Chris Brown Beats Rihanna

 

According to the statement:

“Brown was driving a vehicle with Robyn F. as the front passenger on an unknown street in Los Angeles. Robyn F. picked up Brown’s cellular phone and observed a three-page text message from a woman who Brown had a previous sexual relationship with.

“A verbal argument ensued and Brown pulled the vehicle over on an unknown street, reached over Robyn F. with his right hand, opened the car door and attempted to force her out. Brown was unable to force Robyn F. out of the vehicle because she was wearing a seat belt. When he could not force her to exit, he took his right hand and shoved her head against the passenger window of the vehicle, causing an approximate one-inch raised circular contusion.

“Robyn F. turned to face Brown and he punched her in the left eye with his right hand. He then drove away in the vehicle and continued to punch her in the face with his right hand while steering the vehicle with his left hand. The assault caused Robyn F.’s mouth to fill with blood and blood to splatter all over her clothing and the interior of the vehicle.

“Brown looked at Robyn F. and stated, ‘I’m going to beat the s–t out of you when we get home! You wait and see!’ “

The detective said she then used her cell phone to call her personal assistant … who did not answer.

“Robyn F. pretended to talk to her and stated, ‘I’m on my way home. Make sure the police are there when I get there.’

“After Robyn F. faked the call, Brown looked at her and stated, ‘You just did the stupidest thing ever! Now I’m really going to kill you!’

“Brown resumed punching Robyn F. and she interlocked her fingers behind her head and brought her elbows forward to protect her face. She then bent over at the waist, placing her elbows and face near her lap in [an] attempt to protect her face and head from the barrage of punches being levied upon her by Brown.

“Brown continued to punch Robyn F. on her left arm and hand, causing her to suffer a contusion on her left triceps (sic) that was approximately two inches in diameter and numerous contusions on her left hand.

“Robyn F. then attempted to send a text message to her other personal assistant. Brown snatched the cellular telephone out of her hand and threw it out of the window onto an unknown street.

“Brown continued driving and Robyn F. observed his cellular telephone sitting in his lap. She picked up the cellular telephone with her left hand and before she could make a call he placed her in a head lock with his right hand and continued to drive the vehicle with his left hand.

“Brown pulled Robyn F. close to him and bit her on her left ear. She was able to feel the vehicle swerving from right to left as Brown sped away. He stopped the vehicle … and Robyn F. turned off the car, removed the key from the ignition and sat on it.

“Brown did not know what she did with the key and began punching her in the face and arms. He then placed her in a head lock positioning the front of her throat between his bicep and forearm. Brown began applying pressure to Robyn F.’s left and right carotid arteries, causing her to be unable to breathe and she began to lose consciousness.

“She reached up with her left hand and began attempting to gouge his eyes in an attempt to free herself. Brown bit her left ring and middle fingers and then released her. While Brown continued to punch her, she turned around and placed her back against the passenger door. She brought her knees to her chest, placed her feet against Brown’s body and began pushing him away. Brown continued to punch her on the legs and feet, causing several contusions.

“Robyn F. began screaming for help and Brown exited the vehicle and walked away. A resident in the neighborhood heard Robyn F.’s plea for help and called 911, causing a police response. An investigation was conducted and Robyn F. was issued a Domestic Violence Emergency Protective Order.”
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At the end of his statement, Andrews said Brown sent her text message apologizing nine days later.

“In the text message, Brown apologized for what he had done to Robyn F. and advised [the second personal assistant] that he was going to get help.”

btw, she’s forgiven him and still with him.  I in no way feel sorry for her now.

Technique

There’s an adage that goes, “practice makes perfect”.  If I can only leave you with one bit of advise from my mind it’s that adage.  Practice.  Practice until the art of that which you are doing is perfected.  Wash, Rinse and Repeat as necessary until the movements are as fluid as water down a drain pipe.  Until the movement is like air through the leaves of a tree.  If you are going to do something do it right.  For heaven’s sake learn your art until it’s as natural as breathing to you.  So that if necessary you would do it with your eyes closed and the world going to hell in a hand basket around you.

