Bill Burr on Pedophiles
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“You can ask the people around me. I don’t give up…and it’s not out of frustration and desperation that I say I don’t give up. I don’t give up because I don’t give up. I don’t believe in it.”
– Johnny Cash
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1. While serving a one-to-two year sentence in a Pennsylvania prison, I received thirty days in the hole for cooking with hot water in my cell. I went to the yard for exercise, and was approached by an inmate serving a double life sentence. Threatening me with a homemade knife, he told me that I would do as he said or he would kill me. Without moving, I told him that I was not into having sex with guys. He pulled the knife to my neck and said, “Today you’re going to be into it.” He grabbed my jumpsuit and tried to rip the buttons off of it. I said, “Come on, don’t.” But he responded, “Don’t you want to see your kids again?” He held the knife to my side as he ripped the jumpsuit off of me, sending it down around my ankles.
The other inmates on the yard just watched as the man raped me. As the knife sliced into my side and I began to cry, he told me to shut up or he’d kill me. That part of the yard was not visible from the guard towers, and there was no guard outside watching the yard. When the man finished, he said that if I told on him, he’d kill me.
I lay in my bed for about five hours after the assault. Then, two guards came to take me to the security office. An inmate who saw what happened had reported the rape. The security lieutenant asked me if I had indeed been raped that morning in the yard. I nodded my head, yes, and the lieutenant told the two guards to take me into the room and examine me. One guard said there was blood and that I was ripped open, but that it wasn’t anything unusual. I was never taken to medical or examined by a doctor.
The guards moved the inmate who assaulted me to the hole. The security lieutenant told me that the inmate had received a misconduct, but that suing or pressing charges would make the papers and would be embarrassing for me.
The next day, the inmate who reported the assault came to my cell. He told me that he would protect me in return for my giving him sexual favors. He said he had helped me by telling, and that if I didn’t do as he demanded, he would have my assailant brought back over to kill me — he had that kind of pull. I said that I just wanted to go home to be with my kids and make it out alive. I had no choice but to have sex with him.
I found out later that the man who raped me had done it several time before. I will never forget November 5, 1989. It was snowing that day. I love the snow. I try to forget what happened, but I can’t.
2. I’m a 28 yr. old black male. I first came to prison at the age of 19 yrs. old. I was place in a max joint. Now at that time i wgt. maybe 128 pd. soak and wet. Well anyway i was given four ears for breaking itno someone house. I was place in the max. joint and put in a cell with another young kid he was white….Other prisoners…would bug me everyday for sex which i refuse to do with them. About a month after being in the joint i came back to my cell after working….I walk in my cell and it was full with black guys and my cellie was on his knees sucking them off. I should of got the fuck out of there but i didn’t. The next thing i knew i was hit in the face by someone when i turn to run i was grab by the back and they started beatting the crap out of me. Then i was told to strip which i did and they threw me on the bed and someone got on top of me and ram his dick in me i scream from the pain of it what a fucken mistake i ended up getting my face pound in for it. Then each one of them took turns fucking me. They kept beatting the crap out of me at the same time Hell i wasn’t even screaming and they hit me. Well then someone ram him dick in my mouth and i choke on it but they didn’t care. I had to suck him off and one by one they either fuck me in the ass or ram there cock down my throat or both. Than one of them decide to piss in my mouth and told me i better drink it or else so i did. Then more guys kept coming in and out my cell doing the same shit. I lost count of who was doing what. Then when i thought it was over they started in on my cellie beatting the crap out of him too. I kept getting kick in the face and punch for no fucken reason….Then i pass out and when i came to they was gone.I couldn’t moe but i was on the floor in my cell next to my cellie. He was crying…We just ball up together holding each other. I wasn’t sure if it was i couldn’t move or i was to scare to move but i stay like that til the officer’s did count….I told him we need to go to the hospital he said what the fuck you say faggot I told him again and i said we was rape. He started laughing saying yea right. Hell there was blood all over us and t he cell but this cop thinks i’m lieing. I told him to call the Lt. but he wouldn’t….Than when i woke up i had a [male] nurse over me calling my name. I got scare and jump back and start screaming Don’t touch me please don’t hurt me no more….Than i talk to the warden he act like i was lieing for he kept asking me who did it. I said i don’t know…So he order them to take me to the hole. I stay in the hole for two weeks. [then was sent] back in the hospital…..The officer’s kept laughing saying come on tell us the truth you wanted it you didn’t get rape. I couldn’t take it so i just kept quiet and tried to block them out. Than the next day this female cpt. came to see me. She never ask me what happen she just sat there next to me saying she understood. I started crying and she held my hand and i told her no one will believe me that they all believe i wanted it. I said ask my cellie he would tell you what happen. Thats when i foudn out my cellie was dead he kill his self over it…..I keep feeling if only i gave t hem what they wanted in the first place this would never happen.
