It matters Not That I Have Wheels And Roll In This Life, For In The Next Life I Shall Have Wings And Fly!


As a wheelchair using disabled person, I have a responsibility to help those that are newly disabled

When I was first disabled and my legs decided they only worked sometimes I spent almost two years basically bed bound because of the multiple disabilities I live with the doctors couldn’t get a treatment that worked in a balanced way for all that ailed me . I was in a dark “woe is me” place thinking the judo competing marathon running physically able life was a thing of the past. A friend of mine whom I have known since childhood tore me a new one, “get your whining disabled ass out of bed and get back to that thing called life you’re disabled not dead!”
I got an electric scooter because my insurance called a wheelchair “ not necessary” a ”luxury” but in the year and a half I used the scooter my weight ballooned to over 500lbs, on February 4th 2009 a doctor told me if I did not lose weight I was dead.
send to ella

I bought a folding wheelchair online and when it came it was ugly and I cried it looked like the kind of chair a dying person would have so I took everything off of it I threw away arm rests I cut the height of the back down to a mere sports chair style sling I took the upholstery and re did it in zebra print I resprayed the frame with four coats of purple and two coats of clear and I started pushing.
built this chair myself
The first week Ella said “let’s go to the botanical gardens, it’s only a mile each way” I said sure and going there was downhill? Easy peasy, when we were leaving I gotten yards and we hailed a cab too far too soon.
That week we went through our cupboards and the fridge and threw away the fattening and we went the last step from vegetarian to vegan, and each day I drank 2 liters of water and pushed around the block next month around two blocks the month after to the botanic gardens and BACK.
Many good friends who like me had wheels under their collective asses but had been using chairs for much longer gave me helpful tips and advice and piece by piece the chair had cross supports wielded, the back wheels were changed to quick release hubs and the front to frogs legs casters and forks and a better cushion and for a while it worked the weight fell off.
Mia sits lotus
In late 2010 my chair frame snapped on a steep railway platform and I met a man with a company called infinite rehab in maleny Queensland Australia, he took a couple of hundred measurements and showed me quality of the metal and gave me a choice of colors and upholstery cloth and he asked how I sit, what my disability was and then he left and handmade and stitched everything except the wheels and 8 weeks later I had a chair that fitted like a glove not only my body but my life.
4 my chair 2
and even after getting my custom ride I customized it further with kenda nevgal off road wheels
mias  offroad
my chair
and frogs legs casters and wheels

I would still be in my broken homemade folding chair if not for those who had gone before reaching back and pulling me up with support knowledge and advice and most of all stern words when I threw a pity party, as one friend admonished me” if you’re going to throw a fucking pity party next time get the damn thing catered” words to live by!
What happened to me was people I knew some only just newly acquainted others lifelong who were dis or otherwise abled, saw me in distress and depression and gave a necessary come to Jesus meeting then others saw what equipment I had and said not bad but let me show you where to and how to get yourself something better.
Each person spent no more than an hour, some only minutes to pass forward their sage advice but those periods of time gave me back my life I did judo once again,
mia judo

I rock climbed

I swam two miles a day

mia in the pool
I did road races (10km, 15km, half marathon) and surfing
and I worked I had a life I don’t call it normal because seriously what the fuck is that?
So now it’s my turn, and I take it seriously I write this blog to give information, I do outreach amongst the wheelchair using homeless? Yes there are two homeless paraplegic veterans in New York one of them has a chair held together by duct tape? I have helped them get new chairs housing and medical care, not because I want kudos but simply because I know how and what does it cost me? Absolutely nothing and all I ask of them is to turn around look behind and pull someone else up as I have for them.
I don’t believe in god, if he was real where was he when a 5 year old child was raped by pedophiles and passed around like party favors? But his book of fables is very clear on the subject of helping others
“He who refuses but one of mine refuses me”
Finally the two best ways to pass it forward are
1/ to live an amazing life
2/ so live your life it demands a question
Just because you have wheels under your ass doesn’t mean you can’t have a mind blowing life quite the obvious in fact because as the meme says
“don’t walk quietly to the grave jump on your ride and scream through life yelling yahoo and swing sideways to a stop screaming “damn life was one hell of a ride”
What better way to scream through life eating every moment like a cannoli than with a cool custom wheelchair under your ass!

