Sunday, May 31, 2015
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Friday, May 29, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Whole Foods shoppers who imagine that their expensive artisanal cheese is made on a quaint rural farm by happy workers may be surprised to discover that the cheese is really made by prison inmates. According to Fortune, Colorado cheese maker Haystack Mountain gets their milk from a goat farm run by Colorado Corrections Industries (CCI), where 1,000 goats are milked by six inmates twice a day. This is becoming a commonplace practice, as “nationwide 63,032 inmates produce more than $2 billion worth of products a year,” according to Forbes.
And it’s not just license plates that are being made in prison. Today, inmates “produce apple juice, raise tilapia, milk cows and goats, grow flowers, and manage vineyards.” CCI pays only 60 cents per hour for the inmates’ labor, although some manage to earn a whopping $3-400 a month.
Posted by Chief Nose Wetter at 12:38 PM
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Monday, May 25, 2015
When a citizen journalist recently sent us a tip about an officer was caught having sex with cows, we were admittedly skeptical. But it turns out that the case of former police officer Robert Jr. is just as bad as it sounds.
In , New Jersey, Officer Melia was indeed caught sexually assaulting a cow, but his sexual crimes did not end with non-humans. Melia was also charged, several years ago, with sexually assaulting three girls.
It was during the course of that investigation that police found a in Melia’s home that recorded … abusing multiple cows. Apparently he was so proud of this abuse that he it and saved it for posterity.
MOO HERE was allegedly recorded on a South Hampton farm back in 2006. But a Superior Court Judge ruled in 2012 that prosecutors had failed to present sufficient evidence to jurors that Melia’s actions in fact tormented .
Posted by Chief Nose Wetter at 10:31 AM
Sunday, May 24, 2015
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift, I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked..
'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
'It's nothing', I told her. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'
'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'
'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly..
'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice.. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.'
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, She suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'. We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.
'Nothing,' I answered.
'You have to make a living,' she said.
'There are other passengers,' I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.'
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life..
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
People may not remember exactly what you did or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.
At the bottom of this great story was a request to forward this. I deleted that request because if you have read to this point, you won't have to be asked to pass it along, you just will...
Thank you, my friend...
Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here, we might as well dance.
Posted by Chief Nose Wetter at 1:03 PM