Fast Eddie Friday...Uncle Ed gets raided then returns with a biographer.

Some posts just won't die. I was looking at my hit counter yesterday, and I noticed several hundred hits coming from a face book page, which ended up leading me to this,
http://phil-stevens.livejournal.com/. It seems our old friend, former Kansas City Childrens show and Late night host Uncle Ed Muscare has a biographer. You'll recall I've talked about Ed several times, none of the posts were very flattering. Uncle Ed got raided by the South Carolina Law enforcement authorities. Here is the opening first few sentences of Ed's bio: edarem gets visitors.....

At 9 a.m.on May 1, 2009, there was a loud knock on the back door. My dogs, Buddy, Buster and Lady were in the house with me. I jumped out of bed wondering "Who the heck could that be? I went to the door and opened it a crack and 5 armed probation agents came in declaring, "Where's your computer?"

Ed's you tube page blew up after Fark.com picked up my April post and the video of Ed's dog suckling him as he did his best Crypt Keeper imitation. Every few days I'll get an email from some supporter of Muscare, from the context and wording of the email it's obvious that the sender is young or semi literate at best. Ed has some loyal fans, I'll give him that. One of the recurring themes from those emails has been, " He did his time leave him alone. He has changed."

Does this sound like change you can believe in? " I sat there dazed. Then I got angry. Not at the officers who invaded my house and took my property. No. I was angry at the lawmakers imposing penalties and restrictions on ALL sex offenders regardless of their offense."
And then there is this: " Back in 1986, when I was attending a birthday party in Orlando, Florida, I had fondled a 14 year-old family member. I was caught and arrested. I was sentenced to 18 months in prison and 10 years probation. That was my sex offense."
Now, here, in Orangeburg, South Carolina, 23 years later, 5 law enforcement officers are in my house going through my computer".

The problem I had with Ed, at least in my posts, wasn't that he was a Pedophile, but that he was a Pedo with a computer and an audience of potential victims. My post backfired and ultimately drove a whole lot of traffic, and youngsters to his creepy you tube site. It also drew the attention of the local Law enforcement folks to a potential predator in the Internet playground. It was never my intention to do anything beyond write a post for the few hundred readers of this blog. There was no grand illusions that I was some kind of Internet enforcer. I just write and rant.

Ed is your typical sex offender, the victimizer who sees himself as victim. He has that twisted logic that says "Hey, I only got caught once" "I just fondled a 14 year old relative at a birthday party full of kids" That's what makes adults who prey on children so dangerous, they lack the ability to accept accountability, even when they admit the crime they down play it, or flip it back on the victim. So there will be no sympathy for Ed Muscare/ Edarem coming from me. He can find sympathy in the dictionary, between shit and syphilis. I'm pleased for whatever small part I played in bringing the attention of this creep to the local cops. Now this Phil character has picked up the baton for Muscare. He runs Ed's YouTube page, he writes Ed's biased Bio. I know nothing of Phil, maybe he is a fellow offender, maybe he is just an idiot looking to live vicariously through the traffic that is drawn to Ed's you tube site. I wonder if Phil has children, and if he does, would he allow this harmless old man to sit alone with them. The answer, sadly is he probably would. People like Muscare, Phil, and Ed's followers just don't get it. Sometimes just serving your time doesn't settle the debt. Some debts you must pay in perpetuity.

More on Felony Franks

Why does that ex-con have a wiener in his mitt?

Normally any story that includes wieners and convicts usually ends badly and involves dropping soap. Well here is a story with a happy ending, heh. A businessman in Chicago has opened a hot dog joint, he only hires people who have been in the joint. The name, Felony Franks, Home of the Misdemeanor Wiener. Owner Jim Andrews plans to employ only ex-offenders, a workforce that he's found success with at his West Loop-based paper firm. Andrews maintains that he's hired 12 ex-cons for the restaurant, five of whom live in the store's West Side 2nd Ward. Andrews had 588 applicants for the 12 positions and he is looking into franchising. Speaking as a currently unemployed ex-con I think Andrews should be commended for hiring people that most employers pass over. Is it exploitative? Sure, in the same way that Hooters exploits skinny chicks with fake fun bags. Nobody is forcing those women to put on cootchie cutter shorts and serve overpriced hot wings to creepy middle aged biz guys, and Andrews isn't holding a gun to folks heads to come work at his joint. So end of story, right? Not so fast Skippy........

There is always going to be someone, somewhere, at any given place and time who will find offense where none is intended. Monica Brown, who lives near the restaurant, has been vocal in her opposition to the theme, condemning it as "hurtful."
"In our public school system we've lost around 40 kids this year," she said. "It's not the kind of positive imagery that we want to promote to the kids in this community."
She added, "It's not respectful to plaster an image of a ball and chains in any African-American community." Monica, it's a fuckin Frankfurter. Last I checked Oscar Meyer wasn't a former slave holder.

Second Ward Ald. Robert Fioretti insists that the name is inappropriate.
"Ruben Ivy was killed across the street from there," he said, referring to the Crane High School senior shot to death in March 2008 in front of the school, which stands about a block east of the new hot dog stand.

Harold Davis, a neighbor who works with nonprofit Amer-I-can program to rehabilitate ex-offenders, contends that he and many of his acquaintances are so angry about the restaurant that they can hardly discuss it without "going ballistic."
"Our prediction is: he's not going to be there for long, because we're going to have informational protests out there to raise people's consciousness about the name and its meaning," Davis said.
"Why not call it 'Second-Chance Burgers,' something positive like that?" he added.

