that must be met for the charge to stick. I believe a universal one is the proving of intent (that they willfully and knowingly committed such acts as led to the death of the victim) and proof that said actions were directly responsible for said death.

Call me a stickler, but I'm not talking morality (what she did IS immoral). I'm talking legality, and legally she shouldn't go to prison unless they have hard evidence that meets judicial standards for proving it was murder, not negligent homicide, manslaughter, or some lesser charge.

When the original crime happened was the time to throw the book at her. Trying to do it now just looks stupid on the part of the prosecutor.
 
  • Agree
Reactions: BScCollateral
Call me a stickler, but I'm not talking morality (what she did IS immoral). I'm talking legality, and legally she shouldn't go to prison unless they have hard evidence that meets judicial standards for proving it was murder, not negligent homicide, manslaughter, or some lesser charge.
She did plead to attempted murder, which is pleading to the intent to kill, but that was a no contest plea. I don't know whether or not she had to allocute to any facts for it, but if she admitted on the record at any time she intended to kill, that would work against her.

If they accepted a nolo plea without such a requirement, though, they'd have to prove that all over again, without relying on the prior plea.
Trying to do it now just looks stupid on the part of the prosecutor.
It looks like an attempt to wash away the shame of the prior slap on the wrist, which denied justice to the victim's family, and while I can sympathize with that, that isn't how the legal system should work.
 
She did plead to attempted murder, which is pleading to the intent to kill, but that was a no contest plea. I don't know whether or not she had to allocute to any facts for it, but if she admitted on the record at any time she intended to kill, that would work against her.

If they accepted a nolo plea without such a requirement, though, they'd have to prove that all over again, without relying on the prior plea.

It looks like an attempt to wash away the shame of the prior slap on the wrist, which denied justice to the victim's family, and while I can sympathize with that, that isn't how the legal system should work.

I wish I could give you the winner react for this. Your closing remark summarizes my feelings better than I was able to.
 
I enjoyed this article about a black woman so triggered by cotton balls they bring her to tears. An unexpected encounter with cotton-themed home decor causes her to spiral right there in the craft store aisle. A fellow shopper is foolish enough to ask if she's okay. Facebook and God provide her with solace.

All I was interested in were a few, small chalkboards for my farmers market displays. I had no idea that a brief shopping outing would evolve into a journey of healing when I entered the huge craft and home décor store. I did not grab a shopping cart or a hand-held basket. No need to meander down the looming 80 or so aisles of mirrors, decorative shelves, yarn, pillows, jewelry, wearable art, books, brushes, frames, jars—all things I was not looking for.

But I did. Even though my husband had dropped me off at the door, was waiting in the parking lot and probably had the car running (I said I would not be long), the seemingly, unending rows of stuff and more stuff lured me deeply into the store. He would just have to wait. My hands were now filled with cute objects that should have remained on the shelves. Hugging the items to my body so none would fall, I turned a corner to enter an unexplored section of the store. When the first rack met my eyes, I felt as if I had been punched right in my gut. My stomach began to ache both inside, as if I’d consumed the worse meal of my life, and outside, as if I’d done stomach crunches for three hours straight. I felt sick and dizzy. Did my knees buckle, or was I imagining that? Had I really become so disoriented that things were now blurry? No. Those were tears welling up in my eyes. Was I actually biting my lip?

I am unsure how long I stood frozen in the aisle, just staring. When another shopper tried to get around me with her shopping cart, her question guided me in naming all the anguish and other emotions dripping from me. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“It is cotton,” I remember saying. “These are wreaths of raw cotton. My ancestors were stolen, beaten, dismembered, raped, tortured and killed because of cotton.” My voice trembled as I asked: “Who would want a wreath of cotton?”

It was not the answer she had anticipated. Now she was also trying to keep her tears from falling. I moved out of her way, as she put her head down, and began to move on. I believe she whispered, more to herself, not speaking directly to me: “So sorry. I don’t know.”

