In COVIDIOT Amerika, there’s “blood on your hands,” and then there’s, y’know, BLOOD ON YOUR FUCKING HANDS. See if you can figure out which is which from the following example, which is by no means the only one out there.
A Colorado inmate released from jail early to ‘slow the spread of Coronavirus’ has been arrested and accused of first-degree murder.
While we’re playing guessing games, take a whack at what the killer might look like according to his (most recent) mug shot. Three guesses, first two don’t etc.
A man who was released from prison last month on parole following policies enacted by Gov. Jared Polis to prevent an outbreak of the new coronavirus among inmates has been arrested in the fatal shooting of a woman last weekend in Denver.
Cornelius Haney, 40, is accused of first-degree murder in the slaying of 21-year-old Heather Perry near the intersection of East Colfax Avenue and Verbena Street on May 9.
Haney was released on April 15, four months early, under an executive order by Polis before that allows inmates to be released on “special-needs parole.”
Cristina lays down the bottom-line law.
Last month a Florida inmate released on March 19 to ‘slow the spread of the Coronavirus’ was arrested on a murder charge just one day after he got out of jail.
Dangerous murderers and sex offenders are being released from prison while pastors, mothers and business owners are being threatened with fines and prison time for violating social distancing orders.
Makes as much sense as anything else does in this back-asswards country nowadays.
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It really is interesting, Mike, how I, a product of a NYC suburb, two great parents and great grandparents, a nice public school education funded by rich suburbanites, my college degree from a famous but not great college, but yet still a path for me to go to Wall Street and have those “pals” pay for a Top Ten Graduate School degree and MBA, then work on Trading Desks in NYC and Hong Kong, with a lot of interaction with London, and how after 25 years I can still see America like you see it.
It is amazing. Those places you played in NYC. CBGB’s, Max’s Kansas City, Tramps, I’m sure Kenny’s Castaways. The dozen live bars along that street. That biker bar in the Meat packing district. I forget the name. Went there with my suit and tie and the Bikers and I and my friends played pool. Because who cares. We wore the uniforms, but we didn’t judge. They didn’t. We were just guys, wearing our colors.
The Pussycat Lounge. Don’t tell me you never been there. 1990-1993 I went there.
We love Elvis. Johnny Cash. Because that’s the heroes we grew up with.
Chuck Berry. I’m one of Chuck’s Children.
You know why I appreciate Cold Fury, the second blog I cared about?
Baseball. Check. Hot Dogs. Check. Apple Pie. Check. Chevrolet, well we can disagree if you like different muscle cars, but I bet you like muscle cars.
Fathers who worked. Grandfathers who worked. Fathers who made us work, if just mowing the lawn. But I wanted to work in a greenhouse. Make real money. My parents sent me to the golf course. The money was better. Go work for the “Elite”. Well, some were fine. Some were assholes. Some were in between. The boss was a jerk. Until after hours. Then we were cool. We laughed, we sweated, we worked hard, we played, we got cash at the end of the day.
Been that way all my life. I can’t say I ever had a gun in my face or ever STIFFED on a payday directly, BUT, I will say, watching an Indonesian Court screw your firm out of everything you invested and realize THAT wasn’t gonna not get you paid is two degrees of separation.