Granted I'm not the most politically correct guy in town, I've been known to say shit that can be seen as insensitive, and maybe this will prove to be true once again, but here it comes.

"Are you fuckin kiddin me"? A hot dog in striped prison clothes with a ball and chain is racially insensitive? A wiener joint across the street from a homicide scene is disrespectful? Giving guys a job when nobody else wants to hire them is counterproductive?

Harold Davis is going ballistic over the name of the joint? Perhaps Mr. Davis would care to explain why his non profit Amer-I-can has 588 ex-cons running around without jobs. Amer-I-can is a group founded by Football legend Jim Brown. They do some good work, but they can't do it all, and they damn sure cant find jobs for these guys otherwise there wouldn't be 588 applicants for 12 positions. So their solution is to run this guy out of business and put 12 virtually unemployable ex offenders out of work. Give me a break already.

Look, I'll admit that there are times when I get it wrong, when I see shit through my middle age white guy eyes, and I miss the mark, but this ain't one of those times. I'm looking at this controversy through the eyes of an unemployed, fairly smart, ex-convict and former criminal. If this man is willing to give men and women a break, when nobody else is, he should be applauded. If he markets that place by playing off of the ex con status, so what. Here's my prediction. These easily offended morons will run this guy out of business at this location. Andrews will move to a less sensitive locale, taking those jobs with him and leaving behind a dozen more unemployed ex offenders. Mission accomplished, noses will be cut off to spite faces, and out of work ex criminals will become a part of the crime stats in that area.

Is it just me or do the people who so readily cry foul and claim exploitation do it because they give a shit, or because they are exploiting the situation to gain attention for their own "humanitarian" efforts? Way to shit in your own nest, idiots.

As a footnote: Anyone looking for a semi talented, poorly edited, foul mouthed ex-con, aspiring gonzo writer? I didn't think so. I rest my case.

update: I also forgot to add that the owner started hiring ex cons for another business he owns. I believe 1/3 of the profits from felony franks goes to an outreach group the guy runs. here is his website http://felonyfranks.com/

Stoopid Twosday....the late edition. There's no crying in baseball and there is no Concierge in prison

I found this story over at Crime Scene Kansas City: " Texas billionaire R. Allen Stanford has filed a motion to move to a different jail, citing “oppressive” conditions". Stanford is awaiting trial over a 7 billion dollar Ponzi scheme. He claims that he can't get a fair trial unless he is moved to another facility. This is in part because of electronic discovery that isn't available at the jail he is currently housed in. But here's the rub, he also sites cramped conditions, a dark cell, and 8 or 10 roommates. Oh, I almost forgot, no windows or a/c. Apparently the A/c is broken. This nimrod should have spent some of that 7 billion on a prison consultant, or better yet, he should have perused my Prison for Dummies series. As you all know, if you have been paying attention, I was passed around between the states and the Feds, so I've had a taste of both types of facilities. Some fed joints have a/c, few if any state run prisons have a/c. A trash can full of ice parked behind a fan will help keep you cool-ish, if you can afford a fan. Stanford can also rent a chick with a kickstand (prison drag queen) to fan him with a checkerboard, while wearing koolaid rouge and boot polish penciled in eyebrows. As for the cramped conditions, he ain't seen nothin yet. Shit gets worse.

Noise, constant, never ending, noise. If Stanford doesn't like the cramped conditions and lack of proper amenities, just wait until he makes it to the joint. The noise can drive you mad. It never gets totally quiet in prison. There will always be someone making noise, young black guys rapping back and forth from cell to cell, tier to tier. The insane inmates who hold screaming contests in the middle of the night, berating some antagonist that only they can see. Steel doors racking, slamming, the hacks keys clanging, the disembodied voice that comes on the loud speaker informing you of chow, or yard, or lights out. The noise never stops. The Stanfords and Madoffs will never see hard time as far as the facilities go. Even when they get sentences that are essentially life, they wont make it to a really hard place. But that doesn't mean prison wont be hard on them. After a life of swanky digs, and deep pockets, even the best of prisons are akin to hell on earth for these pampered rich crooks. High end white collar guys like Stanford and Madoff don't have street degrees. They never rubbed elbows or came in contact with the predatory sharks that swim through this nations prison systems. Small recompense for the countless people who were robbed of their life savings, but it beats nothin.

One guy that Madoff and Stanford wont meet in federal prison is Skip Sheppard. I wrote about Skip in this post. Skip was one of the 5 people convicted in the 1998 murders of 6 Kansas City firefighters. The Star did an in depth piece on the case. It was a good investigative piece of work, which focused on several jailhouse informants who were recanting their previous statements that helped win a conviction in the case. I personally believe that a couple of the defendants might have taken a free case, but Skip and his brother Frank, not so much. What I know to be fact about Skip is that he left a small trail of bodies along the path that led him to federal prison.
Kella Ward died in a car wreck on 150 highway and Botts road in Grandview. Skip was high and drunk, and behind the wheel. That is a fact. Gary Ward a cousin of Kella Ward, , went fishing with Skip, he turned up dead in lake Jacomo, with a nasty head wound. That is a fact. Troy McAdams, lived next door to me, a guy I knew fairly well, a small time pot and coke dealer, who lived with his mother, turned up dead in the woods off of Blue River road. Skip and a couple of degenerates were busted a few days later in Troys car. That is a fact. Skip was a sociopath, a mean spirited brutal bully. The worlds a better place without him. Death seemed to follow Skip wherever he went, in the end it caught up to him.

Fast Eddie Friday...The more things change....you know the rest.

