Oscar Pistorius Murders Own Defense   2 comments

Oscar Pistorius’ defense died Wednesday morning, April 9, 2014, about 56 minutes into the opening session, and again the following day.

There are so many holes in his story, he makes the surface of the moon seem smooth. No reasonable person could possibly believe his story. Simple as that. This man is incapable of telling the truth.

Everything that the Olympic and Paralympic phenomenon has had going for him — his fame, his money, his ladies, all of it — was buried by the precision digging of The Blade Runner’s own tongue, which he cannot keep still.

You can watch the carnage here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vbz64-Ie0BM, or if you’re unable to watch the video, here’s a transcript, starting at the 56-minute, 29-second point:

Defense Attorney Roux: Mr. Pistorius, did you at any time intend to kill Reeva?

Oscar Pistorius: I did not intend to kill Reeva, my Lady, or anybody else for that matter.

Roux: (stunned silence) …(ponders second career)…(pees his robe)…(asks for brief recess to change his Depends) — returns after recess and hands the defendant over to the drooling, hollow-fanged prosecutor.

He could have said, “No.” He could have said, “No, my Lady.” He could have said, “No, My Lady, I did not intend to kill Reeva.” Or he could have given any number of answers and left out the highlighted text above.

Because if he didn’t intend to kill ANYBODY, then what did he think would happen to whomever was on the other side of the bathroom door after he put four 9-mm parabellum (for war) hollow-point slugs through it?

Thursday the bloodbath continued, with the virgin firing of a Glock 19 that was in Pistorius’ hands but he never pulled the trigger! The problem with that is Glocks have a double-trigger safety. It looks like a trigger within a trigger, and if you don’t have your finger on it, you simply cannot pull the trigger, period.

I know this because I owned Glocks for years. So, the gun went off, passive tense, because he never pulled the trigger, in a restaurant, in Oscar Pistorius’ hands, but the trigger was never pulled. So far Glock hasn’t recalled its guns.

The second — well, the second, third, fourth, and fifth — virgin firings of a weapon also happened, miracle of miracles, whilst a gun was in the hands of this very same fellow: Oscar Pistorius! Who’da figured?

There he was scuttling around the bathroom floor, chasing invisible burglars in the middle of the night, the way my cats chase invisible mousies. Only he had a cocked and locked firearm.

Now, he didn’t have his finger on the trigger, as he testified the previous day when he said straight out that he shot the gun, and he certainly didn’t pull it, but again, miraculously, four 9mm hollow-points somehow made their way out of the gun, through the door in a tightly-packed group, and into Reeva Steenkamp’s pelvis, humerus, and skull, killing her within seconds.

Earlier in the day, Pistorius was shown in a video taken on a gun range, with a .50 caliber handgun, shooting at and destroying a large watermelon. After shooting and obliterating it, Pistorius was heard on tape saying, among other things, that it was softer than brains.

I think we’ve seen that, like Jodi Arias, the defendant in this case is his own worst enemy. The only difference is that Jodi Arias was physically able to put her foot into her mouth.


MH370 to appear in “Close Encounters” Sequel   1 comment

It’s now been over a week since Malaysian Air flight 370 disappeared, and no one has any information to give the desperate families, who have been terrorized further by the media during the worst days of their lives. The sad fact is: no one knows where on earth the Boeing 777-200 has gone. Presuming, of course, that it’s still on earth. Even that theory is as reasonable as all the others.

First, it was presumed to be in the South China Sea, then Palau Perak, a tiny island in the middle of the Malacca Strait which is barely long enough to accommodate a wide-body, then the Bay of Bengal, the Gulf of Thailand, and the Andaman Islands. A couple of the TV speculators even suggested North Korea, which is theoretically possible, but very unlikely. And a couple of wackos even came up with an alien abduction theory.

Other theories included lithium batteries; the two Iranians with fraudulent passports, who had flown into Malaysia on their own passports; the one Uighur on the plane; the co-pilot’s violation of all post-9/11 regulations and inviting two hotties into the cockpit hoping he’d get a taste of theirs. Those are each numbers on the spinning wheel.

I’d like to know why the entire passenger manifest weren’t immediately run through Interpol, FBI, FAA, NTSB, and DHS databases as soon as it was known there was something very wrong with this flight.