He who refuses but one one of mine refuses me

That fool ben Carson compared refugees to rabid dogs, Huckabee said we should only admit those who can prove their Christian, Chris Christy said he didn’t care if it was a five year old orphan? Oh yeah but they all swear they believe in god and walk the walk and talk the talk.
If you believe the book of fables and nursery rhymes called the bible Jesus broke bread with roman soldiers, the same roans that would later nail him to a cross on Golgotha he fed the poor and raised the dead and cured the sick and he never asked where they were born, if you believe in the bible read Isiah 6 verse 6 the only correct answer to any crisis as a Christian is “I am here lord send me”
Now that was the part for those who believe now let’s get to facts, the founding fathers were refugees, at every step along the way this country and every other organized nation in the western world were made greater by refugees arriving on their shores.
My mother-in-law and father-in-law are of Russian Jewish heritage and both families suffered at the hands of the Nazis during the holocaust. In 1939 a ship arrived on Americas shores full of Jewish children sent by their parents to safety because the parents knew what would happen if they were left in the hands of the Nazis, The American people said the same things then they are saying now more than half of those children when the boat was sent back to Europe were slaughtered by the Nazis?
I would not know the love I have if my Ella as a small child was not allowed with her family to leave Russia and come to America with not much more than the clothes on their back. The Jewish people have given so much to the fabric of our society as have the Chinese and south east Asians and people of middle eastern descent and those from the over 300 countries that make up the population of this great nation more than 80% of the people that went west in wagon trains and opened up this country in the 1800’s were from eastern European and Scandinavian countries they were all leaving a bad situation for the hope of something better.
Let’s get one thing straight folks before you throw the baby out with the bath water and say because one man pretended he was a refugee out of millions who truly are that they are all dangerous and should be stopped that unless you are Native American your ancestors were not only refugees but also illegal aliens and invaders.
Look at your mother’s maiden name your father’s name the name of the person you love or the band of brothers you served with and ask yourself what would your life be without refugees and immigrants from somewhere else?
Should we be diligent and ever on guard ?of course that’s how this great nation and all the nations taking in refugees have become the great peoples that they are the French fought the Nazis guerilla style and without the resistance fighters there never could have been an Omaha beach, England’s finest hour was the battle of Britain surviving the long nights of German bombing, my beloved Australia fought the Japanese on the their very shores Darwin was destroyed by the Japanese but the greatest generation fought and stood shoulder to shoulder and nation didn’t matter because the one thing that knew was all that evil needed to triumph was for good men to do nothing so they fought on.
The world we live in today stands on the shoulders of heroes, and the stories of that generation are ones of fighting to save the oppressed the threatened the disenfranchised. The allies drove tanks through the gates of death camps and freed the captives, they fed the children they gave back dignity and they guaranteed a future to those they freed.
We gather on special days each year and we honor them, we honor what they did and who they were and the heroes we know they became yet now when we are given our chance to step up and take the baton from them and have our finest hour and be the people our grandfathers and fathers fought for us to be allowed to grow free to be we turn on those who need us most and we sent them home to be killed by the very people we accuse them of being.

Wake up America either read the words on the statue of liberty and live them or wrap her up and send her back

After Vet Felled by PTSD, Service Dog Honor Aids Family Now

After Vet Felled by PTSD, Service Dog Honor Aids Family Now
CLYDE, N.C. — Nov 9, 2015, 12:29 PM ET
The Associated Press
In this March 2012 photo provided by Paws & Effect, Wade Allen Baker sits with Honor at the end of the PTSD service dog’s placement with him and the workshop that all recipients go through at Camp Dodge in Johnston, Iowa. A year after graduation, Baker returned to the training camp to mentor the latest cadre of dog recipients. He sat down with a videographer from Paws & Effect to talk about how Honor had changed his life. “It’s getting better,” he said. “And it’s not the meds. It’s not the therapy. It’s just everyday living, with him.”
Part of the Labrador retriever’s training was to sense when the demons of war had invaded Wade Baker’s dreams.

“I was having a nightmare, a flashback,” Baker, a Gulf War veteran, once told an interviewer. “And I woke up with Honor standing on my chest, licking my face.”

He tried to push his service dog away, but Honor persisted.

“He was stopping the nightmare for me,” Baker said.

And so, this summer when he saw his master lying in the flag-draped casket, Honor pushed through the clutch of weeping family members, reared up, placed his paws on the edge and tried to climb in. Unable to comfort Baker, the lanky black dog in the camouflage-patterned vest curled up underneath.

For Baker, the long nightmare was finally over. But Honor was still on duty.

Baker’s quarter-century battle with post-traumatic stress disorder ended on Aug. 19 at a little church in the western North Carolina mountains. Police responding to an alleged hostage situation there did not know it at the time, but it was Baker who’d made the 911 call.

He was both gunman and hostage, and, as he told a friend who was trying desperately to make him surrender, it was time for him to be “put down.” When he fired at the officers, they returned fire, striking him nine times.

Plagued by memories and delusions, Baker took years to even admit that he had a problem. Even after his wife convinced him to get treatment, he never stopped looking for a cure — that “magic pill” that would allow him to go back to work, back to normal.

For a while, he thought Honor was it. In the end, even this bundle of unconditional love wasn’t enough for him.

Still, Honor was never just Wade Baker’s dog — and now there would be others in need of healing.


Baker, a State Center, Iowa, native, enlisted in the Army on Nov. 21, 1988 — nine days after his 18th birthday. Stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas, with his new wife Diane, Baker learned that his unit would be deployed for Operation Desert Storm to liberate Kuwait from Iraq’s Saddam Hussein. Part of the 1st Infantry Division, they would be “the tip of the spear.”

Baker, a Bradley Fighting Vehicle driver, made it through “the 100-hour war” with barely a scratch. But the invisible injuries inside were massive.

A few days after his return to Fort Riley, Diane called his sister, Laura Thomas, to say that he was having nightmares. He said a dead man was chasing after him, trying to talk to him.

