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AmeriKKKa continues her inevitable (Yep.) slide into Third World madness.

Behold the fleas with which that mangy orange cur has infested conservatism! SUCKERS! Neo-Nazis battling commies in the streets? Welcome...

"Let no freedom be allowed to novelty, because it is not fitting that any addition should be made to antiquity. Let not the clear faith and belief of our forefathers be fouled by any muddy admixture." -- Pope Sixtus III

Tuesday, December 04, 2012

Jovan Belcher: None dare call it disordered sexual desire...


...or, Sex not properly understood is certainly death, kiddies.

I came to Carthage, where I found myself in the midst of a hissing cauldron of lusts. I had not yet fallen in love, but I was in love with the idea of it, and this feeling that something was missing made me despise myself for not being more anxious to satisfy the need. I began to look around for some object for my love, since I badly wanted to love something.

 — St. Augustine, Confessions



The gun didn't do it.

Steroids didn't do it.

Concussions didn't do it.

The color of Mr. Belcher's skin didn't do it.

Ineffective counseling by the Chiefs didn't do it.

Mr. Belcher's refusal to treat sex properly did do it.

And since he's not the only one, this kind of horror show will continue to plague us all.

From the Kansas City Star:
 by Christine Vendel

Seconds after fatally shooting his longtime girlfriend, Kansas City Chiefs linebacker Jovan Belcher leaned over her in their master bathroom, said he was sorry and kissed her on the forehead.

Too little, too late.

His mother, who heard gunfire as she stood in the kitchen, rushed to her son’s bedroom and watched his remorseful goodbye.

Belcher apologized to his mother, kissed his 3-month-old daughter and fled his rented home in the 5400 block of Crysler Avenue in his Bentley.

He couldn't have had a classier hearse.

The Star learned those details and others from multiple police sources Monday as officers continued their investigation into why Belcher, 25, killed his live-in girlfriend, Kasandra Perkins, 22, on Saturday morning. Arguments over relationship and financial issues had simmered for months between them, according to the sources.

Belcher’s mother, who came from New York to live with her son so the couple could work through their issues, didn’t hear much of the argument. But just before 8 a.m., she heard her son say something to the effect of: “You can’t talk to me like that!”

Hmmm...

Does that sound like love to you? Or even "caring"?

Then she heard gunfire.

Afterward, Belcher drove to the only place he felt safe — to his other family at Arrowhead Stadium, police said.

Suicidal folks aren't looking for safety. My guess is he wanted to inflict as much pain as possible on the people he left behind.

As he covered the five miles from his home to the stadium, his violent act weighed on him, police believe.

“He probably realized he had done something and he couldn’t go back,” said Police Sgt. Richard Sharp.

 Contrition, Confession, and Penance, anyone?

In the parking lot of the practice facility at 1 Arrowhead Drive, Belcher encountered Chiefs General Manager Scott Pioli. Belcher stepped out of his Bentley with a gun pointed at his own head, police said.

“I did it,” he said, according to police. “I killed her.”

Club officials knew about the couple’s problems. The Chiefs had provided counseling and “were bending over backward” to help, Sharp said.

But Belcher told Pioli that the assistance wasn’t enough to fix their problems and now, “It was too late.”

Instant Translation: "You didn't do enough to help us. Her blood and mine are on your hands."

When another Chiefs employee arrived, Pioli told him to stay back. Meanwhile Pioli tried to persuade Belcher to lay down the weapon, Sharp said.

Belcher thanked Pioli for everything he had done for him. He asked if he and Clark Hunt would take care of his daughter.

At least he didn't kill the baby. Retroactive abortion is often a feature of these things.

Chiefs Head Coach Romeo Crennel and linebackers coach Gary Gibbs arrived in the parking lot and Belcher reportedly announced, “Guys, I have to do this.”

Crennel tried to dissuade him.

“I was trying to get him to understand that life is not over,” Crennel told The Star. “He still has a chance and let’s get this worked out.’’

A noble effort, coach, but most people think those are just words. They are inclined to dismiss them because they do not believe in the redemption offered to all by Christ.

