The Official Blog of the Grateful Web

See Emily Die.

On February 18, 2006, Emily Rice had too much to drink and drive. She crashed her car in Denver. The Denver Police arrived, and an ambulance took her to Denver Health Medical Center.

 

Emily told anyone who would listen: the Denver Health Hospital Staff, the Police, and the Denver Prison staff, of severe pain in her abdomen. But with a blood alcohol level of 0.1, they did what they usually do with DUI offenders; they gave her Ibuprofen and stuck her in a Jail cell. Meanwhile, Emily’s lacerated liver and spleen kept bleeding, and as she lay on the floor of the Denver Jail and bleed to death, those charged with protecting and serving the law watched her die.

 

Once Emily died, those charged with making sure Justice is served, served themselves, and edited out the Prison surveillance footage exactly when they discovered she was dead, and the amazement of the idiots we trusted to protect us. The crucial minute was deftly and professionally deleted from the Prison surveillance tape like only real pros could do. Cause when the chips are down, these scum got professional about their own skins, real quick.

 

I’ve was arrested by the Denver Police, spent a night in the same Jail Emily died in. I saw first hand what idiots the Denver Police were, and personally documented it. I went to the Denver Public Safety board and my fight against the bullshit I lived through got the Denver Police Handbook rewritten due to the documented unprofessionalism I witnessed, recorded, and reported. This was the only time in recorded history a civilian forced changes to how the Denver Police conduct themselves.

 

It was not enough, however, to save Emily. Now this 24-year-old woman lies dead under the Earth and the idiots who pretend to protect us still walk around with Badges of Honor.

 

Ever been arrested? No? Proud of that? Don’t be. Get arrested. Go through the system and witness how it works, it’s your tax dollars that fund it. See problems? Report them. Help fix it.

 

For now, we can only pray for Emily and her family.

Barney Moran

Grateful Word

Polygamist Compounds Key to American World Domination

Needless to say I was worried as hell when Texas barrelled into its teeming Polygamist Youth compound in April and shut down one of the most productive reproductive cells America had to replenish our Military at this critical time.

I'm relieved to report other states are going on the offensive, assuring American's their States Polygamist cells are still protected and fully operational, producing offspring well above the numbers of the rest of a complacent American population.

You have to be a fool to think America can continue to force democracy on the world with violence without strong young men (and women!) to fill the ranks of our military forces. John McCain has advised we are talking 100 years of forced democratization on the barbarians abroad, and America needs flesh and blood kids growing now and in the future to man this critical task.

Polygamists working away in these protected cells remain our greatest American's, putting aside the materialism of society and focusing on the critical task of seeding and reseeding the American population for the war effort in record time, shortening the time from birth to reproduction in well documented time.

Let's give thanks that in America, still, we have these freedoms!

Barney Moran
Grateful Word

Living Frisbee's Story

In a blog world full of ego's on parade, including mine, its humbling and refreshing to land on writers who, instead of proving why they are cool, share life experience to hopefully help others. Like Living Frisbee.

Here we reprint a portion of his The Day I Lost My Invincibility Post:

Sunday, January 18, 2004
Richmond Park, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Some time between two and and three in the afternoon, I can't clearly recall the time.

Lots of kids on sleds and tubes sliding down the big hill.

Another hill farther up into the trees, populated by kids on snowboards.

A steep hill. An icy hill.
Seemed like a more exciting prospect considering my love of speed when it comes to sledding.
I had a big toboggan style sled that could fit two people sitting, or my entire body lying down.
The snow was especially deep as I trudged along the tree lined hill up toward the top of the hill.
Knee deep and slow.



I was wearing two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, a couple shirts, an thick heavy coat, knee high Sorel Boots laced up tight, goggles, gloves and a hat like what you see the Russians wearing in spy movies.
Between carrying the sled and the clothing and the general trudging, I was more than a little winded by the time I reached the top of the hill. The kids on snowboards were only traveling half way down the steep incline before loosing their balance and needing to come back up for another run. I casually asked one of them if it was safe to go down. I was half joking, and only 1/10th really concerned. The rest was my general lack of attention to my surroundings as I am usually thinking of something other than where I am physically.
As the hill cleared, I surveyed the positions of the trees and the angle of the slope. It was very icy. The sun shone bright off the surface. Most of the trees were far off to the side and of no concern. Near the bottom of the hill there was one formidable tree that needed to be avoided, but with a true aim I did not see this as much of an issue to worry about.
I sat the sled down and placed my feet at the front where two indentations allowed my heels to be secured. I dug my hands into the hard, icy top layer of the snow, pushed back as far as my arms would reach and pulled hard forward as the sled launched over the edge of the hill. I grabbed the handles at the side of the sled, keeping me head up to insure I had the correct trajectory.