The pilot had the best home flight simulator I’ve ever seen, and I’ve flown flight simulators ever since the graphics were green on black. Everyone’s talked about the pilot’s computer, but today was the first time anyone entered his house. He could have run a remote access program and wiped his flight plans out, and then run bit-by-bit disk-cleaning utility numerous times. What the Malaysians did was stand outside the house, humming a happy tune. “We don’t allow that in Malaysia,” but they’ve been known to execute pot-smokers with less than an ounce of weed. They supposedly needed a reason to enter the homes. WTF were they waiting for?

The international intelligence community seem to believe the crew was in full charge, in which case everyone in the passenger cabin would have had to be immobilized, including the flight attendants. It would be totally unreasonable to believe the entire flight crew was aware of what was happening. It could be why they reportedly climbed to 45,000′, above the flight ceiling of a 777.  But it doesn’t make any sense that the plane made it to 23,000′ in about the span of a minute, because this aircraft would have gone supersonic, and broken into pieces.

For every scenario, there seems to be a good reason to believe; but by the same token, there are reasons to debunk the scenario. Some of the actions of whomever was in control are still unexplainable. The flight changed direction and altitude at specific waypoints.

The latest theory is that the plane, which was thought to have only 7 hours of fuel — a lot less, practically, since the plane climbed to 45,000′ and then being pinged at 23,000′ and climbing back up to 35,000′ they’d be using too much fuel to stay in the air that long. But this 777-200 got over almost eight hours, despite their erratic flying and presumably spending valuable fuel doing so, and the plane was pinged either over the Himalayas, or southward towards Indonesia. No one claims to know how the plane’s last ping was to the northwest or to the south.

We could fill an NHL arena with 18,000 people, and probably find no two people whose theories are the same. For all we know, the alien abduction theory sounds as plausible as any. Does anyone know where Richard Dreyfuss has been for the last week?

More Specifics on my Kevorking Facebook on March 15th   Leave a comment

After a bit more reflection on how/when to Kevork my Facebook account, I’ve decided that sometime on March 15th, I will completely obliterate it. If you would like to remain in contact, please feel free to leave a comment on my blog, which remains visible to me alone unless I physically publish it. Or, I created a FB Event to which you’ve all been invited.

I did this because most of you don’t get my posts on your newsfeed.  I’m aware that some of my more religious/conservative friends don’t want all their friends and families to see the  “7 Words You Can’t Say on TV” all over the place, and I respect that. I can be a brutally honest commentator when it comes to things about which I feel strongly — socio-political issues, pretty much. In fact, everything I care about, in one shape or another, is social or political. Another reason why my commentary sounds like I’m angry. Mostly, I am — mostly. However, I am considered a Top Commentator on Facebook, Newsvine, and Disqus, which must say something about the targets I pick and the attitude I have.

Aside from what I’ve said before about my decision to kill that account, I’ve been pretty damned disappointed with people I went to school with four decades ago, because more often than not, we have a short FB interaction, and then everything else *poof* stops. I’ll send a message and I get shit like “too busy” to read  or reply, or I get nothing in return. But they post to Facebook every day without fail.

There are, in fact, only ten categories into which my 140 FB friends fall:

People I know from my K-12 years, or from the neighborhood.  I only ever hear from or interact with just a couple of them – literally, and I value those friendships. Some of those friendships are even closer than they were back in the day. The rest of them just stumbled across me or I them, leading to sharing a common memory or two, and that’s about the end of things we have in common forty years later. In point of fact, I never really had anything in common with them – they were a group of assholes who, in great part, made my public school experience fucking miserable.

People I know from college.  I’ve only connected with a few, but very few. Most of them don’t use Facebook or even have computers, for that matter. This is comprised of three or four guys from my college basketball team, and two guys from my college newspaper – my first editor, who now has a book in the libraries, and my photography editor. I love these guys.

People I’ve worked with. Except for an incredibly brave young woman from Shanghai who was my first and therefore my longest-term friend from the international transportation business (and who emigrated to Toronto with her family because, she told me, I introduced her  to freedom and opportunity in the west), you can take the rest of them and tie them to a fish hook, whether they’re here in the Bellingham area, or in Denver. One “friend” in Denver whom I recently blocked was a woman who hadn’t replied to me in a month because she was too busy working two jobs. But she found time to go to Las Vegas (she and her father, with whom I also worked, are gambling addicts) and she has the time to post to Facebook every day. Therefore, I kevorked her by writing a simple “Buh-bye,” and immediately and permanently blocking her. As for them, I’m fighting PTSD from the abuse I took from management for almost fifteen years. The boss is an alcoholic and a philanderer; and he takes annual child-sex vacations in Costa Rica, because the weather’s better there than in Bangkok or Manila. And the hotels are cheaper. I traveled with him as rarely as humanly possible. Once, on a business trip to Long Beach, CA., he asked me if I would be into (sex with)  a Japanese boy about nine years old. WTF???!!!