I wasted about an hour this morning writing a long winded diatribe about the 550k settlement the city reached with Ruth Bates the city hall employee at the center of the mammygate debacle. I then dove into the story of the college professor who is claiming racial profiling, and the subsequent, and dare I say racially biased response of the president. I realized I can sum up both of these subjects in far fewer sentences than I originally intended.

The settlement with Ruth Bates. There is only one winner in this hot mess. Ruth Bates. The mayor cost the city 550k plus legal fees. He alone is to blame. Not Ruth Bates, not his crazy wife, not the incompetent city council. He never should have had his wife in the mayors office, period. Had she not been where she didn't belong, none of this would have happened. To ad insult to injury, the Mayor is still suing over the volunteer ordinance. His statement about "moving forward", just words from the captain of the ship of fools who run this city. As a side note to yesterdays post about the media vs bloggers. Tony's Kansas City broke the Bates settlement way ahead of local newsies.


The Henry Gates debacle. Two differing stories. The president screwed the pooch when he called the police stupid, and accused them of racial profiling. He began his gaff with an acknowledgement that he did not know all of the facts. Had he left it alone after that sentence he would have shown good judgement, common sense, befitting the leader of this country. But he showed his own racial bias. We won't ever know what really happened, it's a hot button issue in a racially divided nation. We made huge strides when this country elected its first black president, that same president just set us back when he opened his cake hole absent of the facts, based upon his own racial bias. I supported Obama, still do, but he would be well advised to act like a leader of a nation, rather than a Chicago organizer. To borrow from Al Pacino in Glengarry Glen Ross, as Ricky Roma: "You never open your mouth until you know what the shot is." It's more than a little ironic that his presidency which had made strides in healing old wounds, is responsible for reopening the same. I expected better, we all deserved better.
Yesterday the girlfriend and myself took a drive to an antique mall in Grain Valley called the Brass Armadillo. These pics were taken by cellphone, so they are a little fuzzy, but fitting I think. The picture at the top of the post is of a KKK action figure. Thaaaats right little Bubba can have his own action figure of a cloaked southern cracker!!!!!

A few more display cases down he can pick up some super sweet brass knuckles adoringly imprinted with the word HATE!!!! Not to leave anyone out, another display case held this splay legged tart. I like to think of her as Strip club Crack Whore Barbie. Why in the world an antique mall on I 70 would display a KKK figurine and brass knuckles is beyond me. I don't think the mall owners are Klansman, but I'll wager more than a few people have made that assumption and left the place in a huff. As for Crack Whore Barbie, that's just my own bias whenever I see splayed legs, tousled hair and a tutu. Hey she could just be a tired ballerina. I guess I should shut up until I know the shot.

Have a safe and unbiased weekend.

The tail wags the dog in todays media.

We expect our writers to be above reproach, as infallible as the Pope, as honest as an Eagle Scout, dispensing our news and voicing their opinions devoid of outside influence. To quote Mick, "you can't always get what you want". In Kansas City that has never been more true than it is now.

A woman is reported to have been kidnapped off of the streets of Downtown, taken to the east side and raped. The Power and Light district issues a statement assuring people that "hey it didn't happen here". The woman clearly crossed some imaginary line, left the safety of the brightly lit sharks cage. She stepped over some unmarked boundary that separates the pretty people from the dregs of society. KCTV 5 parrots the P&L spokesman, stressing the phrase "outside the P&L district" throughout the entire piece. KCTV 5 features , scratch that, KCTV 5 PIMPs the P&L district weekly with 5 Fridays, which is a promotion for the P&L district. Rather than digging into the recent problems in the P&L, they just regurgitate the horse shit being slung by the PR guy. Money talks, lets not blow smoke up one anothers ass.

Mary Sanchez of the Kansas City Star educates us on the irrationality of folks being fearful of the city's "Black Nieghborhoods". "Stray-bullet homicide doesn’t validate fear of black neighborhoods". Her column unlike KCTV 5's pandering for the P&L district, isn't driven by dollar signs. Mary has loftier aspirations, visions of cotton candy defecating unicorns dance in her head, everyone living in peace and harmony, that's her schpeel. She panders to the folks who refuse to believe crime stats, the well intentioned and totally clueless politically correct whites who chose to believe that all will be good in those nieghborhoods if they just plant some tulips and sing kumbaya on the corner of 39th and prospect. The areas that Mary refers to as "The Black Neighborhoods", are the most crime ridden and dangerous in this city, period. Rather than offend her uber liberal readers, or worse yet risk the chance of being called racist, she ignores the body count, and dismisses it as white fear.

Look, I could go on all day, but I'm trying to make a point, so I'll get to it. When we were children we had lofty goals in our young minds. We wanted to be fireman, cops, ballerinas, princesses, whatever. I wanted to be a preacher, not a regular preacher, I wanted to be a Televangelist, then life in all it's ugly glory reared it's head, shit happened, a life was irrevocably changed, I abandoned those childish aspirations and became a con man of a different sort. You know the rest of the story. Late in life, I decided I wanted to write. I can't do it for a living, I've got no degree, I'm 50 , there are countless professionals out of work, so I do the next best thing. I write here. I get it wrong, I get it right, but I always tell it like I see it. Somewhere along the line, reporters and journalists in this city stopped doing that. News stations handle news that might reflect negatively upon an advertiser with kid gloves. Starry eyed clueless writers ignore the elephant in the room.

I get the bulk of my news online now. If I want to know about city government, city hall, mammy gate, I go to a blog. If I want a history lesson, I go to a blog. Want to know where to eat, go to a blog. The list goes on. I can find more truth on the Internet, than in the local media. Journalists can dismiss the Internet, they can poo poo blogs, bury their ego inflated heads in the sand, deny the truth. The truth is, local media is rapidly becoming obsolete. They run 30 or 60 minute commercials at 4, 5, 6, 9 and 10 pm nightly. They hedge, they ignore, and they deny. What they rarely do, at least consistently, is report the real news.