I found myself speaking aloud after she had gone. “Venice, it’s just cotton. It’s just cotton.” Yet my pain was undeniable and not easily dismissed. I took a picture of the wreaths with my cell phone. The next day I posted the photograph on my Facebook page, sharing a small portion of my reaction. The response to the image of the six cotton wreaths was swift and clear. Most of us who reside in the Northern part of the country did not understand. Yes, that’s not my kind of nostalgia. Where in the world? Why would anybody want this? Not cute at all. Unbelievable. Why, just why? Among the 20 or more comments, one Facebook friend wrote, “This just makes me think of BlackCotton.” She had tagged the business on her post. Within minutes, the owner of BlackCotton sent me a private message: “Hey, Venice,” he began, “I saw your post about cotton today. I am a black cotton farmer. I understand your uneasiness about cotton. I would love to expose you to a different view of it.”

I did not want to feel the way I did. Why would I? I was moving through life with an open wound. I had held and seen raw cotton before—on and off its branches. I had cradled it in the palm of my hand. I’d offered prayers of remembrance for ancestors who picked it from sunup to sundown, and prayers of forgiveness for those who enslaved them, disregarding not just the humanity of those from whom I descend, but also their own humanity. At one point in my life, I’d stopped using round cotton balls and began purchasing square cotton cleansing pads. Yes, my grief was that serious.

Long before entering that store, I’d tried—many times—to close the wound. But now I realize that what I felt looking up at those wreaths was not about cotton itself. My internal trauma arose from seeing raw cotton crafted into a thing of honor, a piece of art, something intended to be seen as beautiful. I could not, at that time, imagine this on my front door or hung above a fireplace mantel. I simply was not ready to embrace that.

I went into distress, which helped me see the urgent need to repair my spiritual, historical sensitivity to cotton.

Cotton was never the enemy. The enemy is hatred. Greed. Ignorance. Self-righteousness. False superiority. Those were just some of the evils woven into the soil and crops of the earth those hundreds of years gone by. The truth is, nothing God created, brought forth from soil and identified as good, could ever be wrong.

COMMENTS:


Anita Mars: So moving that such a simple item as a cotton wreath would evoke all these feelings. You have a beautiful way of sharing your thoughts and feelings.

Cathie M. Carlisle: Thank you for sharing. As a white 72 year old Pacific Northwest woman, who has been to anti-racism training at the Churchwide office, who is always surprised at new lessons to be learned. I need y’all to continue to tell your stories so that we might all grow closer to understanding and sharing the love and fellowship that abides in our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Dana Noelle: I’m Euro American. I always liked the look of cotton, and I went out and bought some at Hobby Lobby, but felt embarrassed carrying it in the store when I saw an African American store clerk. I brought it home, but then returned it. Our American history is fraught with too much blood and tragedy for me to feel okay with that as decor.
 
I enjoyed this article about a black woman so triggered by cotton balls they bring her to tears. An unexpected encounter with cotton-themed home decor causes her to spiral right there in the craft store aisle. A fellow shopper is foolish enough to ask if she's okay. Facebook and God provide her with solace.

All I was interested in were a few, small chalkboards for my farmers market displays. I had no idea that a brief shopping outing would evolve into a journey of healing when I entered the huge craft and home décor store. I did not grab a shopping cart or a hand-held basket. No need to meander down the looming 80 or so aisles of mirrors, decorative shelves, yarn, pillows, jewelry, wearable art, books, brushes, frames, jars—all things I was not looking for.

But I did. Even though my husband had dropped me off at the door, was waiting in the parking lot and probably had the car running (I said I would not be long), the seemingly, unending rows of stuff and more stuff lured me deeply into the store. He would just have to wait. My hands were now filled with cute objects that should have remained on the shelves. Hugging the items to my body so none would fall, I turned a corner to enter an unexplored section of the store. When the first rack met my eyes, I felt as if I had been punched right in my gut. My stomach began to ache both inside, as if I’d consumed the worse meal of my life, and outside, as if I’d done stomach crunches for three hours straight. I felt sick and dizzy. Did my knees buckle, or was I imagining that? Had I really become so disoriented that things were now blurry? No. Those were tears welling up in my eyes. Was I actually biting my lip?

I am unsure how long I stood frozen in the aisle, just staring. When another shopper tried to get around me with her shopping cart, her question guided me in naming all the anguish and other emotions dripping from me. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“It is cotton,” I remember saying. “These are wreaths of raw cotton. My ancestors were stolen, beaten, dismembered, raped, tortured and killed because of cotton.” My voice trembled as I asked: “Who would want a wreath of cotton?”