I still cry so much over it and wish i could die.
I meet guys all the time now whos been rape and its unreal. The storys may be defference but one thing all of us has and thats the kowledge that we didn’t ask to be rape….I still perform sexual acts but not cause i want to or i enjoyu it I do it out of fear of being gang rape again… Se xuse to be a pleasure now its a way to survive for me. Before i came to prison i always felt only females get rape boy was i wrong. Now i know the pain they go through. It’s more mental and emotional than anything else. I feel the only reason the courts and outside world doesn’t want to get involve is cause no one wants to hear the truth. Everyone turns therre head and clsose there ear until it happens to them.
I have forgiven them it’s forgiving myself I can’t seem to do. A man lost his life at the hands of some sick people who wanted to get there rocks off and show they’re bigger than he was….How i almost took my life over it. Many people say they would have to kill me before i ever get fuck. Thats a lie they only say it cause they’ve never been there.
I know deep down the rape wasn’t my fault but knowing it and really feeling it is two different things. I fight everyday the pain i feel inside and the things i go through. What bothers me most is i fine myself shaking all over at times and i cry a lot when i think of the rape.
I have not been rape since then. Well not in a painful way anyway. The only reason why is cause when a black comes at me with it i get to scare to say no and just do what he wants to get it over with. I’ve tried to say no one time to these guys but they just laugh at me….So i got scare and just did it i didn’t want to go through what i went through before….then i end up feeling dirty and guilty afterwards.
– Lorne E.Williams, Menard, Illinois
3. I was raped by a prisoner while serving a one-year sentence in a Massachusetts jail. I froze the moment I was touched. Suddenly, I was five years old again, unable to move. At age 43, I never considered being raped. I was 295 pounds — strong and able to fight. But my past trauma had a say in the matter; PTSD prevailed over the instinct to survive. The prisoner pushed me into a chair, then overpowered and raped me. All I recall is crying and begging over and over, “Stop, please don’t!” I went to sleep, believing in my mind that it did not happen.
The next day, I awoke to find the same prisoner sexually assaulting me. Again unable to react, I managed to say, “Please don’t. Please stop.” Crying, I looked at him and asked, “Why are you torturing me?” He replied, “Torturing you? I’m not torturing you. You are enjoying it.” And then he jumped off.
I lay there for hours, unable to move. When I finally focused, I decided that I was going to kill myself. I put a plastic bag over my head and the perpetrator returned. He took over and tightened the bag, cutting off my air. Now a suicide would look like murder, and I did not want to die that way. He told me that no one would believe anything I said about him. Then he released the bag.
Later, a corrections officer found me in the fetal position under the table. I was questioned and, recalling the threat, told him I had been exercising. He dropped it.
I told a trusted friend what had happened, and then 10 days later I had the courage to tell the jail’s Catholic priest. Well, all hell broke out. Priests in jail do not have to maintain confidentiality. My room was locked down. Every item I had was confiscated and held for approximately 20 days, pending investigation. All linen and clothing had been washed twice, leaving no evidence, and the fact that I had taken at least 10 showers did not help.
I felt alone, frightened, unsupported, scared, and confused. For a month, though alone in my cell, I slept fully clothed. I questioned what I did to cause this to happen. I lost 60 pounds in three months. Now I can’t stop eating. I go from compassion to hate in seconds. To say I’m better is a far cry from how I feel. I’m not better and I’m about to be released with no support at all, except from God.
4. Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.
What most people don’t understand is that rape in prison isn’t like it is on the outside. It’s not random or chaotic. It’s planned and methodical. It’s business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn’t dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.
Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me “Coco.” When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn’t comply.
When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had “bought” me. That’s when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates — white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.
I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn’t matter. They told me to “fight or fuck.” The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn’t face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.
At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.
