No need to pick up a pacifier on your shopping trip.

More batshit crazy mom stuff.  Toyrianna Smith (where the fuck do they get these names?) of Chicago is being held in the jug on a million dollars bail for beating and suffocating her baby to death.  Apparently baby Ken Blackman Jr. wouldn't stop crying.  Yep.  Sometimes those babies just won't listen.  (I used to feed and rock Little Miss Funeral Guy when she was a fussy baby, but maybe that's just me.)

  Toyrianna Smith.

The inability to choose a hair color is a 

clear indication of a disordered mind. 

Hey, Funeral Guy, no story here.  Happens every day. What doesn't happen every day is strapping the little dead baboo in a carry sling, taking him on a shopping trip then off to visit friends.

From the article:

She had been drinking vodka at a friend's house and spent the night in their guest room with the baby. She slipped out of the house the next day before the baby's father came to pick him up.

Not a shock:  20-year old Toyrianna was guzzling the vodka.
Big shock:  The baby's father was coming to pick him up for some daddy time.

Unlike Casey Anthony, I will wager here and now no prosecutor will be asking for the death penalty in this case.  The soft bigotry of low expectations.

It may not be "Perverted" but it sure smells like poetic "Justice" to me.

Chris Hansen

Professional Cock Blocker

Smug, supercilious and major all-around asshole, Chris Hansen, scourge of internet predators everywhere has been hoisted on the petard of hidden camera gotcha.  Hansen, 51, has been caught in a sting set up by the National Enquirer (my paper of record) in Florida (does anything good happen there?) with a 30-year old TV reporter by the name of Kristyn Caddell.  This would have been so much better if Kristyn had been...say...17, but we'll take what we can get.   I say 17, because then it would have been technically illegal but not creepily pedo.

The hot and heavy fuckfest started about four months ago when Chris was down in Florida covering a story when he met the comely Kristyn and it was lust at first sight.  I've heard this kind of thing can happen when a guy goes on the road.  Chris is married to wife Mary, 53, and the have two lil' boy chilluns together. 

 Chris and the Misses

Lust turned to love whatever, with Chris sending flowers and words of endearment but with no apparent urgency to cut loose the ball and chain of matrimony.  (Ain't that always the way.  Chris may be horny but he's still smart enough to keep his mind on his assets.)

The sting caught Chris and Kristyn (isn't that a cute couple name?) out at dinner, and according to the story "staring into each other eyes".  The story also notes that Kristyn was "wearing high heels and a short revealing dress".  Yummy!  The kind of outfit that makes a guy want to get dinner over with ASAP.  A stop at the liquor store follows and the couple arrive at the babe's apartment at 10 PM.  When Hansen left the next morning they were both wearing different clothes and "Kristyn's hair was dishevelled as if she just rolled out of bed."  GUILTY!!  AND TOTALLY HAWT!!

Kristyn Caddell

Hansen's new show should be titled

To Catch a Young Piece 

I must confess, To Catch a Predator was a full-blown guilty pleasure of mine.  If you've never seen it seek it out in reruns or on You Tube.  You won't be sorry.  A finer example of horny nerd douchery is impossible to find.  These sex-starved simpletons were sucked in by faux smutty talk from a vigilante Star Chamber called Perverted Justice.  Staffed by ugly chicks in baseball hats and a fat bald guy, Perverted Justice would pretend to be hot young snizz to rope in the dopes who were trolling the chat rooms.  When the basement dwelling losers would show up at the sting house with their rubbers, lube and lingerie, high on the hope of jailbait jezebels, it was pure comedy gold.  I mean, dude.  Look in the mirror.  Is the kind of guy that a hot underage stranger wants to have sex with staring back at you?  Proof positive that God gave men two brains but the ability to only use one at a time. 

Let me take a second here to say I don't condone old guys hitting on underage girls.  I have daughters and would hope they would have the sense to tell a old creep in a chat room to fuck off and go blow himself.  What this group was doing was entrapment pure and simple.  Maybe not in the strictly legal sense but it sure was for all practical purposes.  A lot of these cases were thrown out because the judges had trouble figuring out jurisdictions and other vague areas of these predator laws.  So bottom line?  Guys, there are plenty of 18+ year old women on the internet.  Get your willy wet with the big girls...mmmmmmmkay? 

Anyway, the scene would be set.  The mark would show up at the house.  He would be met by a legal age chick pretending to be the schoolgirl all alone.  She'd make some excuse to leave him hanging in the living room ("I gotta fold these clothes before they wrinkle, but I made some sweet tea for 'ya.)  The girl was always kind of a hillbilly for some reason.  While the doofus was waiting for his horny honey to return, out would pop Chris Hansen.  Looking and sounding like God Himself.  "Why don't you take a seat right over there?"  Most of the time the dumbass guy would think Chris was the chick's dad.  Hahahahaha.  It was fucking hilarious.  The dude would start stammering out all kinds of bullshit when Chris would ask them "What are you doing here?"  They'd say, "Just gonna hang out." And "Nothing...Sir."  This after Chris finds a bag of rubbers with Romeo's gift of Big Macs.  And my personal favorite: "I just came here to tell this young girl how dangerous it is to talk to strange men on the internet."  Cue the fucking laugh track.  After confronting the stupid muttonhead with the chat logs where the "girl" said she was 13 and he replied he wanted to eat her pussy and suck her tits,  Chris would tell the guy he was free to go.  Free to go into the arms of some small town police detail that was so bored it would be dressed up in ninja SWAT outfits screaming and waving their guns around just to throw some fat, bald, sobbing accountant to the sidewalk.  Truck drivers, IT guys, soldiers, even a district attorney and a doctor got caught up in the fuckery.  (Best scene ever: the doctor calling his wife to bring bail money to the county lockup.  "No..no...don't bring the girls!")  The district attorney actually committed suicide in his house with the police outside.  That took a lot of the fun out of things and the forthcoming investigation of the cozy relationship between Perverted Justice, the Dateline TV show and law enforcement eventually spelled the demise of the program.  

I know that boning a 30-year old woman not your wife is not the same as going after adolescents.  Were some of these guys dangerous?  Possibly.  But most of the subjects of these stings came off to me as just sad, lonely, socially awkward sad sacks that got caught up in internet tomfoolery and did something stupid.  Eagerly egged on by the horny talk of the Perverted Justice improv group.  As one guy who got caught by the self-rightous Mr. Hansen said when confronted with the evidence that the girl told him she was 14.  "It's the internet," he said, "everybody lies."  