You can't stop a random bullet when your hands are tied.

Two women are dead. One a lawyer for Kansas Dept. of Education who was traveling down Cleaver Blvd. after seeing a show at Starlight. The other woman was sitting at a bus stop on Troost. The two women probably had little in common on the surface other than the apparent random bad luck of being in the exact wrong spot at the worst possible time. I had two reactions, which I'll readily admit. It's the same reaction most people had, even though most won't admit it. The lawyer heading home to Lawrence, who caught a bullet with her mother and daughter sitting inches away in the same car, drew a surprised reaction. The lady on Troost, probably a black woman, whose death was just as tragic, just as random, and who is just as dead, ....well it was on Troost, not that big of a surprise. I don't make this admission absent of the knowledge that it's wrong headed, or the automatic assumption that one woman was a successful white woman, the other a less fortunate black woman. Both deaths are equally senseless, equally tragic, and should be equally shocking, but they aren't. Hold that thought, we'll get back to it.

GANGS and The Police. Lets just blame it on gangs, and guns of course, throw drugs in for good measure, call it war between rival gangs over drug turf, slap a bow on that box O bullshit and call it a day.

"I've heard there are gangs going on that are in disputes," says Melba Curls, the Third District At-Large city council woman. Really? No shit? You could stand a dozen council people, activists, and columnists in a line, and they would all readily buy that bullshit about "Gangs, turf battles, drugs, and guns". Ask those same people why it is so easy to catch a stray bullet, and they will blame the police. They will also be quick to do a hatchet job on the KCPD for buying cars, racial profiling, lack of manpower, complacency in relation to the urban core, the east side, and black folks in general. People want it both ways, and they want to shift the blame away from their own part in it. Is there a gang problem in Kansas City, sure. Do the police target random young black guys who just happen to be rolling through the hood with only their parking lights on at 2 in the morning, yep, you betcha. A 21 year old kid in a 60,000 dollar car rolling down prospect, is probably going to get stopped. There in lies the problem. The catch 22.

I can say with 99.999 percent certainty that stray bullets coming from 59th and Walrond, or 34th and Troost were not fired from the barrel of guns owned by pasty white guys preaching door to door for the Mormons. I may be off a little on my figures, feel free to jump in and correct me right after you call me out as a racist middle aged white guy, but I believe somewhere in the neighborhood of 80 percent of the 60 something homicides in this city were committed by young black guys, with an equal number of the victims being, young black guys. The problem with making the statement, if you are white, even though it's an undeniable fact, it will be deemed racist.

Groups and activists are calling out the police for complacency, for doing too little, for not giving a shit, because it's black folks being killed. These same people would scream racism, and do, if the police did what was really necessary to stem the flow of blood in the streets. You need look no further than the City of Los Angeles. When gang or drug related violence was reaching it's zenith in L.A., folks raised hell, pointed fingers at the cops for not doing enough. When the police put the hammer down and started kicking in doors and cracking heads, the violence tapered off and the cries of racial profiling were followed by lawsuit upon lawsuit. We want it both ways. We want the streets to be safe from rolling predators. Animals who think nothing of squeezing off a dozen rounds while rolling down a major road less than 3 blocks from the police station, or in a residential area intersected by a major highway. In the same breath we don't want the police to be too rough or insensitive.

The problem isn't gangs, drugs, or racism. It's fear. The police are afraid to take a really hard stance, to really apply pressure. That shit will get you sued, cost you your job, and in some cases get you tossed in jail, which isn't an attractive proposition for your average law enforcement type. If the police would go back to the police that I grew up avoiding, the ones who would peel your cap back for you when they caught you dirty, we would have a lot less violence in the street. If they would go back to those mass raids on strings of dope houses, rounding up known drug dealers, and suspected gang members, violent crime, especially these random killings of innocent bystanders would cease to be so commonplace. I'm not suggesting that the cops go all Rodney King and start beating down young black males in the street, just the ones who are dirty. Look, it's simple, do the math. A small number of young, black, thugs, have created an environment that is unsafe, be it sitting at a bus stop or a stoplight. Absent fathers, piss poor schools, lack of jobs, racial disparity, all of these factors play a role in breeding the predatory criminals who are running the streets of this city. All of these issues need to be addressed, shit needs to be fixed, that's how you deal with preventing crime in the future. To deal with the here and now, you need more cops in the streets, more drug house raids, and taking a hard stance on the current school of sharks who roam the streets, who would kill you just as soon as look at you. Pretending that you can reason with these guys is moronic and only enables them to continue destroying the lives of innocent people, their own people. YOU CAN'T ALTER THE FUTURE IF YOU DON'T DEAL WITH THE PRESENT. Period.