Baker told his sister that, while in the desert, he’d stumbled across an Iraqi soldier and shot him when he reached into his uniform. The man, he later realized, was reaching for photos of his children.

Then there were the burial details.

“The dogs would have dug them up overnight,” he told her. “He talked about fighting over an arm with a dog one time.”

The men began shooting the animals, Baker said.

When Thomas told her brother that he needed professional help, he said that wasn’t an option.

He planned to make the Army a career and feared they would “bounce me out of the military for being a nut job.”

Besides, seeking help was a sign of weakness, he thought. Suffering in silence was the “manly” thing to do — even if that meant “drinking it away” or “drugging it away.”

Somehow, he managed to keep it all hidden. He picked up three good conduct medals and was promoted to sergeant. During the mid-1990s, Baker served back-to-back tours in war-torn Bosnia-Herzegovina and Macedonia.

Then things began to unravel. He attacked a higher-ranking non-commissioned officer and received a letter of reprimand for an incident involving his company commander.

“The anger, the frustration,” he said. “I didn’t know how to control it.”

In November 1998, he “managed to get out with an honorable discharge.”


Moving back to Iowa, Baker got a job as a corrections officer with the Marshall County Sheriff’s Department. But he was becoming more distant from Diane and their two girls.

He fell in love with a jail co-worker, Michelle, who was also married and had two sons of her own. They divorced their spouses and married, eventually having two sets of twins of their own.

By 2006, Baker had lost his jail job and was working for a pest-control company. Then in October of that year, fire struck, forcing them to grab the children and flee into the night.

“He said he felt like he was back in war,” Michelle Baker said. “He went downhill really fast after that.”

Baker was having false memories — a dog they never owned, a vacation they never took. And worse. He rushed in one day, ecstatic, after seeing their neighbor out doing yard work. He was convinced that he’d killed the man.

Shortly after the fire, Baker lost the exterminator job. He went to work servicing septic tanks.

Finally, Baker reached out to the Department of Veterans Affairs in 2007, but was told it would be several months before he could be seen. He began to see suicide as the only way out.

“You’re playing a game of chess,” he said. “And you realize you’re two moves away from checkmate.”

After a high-speed chase with police, Baker landed in a psychiatric unit. A doctor got him into the Iowa City VA.

“The Nightmares + Flashbacks are more severe in intensity + Frequency,” he wrote in a note from that period. “I see more clearly and I understand what they want. They need me to kill myself to make it rite. This is just the beginning its gonna get worse they want to torture me forever. I am afraid to live or die.”

Baker was finally diagnosed with PTSD. But it would be 2009 before the VA would declare him 100 percent disabled.

Meanwhile, he entered an inpatient program at the VA Medical Center in St. Cloud, Minnesota. He left early, but while there wrote a poem in which he channeled the feelings of soldiers from past wars.

“They convinced us to Fight For honor + glory

But when they were done with us, the same old story

‘Here are trinkets + medals — Oh wow a parade!

Now Just Forget all the promises made”


On Aug. 23, 2010, at a kennel in Indianola, Iowa, a chocolate Labrador retriever named Bittersweet Formaro whelped a litter of six — four males and two females. Nicole Shumate took the whole bunch, plus one more from another litter.

As executive director of Paws & Effect, Shumate has spent nearly a decade training dogs for service with disabled children and combat veterans. She dubbed this latest group the “military litter” — Anthem, Hero, Justice, Liberty, Merit and Valor.

And, of course, Honor.

Honor had a bit more drive than his siblings. In addition to the standard obedience training, Shumate enrolled him in agility classes to burn off some of that excess energy.

“Honor was always a clown,” she says.

Honor was about halfway through his training when the Bakers’ dog was hit by a car and killed. About that same time, Shumate was giving a talk to a local kennel club, and Thomas convinced Wade and Michelle to go.

By the time it was over, they were all in tears.

Catching Shumate outside, Thomas said, “Please help my brother.”

When Baker met Honor at Paws & Effects’ Des Moines office, the dog was aloof and Baker was stuttering. But Shumate was confident the two would complement each other.

In March 2012, Baker and about a half dozen other veterans reported for training at a military base outside Des Moines. After two days, Baker was agitated and ready to quit.

Then the men and dogs paired up for real-world training. During a mall outing, Baker became anxious. Honor began rubbing against his legs, then climbed up into his lap and let out a big yawn — a calming trick he’d learned.

“And that’s when I realized: ‘Oh. You’re training ME,'” Baker said.

Honor “graduated” along with his siblings. Baker said he’d already slept more in the two weeks of training than he had in years.


The VA doesn’t pay to provide service dogs for PTSD sufferers. However, the agency is in the midst of a three-year study of the animals’ potential benefits to veterans — or harms, such as possibly distancing themselves from human contact.

While many veterans report a great calming and comforting effect from having a service dog, says Dr. Chris Crowe Sr., a VA clinical psychologist, “there’s a real difference between feeling better and treating these disorders that can derail a person’s life.”

Michelle Baker didn’t need a study to know that Honor was a godsend. The change was immediate — and profound.