The thing that I disliked most about Chris Hansen and this whole enterprise was that he seemed to be enjoying the humiliation of these nebbishes a little too much.  Am I smiling a little because Chris Hansen is experiencing some discomfort and embarrassment today?  Yeah, I guess I am.  

   

John Lennon: Reaganite

I wish some celebrity would whip his dick out in public or one of the Kardashian tramps would do a panty flash, because this summer has been slooooooooow.   Except for death, of course, which is part of the reason for the sparse output here.   (I hate to hit the shit file before the weekend.)

"Imagine there's no liberals...it's easy if you try..."  

The big story today (just to prove how lean things are) is that John Lennon was showing conservative leanings before his death.  This according to the rock star's last personal assistant, Fred Seaman.
  

From the article:

"John, basically, made it very clear that if he were an American he would vote for Reagan because he was really sour on (Democrat) Jimmy Carter," he says.

"He'd met Reagan back, I think, in the `70s at some sporting event ... Reagan was the guy who had ordered the National Guard, I believe, to go after the young (peace) demonstrators in Berkeley, so I think that John maybe forgot about that ... He did express support for Reagan, which shocked me.

"I also saw John embark in some really brutal arguments with my uncle, who's an old-time communist ... He enjoyed really provoking my uncle ... Maybe he was being provocative ... but it was pretty obvious to me he had moved away from his earlier radicalism.

"He was a very different person back in 1979 and 80 than he'd been when he wrote Imagine. By 1979 he looked back on that guy and was embarrassed by that guy's naivete."

Now this could just be John Lennon "taking a piss" as the Brits say.  (As in, "Just kidding.")  Or Lennon suddenly came to the realization: "Holy shit!  I have a lot of money.  I better start supporting people who are going to let me keep some of it.  Goddammit, now how do I disavow all that shit I wrote in Imagine?"

Yoko Ono has not been reached yet for a screeching comment.  

The Shaman of Shadukey Speaketh.

You remember the saga of the mysterious "Sky"?  He was the Poopchute Peeper in the Boulder, Colorado Porta-Potty.  "Sky" turns out to be Luke Irvin Chrisco, 30, and he was arrested outside of Vail, CO last Thursday while panhandling outside a gas station.

Luke Irvin Chrisco.  He doesn't look half bad 

when he's cleaned and deodorized.  

Luke has admitted to being the Porta-Potty Pervert and has quite a story to tell.

Chrisco said he was living in the woods in France years ago and some friends went to a recreation center. He said he was wandering around inside the center when he ventured into the girls' locker room and noticed a loose vent, where he decided to hide.

So he "ventured" into the girls' locker room.  Like the call of the Sirens and Luke just a hapless sailor.  

"These chicks started showing up that I never had a chance with," Chrisco said. "But I figured at least I can see them change or something. I've come to know how interesting they are."

Hey, Luke.  I like interesting chicks too.  What you do is you talk to them, make them like you, take them to dinner then eventually they'll willingly take their clothes off and let you see their lady parts.  AND LET YOU DO FUN STUFF.  TRY IT SOMETIME.

After Luke's European adventures, he returned to the lucky town of Boulder and became a driller of holes and a peeker at pulchritude.  Several attempts to set up porn sites and an entrepreneurial eye as a pimp came to naught.  Even these were not to make money but to advance his beliefs in...in...ah...horny sex stuff, I guess.  

"I wanted to start a new goddess religion," he said. "I always wanted to be a pimp or create a church of porn or a church of tantric, someplace people could be spiritual but also instinctual," he said. 

Sure, you can say Luke is a unbalanced weirdo sex offender who is a danger to society, but how is his philosophy any different from that of Charlie Sheen?  (Who should also arguably be in some sort of custody.)

Even though Luke's first foray into looking for Goddesses in the public dumper ended in his arrest, the enjoyment of the sight and smells will always hold fond memories.

"I thought, 'This is really amazing; I've been blessed and anointed by the makers of life,'" Chrisco said.

There you go.  One man's golden shower fetish is another man's communion.  With a big steaming log as an appetizer. 

Next thing you'll tell me is Mrs. Cleaver did double penetration porn.

Florence Henderson...Back in the day.

Pretty MILF-y.  I'd have given her a tumble. 

Florence Henderson, beloved TV mom on the popular 70's sitcom The Brady Bunch, has revealed in her soon to be released autobiography that she was cheating on her husband in the 60's.  Mom Brady!!??  Yep.  Doing the beast with two backs outside of the martial bed.  Oh, my.  And what makes this the best Too Much Information dump of all time?  One of her one-night-stand fuck buddies was former mayor of New York, John Lindsay.  John Lindsay, for those who don't know the history, was the Democrat mayor upon whom's watch the City That Never Sleeps took it's long slide into decay, welfare dependence, drugs and street crime.  Think Death Wish as a documentary.  And...the sordid story doesn't end there.  The morning after the encounter Florence discovered a little gift from the mayor.  Well, actually a whole bunch of them.  I'm talking about the little black bugs that crawl around in your pubic hair.  (Pubic hair, or as I used to joke in my case, public hair, is the hair that grows around your genital area.  I say this to all you young people who have never experienced it since you've been shaving your junk since you were 12.)

Crabs, as they were known, were quite common in the hippie/road musician days.  I knew a chick that got them on her eyelashes from blowing a bass player.  Hahahahahaha.  You could even set them on the porcelain toilet tank, put a lit cigarette behind them and make them race.  Yours truly was infested couple of times.  But, rest assured, I got mine from a toilet seat.  A little Pyrinate A-200, a hot shower and a fine tooth comb and you were good to party after the gig.

  Crab louse.  Up close and personal. 

Hanging on to your pube for dear life. 

At least in her autobiography Florence "Carol Brady" Henderson lays to rest the rumor that she boinked Barry Williams, the young actor who played her son, Greg.  Thank god for that.  Any more on Florence's sex life and I think my head would explode.

This will not prevent me from reading her book if more sex stories leak out, however.

Update: My brother The Conservatarian has taken me to school that Lindsay was a RINO Republican when he was NYC mayor and the crab giver to Florence Henderson.  He then converted to his true Democrat self for an unsuccessful run at the presidency.  I regret the error.  This in no way negates the the axiom: If you lie down with politicians, you'll come up with fleas.

Are those torpedos on your chest or are you just glad to see me?