I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I’m getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I’m always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.
Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn’t have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.
5. I’ve always been gay, but I’ve never been overtly effeminate. Coming from a family of several positive male role models, I never had to hide who I was, so I never did.
Like everyone, I had heard the stories about men being “turned out” in prison. As I was being booked into Orleans Parish Prison in November of 2004, I realized I was a target.
During the processing I was placed in a holding cell with nearly fifty other prisoners.
I was terrified going into the cell. So I found a quiet spot on the floor in the corner. I sat with my knees in and my arms folded with my head down, so I’m not sure how they knew I was gay. Still, a man sat next to me and put his arm around me. I attempted to spring up but another man stood over me and forcefully pushed me back down by my shoulders.
“You ain’t fighting back, is you, sweetness?” he said. I looked at him in horror as tears welled up in my eyes. The man who was standing exposed himself while the other aggressively forced me to give his friend oral sex. Out of fear, I performed oral sex on them both. Even with several people in the cell, no one said or did anything. I don’t know why I expected them to do anything.
I was too petrified to fight back. I was too embarrassed to ask for help. I just complied. This was my first time in jail and, as a scrawny 23-year-old, I was afraid to do anything but obey. Besides the original two, I was intimidated into performing oral sex on two other men. During the acts, I mentally dissociated. I pushed that night so far back into my head that it’s hard for me to even remember the faces of the men. Yet I very much remember the feelings of fright and trepidation.
After that first night I was placed on a dormitory style tier with about 30 other inmates. It was three ten-man “cuts” with a two man shower in the far back. It was not long before the other inmates discovered that I was gay. During my first few hours there, I didn’t see two men take a shower together. That all changed when I went to take mine.
A man entered the shower with me and ordered me to face the wall or he would “break my fucking neck.” This man was literally twice my size and so I faced the wall without question. I felt his hand on me and I tried to move away. He ordered me not to move as he sexually assaulted me. I cried silently.
I was repeatedly sexually and physically assaulted in the shower. I never felt so much shame, embarrassment, and humiliation in my life. I felt degraded and low. The feeling of worthlessness was only amplified when the first man who assaulted me in the shower sold me to another inmate for $20 in commissary items. I became his “ho.” This meant that I was his property and available to him for sex at his beck and call or risk being “put in a ho’s place.”
It was enslavement. I had been bought and sold. With the threat of more violence, I was intimidated into giving up my manhood. I was raped repeatedly. I was used to pay off my “husband’s” gambling debts. I was forced to act like a woman. I was forced to grow my hair and nails and shave all the hair off of my face. I had to arch my eyebrows and wear my clothes two sizes smaller to appear feminine. I had to talk soft and never raise or put bass in my voice. I was forced to wear a tucker — a handmade garment that pulls the genitals back, giving the illusion that the penis is not there — all the time. It is excruciatingly painful. It is punishment for being a man. This was the most demeaning thing aside from the actual sexual assaults.
The forced enslavement and sexual assaults permanently altered my life and my perception about everything. I became disassociated and depressed. I lost touch with reality. I lost my sexual identity and began referring to myself as “she” and “her.” I often do not see myself as a man. I began to take offense at being called “he.”
I still have nightmares and have trouble sleeping because of that gruesome time. I have been suicidal. My psychological stability has been taken away. My self-worth and self-esteem are non-existent.
Hopelessness, depression, and utter despair are constantly overwhelming and abundant. I have hated myself. I have lost myself and forgotten who I was. I have not forgiven myself for doing nothing. I regret not fighting back more. My life has been permanently altered and I am only in jail for check fraud.
I often hear that homosexuals just love being in jail. That it is akin to a kid in a candy store. That cliché is so far from the truth. When I choose to be with someone, it’s personal and intimate. Being raped is anything but. Jail is a nightmare for anyone. But for a gay man — the target of sexual assaults — it is pure hell.
– Rodney, Louisiana
6. Having read the literature sent to me I can help some of the first timers to prepare for their stay within prison. I know that I can’t do it all myself, but they say the first step is the easiest way to get to the end of a long road.
When I first came to prison [at 16] I tried to stay to myself and do my own time. I held other inmates in check for a while, but the perrsure started to build up. I was at Cummins Unit…and another inmate came in my cell and demanded that I service him sexually. I told him I just wanted to be left alone. He kept on demanding that I service him and he hit me and called me a “Bitch”. He pulled out a razor and when I saw it I pushed him against the wall. He drop the razor…I ended up cutting his throat and jaw….For the first 2½ to 3 years I had to fight to keep from being “turned out.”