Some art cannot be viewed by an entire world. Sometimes the only critic you can have is yourself.  Only you know the extent to which you need to perfect your craft.  There’s only so much that others will see, no matter their intent.  Sometimes, there are just miniscule details that you can pin point, but only after the fact.  Only when it’s too late to come to greatness.  That little lisp escapes your mouth and you utter the word almost silently to yourself, fuck.

And than there’s the critics of the world.  Those who will view your art, your creation, the beads of sweat that sullied your brow as you endeavored to make something bette.  Sometimes what they see can be more disturbing and more violent to one’s own self.  The image that you imprint into another person’s subconcious and reiterated at yourself can tear you down to a level that you had only once believed to be comprehensible.

Maybe it’s better to practice in the dark where no one can find you and can judge you.  But you’ll judge.  You’ll inspect and go over every little detail of your actions, so might as well be proud of the mistakes and glories as you find them on your journey.  

The tool I prefer is a knife.  It’s the only tool you can actually use for this ocassion.  Holding it like an extension of yourself.  This isn’t something just in your hand, it is your hand.  Inches longer and sharper.  Giving you the reach and edge you need for such an endeavor.  Hopefully you have something that’s sharp as can be.  There’s just no manners in having a dull blade that will not slice through meat like it was butter.  And serrated edges are for Rambo and his ilk.   You want clean, deep cut that’s leave little to no scarring on the edges.  The more damage you do, the more clean up there will be.

It can feel like the entire world is looking at you, as you hold the knife.  Edge ready to penetrate.  Lick your lips, take in a breathe, steady your hands and with a forward motion press down and in.  Don’t shove it don’t like it was a hamburger patty you were smashing.  You push and let the knife do all the work, pull back put not up, and repeat.  Repeat until perfection.  

Marvel at your work.  With patience and practice you can reach this level of zen.  And than the world will kick back in, the lights above you, as you hear the voice of one of your critics squeal in delight.

“Are you done carving that turkey?  You’re acting like it’s surgery.”

Surgery is easier than art.
-Mr. Morgan

Ukraine

“News Report of the Three 20yo Kids who Killed 21 People in One Month in Ukraine

The action against the so-called maniacs in Dnepropetrovsk is to be examined today. They are 20-year-old Igor Suprunyuck, Viktor Sayenko and Alexander Hanzha. The court incriminates 21 murders, serious bodily assaults and tortures on animals. Segodnya reports it with a reference to prosecutor office in the Dnepropetrovsk Region. The crimes are characterized by cruelty. Passersby, males, females, children were their victims. The guys traced them, attacked, beat them with metal tube to death. Also they were shooting dreadful scenes on their mobile phones. Investigators and psychologists did not manage to ascertain motives of crimes. The court has to explain it. The regional prosecutor officials declared they would not give comments until the sentence is passed on. As lawyers state, the judge Ivan Senchenko has a big experience and many people hope he will make a proper decision about it. “

http://theync.com/media.php?name=6826-shocking-man-is-murdered

Neutered

For nearly a month now i’ve settled into a quasi relationship with a woman who should for all logical reasons be dead.  It’s not like when you meet someone who has cancer and you love them regardless of knowing the path their shortened life will be taking.  This is something all too different.  It’s not like we are dating.  It’s not like we live in the same house or anything.  But i’ve been confined.  

Like a snaked coiled around my ribcage, i can feel the pressure clench tighter at any given moment.  Just the act of trying to loosen my second skin will cause it to constrict further.

After the robbery she had broken down.  Let’s call her alice if you ever decide she needs a name.  it will be Alice.  She sat down on the floor the moment i let go of her.  Lips partly separated and trembling.  A few tears lightly held back by her eyelashes.  A gusher of emotion ready to simply explode with just the right prodding, or wrong as the case may be.  The cops assumed we were together because of how i tried to comfort her.  Holding her like i knew her.  They told me she needed to go home and rest, that they hoped i had driven because she was in no condition.