The urban core isn't made up of drug dealers , crack heads, and extras from Boyz in the Hood. The people in the most crime ridden neighborhoods are by and large, honest, decent folks, who want the same things as the next guy. They want to sit on their porch in the evening without fear of catching a bullet. they want their children to have the life they never knew, never will know. What keeps them from realizing this most basic of desires, is a small minority of thugs, who operate with impunity. Most of these folks would welcome whatever it takes to clean up the streets, short of targeting innocent people, or just taking the perp to an alley and putting one in their brain pan. The bleeding hearts, over educated white folks who take it upon themselves to lay all the blame at the feet of the wealthy, or the complacency of the police. The activist groups who put ex cons on the payroll in the hopes of guarding the chicken coop with a reformed fox. The community leaders who march up and down the street screaming racism because the cops don't do enough, or because they went to far. They all have blood on their hands. They saddle the cops with the burden of "protect and serve", then wait to pounce when they don't approve of their tactics. They want it both ways. You can't go hand fishing for piranhas, unless you want to pull back a stump. You can't rehab a predatory criminal through hugs, drum circles, and candlelight vigils. The problem isn't oversized white T shirts in the Power and Light district, it's the guy who is dressed like that who is slinging dope from some rundown shit hole while making his neighbors lives miserable. It isn't hard to tell one from the other, and I'm not advocating going after the countless young black kids who dress that way, just the criminals.

I realize more than a few people will say that this post is full of racism. Just the ramblings of an out of touch white guy. The problem with that view is these people either go out of their way to blame it all on the cops or white folks in general, or they get all of their opinions from some book on societal ills and racial disparity. I watched these young guys walk the prison yards, I've seen them in action both in prison and on the streets of Midtown. Blaming it all on the typical bleeding heart rhetoric, or denying it's existence altogether, is a huge part of the problem, and it's largely the reason the streets of Kansas City aren't safe. I'll retract every single word that I've put in this post, just as soon as someone can show me one instance of a drive by being perpetrated by pasty white Mormons on 10 speeds. You can't develop your way out of the problem, you can't pray your way out of the problem, and you damn sure can't just politely ask the bad guys to stop killing each other ,and whoever happens to get in the way. You have to deal with hard cases in a hard way. If you combine support for the police with education and development of the urban core, then you might see a turn around. In the meantime, you might want to avoid this city altogether, because it ain't gonna happen anytime soon if ever.

Fast Eddie Friday.....They say 50 is the new 49.....

Here we go, fast and loose.

Shon ( my wife ran away with a rich stranger) Pernice is being squeezed like fresh orange juice. Tampering with a witness, 250 k bond, Grand Jury Indictment, not good if you are him. Yesterdays news that Shon The Shovel was being held on such a high bond makes me believe he is the recipient of the old " More than one way to skin a cat" routine. The thinking being, if you squeeze hard enough your suspect will crack. Ever since Renee Pernice went missing her husband Shon has been the main suspect. He has also been on a slow melt down. Allegedly stealing a pistol from a neighbor, drunken run ins with neighbors, questionable choices of interviews. Lets face it, the guy is a walking train wreck. Clearly the cops have narrowed the suspect list down to one. The fact that he hasn't been charged isn't a big surprise, murder cases are hard to make with no body, no witnesses, and no declaration of death. Now comes the Grand Jury indictment for witness tampering. Grand jurys usually don't hear cases like this one. I'd say the tampering charge is probably thin as well, otherwise they would have just charged him without a Grand Jury hearing the case.

Back when I was at the top of my criminal career I felt the squeeze. For about an 8 month period I woke many a morning to find an unmarked car out front of my house. Kansas City had formed a unit known as the Career Criminal Unit, at the time they had only been around for a couple of years at best . Detective Bob Guffey was the lead guy, he usually rode around with another Dick whose actual name I don't recall, I just remember they called him Pancho. He was a thin guy with a pock marked face. Guffey was a chunky guy with a mullet, hey it was the late 80's early 90's, what are ya gonna do. The first few months it was a game, cat and mouse, lots of flipping off, plenty of posturing. I had a mobile command center, a rolling forgers office, where I kept the tools of my trade. It was a late 60's AMC Ambassador, stripped down, a big block Chrysler motor, and a hole cut in the floorboard. The car wasn't registered to me, the tags came from a junkyard, it looked plain, ran like a scalded dog, and it had that James Bond ala Joe Dirt trapdoor in the floor.

My favorite place to park the car was in the underground parking at the old Wornall Bank on 79th. I'd drive my regular car in and reappear in my rolling forger mobile. I'd go do my dirt, return the car, then pick it up the next time I needed it. The tricky part was making sure I wasn't being followed before I made the switch. Criminals, especially those who choose fruad as a career path tend to be ego driven. We think we are smarter than your average run of the mill robbers and burglars, and for the most part that's true. We also think we are smarter than the police, which isn't always true. The last time I drove that car I was bringing it back to my spot. I pulled down in the parking area only to find Bob and his pock marked partner laying in wait, a chase ensued. We ended up on Blue River road, every time Id hit a curve and they were out of sight, I'd tear up some evidence, checks, loan papers, etc, and send them through the hole in the floor. We ended up on a back road in Grandview. I got far enough ahead of them to whip into an elks lodge, pull behind the building, and pat myself on the back for shaking my tail and disposing of the evidence. Unfortunately I hadn't shaken shit, Bob Guffey appeared at my drivers window, pistol in my face, game , set , match. I didn't catch a case, not then anyway. I did receive a free ride to jail, about 8 or 10 tickets, and an impromptu ass beating in a gravel parking lot. Note to self, gravel leaves a dust cloud.

My point, the squeeze, I've felt it, and you can bet your ass Shon Pernice is feeling it. Like me Pernice thinks he is smarter than the cops, and that's where all similarities end. I've never been a suspect in a homicide case, or any violent crime for that matter. Prediction time; Pernice isn't a criminal, not in the true sense of the word, he may be a killer, he is clearly a drunken moron, and a sociopath who cares little for his children, his only concern is Shon. His actions over the past couple of months show that he is starting to crack, he is breaking down. if the D.A. is smart they will allow the bond to be lowered, let Pernice get out, and reapply pressure. The guy is ready to crack. when you crack, you make mistakes, you get caught. That's how the game is played.