I got tired of fighting all the time. I started to look for a partner to “hook up” with. Someone to look out after me. A “Man” as well as a friend. Someone to talk to. I did not know the first thing about being a “Boy”….After about a year we are still hooked up.
You were right about when you said that over time that you start to develop feels for the person you are hooked up with. I did. I am only 20 years old.
The administration within the Arkansas Department of Corrections does alot to also add to the perrsure. For example, if a…first timer does something that “Rocks the Boat” against the administration they will put him in a barracks or block that is for trouble makers. He is almost certain to be rape or is made to hook up with someone that he know nothing about. And the only way he can go to P.C. (Protective Custody) is if he is raped or beat up real bad.
Rapes happen about one two per week in each prison within Arkansas. Those…are only the ones reported to the administration. There are many more rapes that they never hear about because the victims are threaten to keep the mouths closed.
Your handout on hooking up [protective pairing] is very good. It is very informative…..If I would have read it before I got my time it would have made my time easier.
When I first came to the [juvenile] penitentiary I had at least one fight a day. When a confrontation would come my way it would scare me half to death. I felt like a cat trapped in a corner…I would fight to cover my fear up….I could not show the inmates any other parts of myself. I was finally transferred to an adult prison I told myself that I was not going to fight no more. [After the cut throat incident] they locked me up in Administrative Segregation in a two man cell with a dude a hell of alot bigger than me….The next thing I know he was rubbing my arms and back. I was uncomfortable with this but was afraid to say anything. Needless to say, with grease he fucked my ass. It hurt real bad.
On the streets I only mess with girls….I learned that it is easeir to adapt to the role as a punk instead of fight it. My `life’ is a hell of alot easier now. When I first started out as a punk I had mixed feeling. I was angry at myself for becoming a punk when I fought so hard not to become one. Gradually as time when on I became more able to cope with these feelings. I was able to start ignoring what people said.
I would like to write inmates in other prisons that have been through the same experiences and that have adapted to prison life as punks….I realize some of them have no one to write to that can understand them and won’t put them down for being punks.
When the inmates here sending request to the chaplain or the “shrink” we never get an answer back….Being a punk means I can show my feelings. I don’t have to hide them. I do care for people….At one point I had a boy and I “played the man role.” But anyway that’s the past. Sometimes I sit back and think to myself “I am a man and I am letting another man put his dick in my ass.” But the closeness, intimacy and the touch are things to be tressured in prison.
– G.H., Arkansas.
7.
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My grandpa suffered from alzheimers in his later years. It never really affected me since it seemed lke the funny kind of Alzheimer’s. A lot of "oh grandpa moments!" like when he can’t remember how to tie his shoes or how to use the microwave.
After a while though it started getting worse. He couldn’t recognize my voice over the phone for example. But there was one moment that made me realize how far gone my grandfather was.
He picked up a framed picture of him and my grandmother who had passed away four years prior. He stared at it blankly and I lightheartedly asked "You like that picture, eh, grandpa?"
He paused before replying "Who are these people?
I froze my grandfather couldn’t remember what his wife of fifty-four years looked like. He couldn’t remember what HE looked like.
I said "Grandpa, that’s you and grandma. Don’t you remember?
Again, he paused and then he began to cry and said choking on his tears "No, no I don’t remember! I can’t remember! Why can’t l remember?"
"It’s the Alzheimer’s, Grandpa. You’re losing your memories a-"
"Alzheimer’s I don’t care, I lived a life, I worked hard, I existed! I should know it, shouldn’t I?"
There was a long pause before he muttered "I’m scared."
"Of What?"
"I don’t want to die."
We cried for hours.
“The first findings made in Denke’s house during the search were bones and pieces of meat. The latter were in a salt solution found in a wooden drum. There were altogether fifteen pieces with skin. Two parts of the breast, which is strongly hairy. The torso is cut through the middle, three fingers above the navel. Its lateral limit is the front shoulder blade. In the piece of the anterior abdominal wall, the middle of the navel is visible. The remaining pieces belong to the side and back parts. The largest is about forty by twenty centimeters large. Particularly striking was a very clean anus with both buttocks.