They call it shock.  Some victims get scared, but it’s if they survive an attack that something like shock occurs.  So i had never seen anything like this.  Giving the police the information they required of her as a witnss was difficult to do.  She sat down on the floor barely mumbling things so i would repeat them louder for her for the cops.  It looked more like she was just praying to herself after a while.  Cupping her hands to her mouth, the emotional strike this robbery had put on her was running amok with her body.

I remember her eyes looked at me for a second.  Not the glancing around fear but a serenity of calm as I held her hand and told her that I would drive her home.  

Coming from me the word creepy needs to be taken with the full force of it being used.  So the ride to her place was creepy.  She unlocked her car doors, handed me the car keys and gave me her license.  A finger laid on the addresse asking if i knew the directions to a form of telekines combined with avant gard hand signals.  i nodded and said I could find the place.  i alreay knew where it was… but that was not the point.

I made a few wrong turns to make it seem like i had an idea of where her street was, but not positive.  Not like I had driven past it before or stood outside of her window as she danced back and forth before her window.  

I walked her to her door frame.  Put her keys in her hand and put the ID back in her hand and turn away.  I heard a softly spoken word.  Wait.  Maybe she knew.  Maybe she had seen me before on one of those nights that i had been watching her.  Sometimes they pay attention.  Sometimes they remember me.  That spark of holy shit you’re the guy from the bar who leaves after I leaves.  

Please Stay?

I tell her I shouldn’t. But she pleades with those eyes.  And i can’t deny her wish.  I really tell her that she doesn’t know she can trust me.  

Well you drove me home without killing me so there’s that.  And the police took down your information and you told them you would take me home.

Mentally I said touche.  Though in all honesty that ID wasn’t a real one.  The information would check out, but it’s not really me.  

We sat on the couch and she kept my glass filled with juice.  Turned a movie on and we sat in silence.  I think she needed to know it was okay to be okay with the events.  Because it took her an hour to make another noise.  It was a small laugh.  i had been chuckling at the movie almost all night, but just one laugh left her mouth.  

This was the routine for the entire night.  We’d put a movie on and she’d laugh once more than before.  until i looked over and she was passed out on the couch.  I covered her with a blanket.  Standing there thinking about how normally I would be standing over a woman in this same situation, ready to strangle them.  But i simply laid the blanket over her and walked to the door.  As my hand began to turn the knob i heard it again.

Stay.

It’s so not sexual that i might as well be neutered.
-Mr. Morgan

Children

http://www.gazetteonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20081030/NEWS/810309997/1001/NEWS

I can’t even begin to understand why someone would kill their own child.  Let alone any child.  I may be a murdering scum bag.   But I’ve never even so much as looked at a child with crossed eyes.

Flashback

There’s only so much you can be prepared for in this world.  Only so many variables can be calculated for, and even when you take into consideration that 1% chance that you will be struck by lightning today, you could very well have a 100% chance of being that 1% today.  It’s just a roll of the dice as those D&D players will tell you.  Your luck can last until it’s not your time to be lucky anymore.  No voodoo, or Hoodoo.  Just luck.  Random coincidences that culminate in what is your present and is now your history.  

I say that because yes I am sitting casually on the futon of one miss should-have-been-my-victim.  But alas she is not.  Nor do i know of a way to make her so.  Somehow the very few people she does know, all know about me now.  That makes it rather hard to have her disappear from the face of the world and than to do the same to myself.  Though there are ways of making that more plausible, but I’m not ready to commit to such drastic life style changes.  

For the time being I’m stuck betwee a rock and a hard place.  That hard place seems to be firmly set against my asshole and any movement seems to inch it only closer to my anus.  And I tell you what, i’m not down with that at all.  So I wait and contemplate to figure out a plan to remove myself without any further damage to myself, or my ego.  