Now, to end this overly long post. Monday marks 50, count em 50 years I've been on this planet. I'm as surprised as anyone. From the stories I've revealed on this blog, no doubt most readers would concur, it's a miracle I've made it to the half century mark. People are always saying shit like "I don't feel 50", or whatever age they are turning. But how do they know how 50 is supposed to feel? I look back over the years, and I feel every day of those 50 years. I'm glad to be here, not planning on checking out anytime soon. I have moments where I miss the old life, then I recall the downside to that way of life, and I let it go. I'm guessing Bob Guffey and Poncho Pockmark are retired by now, as am I, at least from my former occupation. My life is better than I have any right to expect it to be. I hope Guffey and Poncho are enjoying retirement as well. No doubt they would be as surprised as anyone that I made it this far. Have a safe weekend. Thanks for reading.

Stoopid Twosday.....Shine on you crazy diamond. Inside the mind of Gloria Squitiro.

Some of you may recall back in the day when Nancy Reagan allegedly used psychics, held seances, and other new agey spiritual shenanigans in the White House. More than a few people figured she was crazy. Well crazy has come to Kansas City, like one of the 4 horseman of the Apocalypse. Her name is Gloria, and behold, she rides a Pale gaunt guy instead of a horse. Any remaining shreds of dignity in the Mayors office have been totally destroyed, all hope of Mayor Funk turning his first and final term around have been dashed. All thanks to his number one supporter, his wife. A 2008 journal, kept on a city hall computer, reveals the thoughts, anger, and unbridled hate, of Kansas Citys first "Lady". Why the Mayors wife was stupid enough to document her true feelings on a city computer is beyond me. 35 pages of revelations, how her mind works, all laid out. It's the car crash you can't look away from. You can read it in all it's glory here. There are ghostly apparitions, lots of "poor Me's", and an insight into the unguarded and unstable mind of a woman who influences the "elected leader"of Kansas City. It isn't often that you get a chance to see inside someones soul, I cant recommend it enough. The PDF is 35 pages long, it's alot to digest, but it's a must read. My initial thoughts after reading her diary;

1. I feel sorry for the Funk and I have to admit a begrudging respect for his devotion to a woman who clearly is not mentally balanced. That said, I have an equal amount of disdain for an elected official, a Mayor no less, who would allow the city to suffer in order to placate his wife.

2. Some people take great pleasure in being miserable. Gloria loves the drama as long as she can be the center of it. She relishes the role of victim, even though her victimization comes from her own hand and mouth.

3. She needs to get some serious mental help, stat.

One of the most telling points, at least in my mind, Gloria gets pissed off because a mechanic can't remove her car wheel due to locking lug nuts to which there was no key. She complains about the "Asshole" wasting their time. She wants what she wants, when she wants it, and pity the fool who stands in her way. 35 pages of crazy, fear, loathing, envy, lust for power, it's all there, and really worth a read when you have an extra 30 minutes.

What fascinates me is the voyeuristic aspect of those 35 pages. These are private thoughts, stupidly stored on a city computer. She never intended for much of what was revealed to be public record, these are her inner thoughts, often ugly, petulant, and childish. I almost felt guilty reading it, like finding someones diary open and unattended. Then again, most people don't keep a diary on a city hall computer. If it was anyone else, I'd say that the fallout over these 35 pages of crazy would be the catalyst that would prompt Funk to step down, for the sake of his wife and family. But the Mayor is stubborn, incompetent but stubborn. I think he will ride it out to the bitter end, even if it sends his unbalanced wife over the edge.

Fast Eddie Friday......Just plain crazy

Fox 4 just ran a short piece on the Glore Psychiatric Museum. You can view some pics and commentary on the Saint Joe museum here. The story got me to thinking about the crazy people I've crossed paths with over the years. Crazy people fascinate me, always have. The first truly insane person I ever encountered was the mother of a childhood friend. The kids name was Pat, we were budding juvenile delinquents back in the day. Pats father worked at a transmission shop, he looked like String Bean from the Grand Old Opry, he permanently smelled like transmission fluid, was perpetually drunk, mean as hell, and an easy mark. I'd spend the night at Pats, was probably 12 0r 13 at the time. Pats old man would come home drunk as Cooter Brown, smack Pat or one of his three brothers around, then pass out. Once we were sure the old prick was deep asleep, Pat would belly crawl across his bedroom floor, lift his wallet and liberate his cash and his car keys. The keys fit a pale yellow early 1960's Lincoln. We spent many a night, barely able to see over the dash or reach the pedals, tearing up the streets of Waldo and the South end of KC. Somehow we managed, and we would usually end up at Sambo's restaurant on Bannister road, well after midnight.

Pats father was a mean spirited drunk, but he wasn't crazy. Pats mother however was as crazy as an Arizona road lizard. I'm talking bat shit insane. Her hair was always fucked up, her doo was a cross between a bouffant 60's style and Buckwheat of little Rascals fame. His mother was the original Butter Face. She had that crazy hair that looked like she had been electrocuted, her face had red patches and open sores from digging at it, and she was joop eyed, one eye was half closed while the other seemed to constantly bounce around in its socket. As faces go, hers was none too nice to look at. She also had a tendency to walk around the house mostly naked. For a crazy lady with 4 kids, she had a killer body, at least as I remember it. Then again, in the eyes of a just pubed boy, maybe any female flesh looked good. Time has a way of softening the edges of our memory. Like a photographers lens with a thin coating of Vaseline, the rough edges softened, the hard lines blurred. So maybe her body wasn't all that rockin, but that's how I remember it. Hence the original Butter Face analogy, everything looked good, butter face.