The meat is brownish red and does not feel as if the body would have lost much blood. On the back some soft-bluish discoloration is visible as well as livor mortis, which leads to the conclusion that the disassembly of the body took place several hours after death.
There is no evidence of vital reaction of the bodies to the cuts made, which means that the latter were not made while the victims were still alive. Nevertheless some skin and muscles from the necks were missing, as well as extremities [arms and legs], head and sexual organs. Lesions could not be determined, nor the nature of death or the tool of crime.
In three medium-sized pots filled with cream sauce, some cooked meat, partially covered with skin and human hair was found. The meat was pink and soft. All pieces seemed cut from the gluteal area [buttocks]. One pot had only half a portion. Denke must have eaten the other piece short before being arrested”.
Highly recommend the new Ken Burns Vietnam documentary. You can watch it on the PBS website for free.
The troops fired on the Hassan family car when it unwittingly approached them during a dusk patrol in the tense northern Iraqi town. Parents Hussein and Camila Hassan were killed instantly, and a son Rakan, 11, was seriously wounded in the abdomen. Rakan, paralyzed from the waist down, was treated later in the U.S. “The family was given $7,500 in compensation by the U.S. military and eventually Rakan was transported to Boston, Mass. for intensive treatment for his wounds,” as the book’s editor’s notes reveal. “[The] effort [was] sparked by constituent mail to Sen. Kennedy (D-Mass) after the public saw Hondros’ photos.” Rakan was able to walk again and returned home, but sadly he died amidst the ongoing violence in Iraq in 2008.
A Hutu man at a Red Cross hospital, his face mutilated by the Hutu ‘Interahamwe’ militia, who suspected him of sympathizing with the Tutsi rebels. The animosity between the Hutu and Tutsi population groups in Rwanda had been simmering for decades. In April, the death of Hutu president Habyarimana in a plane crash near the capital of Kigali sparked murderous attacks on the Tutsi minority and Hutu moderates. The situation deteriorated further when the mainly Tutsi rebels of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) started pushing south from their stronghold in northern Rwanda. A mass exodus of people trying to escape excessive violence was underway by July.
Frank Embree, in Fayette, Missouri was accused of assaulting a white girl named Miss Willie Dougherty. A mob of over a thousand people captured him, and he was taken to the scene of the crime, where he was asked to make a statement. His persistent refusal to admit his involvement angered the mob, and he was stripped of his clothing, and half-a-dozen men whipped him over and over using buggy whips. Each lash opened the skin, and the blood trickled down.
He never winced. He gazed abstractedly into the faces of the crowd, and never uttered a word. Twice he fell, either from exhaustion, or in the hope of ending his agony by breaking his neck. He was given 103 fearful lashes, and then allowed to sit down. Again he was questioned, but he still maintained his innocence.
He was made to stand up again, and he was whipped once more. Embree’s sense of feeling had returned, and he screamed for mercy.
Promising to tell all, he told the crowd that if they would not torture him any more, and would not burn him, but instead would either shoot or hang him, he would make a confession. Embree then acknowledged that he had assaulted Miss Dougherty. Without further delay, he was hanged and his lifeless, battered and bleeding body was left on display for hours
An Iraqi man comforts his 4-year-old son at a holding center for prisoners of war, in the base camp of the US Army 101st Airborne Division near An Najaf. The boy had become terrified when, according to orders, his father was hooded and handcuffed. A US soldier later severed the plastic handcuffs so that the man could comfort his child. Hoods were placed over detainees’ heads because they were quicker to apply than blindfolds. The military said the bags were used to disorient prisoners and protect their identities. It is not known what happened to the man or the boy.