I’ve held out long enough.  If this were television, there would probably be some squiggly waving lines doing an ackward dance that are supposed to indicate a transition from current timeframe to a past time frame.  Cue the lines in your head if you need.  Or my preference is that you tint the world in black and gray like an old timey movie.  Yes.  Let’s do that.

Being a bit more brave than usual I had followed our young outcast into her favorite shop.  This so happened to be a movie rental shop.  Not your average run of the mill rental shop.  More of a mom and pop shop.  But still not even that.  This place had seem to design itself with the sole purpose of finding extremely hard to find, damn near should be out of print films.  And a horror collection that would impress Alfred Hitchcock.  I had never seen so many films dedicated to what we call the slasher flick.  i had never even known that so many bad movies had been made in life.  I can only think of a better use for all that corn syrup as a I rumaged badly titled film after another.

I would say that one half of the store was primarily the Foreign film section of the store.  The movies in that section are decidely more oddball fare.  Though many times you’ll see films that are just mock ups of films n the U.S.  or vice versa.  There were times you would see a film that was just so awesomely bad that you would think, someone was drinking the best alcohol in the world when they conjured up this film.  And I would wish to take a drink with them next time i ever find myself in japan.  Because as creative as I am.  I am not that creative.

At the moment she brings me a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice.  Simply sitting it down by coffee table to my left.  I thank her and she asks if we can go see a movie tonight.  i nod.  I best communicate with her through a series of head motions and hand signals.  She thinks it’s cute and it keeps me from trying to have the unusual small talk that people seem to desire in this life.  Sorry.  I’m just trying to communicate to you how much she really enjoys movie.  

There’s this moment where she walks behind me and stops.  Her attention is upon this Argento film.  I’m looking down but towards the entrance of the store and I can hear the doorbells ring that a new customer is entering.

I’m always perciptive.  But this was different.

Almost in slow motion i watched as a gun walked into the store.  Followed by an arm.  This arm followed by a man wearing a ski mask.  The gun itself demanded the arm to swing about the perimeter of the store and than puppeteered the man to speak out in an alarming voice for “Nobody fucking move.”  I only stared.  You could see other people shaking and grabbing the people they were next to for some sense of comfort.

The gun drew a path to the two clerks behind the small counter.  The man looked around as if he did not know where he was, but the gun demanded him to say “Give me the fucking money.”  That gun spoke in such a brutal manner, but the man simply did not have the power or emotion to have ever said anything that the gun was saying without being controlled by it.  But most people can’t tell this kind of small detail.  And even if the man is not truly in control it doesn’t matter.  His fear, his weakness is more dangerous than a gun run-amok.  His fears can press that trigger and make the gun do the one thing it was engineered to do in life.

A man in the row next to me dropped the film he was holding.  I can assume he had nearly fainted from holding in his breathe and the film was a casualty of his inability to breathe.  In that moment the gun was not in control and it was being pointed in our general direction by a scared human being.  ”I said don’t fucking move.”  He paced back and forth.  ”Hurry up and get the money out of those damn registers.”  

The fear in him made him so uneasy that the customers were fully aware of how dangerous this situation had been and how worse it could become.  I could hear a small gasp of fear behind me.  I roamed my hand back and felt her fingers instinctively her fingers wrapped themselves around me if only to steady herself and keep her balanced on her feet.

As the man ran out of the store with two bags of money a collective sigh escaped every patron at that moment except for behind me.  I turned, her hand still holding mine.  Tears streaming down her face.  Her lips parted and trembling.  Just as fast as that gun had walked into store, her face was buried into my chest, my arms around her back.

“It’s Okay.”