People in the media or politics.  These are relationships I truly care about. Norman  Goldman and I have virtually the same political views, were born in Brooklyn, went to a CUNY college, and knew some of the same politicians in Queens. Alan Boyle has one of the best jobs a journalist could possibly have: Science Editor for msnbc, and lives not too far south of me. Rude (as I refer to him) Pundit is one of the sharpest progressive commentators in the country, and has been a guest on numerous shows. One brilliant friend I met on Facebook was Postmaster-General of the U.S. under Bill Clinton. She and I share similar political views as well. There are a few others in addition to these four, but they’re the meat of the batting order.

Astronomy and NASA geeks.  These are some of my most fascinating and well-educated friends, and I love every one of them, many of them are overseas. I met most of them when we attended the Juno launch in August 2012, or I was turned on to them by domestic NASA geeks. I truly love those people. We’re geeks of a feather.

Medical Marijuana friends.  Fellow patients, activists, and proponents. What can I say about these friends? I love ‘em all.

Overseas friends.  In Tunisia, The Philippines, Taiwan, and throughout Europe. Fascinating people, all of them, from vastly different cultures. My friend in Tunisia has taught me more about Islam, and I’ve taught her more about Judaism, than anyone I’ve ever known. One day she’ll be the secular president of her country, or whatever she wants to be. My friend in The Philippines is an incredibly talented astronomy geek, even though she doesn’t own a telescope. She is, however, a magician with her camera.

People I know from Washington state. Some of whom are the most fun people I’ve met west of the Hudson River. Some of them are also Medical Marijuana friends, or just friends who smoke up. It is legal in the Free State of Washington. A number of them were life-saving cardiac rehab therapists who helped me through one or both heart attacks I’ve had. One physical therapist who rehabilitated my replaced shoulder in 2003, 2005, and 2010. Some others are friends from the synagogue we attend. These people are pretty cool. I get their posts and they get mine. We exchange a lot of “Likes.” I hope to stay in touch with all of them.

Family.  This is a tough one. Although both of my sons and I communicate using Facebook, and a few cousins who occasionally answer me back or comment on my posts, it’s seems like I’ve been standing there in the snow and knocking on an empty door. They all know how to contact me. My phone number is incredibly easy to remember because of the word it spells. Same with my cell.

People of like mind.  This is probably the largest group, comprised of people who agree with me on my socio-political stance, and with animal lovers (including and especially cats, dogs, and dolphins), some of whom found me, some of whom I found myself. What a wonderful, diverse group of people. This group is comprised of people of all religions and ethnic groups, many of whom are overseas, but all of them care about many of the same things I do.

That’s about it for those ten categories, and that about covers all the pigeonholes my Facebook friends fit into. I don’t know what more to say, but I think I’ve said enough already. Which is why I leave this post open to comments — I’m interested in what people have to say. Other than that,

May Ceiling Cat be with you, srsly.

Posted 03/02/2014 by warrenlevine in Uncategorized

Anti-social networking. or why I’m killing my Facebook account   Leave a comment

To my Facebook friends, family, and real-world friends, whether we’ve seen each other in the last 50-odd years or not:

I’ve become pretty tired of spending most of my days and too many nights looking through posts and articles and commenting on Facebook to the detriment of other, more productive things. For one, writing a novel based on some real-world experiences I’ve had overseas, specifically in China.

Recently, I’ve grown to hate Facebook, and I’d like to explain why, so maybe some of you who have been sitting on the fence as I was might identify with me and jump down on one side or the other.

Facebook creates attention deficit, unless you’ve already got a case of it. It’s like ESPN morphed itself into the post-9/11 CNN News ticker, and that morphed itself into Facebook’s news feed. It shows you what it calculates you might be interested in, and makes you physically choose to see things from all the friends whom you follow in the order in which they’re posted. They’re taking liberties, and it’s affecting your life, as well as mine. I’m fucking mad as hell, and I’m fucking not going to fucking take it anymore.

Can you tell I’m sick of it?

Another of Facebook’s sins is that it fosters digital pseudo-relations between people. Example: You now only have to click when Facebook reminds you it’s someone’s birthday. And then, in return for the favor, the bastards self-servingly give you the option to send  a gift card from one of their sponsors to give it that little extra personal touch. Digitally, of course. But they’re sticking that digit right up your ass, and they’ve all got dirty, untrimmed fingernails.

