Mutilated by her husband

oh. my. God.
(Don’t click that link if you have a weak stomach.)

“Holding her captive, Iqbal accused Parveen of having an affair. Parveen insisted that she had never been unfaithful to him, but Iqbal didn’t listen. Instead, he gagged her, bound her feet and hands and hung her upside down from the ceiling. As he beat her with a wooden ax handle, blood began to drip from her arms and legs….”

“Then Iqbal, a barber by profession, traded his ax for a razor. He cut off the lower lobes of her ears, then sliced her nose at the base. ‘He next used a metal rod to poke out my eyes,’ she continues, ‘and then put his finger inside each socket to make sure nothing was left.’… “

She had her eyes gouged out, the base of her nose and her earlobes cut off… all because her husband accused her of having an affair, to which he did he never provided a shred of evidence.

It’s called “Honor Killings” or “Honor Violence”. An all too common practice in places like Pakistan. It mainly goes unreported, and the offenders are rarely punished.

In the case of what Mehmood Iqbal did to his wife, he was given 14 years… which is considered a “life sentence”. Amnesty International was surprised he was even convicted.

“Though Parveen [the wife who was mutilated] rarely ventured outside, when she did, she often overheard people wondering aloud what she had done to deserve the way she looked.”

As always, it’s “what did the victim do to deserve this”… right?
Somebody tell me what century are we living in again?
(Via Rachel Lucas)

So, what happened to Enemy of the State?

Hmmmm…
Basically I mass emailed a bunch of you, let you know what my future plans are. With all of my maniacal ranting, and the CPS court case up for review next month… I don’t think having archives up was very wise.

Besides, I’m tired of reality.
I’m tired of doom and gloom…
I’m tired of whining.
I’m a doer, not a whiner.

I wanted to get a little goofy, put up “Rik Havyk’s Funhouse”, kind of like a puppet show for all my pals, if you will.

Well, most of you are just a tad sick of fake online personas.
The wounds are still too fresh. Hey, that’s cool.

I can still see your charred flesh and exposed layers of meat and nerves….

*stops to finish his eggplant hoagie and continues…*

So I shut it down. Temporarily.

I’m not comfortable with people seeing the real me. Knowing too much. Having too much information.

That’s how I bring people down.
I can get inside their heads, learn their fears, their weaknesses. Learn how to hear to what someone *isn’t* saying.

Of course I spoke to kd. She supports my decision, and leaving the door open for me…. the doll that she is.

I also wonder about the half truths, and the parts I keep leaving out (insiders know it all)… but is that any different from lying? I’d rather say nothing at this point.

A lot has changed in the past few weeks.

*Taps the 9″ bulletproof plexiglass walls surrounding the place; installed during one of Faith’s flame wars (Ah! The good ol’ days!)*

Ain’t nobody getting into this place, bay-bee….. you’re all safe here.

To be continued….

P*ssy at my doorstep…

Hey... it can happen??!!??Yeah, life is good.

Carole heads off to work at night, and I have “Puddy” show up right at the door, just minutes after she leaves… like clockwork. It’s a nice feeling to have someone snuggle with me at night again.

Carole knows, and has no problem with it. Truth be told, she’s actually encouraging it.

“Puddy” is apparently a housecat that somebody no longer wanted (or lost). I can tell, because she’s still kinda fat, and relatively clean, even though she has no collar or tags. She shows up every night looking for something to eat.

 

What did you *think* I was talking about?

Now that we no longer have dogs to eat our leftovers… Puddy and I have a great working relationship. She also boosts the kid’s spirits (If you recall, the kids were taken away, without even given a chance to say “goodbye” to them.), since we’re not legally allowed to have pets anymore.

Carole named her “Puddy Tat”. Original, no? This is the same person that named a black cat “Snowball” and an orange tabby “Dog” back in our N.Y.C. apartment when we first got married.

I’m trying really hard to be the tough guy here…. enforcing it in
everyone’s heads that we can’t keep Puddy as a pet.

The other night, the kids took her in because she was crying from the flashing lightning… I crashed after doing an all-nighter and going straight to work.

I was told Puddy spent the entire night sleeping on my chest.

