Did a Domestic Terrorist kill a Delaware State Trooper

By now, every body in the region knows that a Delaware State Trooper was murdered at a Wawa in Middletown Delaware.  

But what people don’t is that it looks like the father told some law enforcement the day before Sealy to the life of a state trooper.  He either contacted State or County police out of concern for peoples safety due to his son’s extreme behavior.  The father had taken his own measures to kick Sealy out of his house the day before which could explain why the news reports he was at his “parents” house.  He probably hadn’t moved all his gear out or his guns and ammo.

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Allegedly Burgon Sealy was wanting to take out more people, but as we already know didn’t.  It seems that the officer was responding to a call from Wawa about Burgon who had been sitting in his car at the Wawa for several hours.   Perhaps he had been waiting and thinking about what he wanted to do, also maybe because his father had kicked him out he had no where to really go.

Lastly another piece or two of info that could explain why it took so long for police to force the killer out of the house was that it seems that the reason the gas they lobbed into the home didn’t work is because Sealy had some sort of ventilation mask.  Also part of the reason the officers didn’t storm the house sooner was because Sealy had armor piercing bullets.

So the question is to what “extremes” was Sealy going to to have his father call the police and kick his son out?

 

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Why is Delaware Spending $30m on KidsPeace? A Private out of state Charity

You know I’m just thumbing through Delaware’s Open Data and numbers are jumping out to me.  Especially Programs that have no locations in Delaware.  I’m sure KidsPeace is a great program, but $30,000,000 for an out of state program seems like something ripe for review.

Hey Carney, maybe you could cut this?  And create some jobs in Delaware by finding a program right here in our state?

 

KidsPeace is a private charity dedicated to serving the behavioral and mental health needs of children, families and communities. 
Founded in 1882, KidsPeace provides a unique psychiatric hospital; a comprehensive range of residential treatment programs; accredited educational services; and a variety of foster care and community-based treatment programs to help people in need overcome challenges and transform their lives. KidsPeace provides emotional and physical health care and educational services in an atmosphere of teamwork, compassion and creativity. 

KidsPeace offers services in Georgia, Indiana, Maine, Maryland, New York, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. KidsPeace is accredited by The Joint Commission in Georgia, North Carolina and Pennsylvania. KidsPeace does not discriminate in regard to admissions in terms of sex, race, creed, color, national origin, LEP (Limited English Proficiency), religious beliefs, disabilities or handicapping conditions. KidsPeace is a Drug-Free Workplace. We respect our clients’ privacy. The models represented in this Web site are for illustrative purposes only and in no way represent or endorse KidsPeace.

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Ideas of you

It is welling up again, tormenting me, fermenting and bubbling.  Here it comes.  The pain.  It’s here again.  It’s right behind my eyes.  They swell as I blink.  The pressure from all the fatigue has set in.  My eyes are sealing the flood of emotion that wants to break out and rapture my entire body.  One day the entire damn of pain will unleash its will on any one close enough to feel it. My eyes for now are able to hold back the pain.

I’m driving and it’s the worst time for me.  I am exhausted from the day behind me.  I can’t pull over and rest.  I have to keep going.  My hands grip the wheel.  My knuckles whiten.  The fatigue, it makes me think of you.  Can you see them, my fatigued feelings?  Do you see them laying in agony about me.  Can you understand what it is I constantly feel?

I see you.  You are right here.  Always right there.  I hate it.  I love it.  I dwell in it because it’s a familiar pool of pain that I must lap constantly and without rest. To rest is to let it die; to let you die and the memory of you abandon me.  So I must continue to swim in it, I flip turn and it propels me into the next meters of anguish.  I guess it’s my heart that creates this pain?  I don’t know.  I’m too shallow to understand.  It is why I keep wading in this blackness of my own consequence.  I guess if I understood it, or if I tried to I’d be able to paddle forward and not remember the pain it causes.

The weight presses down upon me, pushes on my heart, up my throat, and into my eyes, this weight, this pressure, it’s real.  I’m feeling it again and it’s torturous.  I try to stuff it in a place I don’t have to visit.

The pain, it’s a bubble, no a black balloon.  A black balloon of leaded pain that I transport around, cutting into my wrist. It is handcuffed to me, a thousand pound, black balloon of torment that I failingly try to stuff into a closet I no longer want to open or clean out of my heart, my mind, my conscious.

This, these thoughts, they all send my senses into a frenzy. I’m laying with you again.  I’m touching you.  The coarse brown hair I feel with my thumb as I stroke a triangle behind your earlobe.  I’m softly keying on your neck.  Touching your skin with the tips of my fingers, from index to pinky. The fingers drum in search of the rhythm that will open your heart .  My finger strikes the dampness on a hairless part of your neck.  I lean my body into yours.  Closing the distance of your back into me.  I just want to go to sleep with you forever, and not have to drown in this cesspool of purposelessness.

I can’t go back to you though.  I know it.  You are horrible for me.  I’m horrible when I’ve ingested you; I abused you and we both suffered from it.  I’ve consumed you to the point I balanced on an apex of destruction.  I can no longer balance on this pointlessness, seesaw on the axis of shame.  My life was a failure and you were the buoy I clung to.

