Musings on all sorts of things. Politics, current events, music, movies, celebrity culture and, of course, death related issues. My sense of humor can be raunchy, risque and ribald so be warned that you may find some salaciousness here.
Some unhinged whacko inspired by the absurd flapdoodle that is global warming hysteria, made a suicide pact with his significant other and decided to kill his kids also. Better dead than too damn hot, I guess.
Shot to death or burned up by the sun.
A caring father makes his choice.
Francisco Lotero, 56, and Miriam Coletti, 23, of Goya, Argentina, left a suicide note that expressed their fear of global warming. Shit. This 56 year old dude had a 23 year old girlfriend. Couldn't he think of better ways to spend his time than worrying about a bunch of global warming hooey?
Miraculously, their 7 month old baby girl survived the gunshot wound and was found alive three days after the murder/suicide.
It's not easy having a roommate. They take your shit without asking, leave dried up scrambled egg on the stove, and let their skeevy fuck buddy sleep over all the time. Usually by the time you start getting financially more solvent in your late 20's it's adios roommates, good riddance.
You live your life. All in all things are going pretty good and then it happens. You get old. You get feeble. You start to shit and piss yourself (maybe without even knowing it). Then one day you notice your kids exchanging worried glances when they think you're not looking. Next thing you know you're in a fucking nursing home. And unless you or your kids are rich, guess what? You've got a roommate.
That's where 100 year old Elizabeth Barrow found herself. Luck of the draw gets her in the same room with 98 year old Laura Lundquist who happens to have dementia along with other flights of dotty cuckoo-ness. Unfortunately, Elizabeth's luck ran out when facility staff found her under the bed sheet with a plastic bag tied around her head. I didn't take Sherlock Holmes to find the culprit. According to statements previously made by Laura part of the motive was that she coveted Elizabeth's prime real estate of the bed by the window. Boy, you know your world has shrunk to the size of a keyhole when a window view is an incentive for murder most foul. I was somewhat puzzled by the statement by Bristol District Attorney C. Samuel Sutter. He said an increase in violence is a statewide and national problem and is one that in all likelihood is going to get worse. Huh!!??? Nursing home mayhem? Is this an epidemic? Is fossil on fossil crime on the rise? What do they have to fight about? Which is better? Rascal or PowerChair? "Goddamit!!! Those are my dentures. Yours are in the green container you sonofabitch!!! Where's my gun!" "My pudding! Somebody took my goddam pudding! I'm gonna kill you, you bitch!"
One final word to Laura. Laura, what the hell were you thinking? Elizabeth was 100 years old. Couldn't you have just waited a couple of weeks?
Kids...please...I'll be good. Don't put me in one of those horrible places.
I don't want this to be my last vision in this world.
December. Bad month for rock deaths. Rock homicides even more so. Sam Cooke was one of them. Immensely talented and good-looking, Sam Cooke defined the term "Soul" singer.
He made his bones in the gospel group The Soul Stirrers before crossing over to pop/soul music when he had 29 Top 40 hits from 1957 to 1964. "You Send Me", "Wonderful World", "Chain Gang", "Bring it on Home to Me" and my personal favorite "A Change is Gonna Come" were huge hits that brought gospel tinged soul music to a wide and white audience. Sam Cooke paved the road for the Bobby "Blue" Blands and the Sam and Dave's that followed.
Sam Cooke met his end in a seedy motel in Los Angeles when Sam showed up in the manager's office drunk, distressed and clad only in a sport coat and shoes. The angry Cooke was looking for the woman he had brought to the motel. You knew there had to be a woman involved, didn't you? The manager, Bertha Franklin, denied seeing the woman. Sam became even more enraged and long story short, Bertha pulls a pistol, bang...bang, and the premier R&B performer of his day is dead on the floor. A subsequent (and controversial) inquest follows with a verdict of self-defense.
And with that the man becomes the legend.
Unfortunately, there is no live footage of this song, since it was released posthumously. But, damn, listen to it. Makes the hair stand up on your arms.
Ladies and Gentleman...
Mr. Sam Cooke
Update: Say Hey DK has provided a link to a good crime scene photo of Sam Cooke. Here it is for those so inclined.