OK, so Hallmark is an old medium, and between the cost of a card and a stamp, it’s five bucks per occasion. What’s more important is that you know the birthdays of people you really care about, and you either have their email addresses (lame) or phone numbers, so you can call them on your unlimited talk & text plan. This way they know they matter to you, and will hopefully extend the same courtesy when it’s your birthday.

You’ll notice if and when you see this post that I’ve begun purging my account by taking the time (before I wrote this) to manually delete as many of the pictures I’ve posted that Facebook will allow me to delete, including my profile and cover pictures.

I also deleted and/or blocked a couple of people about whom, under any circumstances, I didn’t give a fuck. So, if you’re reading this, I do value your friendship.

And  as you can probably guess, I’m about to shit-can my Facebook account for all of the above reasons, and some others I haven’t mentioned, although at some point I might. However I’m taking feedback via PRIVATE MESSAGES ONLY, but only for the next week or month, or whenever I stop getting the private messages asking where/how I can be reached online.

Posted 02/27/2014 by warrenlevine in Uncategorized

Broncos to practice outdoors today, since it’s nice   Leave a comment

I’ve got some details for who posted on PFT where, apparently, it didn’t get published, grumble, grumble.
*Have Avs Stanley Cup Champs locker room hat signed by Peter Forsberg. If you’re interested, message me via warrenlevine dot WordPress.com. If you’re in Sweden, you get a very special deal. ;)

Posted 01/27/2014 by warrenlevine in Uncategorized

Bon Voyage….   2 comments

So, further to Monday’s surprise crisis, and my Facebook post at 3-something in the morning, I had to go down to the hospital today and sign an affidavit, unfortunately, to involuntarily commit her. I wouldn’t have done so had the psych evaluator not told me she was accusing me of having raped and tried to kill her. So, I schlepped my tired ass down to the hospital on about 15 minutes’ notice and swore out an affidavit for Superior Court, and they’re holding her for 72 hours pending (usually) an in-hospital court hearing.

I go to the check-in desk at the hospital, and ask for the person I’d spoken to on the phone, I have a seat across the hallway, and I hear a guy asking for her, so  I go up to introduce myself, and he did the same. Turns out he’s the former boyfriend who, she’d told me, raped her at least five times and he regularly made her go through some ridiculous choreographed sex fantasy or he couldn’t get off.

Why he was there, I have no idea, but I said, “Oh, she told me you raped her five times. She’s only accusing me of raping her once. Think we can split a public defender?” Blank stare. Some people have no sense of humor.

I walk the 200 yards to and from the psych holding area, and sit back down in the waiting lounge. I fill out the affidavit that she went apeshit crazy and had struck me six times and brandished my own crutch at me like it was a bayonet, and the mental health evaluator came out and sat down next to me, and I showed her about ten minutes of video, which I may or may not post here at some time in the near future. For now, it’s evidence.

So, what started out to be a good deed — a service to an ex-friend whose entire flock of lifelong friends had refused to help her in any way — and I end up with 180 pounds of creepy-ass cracker bitch punching me in the ankle, hitting me in the nards, and ramming into my knee like she was LT and I was Joe Theismann. And on top of all that, she falsely accuses me of rape and attempted murder!!!

I go back in after the mental health evaluator sees the video and takes my statement, and I asked her if said delusional beast would agree to see me for a couple of minutes, which I said was kinda odd for someone who’d just been raped and nearly killed, but we all know this cracker is crackers, and she didn’t disappoint. I went in and sat down across the hall from her, and asked her why she accused me of two Class A Felonies, when I was the only one who gave enough of a shit about her fat white ass to offer her 1. a ride to Bellingham to see her shrink today (turns out no appointment  - she talked into his voicemail and acted like she was confirming an appointment. In reality, she hadn’t seen him in over a year); 2. a place to sleep for the night; and 3. relief from her own mother, a nut case in her own right and a major trigger point for her daughter.

So I’m sitting across from her in the hall, and she said, “The firemen (EMTs) said you were going to charge me with assault and wanted to involuntarily commit me.”

“And THAT’s why you accused me of rapiing you and trying to kill you?” I was trying to keep my cool. “Guys have served forty fucking years after being falsely accused of stuff like that. Who says that kind of shit???”

“Well,” and she cocks her head and does what I call the by-polar blink – eyes rolled up, all that. “they said you were going to come down here and sign some papers and something about court.”