What is the point of doing this over and over and over again. This nonsense.

My eyes are closed.  I’m laying here with you now.  I’m pressed up against you and curling into a ball with you.  The tears, they leak out.   I’m trying to resist the pain that the other half of me wants to feel, that wants to flagellate me.  A half of my being battles with the half that wants to erase all memory of you.  It won’t let me go.

I don’t know what to do anymore.  I can’t run from it.  I can’t forget it.  You forever are a piece of me. I am on trial with Kafka.  I’m in a sweltering hot room of doom with other people controlling the emotions I’ve been tied up with and I have no escape from. I lay under the covers, sweating out the pain and struggle to find the answers.

I’m talking to you in your ear.  I love you, I whisper.  I can’t say I love the idea of you.  Yet I know I love this idea of you and relish the pain it brings.  I love the idea of you I have constructed and what it supposedly represents.  The truth no longer exists. It’s been obliterated by my own mind and perverted into something I can no longer honestly visualize.

I try to construct a dream of you, the idea of you, I want so badly to build it without remorse, without shattered glass and broken dishes.  And yet, I know It doesn’t exist.  The idea of you and the reality of you are what I have conjoined together into a horrible mutated Siamese twin.  My conscious refuses to allow amy distinction and my mind continues to ride a train on these juxtaposed rails of Faustian delusion.

The curve of your body is thrilling.  My hand has drifted from the back of your neck and down the right side to your bare shoulder, your soft skin energizes me, we are sheeted in Egyptian cotton and it hides our shame.  My hand travels down the raised skin on your arm, and into your hand.  We grip each other.  I’m crying again.  I’m sorry I love you.  I’m sorry, I have to do this for me.  I fool myself into knowing that I’m truly worthy of what I want.

Why does this happen like this?  Why can’t I stop it?  Why don’t I just stop it?  Turn up the radio, go home, atomize these feelings?  Why can’t I just destroy them into a mist.  Why can’t these feelings be blown out like a candle and the acrid smoke simply dissipate into the darkness I use to hide in.

I’ve let go of your hand, are you feeling the devastation, the destruction, the rampant senseless emotional violence I’m extolling on you?  I know I’m being selfish.  I’ve objectified you and now am in love with amorphous being.

My left hand swirls on my head.  I search for thorns and blood, and find none.  I try to be pensive and act mature. Taking it all in, you all in. I know what I want.  I want you to see me for what I can be if you let me have you and all this nastiness in my head was not present.

Will you let me have you?  I must obtain you and show you  how vast my love of you truly is. The roughness of my callouses travel over your side and down onto your bare ribs.  One after the other.  Up and over.  Up and over.  Slowly, up and over down to your smallest rib.  Your waste intersects with your hip.  The skin is so smooth and soft.  It’s warm.

My thoughts of you are imagined.  They are created.  They are confounding.  I don’t remember what you feel like anymore.  I create it.  I’ve distilled my thoughts of you.  I don’t know what is real and what isn’t.  You’re more beautiful to me then you were the first day we met.  Everything about you is fashioned into what never was, hasn’t ever been, but what I wish it to be.

I’ve rounded your body now with my hands.  Up and over it all I have traveled. I’m pressed against you now, fully.  The desperation of my emotions have reached a cavalcade of somberness.  I don’t know what to do anymore.  I require you, for me.  I need to tunnel into you. To burrow into you. Where are you going.

What is all this?  It’s nonsense.  I’ve laid here long enough.  I’ve spent too much energy on this.  Once again I have navigated a ship of despondency closer to the rocks and shallow shores than necessary.  I can’t keep doing this. I have to stop. I must finish this agony.  Yet, I can’t.  Yet, I my own self won’t let it end.  I’m sorry I still love you.  We can’t stop loving you. The pain, I love this pain, it continues to well and will well forever.

I have freed my wrist from my want for your darkness. I know you will be back.  I will be back to you, back into you.  I will find you in the convalescent chamber of sobriety I have placed you in.

I will find you again when I am no longer strung out from this intolerable fatigue of repeatedly consuming a dream of you molded from clay of self-pity.

Nascar – Improving Road Rage one race at a time

I’m sure there are plenty of Nascar fans in love with Kapernick for not standing this past season.  I’m sure there are plenty that wish a player would just catch the damn ball and not celebrate every fucking first down.  I just wonder what those following Nascar think about the example these two morons set for their most impressionable viewers?

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I found some good Defensive Driving advice that maybe these guys could learn, and apply themselves?

Watch out for the other guy. Part of staying in control is being aware of other drivers and roadway users around you (and what they may suddenly do) so you’re less likely to be caught off guard. For example, if a car speeds past you on the highway but there’s not much space between the car and a slow-moving truck in the same lane, it’s a pretty sure bet the driver will try to pull into your lane directly in front of you. Anticipating what another driver might do and making the appropriate adjustment helps reduce your risk.

Have an escape route. In all driving situations, the best way to avoid potential dangers is to position your vehicle where you have the best chance of seeing and being seen. Having an alternate path of travel also is essential, so always leave yourself an out — a place to move your vehicle if your immediate path of travel is suddenly blocked.