Now that I have your attention. 

The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) is warning that those plastic funbags you paid serious money for so your cosmetic surgeon could buy a new Porcshe are only good for about ten years.  After that?  Trouble.  Possible links to cancer, wrinkling, asymmetry, scarring, pain and infection are all in the report.

As you can imagine, this has caused a wave of trepidation through every strip club, porn studio and Hooter's restaurant in the country.  Strippers are frantically doing the math as to how many extra lap dances will have to be performed to keep the big tip money coming.  Ditto, the Vegas cocktail waitresses and escorts.  And it goes without saying that in the porn industry big titties are the coin of the realm.  Not upgrading the boobays is not an option.

I've been thinking.  I've been looking at the benefits of a government job.  Regular hours, job security, pension, full medical.  All sucked from the taxpayer tit, so to speak.  The FDA's going to need someone to be a boobage inspector.  Lifting it up, checking for proper heft and the expiration date,  Palpating for hard areas, looking for telltale ripples.  (For that one the lady has to be on all fours and rocking back and forth like doggy-style.  It's not that I look at a lot of porn, but somebody told me that once. )  All strictly professional.  You know me.  Just business.

Hahahahaha.  Just funnin'.  Now that summer is upon us and the dumplings are on full display, I will do my annual rant about how I really feel about breast implants.  Simply put.  I hate 'em.  Let me amend that, I hate most of 'em.  If you've had a mastectomy or just got the boobs filled out because of kid sag, I'm not talking about you.  I'm talking about the professional club skank, the porn star, and the "featured dancer".  You know who you are.  I think I speak for a sizable segment of the male population when I say-"You look ridiculous."  You know why?  Because if it's obvious you've had your tits done, you've failed.  I find it seems to break down as a generational preference.  I didn't grow up with every other chick having enhanced bazoos.  Natural and supple, that was my groping experience as I traveled the land.  The younger guys today have more experience with the silicone sisters so to them it's old hat.  Then there are just those guys who just like biiiiiiiiiiiiiiggg!  I've always been more of an ass and leg man anyway, so vive la difference.  I really enjoyed the mini-series Spartacus: Blood and Sand on Starz.  Lots of nudity.  I couldn't help but wonder how they found so many beautiful actresses with natural breasts.  Hopefully this is a trend.

A prime example of Titty Balls. 

Too big for her frame and look painful.

You could probably break a bottle on them. 

What I can't figure out is the thought process of the women that get them.  Does the doctor say, "You know what?  I'm going to make you look like Little Annie Fanny.  Sound good?"  No...I'm guessing  that the women go into the doctor's office look at different computer mock ups and when the time comes to choose they think, "You know?  I think I want to go just a little bit bigger."  That is when you end up with what we guys call alternately, Titty Balls, Robo-Tits, Bobble Tits and Balloon Tits.  These are not compliments.

Little Annie Fanny.  
The cartoon gal with the inhuman proportions. 

Looks like Pamela Anderson.  Who, in turn, looks like a cartoon. 

Coincidence?  I don't think so. 

We're all going to age.  All the silicone, botox, hair plugs, face lifts, pec and bicep implants, and collagen lip injections are not going to ward off the Grim Reaper forever.  Maybe we should make a deal between the sexes.  Ladies.  You forgo the over enhanced lips and bazongas that make you look like pornstars from Jupiter, and we men will stay away from hair restoration plugs that look like doll hair and facelifts that make us look like old women.

More Bad Examples. 

This woman looks so ridiculous she 

deserves a hairy man in a Speedo. 

Archeologists of the future will find 

a skeleton with two plastic bags.

Is that you, Barry? 

You look more like my Aunt Mary. 

Nikki Cox used to be gorgeous. 

Now she looks like something you'd pan fry on your campfire.  

It's my funeral and I'll cry if I want to.

When I works, I works hard.  No, I mean it.  Stop laughing.  Do I take my job seriously?  Serious as a heart attack.  Haha.   In fact, I get really anal in the days before the service.  I re-confirm the casket delivery.  I call the florist to make sure everything is on order.  I check with the church or the pastor.  Cemetery and vault on schedule?  If there is a DVD presentation I run it through the system to make sure there are no glitches.  You fuck up someone's funeral and there is no do-over.  (Unlike a wedding where most folks have more than one.)  I've learned one thing after doing this for a few years.  I don't like surprises.  99.9% of all surprises are bad.

Speaking of surprises.  Fagilyu Mukhametyanov, got the surprise of her...ah...life, when she woke up in a coffin surrounded by sobbing relatives.  Yeah, that would cause a bit of consternation, wouldn't it?  Fagilyu who was apparently grossly misdiagnosed as deceased, started screaming, fluttered her eyelids, went into shock and then cardiac arrest.  After the ensuing hijinks Fagilyu was rushed to the hospital but only lived for 12 minutes, until her doctor announced: "As doctor here I must aver, I thoroughly examined her, and she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead."  Whereupon he drove a stake through her heart just to be sure.  (This area in Russia is a mere 1200 miles from Transylvania, Romania so why take the chance?)  Fagilyu's husband, Fagili is going to sue, proving that the new Russia is taking to freedom quite nicely and getting more like the United States all the time.  (What are the odds that a woman named Fagilyu married a man named Fagili?  I was going to make a gay marriage joke here but I don't want to end up like Tracy Morgan.)

Fagilyu and Fagili (some un-pronouncable Russian surname.)

There is no evidence Fagili beat his wife despite the shirt. 

Not knowing if someone is dead or not is really a sloppy medical call.  I mean dead people really do look dead.  The mouth goes slack, the lips pull back over the teeth (or sink way in if the dentures are out) the eyes are half open and, oh yeah, the whole not breathing and getting stiff part are dead giveaways.  (Bad pun, sorry.)  At the funeral home we call this "Dead Face".  In the USA we rarely do anything but the shortest viewings or direct burials without embalming.  Dressing an unembalmed body can be unpleasant and they just look better.  Embalming obviously solves the problem of being buried alive since all your bodily fluids are replaced with embalming chemicals.  This is not a process that is survivable.   Emblaming is not ubiquitous in the rest of the world and some cultures consider the practice barbaric.  Take the dead and get them in the ground or on the fire as fast as possible is considered the respectful disposition.  We get ship-ins from Eastern European countries and the containers are soldered shut.  The embalmings are shitty and the bodies smell awful.  It's like opening a zombie's casket.   I remember one guy where they only embalmed the head.  Peeeuuuuu!