Pats mom would have periods of lucidity, seeming almost normal, then she would relapse into long stretches of pure insanity. She would eat from the trash can. I recall one day when we walked in the house only to find her sitting in the middle of the kitchen, in her underwear, eating garbage like it was a KC strip from Morton's. Coffee grounds and eggshells clinging to her face, chewing away at God knows what. I had to look away, so I focused on her breasts, which were unencumbered and quite spectacular for a 30 something woman with four kids. Kids can be viscous little bastards, and we were no exception. During one of her semi lucid periods, we taped 3 smoke bombs to the window unit a/c, lit them, then ran through the house yelling fire. As the house filled with smoke, Pats crazy mother ran outside buck naked, followed by an extremely pissed off transmission mechanic in boxer shorts. Pats old man chased him around the front yard, well after midnight, while the neighbors peered from their front porches and out their windows.

Somehow, maybe Divine intervention or perhaps blind luck, Pat turned out to be pretty normal. He grew up, managed to avoid following me to boys homes and prisons, despite his having a family as fucked up as a soup sandwich, while my own was relatively normal. His other brothers, not so much. One is up in the Crossroads serving life for a contract killing, another is long since dead by his own hand, and the third is living in Grandview, over 50, still trying his best to be a teenaged deadbeat. As for his father, he drank himself to death years ago. Pats mother is still living. Housed in a residential group home, her madness quelled by medication and old age. I spoke to the deadbeat brother in Grandview about a year ago, he filled me in, then proceeded to hit me up for money. I'm sure Pats mom no longer is possessed of that body, at least not as I remember it, if it ever did look that good. Like I said, we often see the past through a fuzzy lens. What I know is this; Every time I smell transmission fluid I think of Pats drunken father, and there are few things in life more disconcerting than a mostly naked woman eating trash in her kitchen.

True Story.

Disembodied voices and dark hearts........

I was reading a story in the Star about a woman who was reportedly raped in her home by a man she met somehow through her workplace. The story goes on to explain that her children were in the house, at one point one of the kids was in the room as the rape took place. The allegations if proven to be true are bad enough, for the victim and her children, the incident will effect them for the rest of their lives. The crime itself wasn't unique, and I probably wouldn't even mention it here if it weren't for the comments. The comments that accompany the short article are what really stand out, at least in my mind. Here are just a few.

MAXBYTCH wrote on 7/8/2009 7:51:50 PM:
She should have known better than to have that man in her home like that. It is very important to Think about your children....First !!!!
Reddman wrote on 7/9/2009 4:50:31 AM:
What I'd like to know is why did she just lay there and wait for him to return when he went to return the child to her room. Don't look like too much resistance there to me.
Texanflowr wrote on 7/8/2009 5:24:13 PM:
The woman obviously used poor judgment to bring a man she just met into her home with the children being there.... all the men I have dated never have had the opportunity to be introduced to my children the first few encounters or only after a couple of months of dating. You just don't bring strange men around your children! While if she was raped, there is no justification; I believe she needs to learn some parenting skills.

The Internet has been an amazing thing. We get news almost instantly, we can watch it unfold, updated by the minute. You can do all of your Christmas shopping from the comfort of your living room. Fortunes are made, stars are born, careers are ruined. In my mind, the most fascinating phenomena to come about from the Internet is the anonymity that encourages people to rear their ugly heads and say what they really think. We get to see inside the hearts and minds of the people we pass on the street. But MM, you say some fairly controversial, and arguably ugly shit yourself. Pot meet Kettle, no?" Not exactly, anyone who reads this blog knows my real name, and intimate details of my past. They have read the article in the Pitch. So not to toot my own horn, but I'm not exactly lurking around in the shadows. I'm also not saying that everyone should run out and reveal their private lives on the web, in fact I'd recommend they don't. The safety of being anonymous is what makes the opinions, comments and thoughts that flow through the web, so telling .

I get branded a cynic on a fairly regular basis. Maybe I am, hell, I'm sure I am. But I'm rarely surprised or shocked by the vitriol and ugliness that people spew about others from the safe faceless confines of the Internet. The ability to lash out without fear of a foot in the ass, or more dignified retaliation, has given voice to people who would normally reserve their slack jawed commentary for their inner circle of like minded knuckle heads, friends, and family. The web gives us a window into peoples hearts, and it ain't exactly a pretty thing to see.

Stooooopid Tuesday......Tito bring me a tissue.

The masses of tunnel vision afflicted mouth breathers will converge on Los Angeles today to remember Micheal (king bad touch) Jackson, while ignoring the countless reasons he should be forgotten forever. I firmly believe this would be the perfect time for God to prove his existence to me once and for all, open the ground below the Staples Center and swallow them all whole. I'm not hardly bull shittin here. I fully expect the memorial to turn into a scene not unlike worshippers being trampled at Mecca. Hopefully Rep. Sheila Jackson-Lee, D-Texas, will be in attendance and will be trampled in the melee. Who the hell is Rep. Sheila Jackson-Lee ? Glad you asked. She is the democratic Representative who is calling on Congress to recognize Jackson as a "global humanitarian and a noted leader in the fight against worldwide hunger and medical crises" and celebrate the King of Pop as "an accomplished contributor to the worlds of arts and entertainment, scientific advances in the treatment of HIV/AIDS, and global food security." If this twit has her way, if elected democratic reps pass this idiotic resolution, I swear to God and Tito, I will turn in my moderate liberal card, and join the ranks of Neo Conservative Republicans.