It was not the answer she had anticipated. Now she was also trying to keep her tears from falling. I moved out of her way, as she put her head down, and began to move on. I believe she whispered, more to herself, not speaking directly to me: “So sorry. I don’t know.”

I found myself speaking aloud after she had gone. “Venice, it’s just cotton. It’s just cotton.” Yet my pain was undeniable and not easily dismissed. I took a picture of the wreaths with my cell phone. The next day I posted the photograph on my Facebook page, sharing a small portion of my reaction. The response to the image of the six cotton wreaths was swift and clear. Most of us who reside in the Northern part of the country did not understand. Yes, that’s not my kind of nostalgia. Where in the world? Why would anybody want this? Not cute at all. Unbelievable. Why, just why? Among the 20 or more comments, one Facebook friend wrote, “This just makes me think of BlackCotton.” She had tagged the business on her post. Within minutes, the owner of BlackCotton sent me a private message: “Hey, Venice,” he began, “I saw your post about cotton today. I am a black cotton farmer. I understand your uneasiness about cotton. I would love to expose you to a different view of it.”

I did not want to feel the way I did. Why would I? I was moving through life with an open wound. I had held and seen raw cotton before—on and off its branches. I had cradled it in the palm of my hand. I’d offered prayers of remembrance for ancestors who picked it from sunup to sundown, and prayers of forgiveness for those who enslaved them, disregarding not just the humanity of those from whom I descend, but also their own humanity. At one point in my life, I’d stopped using round cotton balls and began purchasing square cotton cleansing pads. Yes, my grief was that serious.

Long before entering that store, I’d tried—many times—to close the wound. But now I realize that what I felt looking up at those wreaths was not about cotton itself. My internal trauma arose from seeing raw cotton crafted into a thing of honor, a piece of art, something intended to be seen as beautiful. I could not, at that time, imagine this on my front door or hung above a fireplace mantel. I simply was not ready to embrace that.

I went into distress, which helped me see the urgent need to repair my spiritual, historical sensitivity to cotton.

Cotton was never the enemy. The enemy is hatred. Greed. Ignorance. Self-righteousness. False superiority. Those were just some of the evils woven into the soil and crops of the earth those hundreds of years gone by. The truth is, nothing God created, brought forth from soil and identified as good, could ever be wrong.

COMMENTS:


Anita Mars: So moving that such a simple item as a cotton wreath would evoke all these feelings. You have a beautiful way of sharing your thoughts and feelings.

Cathie M. Carlisle: Thank you for sharing. As a white 72 year old Pacific Northwest woman, who has been to anti-racism training at the Churchwide office, who is always surprised at new lessons to be learned. I need y’all to continue to tell your stories so that we might all grow closer to understanding and sharing the love and fellowship that abides in our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Dana Noelle: I’m Euro American. I always liked the look of cotton, and I went out and bought some at Hobby Lobby, but felt embarrassed carrying it in the store when I saw an African American store clerk. I brought it home, but then returned it. Our American history is fraught with too much blood and tragedy for me to feel okay with that as decor.
She thinks American history is bloody? Wait until she finds out about African history...
 
At one point in my life, I’d stopped using round cotton balls and began purchasing square cotton cleansing pads.
I love how she doesn't have any conviction behind her cotton-hating. It was just a plain old "out of sight, out of mind" ordeal.

Also lmao at her thinking that the other shopper was "holding back tears" rather than trying to stay away from the fucking lunatic having a conniption over kitchsy home decor.
 
I enjoyed this article about a black woman so triggered by cotton balls they bring her to tears. An unexpected encounter with cotton-themed home decor causes her to spiral right there in the craft store aisle. A fellow shopper is foolish enough to ask if she's okay. Facebook and God provide her with solace.

All I was interested in were a few, small chalkboards for my farmers market displays. I had no idea that a brief shopping outing would evolve into a journey of healing when I entered the huge craft and home décor store. I did not grab a shopping cart or a hand-held basket. No need to meander down the looming 80 or so aisles of mirrors, decorative shelves, yarn, pillows, jewelry, wearable art, books, brushes, frames, jars—all things I was not looking for.