I was really not expecting that.
-Mr. Morgan

Grains

There’s nothing all that exhilerating about the beach.  In and of its self it’s just the edge of the planet that we can normally access, without the aid of some contraption.  It’s just a natural land fill.  Lots and lots, and I am trying not to abuse the word, but lots of sand.  Pick a handful up next time you go and try and count what’s left in your hand after you let it go.  I don’t even think you can count that high without a calculator.  I don’t mean to be rude.  i’m sure it’s not such an absurd number that you couldn’t count that high.  I just know you wouldn’t.  Not even if i gave you access to some sort of pocket sized cosmic powered microscope that would easily identify the granuals of sand you have already counted.  Imagine, we have particles that exist in a scope so tiny that in reference to sand, that a particle to sand, is the same as sand to earth.  That tiny.  Most we’ll never even have explained to us.  You remember atoms?  Nuetrons, positrons, electrons?  That’s old news baby.  That’s just what they explain to retards of the world.  So we can grasp that science, has a grasp on our world.

I think of the word Google and think of how much faster I can search for porn.  As probably do you.  Some hear google and think, googleplex.  Or that odd number defined by –  a fuckload.  You probably don’t get the joke.

 ’And are you not,’ said Fook leaning anxiously forward, ‘a greater analyst than the Googleplex Star Thinker in the Seventh Galaxy of Light and Ingenuity which can calculate the trajectory of every single dust particle throughout a five-week Dangrabad Beta¹ sand blizzard?’

A five week sand blizzard? You ask this of me who has contemplated the very vectors of the atoms in the Big Bang itself?  Molest me not with this pocket calculator stuff.’

I should stop myself right there.  

I’m not sure how to really explain what we two are doing at the beach.  I don’t know how to just say it like it is something non chalaint.  Because it’s not.  

There’s a certain sense of irony that spills itself around me as I lie in a tomb of sand.  Apparently she had coerced some local children to aid in burying me as I had passed out from the shear amount of heat that sun can dole out at this local beach.  At least I do not burn.  Well, at least my face does not burn since that’s all that was truly exposed.

I look up and see her sitting indian style.  Her legs crossed just cintimeters from my head.  I look up at her beyond her nose.  Those two little caves staring down at me from a world I do not understand.  She tilts her head down, the sun glints off her sunglasses, causing me to flinch momentarily.

Hello Sleepyhead

I smirk.  But that’s all.  I’m not really a facial expression type of guy.  I look up at her and blink repeatedly.  Maybe she’ll understand my morse code for I find it funny that I’m the one buried when you should be buried.  She giggles and simply puts the sunglasses on my face.  She obviously never learned morse code.

To sheild herself she loosely puts on a charecteristicly too-large hat.  The kind you ONLY see in movies just to block the shade.  At least I had only seen them in movies, and now i see one through tinted frames folding in half in front of me like an inverted taco.  

It’s than that I notice one of her co-conspirators.  A young boy.  Freckly and soaking wet from a recent dash into the water.  His nose is a running faucet of water cascading from his forhead.  He raises a plastic weapon from nowhere.  A magic trick I too had learned at an early age.  His lips part and you can hear the click of the plastic toy.  Click.  Just once.  But the echo of his voice is more as he mouths the words “Bang you’re dead.”  

Through the sand a hand reaches in and grabs my shoulder.  Nails piercing into my skin.

She’s not dead and I don’t know what to tell you but the truth.
-Mr. Morgan 

Beach

I can smell her right now.  It’s an overpowering smell of peaches and apples.  Mainly the combination of her conditioner and her hair product.  It’s not even really product, more of a spritz of product.  It makes her hair shine when she is in the sunlight.  She barely puts any one, literally it must be a special ocassion if there are multiple spritzes.  It all gently sits in a little half assed bun, barelly contained in the scrunchie that wraps around it.  

I haven’t looked at her once this entire bus ride.  Yeah a bus ride.  Today it’s off to the beach.  Catching the 444 bus out to be connected, with the 212 that ends at the pier.  We are on the 212 already.  Only twenty more minutes to go.  It has seemed like forever that I’ve been sitting her, my eyes focused on the cars, houses, buildings etc that go swooping past my vision at about forty miles per hour.