Before Honor, Baker would grow anxious if he went to one of the boys’ football games. He’d be a wreck for a week afterward.

“It made him an active member in our family again,” she said.

And it wasn’t just Wade. Before Honor, Michelle Baker felt as if they were all “drowning in an ocean.”

Honor, she said, “was a life preserver who swam to us.”

In a 2012 interview on Iowa Public Radio’s “River to River” program, Baker said Honor was pure love — unconditional and unquestioning.

“He doesn’t care why I’m agitated,” he said. “He’s like, ‘Hey. Something’s not right. Let’s fix it.'”

Yet even though Baker loved Honor — whom he affectionately called “Tiger” or “Knucklehead” — he couldn’t shake the conviction that his dependence on this dog was proof of his own weakness. Honor’s vest — embroidered with the words “DO NOT PET” — was like “a bullseye on my back,” he said. He declared that Honor was just the “next step” in his recovery.

“I’ve always been looking for that magic pill,” he confessed. “I want to wake up tomorrow and I want to be normal.”

A year after graduation, Baker returned to the training camp to mentor the latest cadre of dog recipients. He sat down with a videographer from Paws & Effect to talk about how Honor had changed his life.

“It’s getting better,” he said. “And it’s not the meds. It’s not the therapy. It’s just everyday living, with him.”


Not long after Baker filmed that interview, however, things got bad again.

A buddy who’d served with him in the Balkans was living near Asheville, North Carolina. Assuring Baker that the VA hospital there was great, he opened his home to his troubled friend and, in December 2013, Baker made the move.

By the following May, things were going well enough that Michelle and the boys decided to follow.

Once again, Baker left the inpatient treatment — saying his family needed him at home. Crowe, the VA psychologist, says the dropout rate for veterans in psychotherapy is 20 percent.

Continuing treatment in one-on-one sessions, he was asked to write a “trauma statement.”

In the six-page handwritten document, Baker told a new story — about a friend who was killed when his vehicle rolled over a mine during the Gulf War’s final push.

“I was covered in blood, all over my face hands neck,” he wrote of his futile efforts to resuscitate the man. He was haunted by a mean joke he’d made moments before.

“I was only kidding + giving him a hard time,” he wrote, “but its the last thing I ever said to him.”

The process left Baker agitated and angry. Michelle became so concerned for the boys’ safety and her own that they moved out this past July — making sure to take all the guns.

She and the kids found a small house, overlooking a pasture with lowing cows. Wade and Honor moved into a single-wide trailer about a mile away.

They still saw or talked to each other every day.


August 19 was the boys’ first day of school. That afternoon, Michelle picked Jack and Kobi up, and went to Wade’s to get some of their things.

As soon as he came to the door, she could tell something was wrong.

“It’s a bad day,” he told her.

As Honor tailed the boys around the trailer, Baker told his wife that he hadn’t slept in days. He began arguing with her, asking why they couldn’t all be together.

When she and the boys went to meet the older twins’ bus, Baker continued his argument by text. Michelle decided not to engage him.

At 3 p.m., he sent a final note.

“I love you,” he wrote. “Always will. Tell the boys I am sorry and that I was weak. I will always be watching them, every touchdown every test every night.”

Michelle called the VA’s crisis hotline.

At 3:08, Baker posted a note on his Facebook page — the one he’d launched in June with a picture of Honor as his profile photo.

“Well I had a good run but it’s time,” he wrote. “I love you all.”

Armed with a .20-gauge shotgun, Baker had driven a couple of miles into the mountains above Clyde to the Maple Grove Baptist Church. He kicked in the front door and called 911.

“There’s somebody here with a gun,” he told the dispatcher in an oddly calm voice. “They’re shooting up everything.”

“Do you know who it is or anything like that?” the dispatcher asked.

“Ah, some crazy son of a bitch,” Baker said, irritated. “I think he’s shot four people already.”

The line went dead.

Danny Lynn Cagle, the boys’ football coach, had spotted Baker’s Facebook post and immediately phoned his friend. Baker kept hanging up, and the coach kept calling back.

He told Baker his sons needed him. Baker said he was holding them back.

“It’s time for me to be put down,” he said.

Officers from four agencies converged on the church. One radioed that he’d been in touch with the crisis hotline, and that Baker had vowed “he would die by law enforcement. Today.”

Baker complained to Cagle that the police were refusing to shoot him.

“You’re about to hear fireworks, buddy,” he said. “Tell the boys I love ’em.”

His shotgun raised, the veteran walked toward the officers. Cagle heard a bang, then a burst of gunfire.


Officers found Honor at Baker’s trailer — unharmed.

Michelle believes Baker left him behind because he didn’t want him to get hurt — or to try to stop his master.

The faithful dog attended the memorial service, where Susannah Smith, Michelle’s cousin, photographed the bittersweet moment when he curled up beneath the casket. “It was almost as if Honor was saying ‘this is my last watch,'” she wrote in an email, “and stayed there to protect Wade.”

And Honor was there at the funeral, held in the chapel overlooking the Western North Carolina Veterans Cemetery. The rifle salute sent him leaping into one of the boys’ laps.