But I did. Even though my husband had dropped me off at the door, was waiting in the parking lot and probably had the car running (I said I would not be long), the seemingly, unending rows of stuff and more stuff lured me deeply into the store. He would just have to wait. My hands were now filled with cute objects that should have remained on the shelves. Hugging the items to my body so none would fall, I turned a corner to enter an unexplored section of the store. When the first rack met my eyes, I felt as if I had been punched right in my gut. My stomach began to ache both inside, as if I’d consumed the worse meal of my life, and outside, as if I’d done stomach crunches for three hours straight. I felt sick and dizzy. Did my knees buckle, or was I imagining that? Had I really become so disoriented that things were now blurry? No. Those were tears welling up in my eyes. Was I actually biting my lip?

I am unsure how long I stood frozen in the aisle, just staring. When another shopper tried to get around me with her shopping cart, her question guided me in naming all the anguish and other emotions dripping from me. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“It is cotton,” I remember saying. “These are wreaths of raw cotton. My ancestors were stolen, beaten, dismembered, raped, tortured and killed because of cotton.” My voice trembled as I asked: “Who would want a wreath of cotton?”

It was not the answer she had anticipated. Now she was also trying to keep her tears from falling. I moved out of her way, as she put her head down, and began to move on. I believe she whispered, more to herself, not speaking directly to me: “So sorry. I don’t know.”

I found myself speaking aloud after she had gone. “Venice, it’s just cotton. It’s just cotton.” Yet my pain was undeniable and not easily dismissed. I took a picture of the wreaths with my cell phone. The next day I posted the photograph on my Facebook page, sharing a small portion of my reaction. The response to the image of the six cotton wreaths was swift and clear. Most of us who reside in the Northern part of the country did not understand. Yes, that’s not my kind of nostalgia. Where in the world? Why would anybody want this? Not cute at all. Unbelievable. Why, just why? Among the 20 or more comments, one Facebook friend wrote, “This just makes me think of BlackCotton.” She had tagged the business on her post. Within minutes, the owner of BlackCotton sent me a private message: “Hey, Venice,” he began, “I saw your post about cotton today. I am a black cotton farmer. I understand your uneasiness about cotton. I would love to expose you to a different view of it.”

I did not want to feel the way I did. Why would I? I was moving through life with an open wound. I had held and seen raw cotton before—on and off its branches. I had cradled it in the palm of my hand. I’d offered prayers of remembrance for ancestors who picked it from sunup to sundown, and prayers of forgiveness for those who enslaved them, disregarding not just the humanity of those from whom I descend, but also their own humanity. At one point in my life, I’d stopped using round cotton balls and began purchasing square cotton cleansing pads. Yes, my grief was that serious.

Long before entering that store, I’d tried—many times—to close the wound. But now I realize that what I felt looking up at those wreaths was not about cotton itself. My internal trauma arose from seeing raw cotton crafted into a thing of honor, a piece of art, something intended to be seen as beautiful. I could not, at that time, imagine this on my front door or hung above a fireplace mantel. I simply was not ready to embrace that.

I went into distress, which helped me see the urgent need to repair my spiritual, historical sensitivity to cotton.

Cotton was never the enemy. The enemy is hatred. Greed. Ignorance. Self-righteousness. False superiority. Those were just some of the evils woven into the soil and crops of the earth those hundreds of years gone by. The truth is, nothing God created, brought forth from soil and identified as good, could ever be wrong.

COMMENTS:


Anita Mars: So moving that such a simple item as a cotton wreath would evoke all these feelings. You have a beautiful way of sharing your thoughts and feelings.

Cathie M. Carlisle: Thank you for sharing. As a white 72 year old Pacific Northwest woman, who has been to anti-racism training at the Churchwide office, who is always surprised at new lessons to be learned. I need y’all to continue to tell your stories so that we might all grow closer to understanding and sharing the love and fellowship that abides in our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Dana Noelle: I’m Euro American. I always liked the look of cotton, and I went out and bought some at Hobby Lobby, but felt embarrassed carrying it in the store when I saw an African American store clerk. I brought it home, but then returned it. Our American history is fraught with too much blood and tragedy for me to feel okay with that as decor.
This is really, really sick even if it is performative... in fact it's entirely an act, it's like a combination theater play and fanfiction. Really sick though. This kind of mental illness shouldn't be in print lest it infect other people. If she wants to write stuff like this it should be samizdat that she has to hand out on the street in flyer form, like a proper crazy person/cult aficionado.