As Pioli and Crennel tried to reason with Belcher, the men heard police sirens closing in. Belcher then walked a few steps away with the gun still pointed at his head.

“I got to go,” Belcher reportedly said. “I can’t be here.”

Belcher knelt behind a vehicle and made the sign of the cross across his chest before firing a single bullet into his head.

Now that is something unexpected. If Mr. Belcher was a Catholic, he obviously didn't believe strongly enough. If he wasn't a Catholic, perhaps he had known someone who was and thought it might help.

Kansas City police believe Belcher killed himself because he was distraught over what he had done to Perkins.

“He cared about her,” Sharp said. “I don’t think he could live with himself.”

The night before the killings, Perkins had attended a concert downtown with friends, and Belcher had “partied” at the Power and Light District, police said. It was unclear when they arrived home, where Belcher’s mother was watching their baby. A woman who answered Belcher’s mother’s cell phone Monday declined to comment.

This is not love, kiddies. It may be what passes for love in these benighted times, but it is merely two people who got tired of fornicating with each other. And you know what the world tells such people: "Run away! Go find someone else to fuck! That will make everything better!"

Detectives don’t know what specifically sparked the argument between the couple at home, but a friend of Perkins told The Star that the couple argued around 1 a.m. Saturday when Perkins returned home from the Trey Songz concert and drinks with friends afterward. Belcher was mad she had stayed out so late, the friend said.

Sometime later, Kansas City police talked with Belcher after finding him asleep in his Bentley on Armour Boulevard. Officers determined he was able to drive himself home. Police believe he arrived home about 7 a.m., well before a 9:30 team meeting. That’s when the yelling began.

Police said youth, immaturity and financial pressures served as a backdrop. During his college years, Belcher allegedly punched a dormitory window because he was upset over a woman.

More "love".

Autopsies with toxicology tests were performed on both bodies, but results will take weeks, police said. Investigators believe alcohol may have played a role in the argument’s escalation.

Police recovered several legally owned guns from Belcher’s home. Investigators were testing each one, and the gun found with Belcher’s body, against shell casings and bullets they recovered.

Police spokesman Darin Snapp said Monday that Belcher’s mother, who had been staying with the couple, was given temporary custody of the couple’s daughter. But he said it was unclear if the grandmother and baby were still in the Kansas City area.

Perkins, who grew up in Texas, met Belcher, who grew up in New York, through a cousin, Whitney Golden Charles, the wife of Chiefs running back Jamaal Charles. Perkins moved to Kansas City in 2010 to be with Belcher. Her relatives learned of her death from the news, police said. A woman who answered the phone at a relative’s home Monday declined to comment.

Monday afternoon, the family issued a statement that spelled Perkins’ first name with a double s, though she spelled it with one on her Facebook page:

“On behalf of the Perkins Family, we appreciate the outpouring of love and concern for our Kassandra ‘Kasi’ Perkins. Our hearts are truly broken for Kasi was a beloved daughter, granddaughter, sister, mother, cousin and friend.…

“Please keep us in your hearts and prayers as well as the Belcher family for two lives were loss. Again we thank you for your support, our wish is for Kasi to be remembered for the love she shared with us all. Kasi will be truly missed!”
  
"Love" yet again. You'd think all this love would preclude arguments and infidelity, not to mention homicidal and suicidal violence, wouldn't you?

Jamaal Charles also released a statement: “Our family has suffered a personal tragic loss.… As this is a very tough time for our family, I ask that we are respected as we grieve. Kassandra was not only family, but a friend and a loving mother. As my actual family and my Kansas City Chiefs family have been altered forever, we ask that you keep us and most importantly their child in prayer. Thank you all for your continued support.”

Later Monday, Belcher’s somber relatives provided statements outside of Belcher’s boyhood home in New York. Yamiesse Lawrence, a cousin of Belcher’s, said the weekend’s events were an “inconceivable tragedy.”

All too conceivable, obviously.

“As a family, no words can express the sorrow we feel over the loss of Jovan and Kasandra,” Lawrence read aloud.

We instinctively know that love is the most important thing there is. We can't help but take it most seriously. Our so-called culture teaches us that orgasm is love. 