I was good to go.
The sound of plastic screaming over ice filled my ears.
I was moving fast! Very fast! It was a very tall and steep hill.
There was a dip and a bump three quarters of the way down.
There was no way I could have seen this from the top given the sun and the sheer whiteness of the ground.

You know that silent sound that they always use in movies right before two cars crash together? That was the sound as I launched into the air at what I could only judge at exceeding thirty miles per hour. The bump surprised me and had caused my sled to leave my body.

I was a 215 pound bullet!
The sled went off somewhere to the right.
I ejected leftward toward the very tree I had aimed away from.
Still feet first and airborne.
My left leg was the only part of my body that I couldn't pull away in time.
I was directly lined up so when I collided with the wooden giant the entirety of my foot from the toes to the heel collided. As the force of my body came behind my leg I collapsed up against my knee. I pushed off the best I could manage.
I collapsed to the right of the tree as the momentum of my ride ended.

Have you ever jumped from a reasonably high surface and landed feet first?
You know that shaky feeling it gives in your heel and bones?
That's what my leg felt like, right up into my left hip.
It didn't hurt too badly.
I tried to stand up.
No dice.
I fell right over.

I was told later that a cracking sound could be heard throughout the whole area. A park worker was inside a building nearby heard the impact and came out to investigate.

Read the full story and recovery at Living Frisbee. Reprinted by permission from Living Frisbee.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE DEAD KIND

I bought this boot at a flea market for an astounding 2 dollars. It was interesting to me because of the fact that it included Jerry's one time venture into the Close Encounters theme song( at least I think it was the only time he played it) In addition to my interest in music I also like Science Fiction and anytime the two come together makes it better to me. This is only the 3rd disc from the set(probably why I got it so cheap) Maybe someone can link me to the whole show.@192

http://rapidshare.com/files/93794446/3rdkind.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/93796264/3rdkind_pt2.rar
http://sharebee.com/40293b92
http://sharebee.com/8f183965

--- 24hrDejaVu

Hun, would you have married me if I did this during our dates?

Would You? Sample # 1: Barney vs. Post Office

I'm into the second decade of marriage and I find myself asking my wife if she would have married me if she saw/heard/smelled me in action like she does now.

At my last place of employment, we were allowed $10/month in metered postage. It was a perk of the job. One of my weaknesses is 'free' stuff. So I racked up my allowance of stamped letters. When I moved on, I had several years of these. Now they are dated, some 3 years old. I bought the 2 cent stamps and stick them next to the metered .39 cents red imprint.

I mailed the Boulder City Vehicle Registration my check for my $30 Vehicle renewal last week from my new work, and my letter came back to my house 2 days later. Some careful postal worker checked my meter date and scribbled "Outdated", and sent it back to me. Why does money paid for postage get 'outdated?" Its that on the books? A law? Yes, I KNOW I have a problem: My 'free' thing is worthless and I'm wasting my life battling windmills over .41 cents.

I dutifully prepared another exact letter the same way, old meter imprinted .39 cents letter from my mothballed office plus another .2 cent sticky stamp, and put the letter in my mailbox. Briefly, I considered cutting out the .2 cent stamp from my first letter I lost in this first salvo and attempting to reuse it, but thought better of the effort. Even though the postal person had not scribbled on that part of the letter. I put the second letter in my mailbox for pickup. The mail came and the letter was still there, the post person had left it there. No note. Why should the post person waste time writing a note to an idiot like me?

I catch my wife looking with distaste at the mishagosh returned 3 year old .39 cent imprinted with a .2 cent sticker letter with scribbled notes from a postal worker. I use to remind her earlier in the marriage: I come from a 900 year European tradition being holed up in the cities writing down what the farmers grew while the goy farmers were outside in the sun growing. My stamped letter fight is a natural, organic version of this legacy here in 2008. I don't remind her anymore.

Now, right after I post this, I am going to dump this letter in a city street mail box for round #3. The registration is not past due until the end of March.

The questions: will my letter be delivered this time? Would my wife have married this nut had she known; am I really any better off?

Barney Moran
Grateful Word