I guess the custom of a quick burial is OK, but on occasion you may hasten someone to the grave who's just having a really good sleep.  As for me, if I have a burial of an unembalmed person I may start sticking them in the foot with an icepick before casketing to see if they twitch.  Just to be on the safe side.

h/t Judy Leach

What your funeral director is thinking.

I just got a text from my associate who is working a young person's funeral today.  Here it is.

AH:  This service is breaking hot chick records.  


FG:  shit really? I just saw MILF porn material at Sam's Club.


AH: Spearmint Rhino [a local strip club] could have a job fair here.  

Just to let you know the men in the funeral industry really appreciate all the inappropriately dressed young ladies we see at the services we direct.  Keep it up. (tee hee).

Your grandmothers would be proud.

  Deep mourning and duckface.  

Getting ready for Granny's funeral. 

I'm not dead. (But a lot of people are.)

Looking pretty good.  Just have to casket her and start the visitation. 

Sorry for the absence the last couple of days.  I was not kidnapped by crack whores and forced to do drugs.  I've just been really busy and still in a depressive state over the loss of my Weiner.  I hadn't realized what an easy fall back the congressman had become for me.  A writing crutch if you will.

Tomorrow is the weekend and I actually have a couple of days off.  I'll look for sleaze, sluts and weird criminals and get back to you.

Thanks for coming back.

TFG

If you want to parade around in your underwear become an Abercrombie and Fitch model why dontcha?

If you need any further proof we're in the dog days of summer, look no further than this story.  This one is all over the place.  (Come back, Anthony Weiner, all is forgiven.)

It all started when 20-year old Deshon Marmon was booted from a US Airways flight because he was "saggin' and baggin'" in a style that I'm stunned is still the fashion in certain communities after all these years.  (Maybe I should get out my bell bottoms and wide lapels.)  I mean wouldn't you want something that makes it easier to run from the police without your gun dropping on the ground?  Deshon was axed to pull up his pants so his underwear wasn't showing.  Instead of just pulling up his pants over his stupid butt Deshon had to make an issue out of it and was rightly kicked off the flight.   What if there was an emergency and you had to stumble over Deshon who was clogging the aisle because he tripped when his dumbass pants fell around his ankles?  Dude.  These days airline crews don't want to hear any shit from from you or anybody else.  Where have you been?   Do I need to mention that Deshon is black so, of course, he's retained an attorney.  Discrimination!

Appropriate attire for a meeting with your parole officer. 

Well, Deshon's case just got a boost since a photo has turned up of some outright fucking queen in a bra, panties and stockings.  And what was he doing?  Getting on a US Airways flight with no problem, that's what.  And what color was the old queen?  You guessed it.  White.  Do I really need to tell you where all this is heading?  This should make for some curious dynamics since the victim group hierarchy is beginner to re-jigger.  We are seeing evidence that when it comes down to a black victim and a gay victim, gay trumps black. Don't believe me?  Ask Tracy Morgan.

Any bets that he volunteers for the full pat down? 

I'm not stupid enough to think that we are going back to the days of Mad Men, when women wore dresses and men wore suits and people had manners when they travelled by plane.  But this is why we now have the government writing rules for every jot and tittle of everyday life.  Because people have absolutely no fucking common sense.  Isn't air travel shitty enough?   Packed like sardines in a flying tin can for God knows how long?  It's almost impossible to not to have a least some physical contact with your fellow passengers.  I don't want to sit next to a guy and his underwear exposed ass.  And I really, really don't want to squeeze past an aging drag queen in a garter belt, stockings and panties on my way to the bathroom.  What the fuck is wrong with people?  We've become a country overflowing with goddam narcissists.  If you want to look like a fucking gangbanger, do it in your 'hood.  If you want to be a cross-dressing weirdo, sashay around your own home or the local tranny bar.  For god's sake, nobody else wants to see that shit.  Do we all get to parade our oddball proclivities whenever we feel like it?  How about the next guy that wants to strut around the mall in a Nazi uniform.  Why not?  Batman costume OK?  Sure.  What the fuck.  Does a dude have a right to walk the airport with his dick hanging out of his pants?  Who are you to judge?  Look at me, look at me, look at meeeeeeeee!!!!

Life is not that complicated.  We all have to get along.  Let's agree on a few things.  (For airports and other public venues.)

Shower enough so you don't smell like ass.
Clean clothes, please.
Appropriate dress.  Not formal, appropriate.
Ladies, no exposed muffin top belly rolls.
Guys, no cut large armpit hole wife beaters. (Nobody wants to see your nipples.)
If you have fungus on your toenails, no flip-flops.
No visible butt crack. No visible underwear.  (Really hot girls excepted.)

h/t Judy Leach

"Hey...I was just trying out my new snorkel."

Piss, poo-poo, pulchritude and a Porta-Potty pervert peeper.  

There is an expression we men use on occasion when we see a lady with a nice rear end.  "I'd eat a mile of her shit just to see where it came from."  I have an associate at the funeral home who uses the variation, "I'd eat her fart box."  Is this piggish?  Oh, yeah.  But, ladies, you have to think of it as a compliment.

That being the case, how complimented must the ladies be at the Hanuman Yoga Festival in Boulder, Colorado?   A person of the female persuasion was in the Porta-Potty getting ready to do her private bidness when she noticed some movement in the tank when she lifted the lid.  Yikes, I'd be thinking snake or maybe a bear or something.   She wisely got the hell out of there a got a man to check the toilet and lo and behold someone was in the tank covered by a tarp.  Now that is a determined pervert with a uncontrollable desire to see female nether parts.  I would imagine the fact that the women are in the process of evacuating is part of the thrill.  The story doesn't say whether the lurking "pee"per was wielding a flashlight to make sure he didn't miss a thing.

A security supervisor waited outside until the suspect fled the outdoor dumper.  The supervisor tried to detain the suspect but off he ran, covered in shadukey.   "The supervisor tried to detain the suspect."  Did he?  Did he really?  If the choice of shooting this (literal) turd burglar is off the table are you really going to grab him?  I'm not.  And I work around gross stuff every day.

One witness said it could possibly be a transient by the name of "Sky".   A transient.  That figures.  You wouldn't want to be caught doing this in the neighborhood you live in, would you?

This was a yoga festival. 

Has anybody checked this guy's alibi? 