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Seven Days Of Heroin: This Is What An Epidemic Looks Like – Cincinnati
Workout recovery tips that actually work – The Art Of Manliness
Sex In Prison 101 – The Concourse
Trump threatens to pull FEMA from Puerto Rico – ABC
Do These 5 Emotionally Intelligent Things Within 5 Minutes Of Meeting Someone – Fast Company
How to Be Mindful in an Argument – NY Times
Pictures of Mail order brides with their husbands – Leenks
Man who raped 12-year-old awarded joint custody of her child – Yahoo
Lais Ribeiro’s Victoria’s Secret Birthday Party – Drunken Stepfather
The crazy, true story of the birth of the Warriors’ historic offense – ESPN
How To Fix Your Fatigue (Do This Once A Day) – Gundry MD
Hot Pictures Of Tessa Fowler – Lurk And Perv
“I’m going to work until I die” : The new reality of old age in America – Washington Post
The world’s first “negative emissions” plant has begun operation—turning carbon dioxide into stone – Quartz
The Life and Death of a Career Snitch and Scammer – VICE
These girls are generous with the cleavage – Radass
My Mother Is a Gambling Addict – The Billfold
Colorado’s 2017 marijuana sales reach $1 billion in just eight months – The Cannabist
Texas inmates pool commissary funds to donate $53,000 to Hurricane Harvey relief – Fox News
British ISIS recruiter Sally-Anne Jones ‘killed by drone’ – BBC
Get a new watch to KEEP every month! – WatchGang
Lea Michele Totally Topless? Yes Please! – Popoholic
HIIT Is The Science-Backed Workout That Can Slash Your Exercise Time – Curiosity
Should Your Daughter Join the Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts? – Life Hacker
Watch David Gilmour Play the Songs of Syd Barrett, with the Help of David Bowie & Richard Wright – Open Culture
Bitcoin surges past $5,300 – Business Insider
The Hardcore Last Words of 10 Famous Killers – Grumpy Sloth
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Decide in your heart of hearts what really excites and challenges you, and start moving your life in that direction. Every decision you make, from what you eat to what you do with your time tonight, turns you into who you are tomorrow, and the day after that. Look at who you want to be, and start sculpting yourself into that person. You may not get exactly where you thought you’d be, but you will be doing things that suit you in a profession you believe in. Don’t let life randomly kick you into the adult you don’t want to become.
– Chris Hadfield
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93-year-old Louise Edlen has been waving to this school bus full of lively children for the last 5 years from her little dining room window.
She doesn’t know their names, but she knows their faces. Each morning she waits for their smiles, and she eagerly anticipates their waves back in her direction.
They also don’t know Louise, but according to these students, she’s “part of the family.”
The morning wave has truly become the Arlington school bus No.7’s tradition, so much so, that the kids panicked when they drove by one morning and didn’t see “grandma in the window.”
The bus driver, Carol Mitzelfeld, discovered that Louise had a stroke, and she passed the tragic news onto her students who were seriously worried about their window-waving friend.
One 7th grader, Axtin Bandewerfhorst, told KING 5 News, “Carol was telling us that a lot of times she doesn’t remember her daughter’s name, but she always remembers to wave to the kids on the bus. That made me feel really special.”
Along with the help of Carol, the students decided to surprise Louise in the hospital with flowers.
Louise was overwhelmed with the heartwarming gesture from the kids she barely knew.
Because she couldn’t be there to greet them the next morning, she put up this sign instead.
“That made me really smile,” said 10th grader, Cheyanne Holt. “It shows how much we mean to her.”
So in response, they made this adorable panorama picture of the bus showing them waving to Louise. They decided to bring the bus to her, since she couldn’t come to them.
“This is from the kids. They miss you and want you to get better,” Carol told Louise.
Since the stroke, it’s been very difficult for Louise to talk, but she did manage to respond: “I miss, them too. I’m trying to get better.”
Her husband Dave said seeing the kids on the bus “is everything in the world to her.”
The story of Louise reminds us to never underestimate just how big the little things can really be. The smiles. The waves. The pats on the shoulder. The simple gestures.
You don’t always have to talk to have a soul connection.
These kids and the “grandma in the window” shared a bond that a thousand words couldn’t do justice.
And it all started with one little wave…
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Adrian Wellock lost his sense of taste. After suffering a cold, he started getting a metallic taste in his mouth, which took his palate with it. These days, he only eats foods that are simple to chew and adds spice and herbs to ratchet up the smell. Find out what it’s like when everything, actually tastes like nothing.