Typically, if a recipient dies and the service dog is still young enough, the animal is placed with another veteran or child. But taking Honor from the Baker boys was never an option, Shumate said.

“He’s the last connection that the boys have with their father,” she said. “And I’m sure if we gave the dog the choice, he’d prefer not to be uprooted.”

Michelle Baker said they already owed him more than they could ever repay.

“Honor gave the boys their dad for more years,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “And that’s an amazing gift.”

The camouflage vest has been retired to a hook by the back door. These days, Honor is more pet than service dog, but he still has special powers.

If one of the boys becomes emotional, Michelle said, Honor will rear up and gently press his front paws into his chest. “And they just melt and embrace him.”

She watched on a recent afternoon as the older twins, Mason and Nick, took turns calling the dog, each trying to prove he’s Honor’s new favorite.

She kept some of her husband’s ashes. He had asked that they be scattered at favorite waterfalls and other spots they’d visited. When the boys are ready, she plans to take them to fulfill his last wishes.

And when they do, it will be with Honor

When you make light of my molestation you abuse me all over again

When you say these and so many more platitudes to an incest, rape or molestation survivor you may as well tell them to bend over and take it all over again!
When I was too young for school My older brother who himself was too young to be sexually active started raping me with objects, as he got older he got more sadistic and from the moment he was able to sexually perform he didn’t need the objects he had his own.For 11 years every day we were together when he was told to care for me in case I had a seizure I was molested. It adds up to over 3,000 rapes.
To those who say “people have sex all the time get over it” prey tell how does one get over 3,000 and some rapes? If you know that please bottle it, right a book but whatever you do don’t tell me to pray it away.
Others like me live with PTSD from the terrors, they still visit me every night in living color and during the day if I stop for a while and my head is clear flash backs roll like a midday matinee, not a vague memory it plays like I’m 5 again and it’s happening now.
When these episodes happen the smells come back, the feeling of the rough carpet or floor boards or the pillow your face was shoved into and they never leave. We were too poor for carpets so we had hemp underlay, it was coarse like the kind of twine you tie bales with or parcels till this day no matter how eco- friendly it is I shake at the smell of hemp and can’t look at recycled rugs.
If you really love the survivor, don’t judge, don’t write a book on a platitude a day rewrite a book on love and support. Just be there in the dark hours in the middle of the day be there don’t talk just listen don’t keep at arm’s length unless the end of the arms are around them, that said though be patient with survivors not wanting touch.
I’m in my mid 50’s and I cannot be touched or held or even have an exam from a male doctor if I have an appointment with a man the door must stay open. TV shows where incest or pedophilia are featured bring on flash Backs.
The same way a soldier compartmentalizes the horrors of war, rape and incest and molestation survivors compartmentalize their horror until something happens, a tragedy or death in the family and its like were back in the middle of the rape.
My readers may have noticed , a lot of my more serious stories are written early hours of the morning, the reason why is I see my terrors waiting in the corner like a ghost lurking waiting to bring terror to you the moment you let your guard down.
So I sit and I read or I type until I am so exhausted I simply collapse, and the terrors still come the memories still run the high def. Pictures swirl around until once again at some disgusting hour I am awake in the dark hours trying to remember I’m in new York and I’m middle aged not Australia and a toddler or a tween.
This is my story, every one of the millions of survivors has there’s just like every soldier lived a different war. My therapist has told me if I have therapy every week for the rest of my life I will never get over this my best hope is learn how to live with the memories. My wish for my brothers and sister in survival is they know peace.
One closing note to parents monsters who hurt children don’t lurk in dark alleys, they don’t wear black they preach from the pulpit, your children call them coach or uncle or dad or grandpa or uncle or brother, that scout camp you sent them on thinking they’re safe could be a living hell they’ll never vigilant everywhere always believe your children never take the side of a stranger and maybe just maybe childhood mght be the innocence it’s meant to be.

Woman sentenced to life in prison for holding disabled people captive

Reposted from a story By Ralph Ellis, CNN
Updated 10:22 PM ET, Thu November 5, 2015

Linda Weston held disabled people captive to steal their Social Security payments, authorities say
Federal judge in Philadelphia sentences her to life in prison plus 80 years

(CNN)Four years ago, Philadelphia police found four adults locked in a basement room with no food and only a bucket for a toilet, authorities said.

A small group of captors led by Linda Weston had beaten the victims, kept them chained and captive in locked closets, basements and attics, deprived them of adequate food and medical care, and moved them between Pennsylvania, Texas, Virginia, and Florida, the U.S. Attorney’s office in Philadelphia said in a statement.

The purpose: To steal their Social Security and disability payments, authorities said.

Weston, 55, of Philadelphia was punished on Thursday. A federal judge sentenced her to life in prison plus 80 years. She was ordered to make restitution of $273,463 to the Social Security Administration and pay $19,600 in a special assessment.

The enterprise victimized six disabled adults and four children from 2001 to 2011, prosecutors said.

Weston and her group allegedly befriended mentally challenged individuals who were estranged from their families. After those people moved into housing provided by Weston, she became their representative payee for Social Security and disability benefits, prosecutors said.