When it's all over. As it will be for us all someday.

When I started this blog my main focus was going to be death related issues, funeral stories and the like.  I soon realized because of privacy concerns a great deal of the truly hysterical shit that happens around here will have to wait for my posthumous memoirs.  How The Funeral Guy evolved into dick jokes, skank fuckery and weird criminal news is something I'm sure only a qualified therapist could sort out.

The groundskeepers will be there shortly.  You're not in any hurry. 

The only reason I can fathom that I missed this article when it came out in early 2010, is that I'd long ago cancelled my subscription to the Los Angeles Times.   Since it was only good for being a liberal/left-wing bird cage liner.  If you have any interest at all in what we do here in the "death trade" or your only familiarity is that you watched Six Feet Under (90% bullshit, by the way), you could not do better than to read this award winning article in it's entirety.  Granted it's long, but we are talking about eternity here.  I either know or am familiar with most of the people mentioned in the article.  The writing is outstanding.

I have only a few minor quibbles.  Pallbearers don't "shoulder" a casket to a graveside anymore, at least not in this country.  That's why there are handles on the side.  Also some of the pricing seems a little off, but all in all, it's right on the money.

Highly recommended.

h/t GoodShit

If this buggy's a-rockin' don't come a-knockin'!

Willard Yoder working the bowl cut. 

Not mature enough for the matching Amish chinny beard. 

What's an Amish guy to do?  You're living your simple life, doing your Amish thing which is pretty much chores and church, I guess.   But a young man needs more than chores and hard farm work when the sap starts running, doesn't he?  After you've been looking at plain women with no makeup dressed in long cotton dresses and bonnets, wouldn't you start to yearn for some babeitude beyond the Amish bubble?

If this is what I was around all day,  

I'd be living a pretty rich fantasy life myself. 

Young, dumb and full of cum, Willard Yoder (love that name), 21, was driven by his longings to sext a 12-year old girl.  Not too legal or too smart, but in his defense he was under the impression she was 13.  And besides, it was just a random sexy shout out to whatever old number came into Willard's horny pea-brain.  The bewildered 12-year old showed the text to her mom who texted Willard back, which began the series of seductive sexting.

We need to pause here for a moment and ask the obvious question.  Aren't the Amish supposed to shun modern technology?  Did Willard somehow devise a windmill powered cell phone?  If so, I'm impressed.

Willard, with an eye on being the country's first Amish congressman, also sexted photos of his boner and other assorted porn to the youngster.  I mean what 12-year old gal isn't completely turned on by cock pics and sex videos.  For a sheltered Amish man, Willard sure has his finger on the pulse of a young woman's heart.  Fair is fair, and Willard wanted photos of the girl's girly parts and described the joys of the various sex acts that he would perform on what he thought was his little Lolita.  Of course, mom eventually alerted the police and a sting was set up.

The best part?  Willard showed up for the illicit tryst in his horse and buggy.  Yep, like a good and true Amish believer Willard wanted to do his shaggin' in the wagon.  Isn't that the most romantic thing you ever heard?  It's like taking a ride in the surrey with the fringe on top only with a kid toucher.

  Back seat lovin', Amish Style. 

So what started as an evening of high hopes and the anticipation of love, ends in arrest and ignominy for a naive young Amish lad.  Willard, sadder but wiser, told police that he realized "it was a bad decision".

Pretty insightful.  You don't get all the way up through the 8th grade without learning something.

Dead baby Justin has two mommies.

What's worse than stealing credit cards from mourners at a cemetery?  I'm not sure I know, but faking a dead baby funeral has got to be near the top of the list.

Tiffany Lyon, 27, and Chastity Doll, 20 (is that a pornstar/stripper name, or what?) were arrested in Modesto, California after begging money from strangers using a fake baby funeral as a ploy.  Where you might think twice about giving some cash to a couple of skeevy looking white trash street tramps, a dead little baboo is sure to tug the heartstrings and open the wallet.

Tiffany Lyon and Chastity Doll. 

Tiffany is kind of beat, but Chastity could be hot 

if she cleaned up and settled on a hair color. 

One of Modesto's finest got suspicious when questioning the two ho's about where the baby died, who was the doctor and the baby's birthplace.  Since these two dumbass grifters never cut through the drug fog to coordinate some plausible details the officer quickly saw through the ruse and put the two in cuffs after a quick call to the coroner yielded no dead baby report.

Not only is this baby not named Justin Michael Farrell, 

he's not even dead as far as we know.  

He's just a generic internet infant 

innocently drawn into a web of fraud. 

Tiffany and Chastity were charged with fraud and conspiracy and released on bail.  The weekend take?  About $700 bucks.  Or about two days worth of meth for a couple of tweakers with a reasonably heavy habit.  The police are donating the purloined cash to charity.  May I suggest Showers For Street Skanks.

No other reason for this photo other than 

I just love this Faces of Meth Guy. 

Full disclosure:  I have no proof that meth contributed to this fuckery in any way.  But, come on, let's be adults here.  By the way, meth in Modesto yields 719,000 Google hits.  

Clinton!! Intern!! Pornstar!!

Yowsah, yowsah, yowsah!!  God.  I feel like a fucking carnival barker with that headline.  OK, settle down.  It's not exactly what you think.

Samantha Kogelman, whose nom de splooge is Sammie Spades, is the star of such epic smut as Big Butts Like It Big 8 and White Bubble Butts 4.   What else is on her resumé, you ask?  How about intern for then Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton?  Yes, little Sammie worked in the Senator's Buffalo, NY office in 2006 with the dream of becoming an attorney and then running for public orifice office.  After a stint with Hillary, during which she was, to the amazement of all, unable to hook up with a certain ex-presidential penis, little Samantha headed for Vegas to pursue a career in real estate, mortgages and the law.

Samantha and the Senator.

Catch Sammie in her latest fuck-flic, Big Noses Love Big Hoses. 

Alas, and alack, we all know how things tanked in Las Vegas and they don't call it Sin City for nothing, so Samantha did what any girl in her situation would do.  She got a job as a waitress and with the help of friends and family, worked long hours, got back into school and continued to reach for the stars to fulfill her feminist dreams of business success.