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This Is What Nuclear Weapons Leave in Their Wake – National Geographic
The Secrets Of Disneyland: A Company Vet Explains How The Magic Happens – Fast Company
Zappos offers to cover funeral cost for all 58 mass shooting victims – KTNV
Paul Ryan says mental health reform is “critical ingredient” in stopping mass shootings – CBS News
The Three Biggest Mistakes You Can Make Using Public Wi-Fi – Curiosity
Wife Kicks Out Husband’s Hotter Mistress Butt Naked and Other Videos of the Day – Drunken Stepfather
Panthers fan takes frustrations out by sucker punching defenseless old man – Fan Buzz
Bewbs, Awesomeness And Everything In Between – Leenks
Michelle’s IQ Vs Melania’s IQ – OMG
Kate Upton Busting Out Her Ginormous Bikini Cleavage – Popoholoic
14 Mid-West Restaurants Chains The Entire Country Needs – Thrillist
20,000 Americans Hold a Pro-Nazi Rally in Madison Square Garden in 1939: Chilling Video Re-Captures a Lost Chapter in US History – Open Culture
Cecibel Vogel is a Smoke Show – Yes Bitch
A puppy with a 6-pound tumor was dropped off at a shelter with a note to euthanize him – Rare
Dealers Describe the Worst Chemicals They Use to Cut Drugs – VICE
Photos of the Week: 10/7–10/13 – The Atlantic
More Proof That Amanda Lee Has One Of The Best Bodies Out There – Mandatory
The wives of El Chapo’s henchmen reveal how they hid and spent $2 billion – Business Insider
Katy Perry, Maria Menounos and Other Random Ladies – G-Celeb
Why You Should Be Happy For Other People (Even When It’s Hard) – Nick Notas
40 Ridiculously Hot Instagram Pics Of Kristina Chai – Regretful Morning
10 Bizarre Facts You Didn’t Know About the Nazis – Grumpy Sloth
Watch Chester Bennington on ‘Carpool Karaoke,’ Filmed a Week Before His Death – The Blemish
How a family of hog farmers manage the excess of the world’s most indulgent city – Eater
Bella Thorne Loves Her Fake Boobies – Hollywood Tuna
Inside Evan Spiegel’s Quest to Map Snap’s Future – Wired
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When Elon Musk first started SpaceX, everybody thought he was insane.
Not only is space exploration an industry dominated by governments, but for someone without any background in space technology to go in with the belief that they could help drive meaningful progress was audacious to say the least.
Over the years, however, much of that initial doubt about what was then seen as Musk’s pet project has subsided. SpaceX has indeed done the seemingly impossible, and that doubt has largely turned into curiosity.
Given how involved Musk is in the engineering side of things, a question that he commonly gets asked is how on Earth he learned so much about rockets.
His answer?
“I read a lot of books.”
It’s an answer that almost makes you want to laugh. Picking up rocket science as a hobby through reading isn’t what normal people do.
Yet, it’s not completely unbelievable. We’ve all heard the stories about how many of the people we admire attribute much of their success to their thirst for knowledge and their love of books. Even in our own lives, we’ve all had experiences that hit home the impact of reading.
A favorite childhood story. An inspiring writer. That one novel.
Still, I don’t think most of internalize quite how much, and sometimes how subtly, what we read determines who we become.
Input Shapes Your Output
Language is our primary tool of communication. It’s how we build and organize our knowledge, and it’s what allows us to interact with each other.
Outside of direct experience, it’s also largely how we create our perception of reality. The information your senses absorb through your surroundings combine to create linguistic (and subconscious) models in your mind about how the world works and the best way to interact with it.
One part of this occurs through verbal conversation, or listening to something in general, but for most knowledge workers and for the average person in developed countries a larger part of it is directly a result of what we consume.
You are what you read. The information that you input into your mind informs your thinking patterns, and it influences your output in the form of the decisions you make, the work you produce, and the interactions you have.
That’s a huge incentive to prioritize a block of time to think about what and how you consume, and whether or not you read adequately relative to the progress you want to make. It’s a reason to maybe pause and consider if you can do anything to purposefully shape the direction of your mind.
Naturally, input doesn’t necessarily mean quantity. The correlation between how much you read or consume and what you can do or who you become begins to even off after a certain point, and more isn’t always better.
This is entirely about what the quality of your predominant sources of input are, and the importance of those can’t be overstated.
Check out the rest of the article here
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Related: 11 People Reveal What Life Is Like Under Sharia Law
Schwerer Gustav and Dora, two railway guns weighed 1350 tons, designed and built by Krupp in the late 1930s to destroy the main forts of the Maginot Line with their seven ton (800 mm caliber) shells from a distance of 29 miles (47 km)
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