Proof Paul Ryan is a total effing idiot

Via Powerpoint, the guy explains how insurance works, then says it’s a broken system.  And he’s the speaker of the House.  Let it sink in.  The guy brokering health care for America, doesn’t know how it’s supposed to work.  Or is lying about  what he knows.  I assume it’s the latter, which is worse than the former.

 

Paul Ryan is aghast that healthy individuals are paying into an insurance pot that’s used when people are sick. But … that’s exactly the way insurance works. 

Twitter positively erupted Thursday to school Mr. Health Insurance on the concept.

Everyone pays into the pot and draws on it when they’re sick. Younger people, who tend to be healthier than older people, pay for health insurance like everyone else. They’ll rely on it when when they need it, probably more when they’re older and there are younger, healthier people filing in behind them. It’s the same with car insurance. Some people pay for decades and never get into an accident and never collect on their coverage (though the likelihood of anyone never using health insurance is unlikely).

That’s what actuarial figures are all about, so an insurance system can assess the risks of segments of customers to determine what everyone needs to put into the pot so there’s enough to pay out when someone needs the money.

Trump, Breitbart & NewsMax; a Love Story

It should concern us all that Trump is cozying up with the people more than happy to help spread conspiracy

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I think the concern for me is that here we the President of the United States conferring with a media outlet CEO.  Think about that, that’s who the guy is calling when he learns that he is being wiretapped?  The CEO of a media org? It’s a sickness.  It’s really, really sick.

And then there’s the whole Breitbart web, where part owners of Breitbart (not Bannon) are Donor’s to Trump.

Breitbart News Network CEO Larry Solov acknowledged Friday that the Mercer family — top Republican donors and key backers of President Trump’s campaign — are part owners of the controversial news site, but he said they have no editorial role.

Did you know this one?  A former editor and writer are “advising” Trump.

What’s more, Stephen K. Bannon, a former Breitbart chairman, is now a senior adviser in President Trump’s White House. Sebastian Gorka, a former Breitbart editor, also advises Trump, and former Breitbart writer Julia Hahn is a special assistant to the president.

The guy isn’t dumb when it comes to manipulating people.  I will give him that.  I fear that the MSM is going to get their asses handed to them for the next several years and the nation is going to get way, way more divided.  Neither of these organizations have done anything to unite us, I think it’s fair to say they make their money by dividing us.

 

 

 

The Knights Templar are real?

Ok, so color me stupid.  I honestly didn’t know this was a real thing.

The Knights Templar were a Catholic military order that was active just under 1,000 years ago. With their white mantles and red crosses, they quickly became notorious for their wealth, power, and abilities in combat during the Crusades. Today, they’re a source of fascination for archaeologists, novelists, and scriptwriters in equal measure, and any new discovery is pounced upon by anyone with a mote of curiosity in their storied history.

So a few years ago, they found some cavern in a guys farm.  How cool is that!

A few years back, a man-made cavern was discovered hiding beneath a farmer’s field in Shropshire, England. Initially, the only way into the concealed chamber was through a tiny rabbit hole, and, after some careful excavation, explorers found that they were standing in a previously unseen temple used by the Knights themselves.

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I figured it was some Dale Brown Opus Die (sp?) type stuff and Tom Hanks was on another hair brained mission to prove the triangle Jesus was pointing to in the last supper was his Mary Magdalen’s twat.

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Religion man, it bring’s out the crazies.

 

Watchamacallit? quid pro quo?

Perfect example of how Trump benefits, and of course no one blinks an eye because of course his business is in a blind trust and he would never know where people lobbying his office and his cabinet are staying and hosting their events.

It’s a total perversion of the system and you’d think conservatives, and their media would be all over shit like this.  I don’t know what is and isn’t a conservative principal, but it sure seems to me that so openly flying in the face of what is ethical would be front and center.  In a way, I admire them for at least not trying to hide the fact they are lobbying Trump.  l10002641

The National Confectioners Association is doing a lot of business with President Trump’s company.

In addition to this week’s gathering of 600 attendees at the Trump National Doral resort near Miami, the group has booked two upcoming meetings, in September and again in 2018, at the Trump International Hotel down the street from the White House.

At the same time, the organization, representing candy titans Hershey, Mars and Jelly Belly, among other companies, is optimistic about scoring big, early policy wins from the Trump administration. Among the industry’s priorities: a long-sought rollback of government sugar subsidies that candy firms say drive up the costs of making their products.

 

 

 

Because who doesn’t want cars that get less MPG

While we worry about Russia…

The Trump administration is moving to roll back federal fuel-economy requirements that would have forced automakers to increase significantly the efficiency of new cars and trucks, a key part of former President Barack Obama’s strategy to combat global warming.

The Environmental Protection Agency is close to an announcement reversing a decision made in the waning days of the Obama administration to lock in strict gas mileage requirements for cars and light trucks through 2025.

Automakers asked EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt to discard a Jan. 13 decision that requires the fleet of new cars to average a real-world figure of 36 miles per gallon