Naaaahhhhhhh...just kidding...she got into porn and stripping, of course.  What's a girl to do, 'ya know?   She gottsa' pay dem bills.  So I Googled up some performances of the of the gal reborn as Sammie Spades.  (I do this so you don't have to.)  I doubt you'll be shocked to hear that the star of the Big Butts Like it Big and White Bubble Butts series does more than take a schlong in the place where the baby comes out or the food goes in.  As for her last name?  Spades?  Well, yeah, she does a lot of those to, if you catch my drift.  (Actually, the White Bubble Butt specialty kind of gives it away, doesn't it?)  Interestingly, I also found her in a set of videos that are such niche porn that even I was unaware of it.  Overeating and Belly Stuffing fetish videos.  I watched one and it was basically Sammie stuffing a bunch of food in her mouth until her belly got full and round.  For a fetish performed by mostly chubby girls I must say it failed to give me one.  I seriously didn't get the point of it.  Then again, I don't like to fuck shoes or wear soiled panties over my nose either, so there you go.  I've always prided myself on being old-fashioned.

Why is this now a story?  Well, it's summer and the economy and bombing Libya is sooooooo boooooorrring.  The Weiner saga has gone flaccid and the chance to put Clinton, intern and pornstar in the same sentence is just too delicious to pass up.  Plus, if I was a betting man, I would wager that the former Samantha Kogelman saw a certain Ginger Lee get leg up (so to speak) on her "featured dancer" career and decided to jump on the gravy train.  Good for her, but the Democratic Party bigwigs are probably not too happy now that America is beginning to wonder why their policies seem to hold a particular appeal to pornstars, "featured dancers",  government union bosses and other out of the mainstream exotics.

    Sammie Spades at the AVN Awards.

140 lbs. of sausage in a 100 lb. casing. 

Anyway, back to our plucky heroine, Sammie.  When she gets back on her feet (from being on her back, her knees and on all fours) Sammie wants to forge ahead with her original dreams.  Because what Fortune 500 entity worth their Google skills wouldn't want the star of CEO's and Office Ho's and Butt Licking Anal Whores 13 bringing a touch of class (and ass!) to the stuffy corporate environment?  The sky's the limit for our gal Sammie.  As Sammie says, confident in her ability to multi-task, "I now shoot porn, dance and go to school full time.  I'm even on the Dean's list."

I bet you are Sammie...I bet you are.

Weekend hits for giggles and shits.

I'm experiencing the doldrums as I find myself in a Weinerless world.  For the last few weeks I could wake up and be energized as some new snippet of Anthony Weiner sleaze was just a Google click away.  What a time and a story it was.   A congressman (named Weiner, no less), dick pics, sexting on social networks, dirty emails, a pornstar, an underage girl, lies and press frenzies.  A kid at Christmas could not be happier than I.  I hadn't had that much fun since Tiger Woods.

And now what?  The world is drab and boring.  So it's time to go into the shit file.  My shit file is stuff I find or get emailed that looks promising that I'll get around to one of these days.  I guess this is one of those days.  

Let's take the fun out of being sick and in the hospital.

British Nurse.  A little overdressed for my taste 

but still unacceptable under the new dress code. 

It's not enough the the British NHS (National Health Service) will leave your loved one dead on the floor for 10 hours then drag his body down the corridor.  Or that they will inject another patient (now deceased) with the human form of mad cow disease.  Now you can't even get a hospital sponge bath with the healing power of titty cleavage in your face.  The NHS has recently issued dress code guidelines calling for their female staff to cover up the boobage and the midriff, lengthen the skirt, no more tight leggings and to generally downplay the sex appeal.  All this due to "patient complaints".   Really?  Patient complaints?  Who complained?  The story doesn't name any.  But if there really were complaints what makes me think the complainers were named Mohammed or Aariz or Afreen.

Welcome to the new regime.  

Are you ready for your rectal, Infidel? 

"Driving down the freeway of love in a pink cadillac."


This story doesn't make much sense but it gives me a chance to comment on having sex while driving so I'll take it.  Some drunk got in an accident with a cab driver and is now being sued.  The complaint states that the driver was having sex as well as driving drunk.  There was a woman in the car (not charged) and another passenger (male) was also in the car.  To add to the cluster fuck it's claimed that the shit faced defendant was "partially or totally in the back seat of the car" when the accident occurred at 85 miles per hour.  I'll have to let a jury sort this one out.  (Could this possibly have been a threesome?)

In my experience with driving sex, and I've had my share, I've learned a few simple rules.  Read and learn, rookies.  Keep your sex to a digital or oral enterprise.  (Giving or getting.)   Cowgirl position (straight or reverse) behind the wheel is not recommended.  Doggie is impossible, so don't even try it.  Also, it's a good idea to keep your blood alcohol content below .20.  Inhibitions reduced, but reflexes still sharp as a tack.  Keep your activity confined to long, straight country type roads.  You may find your eyes glazing over or shutting completely during climax so always keep an assured clear distance from other vehicles.  Avoiding the city routes will keep you from running into litigious taxi drivers or lamp poles.  Enjoy yourself but always be safe!

Pulling over to the side of the road 

 defeats the purpose of driving sex. 

For maximum excitement always drive 

at least 10 miles over the speed limit. 

h/t Judy Leach

How can we make the bereaved even more unhappy?

Be on the lookout for cemetery car boosters. 

Hopefully the cops are staking out local 

carry out chicken joints that take credit cards. 

Well, for one thing how about stalking funerals at a cemetery and boosting credit cards from family cars while the occupants are grieving at graveside?  Police in Cheltenham, Pennsylvania are looking for two hefty ladies who were caught on security video using the stolen cards.  This is a new wrinkle on the old read the obituaries to find out who isn't going to be home robbery scam.  Can we all agree these skeevy broads are about as low as you can get?

Meanwhile, Jennie Spooner, a Long Island, NY woman was traveling hither and yon with her dad's cremated remains.  Taking them to his favorite lake, flying them away on a kite, and dusting them on a dinosaur at the Museum of Natural History.  Quite a peripatetic memorial service, I must say.  Just when Jennie was about to grace Coney Island with some of pop's ashes she noticed some debris that was mixed with the remains.   This included pieces of bone, metal staples, ballpoint pen springs, glass shards and a half melted crucifix that wasn't even his.  Of course, she called the state authorities and got a lawyer and is threatening to sue.

  Yes.  This is what you look like before you go into the grinder. 

Here's the deal.  The crematory did a shit job of grinding and sifting the remains.  It also sounds like they don't sweep the retorts properly between cremations.  You are going to get some bone fragments and occasionally I'll find some dental wire when I'm transferring cremains to another urn.  It happens.  Is this grounds (tee hee) for a major lawsuit?  No.  If it were me I'd refund the cost of the cremation and call it a day.