I mean it's just fucking insane. There might be an element of shitneverhappened.txt (the other shopper, who may or may not have even existed, did not brim with tears and sympathize with this nutcase) but just the author's part of it is crazy enough, along with the comments... just when you think you understand how useless the average person is, you read something like this.

Where was this posted? Please tell me you trolled the comments at least a little. You can't let stuff like this go, it will end up completely upending the simulation at some point.
 
  • Agree
Reactions: NoReturn
This is really, really sick even if it is performative... in fact it's entirely an act, it's like a combination theater play and fanfiction. Really sick though. This kind of mental illness shouldn't be in print lest it infect other people. If she wants to write stuff like this it should be samizdat that she has to hand out on the street in flyer form, like a proper crazy person/cult aficionado.

I mean it's just fucking insane. There might be an element of shitneverhappened.txt (the other shopper, who may or may not have even existed, did not brim with tears and sympathize with this nutcase) but just the author's part of it is crazy enough, along with the comments... just when you think you understand how useless the average person is, you read something like this.

Where was this posted? Please tell me you trolled the comments at least a little. You can't let stuff like this go, it will end up completely upending the simulation at some point.
I didn't participate. It was written a few years ago for a Christian women's magazine called "Gather". Most of their articles are typical religious sermon-y essays about Bible passages and the importance of family. Doesn't seem like she writes much anymore. She runs some community garden in Milwaukee. She seems really fucking jazzed about plants as long as they're not cotton.
Venicesunflowers.jpg
 
A man in Xinghua, East China's Jiangsu Province, inserted a 20-centimeter-long eel into his rectum from his anus on July 20 in hopes of relieving constipation, but instead almost lost his life after the eel entered his abdomen.

What motivated the man to do so is a "folk remedy" that says an eel can help with bowel movement. But instead of curing the constipation, the eel went from the man's rectum to the colon and bit through it, entering the abdomen.

He finally went to the hospital after enduring pain on the first day as he was "too shy to see the doctor." The doctor who gave him the operation said he could have lost his life as the bacteria in the large intestine may cause hemolysis when it reaches his abdominal cavity.

The eel was still alive by the time it was removed during operation. The man is not the only victim of the "folk remedy" that says inserting eel into rectum can cure constipation. A 50-year-old man in South China's Guangdong Province did the same thing with a 40 cm-long eel in June 2020.On June 2 2020, an African carp was found in the stomach of a young man in Guangdong, who claimed that the fish "slid into" his rectum when he accidentally sat on it.

 
Article | Archive

Arizona state senator Tony Navarrete arrested on charges of sexual conduct with a minor, police confirm​

The investigation stems from a report about alleged sexual conduct with a minor two years ago.

Author: Brahm Resnik
Published: 9:29 PM MST August 5, 2021
Updated: 8:45 AM MST August 6, 2021
PHOENIX — Democratic State Sen. Otoniel “Tony” Navarrete was arrested Thursday night on charges of sexual conduct with a minor, a police source with knowledge of the case told 12 News.

Booking information from the Phoenix Police Department released on Friday confirmed Navarrete faces three counts of sexual conduct with a minor and one count of molestation of a minor.

While reports circulated in the political community that Navarrete had been arrested, Phoenix police released this statement late Thursday:
"The Phoenix Police Department received a report of sexual conduct with a minor that occurred in 2019. Detectives interviewed a juvenile victim and witnesses, and on August 5th, developed probable cause to arrest the suspect. The suspect was arrested and is currently in the process of being booked into jail for multiple counts of sexual conduct with a minor, among other charges."

Senate Democrats issued this statement:
“We are aware one of our members has been arrested and are awaiting further details and for law enforcement to do its job. We will not have further comment at this time."

The arrest comes two days after Navarrete revealed he had tested positive for COVID-19, despite being vaccinated. Navarrete said he was experiencing mild symptoms while isolating at home

Navarrete, a 35-year-old Phoenix native, is serving his second two-year term at the state Senate, representing District 30 in West Phoenix. He was elected to the House in 2016. A Legislature biography shows he has worked for several political campaigns and with community groups over the last decade.
In the legislative session that ended in June, Navarrete sponsored the Dignity Act, requiring state prisons to provide free and unlimited feminine hygiene products to inmates. Gov. Doug Ducey signed the bill into law.

---

I like how this story ends by telling us what a swell guy he is for getting inmates free pads.
 
Back