I’m not a commuter in this sense.  I can’t simply sit here and watch my fellow commuters or find something to do while I entrust myself to someone else’s driving skills.  Espiecally when there are no seat belts.  Which seriously i do not unerstand that.  It’s mass transit, and people die this way.  Violently I might add.

I don’t have to look at her, I know she’s still sitting down one hand idling twisting the same tuft of hair around and around and around…  Her other hand will clutching her necklace around her neck.  A small trinket that her grandmother gave to her when she was only 9 years old.  She holds it when she is excited.  

Today she is excited, it’s nearly disgusting how excited she is today.

Three more blocks to go.  Her eyes are getting wider.  She’s biting the left side of her bottom lip and her knees bounce up and down like she’s hitting some drums.  It would be an infectious beat if she was really playing drums.  Two more blocks to go. 

I look out at the at the last bus stop as it starts fading into the distance.  I let out a small sigh.  Audible to myself only, but at the same time I can feel her eyes travel to me.  If only for a second.  I close my eyes and feel the bus pull to the final bus stop.  The pier.

There’s a distinct squeak of her voice.  Her giggle is intoxicating and she jolts herself up off her seat.  In two steps she’s at the door to leave, but walks back to her seat.  Standing there as if she forgot something.  I let out another sigh, this time very distinct.

She reaches down and grabs the hand I had resting on my knee.  Her fingers wrap themselves around my palm.   Gently.  Such a soothing sensation, to have those silky soft fingers slide their way around my hand.  I turn my head and look at her.  Trying to assume some sort of puppy dog expression, but it just makes me look ackward.  We both know this.

I stand up to get off with her.  Her hand never letting go of mine lest I try and run away.  

I bet you’re confused.  Well so am I.
-Mr. Morgan.

Friendship

I’ve been busy as of late.  New State, new City, new friend.  
I have yet to kill anyone, but i’m prepping this girl to be the next victim.  She is in no way an angel, but she is entirely to off on her own to be missed by anyone, and the hunger I’m feeling for blood is going to get the better of me.  And i’d rather take a stab at her than at some homeless individual.  

I mean I love practicing on the homeless, but there’s only so much effort to be made in that department. You need to have the real world experience of will someone miss this person.  Can you learn about them.  can you find out what makes them tick so that you can actually affect them.

Oh, and understand I in no way say friend as if we are buddy buddy and having a blast, while she sits on  the other edge of the couch as i type away.  That would just be ackward.

But as I made my way into town my first stop was the local music scene.  A concert being performed in and out of a coffee shop enterprise.  This girl, dressed differently than everyone else.  No black eye liner make up like the rest of the crowd.  No fishnet stockings.  Her hair was simple and effective.  Not spiked, or dyed or some of alteration of a standard hair cut.  She was just a girl, standing there enjoying the scenery, maybe even the music.

Me, sitting there sipping my off brand cola in the back of the store, more scanning than paying attention to anyone thing.  She walked passed me and during a lul in the background noise told me

“I guess you don’t fit in anywhere either”.  Nothing else.   A quick statement and she was off.  I casually watched which vehicle she entered into and made a mental note of the license plate so i could find her at my own leisure.   Three dogs times 199.  or what would read as 3dgsx199.  I use devices like this to memorize things when you can’t be seen writing things down.  Writing things down makes you look suspicious.  As does actually standing up after a girl walks past you and watching her from the door slash window as she drives away.  Very, fuckin suspicious.  So i’ve learned to sit, and pay attention.

And now I must get back to idly paying attention.  

Patience will pay out more than insurance ever would.
-Mr. Morgan

Irony

O.J. Simpson and his co-defendant Clarence “C.J.” Stewart were found guilty Friday on 12 counts of armed robbery and kidnapping in a 2007 sports memorabilia heist in Las Vegas, Nevada. The verdict come 13 years to the day after a Los Angeles, California, jury acquitted him of the murders of his ex-wife and her friend.

http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/10/04/…ict/index.html

Can I get the little boy from The Simpsons to go HaHa? Just once?