On a side note:  I don't know about New York, but the State of California frowns on people walking around willy-nilly dumping their loved ones cremains all over the place.  It's not that it's unsanitary, it's just a little unseemly.  Other folks might not want to take a walk in the sand of Coney Island that's now mixed with your dad, is what I'm saying.  I'm surprised that the Division of Cemeteries didn't bring that to Jennie's attention when she dropped the dime on the funeral home.

Pissed off woman sues ex-fiancee after fall. 

Michelle Egglestone.  

I bet she wasn't smiling after her fence pole colonoscopy. 

Michelle Egglestone of South Ballarat, Australia has sued her ex-fiancee, Leslie Furness, for injuries sustained in a fall from his veranda in November of 2008.  She fell onto a fence that injured her so severely that she required surgeries to repair the tears to her rectum, bladder, vagina and colon.  Ouch.   She claims that there was inadequate balustrade to prevent the fall and no protective capping on the fence onto which she landed.

Well, sounds like quite a case.  Too bad Gloria Allred is unavailable now that she is specializing in pornstars "featured dancers".  A woman has been injured!!  By a man's negligence!!  Oh, one small detail I left out.  Michelle was taking a piss off the balcony when she took the header.  (Or the ass-er, in this case)  Now, if Mr. Furness's neglect of proper building codes includes giving his chick too much beer with no proper place to unload her tinkle, I think I see a case here.  If not, wouldn't a sane jury decide that perhaps Ms. Eggleston's ass and pussy impaling was avoidable by...oh, I don't know...FINDING THE BATHROOM AND DOING HER POTTY BUSINESS LIKE A LADY INSTEAD OF DROPPING HER PANTIES AND PISSING OFF THE BALCONY LIKE A SKANK!

If you want to safely take a piss off a balcony it helps to be a man.  At least that's my humble opinion.

Drunken tramp demonstrates proper safety for an outdoor whizz. 

Always make sure you have a firm handhold. 

Maybe he wanted to give your seat a sniff.

Jasmijn Rijcken. Cute and fit. 

But is she too dangerous for the road? 

I'm calling bullshit on this story but what the hell.  Jasmjin Rijcken, 31, a Dutch bike company general manager was supposedly pulled over by a NYPD cop for wearing too sexy an outfit while out biking around the city.   She claims he told her, "it's very disturbing and it's distracting the cars and it's dangerous".  The cop didn't give her a ticket, nor did she get his name.  As NYPD Commissioner Paul Browne said: "Whether this story bears even a modest semblance of what actually occurred is impossible to establish without being provided the purported officer's name and getting his side of the story."

Exactimundo, Commissioner.  If the incident did happen I suspect it was just one of New York's finest trying hit on a hot little tourist on a bicycle.  Not exactly news, happens every day in every big city in America, I'm sure.  If it didn't happen I would suspect this is Jasmijn's effort to get her picture in the paper, plug her company's product during the bike show she was attending, and having a story to tell back home.

Mission accomplished.

 Now this is a view that would cause a major pile up. 

Died Yesterday:

Clarence Clemons aka "The Big Man"

Saxophonist/Vocalist 

January 11, 1942 - June 18, 2011

(Age 69)

The Big Man

Clarence Clemons passed away last night and the heart of the E Street Band stopped beating.  Clarence Clemons hooked up with Bruce Springsteen in 1971 giving The E Street Band a distinctive sound and texture that blended perfectly with the heartfelt working class songs of The Boss.  Check out the solos on "Thunder Road" and "Born to Run" to see what I mean.

I saw Springsteen and the E Street Band three times during their late 70's to late 80's heyday.  Fantastic (and long) three hour shows that left you drained and energized at the same time.  Rock and Roll at its finest.  The interplay between The Boss, The Big Man and the rest of the band was so genuine and playful that it truly gave the audience the feeling they were invited to one huge frat party.  Fun times.

Clarence Clemons also played with Jackson Browne, Aretha Franklin (amazing sax solo on "Freeway of Love") and most recently on Lady Gaga's Born This Way album.

Relevant and rockin' up to the end, Clarence Clemons died of complications from a stroke suffered last Sunday.

RIP

Weiner Pulls Out: America ejaculates and sighs in relief.

That's it.  Lights out.  The circus is packing up the tent as the star attraction goes into retirement.  Our long (tee hee) national nightmare is over.

Anthony, Anthony, Anthony. 

This is one you should have phoned in. 

I'm wondering.  Is there a law somewhere that when a disgraced figure is forced to resign he has to do it publicly?  Because if there isn't why the fuck would Anthony Weiner get up in front of the cameras one more time?  Has his humiliation not been enough yet?  He even thanked his parents and mentioned his brother by name.  Ouch, thanks for the shout out, Bro.  How about this?  A simple statement read by a staffer as his final duty before he hits the unemployment line.  "I hereby resign my position as the Representative of the ninth district of New York in the United States House of Representatives.  Effective Immediately.  I have been proud to serve you.  Thank you and God bless America."  Period.  Wouldn't that have been better?

If Weiner had done it my way, he would have been spared the heckling from the Howard Stern whack pack.  "Pervert!" and "Are you more than 7 inches?" and "Are you fully erect right now?"  Holy shit, even I cringed a bit at the pile-on.  Weiner denied himself a low-key dignified exit because he can't stay away from those damn cameras.  (Silly me.  Dignified, low-key, Anthony Weiner and cameras in the same sentence.  What the hell am I thinking?)  At least he didn't pull out his turgid dick and cup his balls as a crowning farewell.  And thank God he didn't have the little wifey standing there with him looking like someone in a hostage video.  Speaking of Huma, how would you like to have been a fly on the wall when she got home?  Can you imagine the sick feeling in the pit of Anthony's stomach when he saw those headlights as she turned in the driveway.

One of the stupidest things I've heard from women commentators on the subject of Anthony Weiner goes something like this, "Why would he do something so stupid and so reckless?  His wife Huma is so beautiful and accomplished."  Are women really that dumb when it comes to male sexuality?  Axiom #1.  It doesn't have to be better.  It just has to be different.  (Even stipulating that Anthony Weiner is not sexually normal, has severe exhibitionist tendencies and god only knows what other kinds of kink.)