“While confined, the captives were often isolated, in the dark, and sedated with drugs placed in their food and drink by Weston and other defendants,” prosecutors said. “When the individuals tried to escape, stole food, or otherwise protested their treatment, Weston and others punished them by slapping, punching, kicking, stabbing, burning and hitting them with closed hands, belts, sticks, bats, and hammers or other objects, including the butt of a pistol.”

Two people died. Weston told the other people in her ring to move the bodies to other locations before contacting police, the statement said.

Weston pleaded guilty earlier to racketeering conspiracy, kidnapping resulting in the death of the victim, forced human labor, involuntary servitude, multiple counts of murder in aid of racketeering, hate crime, violent crime in aid of racketeering, sex trafficking, kidnapping, theft of government funds, wire fraud, mail fraud, use of a firearm in furtherance of a violent crime and false statements.

Her daughter, Jean McIntosh, and co-defendant Eddie Wright previously pleaded guilty. Co-defendants Gregory Thomas, Sr., and Nicklaus Woodard are awaiting trial

People ask what is wrong with America. Simple we have abdicated the art of caring to the government

When I was a kid in Australia if a neighbor broke his leg a neighbor did his ploughing, got his kids to school and basically whether were talking about city or country neighbors helped neighbors.
Everyday people cared about everyday things, we used to have meat tray raffles and silent auctions and all the proceeds were given to a family in need, leaving government to do actual things like build roads and hospitals and schools and make sure education was actually happening.
Last month a woman was found mummified in her apartment having been dead fort two years? Two fucking years and the neighbors call themselves caring? If mrs baker across the road when I was growing up wasn’t seen for two days, mum sent one of us over to make sure she was ok. The Italian families in my street would adopt a widow or widower, if a woman died and had children the other mothers made clothes helped the young girls and cooked and the men would mow their lawns and do home maintenance and take over the role of the parent that had passed.
When I was growing up the politicians actually worked, they actually got shit done and people got involved at the local level what’s happened to us?
Recently in the dc school district 12 schools were in such bad repair that when kids in the ground floor sat in their classes the holes in the ceilings above were so large that cleaners can pass mops and buckets through it at night to save walking the stairs, yet a politician says “cut the school budget everything is fine”?
When locals start homeless shelters they’re closed for code violations, when a mother cooks from her house to feed the homeless she is closed down for not having health department clearances? Do the powers that be really think the needy care where the food was cooked or if the bed they get is close enough to the fire escape?
We talk about whole states having unemployment rates through the roof, yet the state next door has almost no unemployment? Why because people have taken “think global not local” too far, they’ve thrown the baby out with the bathwater.
When I was working on oil rigs I was flown across the world to poor third world countries and paid filthy amounts of money to do a job that a local who lived in the streets could be taught to do, my friend jr drives a thousand miles each way from home to work on the oil rigs when the area he works in surely has someone who can do the work.
We blame everything on computers, I called my doctor in Manhattan eight miles away and was on hold and in 20 minutes on hold I was told a dozen times “why call go online the website has the answers? Sure I’m not a hypocrite my blog is online but if we all stopped answering phones and taking bookings how many people lose their jobs? Then the government can whine about growing welfare numbers and then the republicans can call the former doctor’s receptionist a welfare cheat.
Let’s get back to caring for community, no let’s get back to even knowing the etymology of the word community, when you walk past someone in the street and they say hello don’t say fuck off say hello back.
If just one person had regularly said hello that old lady she would have had someone call the ambulance while she was alive rather than the cops for the smell when she had been dead for two years. Her power was turned off because she had it hooked up to direct deposit so it was only turned off when funds dried up, imagine how alive she had be if a real human at the store where you pay the power bill had worried she hadn’t been in for one week?
Imagine the condition of the schools roof if instead of having to apply for budget they simply organized a parent’s work party? Imagine if instead of swiping left or right on tinder or grinder to get laid we swiped left or right to decide which local works we could do or assist in? wow people getting involved. People caring? adopt a grandparent or elder person and do wellness checks, instead of playing candy crush on the train talk to someone, ,instead of getting two dollar shots of caramel in your macchiato buy a bagel and coffee for a homeless person?.
Every year Ella and I make up back packs containing hats, gloves ,socks and scarves and personal hygiene items for new York’s homeless to help beat the snow and cold of winter, this year I’m knitting 100 scarves myself and simply asked for people to donate not money but items to fill the bags?
The only people who spoke did so to tell me to mind my own business, that helping them was encouraging them? Wow When I was a kid I ran through a park and kicked a pile of newspapers like you would to a pile of leaves and my foot hit something solid, a dead homeless person had tried to keep warm under newspapers and had frozen to death during the night.
I never forgot it and yet when I try to make a difference I should mind my own business? well until that memory is gone from my mind it is my business, but the question is why are not those who live next door upstairs down stairs or on the park bench across the street from you yours?