Not to get all philosophical and shit, but is this what our country has become, a bunch of blind eye turning, freak show worshipping morons? It would seem so. When our congress turns their attention to debating whether a pedophile,( hey you don't pay 15 to 25 million to silence a kid if it ain't true), when congress wastes time and money debating some bullshit resolution honoring this creepy fucker, it speaks volumes as to the direction we are heading, which is Hell in a hand basket. I would think that with this country in the shape it is in at the moment, there are more pressing matters to attend to.

If I've learned anything from the death of the One Gloved Skeletor, it's this. Liberals, and I count myself as one, albeit in dissent over the adoration of Jackson, Liberals are so busy with the business of being politically correct and sensitive, they lack the backbone to speak up when it might offend someone, unless that someone is a conservative. And conservatives stop fuckin gloating, you are just as bad. Seriously, Mike Jackson, global humanitarian? Why not open up a string of battered women's shelters and name them after Ike Turner. How about the NAACP honoring the late Governor George Wallace for his advances in race relations? Not any more ridiculous than calling MJ a humanitarian. This world is full of people who actually commit heroic, honorable acts on a daily basis. There really are people who care about right and wrong, who wont ignore their conscience or compromise their principals to appease one group or another. Unfortunately they aren't in Washington. And you won't find them attending the memorial.

Fast Eddie Friday......The pre- Independence day Whiskey Tango Edition

Great day in the mornin, nothing, and I mean nothing, says let freedom ring, better than a trailer park. Rebel flags, pickem up trucks, mullets, and meth. Just when I thought I had covered every trailer park here in Gawds country, up pops this hot mess, like a festering herpetic blister. Nestled among the rolling hills of 31st street just east of Van Brunt blvd, a quaint village sits atop a hill. I didn't see a name, so feel free to give it one of your choosing. And yes, that is the parks Playground pictured above.

I've passed this one by on numerous occasions, and I dropped the ball on this one, because I was passing a gem. The Hope diamond of white trash, the crown jewel of trailer courts. Every stereotype associated with trailer courts is on display in this craptastic shit hole.

I know what you are thinking, the place looks mostly abandoned, sadly, you would be wrong. In fact the lovely bungalow pictured below, with busted windows, outdoor mattress, and hawesome amenities galore inside, I'm sure, had the window A/c unit cranking when I pulled up.
Last and certainly not the least are two posh digs in another park just to the east.

I mean really, who doesn't love an orange trailer house trimmed in day glo green. Yes that is yellow crime scene tape next to the orange trailer. It really compliments the orangy green-ness, don't you think? I think the second domicile, with A Pool, pretty much squashes any questions about class and trailer parks. You might discern the pool is on an incline, sitting caddy-wompass as it where. Well you my dear readers are some cynical sumbitches. Clearly this angle was intentional. The tilt makes the pool shallow on one end. Perfect for unattended little ones who have yet to master the art of swimmin-n-such.

Now if you find this post to be unkind, cruel, insulting, uncaring, and generally fucked up, no need to thank me, it's what I do. And its why I only do one show a day. Everyone have a safe and injury free 4th.

The rivers edge revisited....................

Reading back through some of my older posts, it dawned on me that I've never really followed up on most of them. So I thought it might be interesting to see how things have changed, sort of a "where are they now" series. This post will be the first of that series.

Back to the Rivers Edge...

She would be two years old now, but Lailah Hardy never saw her second birthday. Her mother, Lecletia J. Hardy, 26, lost her will to live, lost her mind, abandoned all hope and rationale. She drove her car down to the edge of the Little Blue. She carried her child to the rivers edge, and then offered both of their lives up to the icy water. The demons she may have been wrestling with won the day. It was the ultimate selfish act, a mother taking the life of her own child. You know that she must have been out of her mind, her sanity at least temporarily gone south. How else can you explain it, give it a name? Back in January the ground was cold and hard, the trees were bare, the river frozen over in large part except for a spot in the middle of a bend, the water dark, like an open mouth waiting to be fed. Under a large oak there was a makeshift memorial. Teddy bears, a stuffed penguin, convenience store single roses in cellophane tubes.

Yesterday I drove back to the spot, curiosity got the best of me. I wondered if the little memorial was still there, if it had gone unmolested. I wondered if the people who loved this baby and her mother had kept the small shrine up, or if revisiting the tragic spot was too painful, leaving their outpouring of grief and unanswered questions to the mercy of the elements, to fade with time. The hard packed winter ground had given way to knee high weeds, the memorial was overgrown, stuffed toys peeked out through weeds, no longer in a neat cluster, but scattered about, partially hidden by the tall grass and small scrub saplings. It's hard to find fault with anyone not wanting to continue coming here, I can't say I blame them. In another 6 months, a year, all evidence will be erased. The how and why, at least for the family and friends, will undoubtedly haunt them for the remainder of their lives.

To be honest, I probably would have forgotten the tragedy that took place along the banks of the Little Blue. Six months is an eternity when it comes to this type of thing. In the grand scheme of things, this story only garnered a few days of coverage in the local media, then it was on to the next, and the one after, and on it goes. I only remember it because I wrote about it, visited the spot, snapped a couple of photos. When you write about a particular thing, especially something as tragic and incomprehensible as a mother drowning her child, it tends to stay with you, tucked away in the back of your mind. I've driven by this area countless times, and what happened there comes to mind every single time. To be honest I didn't recall the names, or even the month it took place. I remember the stuffed toys, the hard ground, the dark mouth in the icy water, and the young woman who I encountered as I was walking up the hill, who looked at me through her pain, wondering who I was and why I was there. The tragedy touched me only because my curiosity got the best of me, and it haunts me still.