One last thing somewhat off the topic.  I was watching some of the pre-game anticipation and time killing banter on Fox News this morning.  Kirsten Powers was on the phone to comment on the upcoming news conference.  She's a good looking liberal chick, but not necessarily a party line spouting Kool-Aid drinker.  She's also pretty smart and a columnist for the New York Post and a Fox News contributor.  And, in case you didn't know, she dated The Weiner for 3 months, so she knows him and can probably answer the "more than 7 inches" question.  So here is the howler that came from the yap of Kirsten Powers.  She was commenting on how his behavior was so disrespectful to women, bordering on sexual harassment and in the case of Ginger Lee, (Paraphrasing) "Just because she's a pornstar/stripper doesn't mean she deserved to be talked to this way, because she genuinely seemed to be interested in politics."  What she is referring to is Weiner talking about his "package" in his emails with the pornstar.

Putting aside the "normal" women the congressman was trolling, let's focus on the pornstar since Kirsten Powers brought her up to accent the sexual harassment aspect.   OK.  I'm about the take the giant leap into the big muddy puddle of political incorrectness.  Kirsten.  Dear, dear Kirsten. You've apparently sucked up so much feminist theory that you've learned nothing about men.  (I once told Mrs. Funeral Guy, "If you broads ever figure out what we men are really thinking, you'll run screaming from the room.")

I'm going to make this really simple.  Anthony Weiner finds out that a pornstar is following him on Twitter.  (Yes, I know that she and her harpy attorney Gloria Allred erased the pornstar appellation and now go with "featured dancer".  Puhleeze.)  Ginger Lee wants to play policy wonk with the congressman.  Anthony Weiner is a man and a horny, creepy one to boot.  I'm sure he Googled Ginger Lee and caught a few video performances.  I sure have.  Now Ginger Lee chose her occupation.  Much like you chose yours, Kirsten.  If I followed you on Twitter I would be expecting serious political discourse.  If I followed Ginger Lee, I would be expecting sexual intercourse discourse.  It's like this.  When you choose as your profession a job in which you suck cock, take cock up the ass, and ride cock reverse cowgirl in front of a camera, can you really be surprised when a male wants to talk to you about his cock?  The male brain processes a pornstar and thinks whore, which strictly defined she is.  She fucks not for love but for money.  To an Anthony Weiner (and most men, frankly) Ginger Lee isn't a person, she's a pornstar.  She certainly deserves basic human rights such as the right not to be raped or harassed on the street for being a pornstar, but from the male population she ain't gonna get respect for her brain and her opinions on political issues.  My point is, you can't bone three guys, look into a camera and lick cum off your fingers, then expect men to want discuss health care policy with you.  Does this come as a shock?  When you purposely present yourself to the world in a certain way, don't be offended when the world takes you for what you've presented.  It's like when a person covers his face with tattoos, has huge piercings all over his body then when he gets the inevitable gawking he screams, "Hey, what the fuck are you looking at?"

I've gone a little far afield here, I know.  I have to admit that I almost felt sorry for The Weiner today.  I don't think I've ever seen somebody crash and burn so spectacularly in my life.  God knows I've had a really fun time writing about this with my schadenfreude level at Defcon 1.  At the same time, I'm a sympathetic person.  (Hey, stop laughing.  I'm in the sympathy business.)  The problem for Anthony Weiner was that the guy was such an asshole even his own party didn't like him much.  He was so inclined to ascribe bad motives to those who didn't agree with his left wing politics, that at the end, those on the other side couldn't help but watch his flameout with a certain amount of glee.

So.  What will become of The Weiner?  I just heard on the news that Larry Flynt is offering him a job.  Sounds like a good fit to me.  And by hanging around with Larry Flynt he might run into Ginger Lee.  They could talk politics.  Or whatever.

Is this Downview Prison or the Grotto at the Playboy Mansion?

I watch a lot of British movies and some TV series.  I particularly like the police procedurals and the Brit gangster flicks.  They're just so different.  In the Hollywood version the hero cop will throw some asshole perp to the ground and stick a Glock in his mouth while shouting about blowing his fucking head off.  The police across the pond are always kinder and gentler.  Taking the bad guy down to the station to help with their inquiry.  The prisons over there always seemed a little lax as well.  For me?  I like to see criminal douchebags rot in a nasty place like Pelican Bay.

Downview Prison is a women's jail in Sutton, Surrey, England.  But for Acting Governor Russell Thorne and his horny toady Officer Simon Dykes, it was their own personal poontang prison with sex, booze and lesbian shows for the tawdry turnkeys.  (By the way, how cool is it that a women's prison guard is man named Dykes?)

 Russell Thorne. 

Only a complete goober buttons 

all three buttons on his suit jacket. 

Simon Dykes. 

This guy looks like a total dick, doesn't he? 

It all started in 2006 when a comely convict caught the eye of Thorne who was the head (tee hee) of the prison.  A little flirting turned to kissing then it was on to the desk for a right shagging.  Servicing the boss does have it's rewards and soon the jailbird jezebel had the run of Thorne's office along with gifts of makeup, weekend releases and Red Bull and vodka.  It then followed that another tart joined the fun for threesomes and lesbian shows.  Everybody in the whole cellblock was boning to the jailhouse rock.

Officer Dykes contributed to this fuckery by positioning his office on the way to the showers.  The female prisoners had to pass his door clad in towels or robes like contestants in a beauty contest subjecting themselves to his lecherous gaze and slobbering leer.  When Dykes saw one that satisfied his fancy he would stop them for a chat, then into the office for a grope, a groan and a knob polish.

Testimony provided by the felonious floozies painted the picture of Thorne as "romantic" in his approach and Dykes as a "predator".   A ploy as old a police work itself.  It's known as good cock, bad cock.

I want to know who in the hell thought it was a good idea to put men in charge of a jail filled with bad news broads.  Can't see what could possibly go wrong with that scenario.  When you have a women's prison you're supposed to have a tall blonde warden who's a little butch but still hot.  The guards?  Tight uniforms and hot.  The prisoners?  All scantily clad and totally hot.  Didn't the movies Caged Heat or Jackson County Jail ever play in Great Britain?

The story describes the women as "mentally vulnerable", but I'm wondering how much of this was coercion and how much was play the man in charge for favors in exchange for sex.  The trial continues.

I couldn't help myself.  Ladies and Gentlemen, a classic of the women's prison movie genre.  Warning: some nudity (like that's going to scare you off).  Also bad acting and pre-breast implant sag.