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Casey and Caylee Anthony...

I am completely beside myself with the verdict of Casey Anthony. I understand there may have been a few loop holes, but this is ridiculous. There will be no justice for Caylee, and what she went through. It is funny how Casey had a waterfall running down her face as she was found “innocent” of first degree murder, but when her child was shown, or mentioned, her face was dry. Jose Baez is a joke, and should have never taken the case. His closing argument was confusing, and was invalid. Who the hell were these jurors?

Caylee is beautiful, and I just do not understand it. I hope the family disowns her. If the parents knew she was innocent, they would have embraced or celebrated slightly when the verdict was read. They did not hug, or anything close to it. They walked out. I really hope they just kick her to the curb and let the world take care of her.

It makes me sick that she is all smiles right now. She is laughing and everything. Disgusting.

Even in the Scott Peterson case, they had less evidence than this case. This case was surrounded by evidence.

Casey’s attorneys used everything in the book to be thrown out there, but not once did they concentrate that her child was murdered. They degraded her family in front of millions, stating that the father and brother molested her. She had imaginary friends, and lost her childhood. What about Caylee? That child has no childhood now. We were not focusing what was really at hand. The duct tape was a “rare” kind that was not made past 2007, and her family had it. What about the heart stickers? They found them in Casey’s house. I am sorry, but if you stated that the Nanny kidnapped your child, and then your parents allowed the child to fall in the pool and it killed her. That already should make you a lying piece of crap. This child was murdered. “Chloroform” was searched for on the computer, along with traces in the trunk. The fact that she went to her neighbor and asked for a shovel, and then changed her mind should have done her in. This is beyond ridiculous.

Casey Anthony, I hope karma destroys you. Your baby deserved justice, and you are a self-centered murder.

Caylee, rest in peace. You never deserved any of this. I can't even discuss this anymore.

Defending "Fuck".

Look at all the ways in which the word was being used to convey a wide range of emotions:

*Greetings - "How the fuck are you?"

*Fraud - "I was fucked by the bank big time!"

*Dismay - "Oh, fuck it."

*Trouble - "Well, I guess I'm fucked again."

*Aggression - "Fuck you!!!"

*Disgust - "Fuck me!!!"

*Confusion, Curiosity or Disbelief - "What the fuck....?"

*Difficulty - "I don't understand this fucking thing."

*Despair - "Fucked again."

*Desperation - "Fuckityfuckfuckfuck."

*Incompetence - "He fucks up everything."

*Intelligence - "He's a fucking genius."

*Dismissal - "Why don't you go outside and play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself?"

*Displeasure - "What the fuck is going on?"

*Lost - "Where the fuck are we?"

*Disbelief - "Unbefuckinglievable!!!"

*Pain - "Fuck ! that hurt."

*Pleasure - "Oooooooh Fuuuuuuck"

*Surprise - "Fucking hell what was that?"

*Agreement – “Absofuckinglutely”

*Stupid person - "Dumbfuck!"

*Denial - "I didn't fucking do it."

*Perplexity - "I know fuck all about it."

*Apathy - "Who gives a fuck."

*Resignation - "Oh fuck it."

*Questioning Authority - "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

*Praising the Lord - "Jesus Fucking Christ."

*Be quiet - "Shut the fuck up."

*Bewilderment or Ignorance - "Fuck if I know."

*Thanks - "Fuck you very much."

How can a word, which is being used so variously, diversely, and in some cases, so hilariously, be of offence to anybody any more?

Change your thinking.

This will warm your heart:

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.

One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.

His bed was next to the room's only window.

The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end.

They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation..

Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake.

Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by.

Although the other man could not hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days, weeks and months passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep..

She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.

He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."


There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.

Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.

If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy.

Today is a gift. That is why it is called "The Present".

The origin of this letter is unknown, but it brings good luck to everyone who passes it on.

Quick Thought.

I sweat breakfast food and arnold palmer like a fat kid lacing his shoes.
Stoic and cold she sways in the whirlwind. Driven by desire she falls. The symphony of invisible slaps hit her body in rhythms. The feeling of separation begins as her neck is severed in two. Both pieces travel to different paths. She chases the bloody beats.

Her heart falling into flowing sheets. The intoxicating taste of skin taking over. A mixture of warning gasps and hollering shouts of encouragement flood from the audience. Intensity growing as the scene unfolds. She holds the script littered with lines. With uncertainty she reads the lies with him. The eyes and voices all different as the story progresses. Never wanting to let go she latches. Hoping their lips will take hold and stay. She won't go until you follow. Nervous...she stops. Her gaze dancing among the crowd. Only to disover their pupils and irides are built to crave entertainment. Never to offer her aid. Feeling the need to satisfy their hunger her mouth fell silent as her body spoke loudly. In her prison of flesh and sweat she reaches out. The indecisiveness overwhelming her shaking hand, longing for salvation.

The rotating dial commands her loss of balance. Acknowledging her surroundings she follows after her skull. Carried away she waits alone in a void of darkness; wrapped in chains and hollow hope. A slice of light pouring into the room. She focuses as column shadows of feet pass by. As each approaches her chest caves in. One pair after another they pass only to pause for seconds at a time. Shes waits... shes waits. The familar sound of clicking soles awake her from her extended slumber. Her dirty face stares hopelessly as the bronze handle turns. As it opens her bloodshot eyes reject light. Cries of happiness spill from her mouth as the figure approaches. The touch, the smell, the taste fell into place. Imagination was obsolete to the reality taking place. Fitted gently in the warm mold she smiles.

The cue triggers the audience to applaud. A sea of faces beaming with approval. The deafening sound of slapping palms had never been so comforting. The peace treaty of this war was signed and sealed. It was the end. Caught off guard by panic she collapses. Equip now with realization of her fear she runs toward the screen with pleading eyes. The pixels flicker and disappear.



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July 2011


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