So here’s the situation:

1) We can’t have pets…
2) I hate cats…
3) It’s EXTREMELY dangerous where we live. We spot bears crossing the road almost every day, looking for food for the upcoming winter (which is going to be a *BITCH*… you heard it here first!). We actually spotted a Bobcat on our property the other day, among other wild predators. Puddy won’t stand a chance out there alone. It’s just a matter of time before a wild animal either tears her to shreds, or gives her rabies.
4) You should see the kids’ eyes light up every time Puddy shows up. They go outside and play with her, try to sneak her in… then I have to be the bad guy and put her back out.
5) I’m probably more attached to this cat than I want to admit.

 

So what the hell do I do now?
Pictures of Puddy coming soon… (’cause I like to torture myself that
way.)

Through the eyes of an eight year old…

I swore I’d never mention the kids or get personal on this site ever again, but this was too much.

After last night’s entry, I was heading to grab a cigarette, where I heard Erika calling for me.

“Daddy, can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”, she asked in her timid, squeaky voice, “I think I’m going to have a nightmare tonight.”

I knew what was coming. I knew they shouldn’t have watched it. I even went to work an hour late to hear the all-too-graphic account of Timothy McVeigh’s execution. We were riveted. It was too compelling. It was good journalism. It was good tv.

Daddy: “Wanna talk about it?”
Erika: “Why did that man have to die?”
Daddy: “He was a bad man, honey. He killed a lot of people.”
Erika: “But the prison killed him. Isn’t that bad too?”

Dammit to hell. Out of the mouths of babes.

I usually have an answer for everything. What happened to mommy, why we’re living somewhere else, even why loved ones have to die… this time I was stumped. I couldn’t even rationalize it to myself.

I am *SO* for the death penalty. I’m glad this war-hero-turned-killing-machine will never get a chance to repeat this atrocity again. Now that gurney is free for not only more killers, but drug dealers, rapists, hatemongers, child molesters, foreign and domestic terrorists, and mimes.

But I feel as hollow and as empty as most of the family members/survivors who went to see this monster off into the next world.

I know why he did it. Waco was this Country’s biggest fuckup/coverup since, well… ever! The difference? I watched it on the news, said: “wow, that was fucked up”, grabbed a coke and watched a comedy on channel 11. He blew up a building full of civilians who may or may not have felt the same thing. I’m sure the 19 children killed never heard of Waco, TX.

Like John, I think this is far from over. There are more David Korresh’s and more Timothy McVeigh’s who are more than ready to take their place in Militias all over the United States.

Yesterday, one of their “heroes” became a martyr.
Having Janet Reno smirking on TV about it didn’t help either.

I can’t explain this to an eight year old. I can’t explain how I tapped into the darkest depths of my soul yesterday, and mustered up all my anger and hatred toward another human being and was glad he paid the ultimate price… despite denying us, the “good” people of society, the satifaction of him suffering and begging that his life be spared. Even angrier that he “got off so easy”.

We killed Timothy McVeigh to prove killing was wrong. For the first time in my life, I grasped that concept…. and *that’s* why I feel so hollow inside.

Well, I could *try* to explain this… but this is what we’re supposed to be shielding our children from.

I don’t want these people in the same world as my children. And I know one day I will no longer be around to protect them.

I know too much… and I’d give anything to see the world through the eyes of an eight year old again.

The road to hell…

I’ve taken down Debbie & Kaycee’s banners and links.

I still want to believe…
I still want to believe the message I got from Living Colours.
I still want to believe in the strength of the human spirit.
I still want to believe that I can go to bat for what I believe is right…..

Go ahead. Let me have it. I’m a big boy.

With new eyes…

(reprinted from JimForum)

For about a week now, I’ve noticed things around me that I never did before.
On my window was a moth… usually one of the most revolting-looking creatures that ever existed.
This one had the prettiest pink colors on its wings and legs. I actually had to stare at it for a while. It was beautiful.

  • Thanks Kaycee!
  • Hang in there Big White Guy!
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    Disclaimer: The views expressed herein are solely those of Eric Brooks. They do not necessarily reflect those of his employers, friends, contacts, family, or even his pets (though my cat, Puddy, seems to agree with me on many key issues.). In accordance to my terms of use, you hereby acknowledge my right to psychoanalyze you, practice accupuncture, and mock you incessantly with every visit. As the user, you also acknowledge that the author has been legally declared a "Problem Adult" by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and is therefore not responsible for any of his actions. ALSO, the political views and products advertised on this site may/may not reflect the views of Puddy or myself, so please don't take them as an endorsement. We just need to eat.


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