When your orgasm partner [white, black, hetero, homo, whatever] no longer wants to play with you, is it really that surprising if you "snap"?

Monday, December 03, 2012

Ack! Kaepernick sucks now! Quick, Coach Genius, put in the other guy!

Rams edge 49ers 16-13 in overtime

- AP via Yahoo News

DAY 2294: PLUTO HELD HOSTAGE

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In a few short months, Dr. Russell Dohner will be labeled an enemy of the people and shipped off to the GULAG.

Actually practicing medicine will soon be a crime, thanks to the jug-eared commie criminal and the traitor John Roberts. 

Next up: Catholicism.

From AP via Yahoo News:

The '$5 doctor' practices medicine from bygone era

 

RUSHVILLE, Ill. (AP) — Patients line up early outside his office just off the town square, waiting quietly for the doctor to arrive, as he has done for nearly 60 years.

Dr. Russell Dohner is, after all, a man of routine, a steady force to be counted on in uncertain times.

Wearing the fedora that has become his trademark, he walks in just before 10 a.m., after rising early to make rounds at the local hospital. There are no appointments. He takes his patients in the order they sign in — first come, first-served. His office has no fax machines or computers. Medical records are kept on hand-written index cards, stuffed into row upon row of filing cabinets.

The only thing that has changed, really — other than the quickness of the doctor's step or the color of his thinning hair — is his fee. When Dohner started practicing medicine in Rushville in 1955, he charged the going rate around town for an office visit: $2.

Now it is $5.

This in an era when the cost of healthcare has steadily risen, when those who don't have medical insurance often forgo seeing a doctor. But not Dohner's patients. He doesn't even accept medical insurance — says it's not worth the bother.

"I always just wanted to be a doctor to help people with their medical problems and that's all it's for .," the 87-year-old family physician says. "It was never intended to make a lot of money."

Being a doctor, helping and providing a service — that has been his goal since he was a boy.

One of seven children, Dohner grew up on a farm just north of Rushville, outside the little town of Vermont, Ill. His father had hoped he'd take up farming, too. But young Dohner had other ideas, inspired by the town doctor who'd treated him when he had seizures as a child.

"I remember waking up and seeing the doctor there and thinking, 'THAT is what I want to do,'" he says.

After serving in the Army in World War II, Dohner went to Western Illinois University, paying for his education with funds provided by the G.I. bill. In the early 1950s, he attended Northwestern University's medical school. He had his sights set on becoming a cardiologist and thought about staying in the big city. But when a doctor in Rushville asked him to put off his heart specialist studies to practice medicine back at home, he agreed to do so, at least for a little while.
Then that doctor left town.

"So I couldn't very well leave," Dohner says. "That's just the way it worked out."
It was a sacrifice, yes. His young wife didn't want to stay in such a small town, he says, and so their marriage ended. He never remarried and instead dedicated his life to his work, only leaving this small central Illinois town for medical conferences over the years, never taking a true vacation.

Even when the medical profession changed around him, he was always on call, ready to drop everything for a patient.

Carolyn Ambrosius, now 69, recalls how her mother went to an obstetrician in Springfield when she was pregnant at age 41, a rarity back then. The doctor there told her that either she'd survive or the baby would, but not both of them — a prognosis her mother refused to accept.

So she went back to Rushville.

"God's going to take care of us — and Dr. Dohner," Ambrosius remembers her mother saying.

And the doctor did, coming to their home each day to check on her during the pregnancy, and often staying to eat meals with the family after he'd completed his exams.

"I'm not sure if he remembers," Ambrosius now says. (By now, the story is vaguely familiar to Dohner. He's delivered a lot of babies in Rushville — "nearly the whole town," by some estimates.)

But her mother did survive. "And my baby brother is now 52," Ambrosius says, standing outside Dohner's office on a crisp fall day after coming in for a check-up.

Stories like that are common around this town, a quaint place with cobblestone streets around the main square and majestic old mansions, some of which have seen better days. It's the sort of place where patients give their doctor a gift or bring baked goods to say thank you. The walls of Dohner's office hold items such as a homemade clock adorned with shiny beads, embroidery, cards, photos and paintings, including one of the doctor fishing, once a favorite pastime.