“Look you,” I said to her through my clenched teeth, because I didn’t want to show any kind of anger to the hospital people OR their security cameras, “your own goddamn mother wouldn’t get off her ass to help you, and I did, even though we haven’t spoken in months. And as thanks for that, you go on a delusional rage and ram into the fucking knee replacement I’ve been waiting half a fucking lifetime for!!? (I was getting real close to losing it.) You’re goddamn right I did, but I wasn’t going to until you accused me of everything in the book. Why don’t you let them give you a cervical exam or do a rape kit? You fucking liar!

“I just signed a court document that says you physically attacked me, and that’s why I called 911. Oh, and I also gave them ten minutes of video that proves it. So, lose my number and don’t ever fucking call or text me again or I will have you charged with stalking.”

And then I walked out into the clean, crisp autumn air of The Free State of Washington, drove home, and lit up a joint to help me chill.

Did anyone ever pay your kindness back with a flaming bag of dogshit in front of your door? Please comment if the spirit moves you, and follow me on Facebook if you really want some laughs.

Zimmerman trial is bringing out the racists   4 comments

The murder trial of George Zimmerman is getting worldwide attention, but nowhere is it as important as it is in the African-American communities across this country..

It’s brought out some of the worst in people. Some schmuck created a Trayvon Martin game on his website; even the media have jumped on this awful bandwagon of racism.

I haven’t seen any animosity from the black community, but they damned well have a reason to march on and close the HLN hate machine. On the day the defense presented their closing arguments and the state gave their rebuttal closing, I caught two instances of blatant racism on HLN, one of which spilled over to CNN, the supposedly legitimate media.

The first offender, of course, is Frank Taaffe, the loud, brash friend of George Zimmerman. He’s been a staple on HLN and CNN, and last night he sunk to a level where Taaffe had to look UP to see Satan.

Last night, Taaffe mimicked the accent of a black woman, saying “PO-lice” at least twice. Dr. Drew didn’t call him on it.

And Nancy Grace offended Latinos last night as well, while talking to this idiot, and she sank to a new low when she erupted and spewed out this insult (paraphrasing) : “Give him (Zimmerman) back his life? Give him back his life?! He’s got his life; he’s driving through Taco Bell every night.”

I don’t know why CNN, who own HLN, allow inflammatory stuff like this on their air. Taaffe is clearly a racist from his white hair to his white feet; I’m sure of that. And Nancy Grace is a mental case.

Last August, Taaffe’s 30-year-old son Vincent, a Marine and an Iraq veteran, was killed with a friend Justin Head (who was, oddly, from my little town) when he failed to negotiate a right turn in his Jeep near Ormond Beach, Florida.

Frank Taaffe has been traumatized, and all the television time he’s logged, he’s not going to have time to get over his son’s death. I’m actually surprised he’s facing off against another family that’s grieving for their dead son. That has to hurt if he’s got any soul at all. And that’s becoming more and more doubtful as he shows more of his personal racism. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s lit more crosses than Christmas trees in his lifetime.

Right now, though, Frank Taaffe and the CNN/HLN producers who continue to book this hot-head are fomenting the latent racism in this man. The fact that those networks are continuing to book him is that he riles people; he gets attention. I wonder how it’s playing in the African-American communities in this country.

All major cities in the country are ready to sic their SWAT teams on any demonstration they think is getting out of hand. All this country needs is a riot in every major population center.

Unfortunately, the pressure on the nation’s minds is building up to a point where the racism becomes more and more evident, and I’m afraid this is going to have a spillover effect on all of us, and we’ll be back to the civil rights demonstrations of the 1960a.

Fifty years later, this country seems to have learned nothing, and the media seems to be nice and comfortable with their ratings spike.

But something’s got to give once this verdict comes in. The media are stirring up a big, boiling Force-5 shitstorm.

I hope we all keep our heads and show the world what kind of country America can be.

My personal impression: Neither side picked up on this: After being pummelled, George Zimmerman pulled out his gun, which caused Trayvon to scream for his life. That accounts for the screams of “Help!” which stopped the moment the fatal shot occurred. Just my theory, but I think it fits. Either way, Zimmerman failed to follow the police operator’s instruction, “We don’t need you to do that (follow Martin).” He got out of his car and went hunting. I believe it’s as simple as that.

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Your comments, as always, are encouraged. The only rules are that you’ve got to be on topic, and you’ve got to keep it clean. Thanks, and I look forward to your opinions.

Warning:  If I see one racist comment in the wrong context, I will publicly expose the commenter on every social media platform I can find. And I’m very resourceful that way. Don’t try me.


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