We’re transgender not monsters on the prowl get over yourselves

Yesterday Texas politicians approved changes to a so called equality bill that makes it legal for a transgender person to be refused use of public conveniences?
What do you think transgender means Texas?
We do not go through a life time of harassment, bullying assault and beatings and discrimination just to go into a woman’s public bathroom cross-dressed for a sexual thrill.
Have any of these men who voted seen the inside of the ladies room? It’s not a bunch of women standing backwards at the urinal squirting urine, it’s floor to ceiling dividers with women inside small rooms anonymously doing their business there could be a three headed Cerberus in the next cubicle and it doesn’t affect you one bit.
Does Texas realize what they have condemned the transgender community to? Walking into a men’s restroom with breasts and if you’re post-surgical a vagina and in this room there is a line of men with their penises out in full view and we couldn’t stand up to pee if a million dollars was the prize.
So In we walk in feminine attire and we can only sit down and who knows who these men are our lives are literally put in danger because some good ole boy at the capital wouldn’t know transgender from transcontinental if he tripped over it.
All we want is to do our business, were not there to eat your young or do satanic rituals like everyone else we just need to go to the bathroom.
If you get off the transphobic bandwagon and worried about the real issues like the war and the budget and homeless and left us to live our lives and earn a living and just be happy you find that there is about as much substance to the need to regulate which bathroom we use as there is voter fraud in southern states or drug testing welfare recipients.
Which republican Texan is prepared to take responsibility for the first Trans women beaten raped or murdered because she is forced to use the men’s room because of this law? No one then if you can’t take responsibility leave us the hell alone.

Hey able bodied people our wheelchair and us in them are not you playthings and luggage racks!

You know the thing that amazes me folks? The complete arrogance of so many of the abelist’s community. In the past seven years since I have been fulltime in a wheelchair I have had groups grab me and start praying over me, I have had many run up and start pushing me, I get asked almost every day “where’s your nurse? Should you be out alone?”
I was in Macey’s one Christmas eve when suddenly an Asian family dumped there parcels on my lap while they waited for the their car to pull up to the curb. Hardly a day on the subway goes by that someone doesn’t attempt to sit on me put their shoe up on me to tie their laces or hook umbrellas on the back so they don’t have to hold them.
The worst I think is the man recently on the seven train who pushed onto a packed train behind me and started to climb over my chair with his crotch on my head and a foot on my lap, as he attempted to climb over me and when I complained he screamed at me to shut up?

I can tell you he wasn’t wearing under wear that’s how close his crutch was on my head.
Our chairs don’t come with coat racks, it’s not a shoe shine stand, and if I wanted a damn lap dance it wouldn’t be you mate!
What goes on the minds of these people? If I when I was able bodied decided to climb over someone’s head rubbing my genitals over their head how many sex offender charges would I get?
Can I just hang my umbrella off your earrings? Perhaps shove all my parcels in your arms even though I don’t know you? Of course not it is harassment at least assault at worst and the fact that people think it’s ok to do to the disabled shows just how little they really think of or about us.
We’re people just like you, we deserve respect just like you, were not a freak show we do not exist for you to pray your way to heaven and the handles are not there so you can work of some long held guilt by shoving me along at a running pace.
We the dis and otherwise abled community will make you a deal you don’t treat us like your personal luggage rack and we won’t run over your feet! Deal?

When you become disabled beware of doctors and those few words

When you’re lying in a hospital bed in a spinal unit or neurology or surgical ward, a lot of people with titles come by your bed and their sentences all start with words like “well you have to get used to the fact that now you’re a paraplegic/quadriplegic/amputee there are things you can no longer do”. They send you to pt and the therapist all while doing their best to be encouraging are trained teach us how to be happy while being able to do less than before.
As a child I was born with very serious epilepsy, dr Manson a great neurologist warned my mom “the child can never do contact sports, the child can never roller skate, the child can never ride a bike don’t get it excited” Because that was the thinking of the day.

Well this epileptic played full contact lacrosse and was damn good at it, this epileptic in her mid-fifties and has studied judo and several other martial arts for forty years and achieved black belt standard several times over. I rock climbed, I abseiled, I ran marathons I surfed, basically I took everything Sir James Manson said and wiped my ass with it.

My son was born with multiple asd’s and vsd’s (holes in the inner and outer walls of the heart) a faulty valve ,hydrocephalus, a mental delay, a speech learning disorder (echo-laly) and epilepsy and as he grew the worst case of addhd the hospital had ever seen since ne other 30 years before and that was me!
Those doctors after my son was in nicu for many months came around his bed, came around us at meetings and started their sentences with those famous words “your child has epilepsy severe cardiac conditions hydrocephalus and slight retardation he will never be the child you dreamed of, he will be sickly don’t let him play sports”.
He will never grow properly because of the cardiac condition, so he will be small basically wrap him in cotton wool and bubble wrap?
My son Adam is now 27, he is almost 6ft 4 he is over 250 lbs. he played Australian rules football he played roller hockey he learnt to fight and he lives in a remote country town he is now a high functioning Asperger’s adult and like me wiped his ass on the warnings the doctors gave us when he was born.
The world is always frightened about what they don’t understand, they always attempt to control that which they consider different but last time I checked one human controlling another is universally outlawed and referred to as slavery.
I tell people my body may be broken with wheels under my ass but my brain a very good brain merely hitches a ride, that’s what I find with most of us. I know a young woman who just started college, she has genius IQ she is happy she is a joy to know she rock climbs and does so many sports and does them like everything else in her life very well and oh by the way she was born with cerebral palsy. So you know at some stage in some hospital somewhere doctors gathered around her parents and used those famous words, but my friend whose name for her privacy I will not use is kicking ass and taking names in ever thing in life she does and smiling and giggling with that infectious giggle all the way.
Doctors and politicians and people with degrees fight o hard to take money from projects that teach freedom and independence to dis and otherwise abled because some where some time some version of those word were drummed into their small bigoted minds as undeniable facts.
Look around you people, hell in some cases look above you and duck,