These days, though, it takes all his energy just to rise before 7 a.m. to head to the hospital, then to his office and back to the hospital, where the "Doctors' Dictating Lounge," named for his father, is set up with a desk and a cot for the occasional nap.

On Thursdays, Dohner closes his office at noon, but even then, he heads to the local nursing home to visit residents. On Sundays, he sees patients before church and stops by the hospital afterward.

He's there, indeed, like clockwork. But as much as townspeople have grown to count on him, they also worry, as he's become increasingly frail.

"He's going to be dearly missed, not just in town but the three- or four-county area around the town, you know, because people come from all over just to him," says Robert Utter, a 37-year-old emergency medical technician who's been a patient since he was a small boy.

The doctor's staff is aging, too. One of his nurses, Rose Busby, is 86. His secretary, Edith Moore, who grew up living next door to the Dohner farm, is 85.
"You been here before?" Moore asks many patients who step up to the office window to sign in throughout the day.

Though she may not remember everyone, she's not surprised when they answer, "Yes."

"Everybody in the world has been here before," she says, somehow managing to find each patient's index card in the filing cabinets that run down the hallway. "They're full," she says.

Moore is the one who collects the $5 fee when the patients leave — though a few times a day, Dohner tells her "never mind" and tries to quietly let a few go with no charge. Patients sometimes protest.

"Next time, I'll pay $20!" one insists. But it's clear that this patient and others are grateful, and often relieved.

Few doctors today could practice medicine the way Dohner does.

"I don't hardly make enough to pay my nurses," he concedes with a chuckle.

Most of his income comes from the farm that his family still owns and that is now run by a nephew. So, although he never became a farmer, the farming life made it possible for this country doctor to maintain his practice, his way.

And he intends to keep it going as long as he possibly can.

"As long as I can make it up here, I'll help if I can," says Dohner, who has no plan to retire. Medical colleagues keep a watchful, caring eye on him.

He notes that his mother lived into her mid-90s. "I guess I don't know anything else to do," he says.

During a visit to Culbertson Memorial Hospital, he stops to see Virginia Redshaw Wheelhouse, a 97-year-old patient. Her eyes open when she hears his voice. The doctor holds her hand and pats her shoulder.

Afterward, stammering but determined to get the words out, she says, "I pray he lives to be 99," as her daughter-in-law, Cathy Redshaw, nods.

"There's no words to describe what he does for people and the effect he has on people," says Cindy Kunkel, a registered nurse at the hospital, where Dohner spends many evenings on "second rounds," as she calls them.

She recalls working the night shift and seeing him pull into the hospital drive, often with a patient in his car.

"He may have his slippers on, but he would have his hat and his suit on," Kunkel says, smiling. "And he would bring a patient in that needed to be put to bed and taken care of."

Stephanie LeMaster, who grew up in Rushville, remembers interviewing Dohner for a school report when she was in fourth grade. Before then, she'd planned on being a nurse, like her mom and grandmother before her. But that interview changed everything, she says.

Dohner became a role model — and now she is a first-year medical student at Southern Illinois University.

"They tell me I should be the next Dr. Dohner, but I'm not sure I can live up to him," LeMaster says. "He's the only one like him."

 

 

 

So THIS is how the Mayan calendar will end us...

From LiveScience.com via Yahoo News:

Atom Smasher Creates New Kind of Matter

Collisions between particles inside the Large Hadron Collider atom smasher have created what looks like a new form of matter.

The new kind of matter is called color-glass condensate, and is a liquid-like wave of gluons, which are elementary particles related to the strong force that sticks quarks together inside protons and neutrons (hence they are like "glue").

Scientists didn't expect this kind of matter would result from the typeof particle collisions going on at the Large Hadron Collider at the time. However, it may explain some odd behavior seen inside the machine, which is a giant loop where particles race around underneath Switzerland and France.

When scientists sped up protons (one of the building blocks of atoms) and lead ions (lead atoms, which contain 82 protons each, stripped of their electrons), and crashed them into each other, the resulting explosions liquefied those particles and gave rise to new particles in their wake. Most of these new particles, as expected, fly off in all directions at close to the speed of light. [Photos: The World's Largest Atom Smasher (LHC)]

But recently scientists noticed that some pairs of particles were flying off from the collision point in correlated directions.

"Somehow they fly at the same direction even though it's not clear how they can communicate their direction with one another. That has surprised many people, including us," MIT physicist Gunther Roland, whose group led the analysis of the collision data along with Wei Liof Rice University, said in a statement.

A similar flight pattern is seen when two heavy particles, such as lead and lead, crash into each other. In this case, the collisions create what's called quark-gluon plasma — a superhot soup of particles similar tothe state of the universe just after the Big Bang. This soup can sweep particles in the same direction, explaining why their flight directions wouldbe correlated.

But quark-gluon plasma isn't possible with lead-proton collisions, like the ones in the new study. Now researchers think a different state of matter, the color-glass condensate, may act in a similar way. The color-glass condensate's dense swarm of gluons may also sweep particles off in the same direction, suggested Brookhaven National Laboratory physicistRajuVenugopalan, who first predicted the substance, which may also be seen after proton-proton collisions.

The mechanism may depend on a weird quirk of particles called quantum entanglement. Two particles can be entangled so that they retain a connection even after they are separated, and an action on one reverberates on the other.

Entangled gluons in the color-glass condensate could explain how particles flying away from the collision point might share information about their flight direction with each other, Venugopalan said.

The intriguing phenomenon was not expected to result from the LHC's run of proton-lead collisions, which was meant to serve as a reference point for comparison to other types of collisions.

"You don't expect quark-gluon plasma effects" with lead-proton collisions, Rolandsaid. "It was supposed to be sort of a reference run — a run in which you can study background effects and then subtract them from the effects that you see in lead-lead collisions."

The findings will be detailed in an upcoming issue of the journal Physical Review B.

 

GUN GUNS DOWN YOUNG MOTHER AND FOOTBALL PLAYER; REFUSES TO RAT ITSELF OUT TO COPS!

     "An evil handgun, tentatively identified as an Italian anarchist named Beretta by police sources, Saturday murdered a young woman in front of her three month old daughter, her baby's daddy, Kansas City Chiefs' linebacker Javon Belcher, and Belcher's mother.
     The vile firearm then proceeded to force innocent bystander Belcher to drive to the team's practice facility, thank his coach and GM for all they had dome for him, and then blew poor Mr. Belcher's head clean off. Police, who had tracked the ghastly gat from the original crime scene despite Missouri's complete lack of stringent  gun laws, also watched helplessly as Belcher was robbed of his promising and lucrative career.
     Inexplicably, the perfidious piece then ceased its murderous rampage and fell to the ground, as if it were inert, or possibly playing possum. It was then taken into police custody without further incident.
     Sources in the local District Attorney's office, speaking on condition of anonymity, said they will seek the meltdown penalty for the baffling blaster.
     A local progressive clergyman speculated the horrific hand-cannon could have been possessed, perhaps by Satan himself..."

Demented? Heck no! Not if you are arch-racist sports goonalist Raceon Witless, the terminally overrated Bob Costas, or any other left-fascist AmericaLaster who KNOWS that only the government should have guns and they should only be used to force Catholics into sterilizing their women so they will become nulliparous whores just like all good American girls should be.



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ABOVE: The late Jovan Belcher with his girlfriend, the late Kasandra M. Perkins, and child. Police say there is no truth to the rumor this photo was taken by the gun before its falling out with the family.

Steroids, football concussions, red meat consumption, and testosterone will also be blamed. And I'm a racist for suggesting the destruction of the black family by the plantation owners in the Party of Blasphemy, Buggery, and 'Bortion is to blame.

About Me

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First of all, the word is SEX, not GENDER. If you are ever tempted to use the word GENDER, don't. The word is SEX! SEX! SEX! SEX! For example: "My sex is male." is correct. "My gender is male." means nothing. Look it up. What kind of sick neo-Puritan nonsense is this? Idiot left-fascists, get your blood-soaked paws off the English language. Hence I am choosing "male" under protest.

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