nitro aaron2
look over the edge look at the people jumping out of the plane notice they have wheels they have crutches they have prosthetics they have white canes they live with and daily conquer diagnosis that less than fifty years ago would have had them in a rubber room eating jell and putting pencils in a box and making straw brooms for a career and school would never be considered because even if you were physically disabled it was assumed a fact that retardation was hiding somewhere within.
When I roll ten blocks to the rock wall gym to climb unassisted, or to the pool to swim 2miles a day I roll past grossly obese red faced coughing and hacking so called able bodied people that by the simple fact they stand upright and move unaided are deemed superior to me in all ways.
Well when you go to vote next year or go to a town hall or debate ask the candidate what are their views on the rights of the disabled, on the enforcement of the Americans with disabilities act. If you truly care for the disabled the wounded warriors the parents of small children born with disabilities show it by not voting for people who don’t think we matter.
A lot of people constantly shove religion down my throat well here’s one of yours

“He who refuses but one of mine refuses me”

To all who think they have the right to judge the transgender community think again

Attention readers, to those who when taking I or other trans people on in an argument if you can only sink to the lowest insults for comebacks GET IT RIGHT
The penis is not chopped off, all fetus start out life as female in the womb therefore all human bodies have the identical cavity in the lower torso.
In women the fetus develops womb fallopian tubes and uterus and vagina, in male children the genitalia and reproductive system is pushed out and down on the outside of the body. Both sets of genitals have exactly the same amount of nerve endings.

So in Gender reassignment surgery NO IT’S NOT A SEX CHANGE the penis is carefully split along the back seam from head to scrotum the scrotum is opened and the testes removed, the inner cavity we all have is then turned into the vagina by inverting the skin from the penis and scrotum and one small piece of the head with nerve ending attached is kept to create the clitoris. The labia is made from the extra skin of the scrotum, and when it is done by an expert everything works and from the outside a doctor cannot tell the difference. So to my redneck friends who tell me YOU’RE NOT A WOMAN YOUR A DUDE WITH HIS DICK CHOPPED OFF somewhere a valet is keeping the space under a rock for you.

P.S. and to the women who say YOU’RE NOT A REAL WOMAN IM MORE WOMAN THAN YOU! actually you’re not, the average biological woman has between 87 and 90% female hormone and the rest male, when a transgender woman takes hormones her female hormone level in a blood test is on average 96% so last time I did math 96 is more than 87.

But here’s the thing readers the only person trying to exclude anyone and state their moral and physical superiority are the Christian and the rednecks and the bigots, we the Trans community whether male to female or female to male just want to live our lives.
I know of a trans woman walking her children home to her ex-wife when she was beaten to death by a new York cab driver with w tire iron in front of her five year old. When the police arrived the killer tried to say it wasn’t murder because we aren’t human? and one of the investigating officers wrote on his note pad in capitals MERCY KILLING. The papers reported not a woman beaten to death in front of her children even though the victim was post op, they reported a man with body alterations wearing women’s clothing was killed?

Huckabee says were of Satan but then says his god makes no mistakes? Rand a doctor himself says “were going through a phase”? Everyone has an opinion about our lives but could they stand the scrutiny on theirs?
One republican who keeps trying to make us illegal and says gays should be imprisoned was just caught with a rent boy in a motel and has a grinder profile, if you ask around the DC gay community the number one pick up place in Washington for middle aged or older gays in the men’s toilets in the capitol building?
Whoopi Goldberg said it best “if you don’t like gay marriage don’t marry a gay”
Buddhists have a teaching called stranger enemy friend and it is very appropriate for this it goes something like this “ you have a best friend for years and they suddenly do you a horrible wrong and become your enemy so you’re driving along a road crying sobbing and not paying attention and you have a horrible accident a stranger you have never met rushes to your aid and gives lifesaving cpr while waiting for the ambulance you called it arrives and you go to hospital and the doctor in the er who saves your life is the friend who did you wrong you become friends for life with the stranger who saved you”.
Words like hate and stranger and enemy and friend are titles created in the heart and the emotions, never from common sense and logic and can change in a second.
I know a Trans woman who is a surgeon who does heart transplants, another who feeds and clothes and houses the homeless and another who does probono law for abused children And many like me just want to be married live, be loved and go about our days. So before you judge stop and ask do you really have any right, any reason and does it make any sense?


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