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  1. #1
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    keda's Avatar
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    Recoil in horror.

    Just watched a sickening live broadcast of the judge's summing up prior to sentencing John Couey for the kidnap, imprisonment, repeated rape and torture and assualts, culminating in the live burial of 9-year-old Jessica Lunsford.

    He entered the family trailer by stealth, located her bedroom and kidnapped her whilst her parents were asleep in their room. There followed a documented and systematic series of rapes, torture and abuse, and when he realised the cordon was closing in he told her he would return her home but must do it without anyone seeing them, and in this way persuaded her to climb into a garbage bag with her cuddly toy. Then he buried her alive, got his sister to buy him a ticket to Georgia, and fled.

    His defence put forward a list of mitigating factors, hoping for life instead of the lethal injection, and according to law each has to be addressed and weighted by the court. These included, that he was prematurely born of a 16-year-old when his drunk and abusive father pushed her out of a moving car, that he was born with an ear deformity and brain damage (contested), was physically, mentally and emotionally abused as a child, that his mother deserted him which left him shunted from one family member to another, that he has a learning disability, was well behaved in court and also in various prisons both on this and previous incarcerations, and does well in a controlled environment. Other mitigating factors, he has a history of substance abuse, that on the day of the kidnap her had been smoking crack with his sister, and in short that Couey was mentally unstable, under the influence of a narcotic, and unable to conform to the requirements of law at the time he committed these horrendous offences. They also wanted the court to consider that he cooperated with the authorities, though it was the judge that mentioned Couey denied any involvement until they caught him with serious inconsistencies, and that this was his first offence for violence. The court incredibly gave 'moderate' weight to his failed request for admission to a programme to help him get over his sexual deviances, whilst in custody in the nineties on a pedo charge.

    Thankfully most of these factors were given minimal weight by the judge, and he got 3 or 4 consecutive life sentences on top of the death penalty. He will remain clear of society for the rest of his miserable life, but it'll still cost the taxpayer millions in statutory appeals, no doubt with the usual rabble of do gooders parading outside Florida State Penn in the unlikely event he gets a firm date for execution.

    According to experts, he probably will not survive the average Florida death row wait of 12 years, so it looks like he will escape justice by dying a natural death, unless he does the right thing by ridding the world of people like himself.

    Recoil in horror.

  2. #2
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    From evil.

  3. #3
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    The lethal injection is to good for the cnt give him the same as he gave .
    Let one of the prison warders befriend him then tell him about an escape plan but he will have to hide in one of the mail sacks . Then Bury him alive .

  4. #4
    I don't know barbaro's Avatar
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    I do think, some people, are evil.

  5. #5
    I am in Jail
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    People like that should be skinned alive and eviscerated. Kept alive as long a possible to prolong their suffering.

  6. #6
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    fuck it. Fuck revenge, or punishment nothing can repay the suffering he caused, just cull the fucker from the herd as quickly as possible without regard to reducing or inducing undue pain. just get rid of 'im

  7. #7
    ding ding ding
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    Quote Originally Posted by keda
    The court incredibly gave 'moderate' weight to his failed request for admission to a programme to help him get over his sexual deviances, whilst in custody in the nineties on a pedo charge.
    Oh so he's been allowed to run around the country since the nineties?

    How many times do we read about this kind of scenario, even Ian Huntley who killed the 2 little girls the Soham UK case was well known to the authorities.

    Governments have a duty to remove the risk from society

  8. #8
    Thailand Expat raycarey's Avatar
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    his actions are reprehensible, and clearly this guy shouldn't be allowed to roam free---but what is accomplished by murdering him?
    anyone who would commit these types of crimes isn't going to be deterred by the possibility of the death penalty.

    and considering that society let him down in this way....
    Quote Originally Posted by keda
    he was prematurely born of a 16-year-old when his drunk and abusive father pushed her out of a moving car, that he was born with an ear deformity and brain damage (contested), was physically, mentally and emotionally abused as a child, that his mother deserted him
    .....society needs to accept some responsibility.

  9. #9
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    Puzzles me that he had a high flying English corporate lawyer and his clerk on the defence team.

  10. #10
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    Quote Originally Posted by raycarey View Post
    his actions are reprehensible, and clearly this guy shouldn't be allowed to roam free---but what is accomplished by murdering him?
    anyone who would commit these types of crimes isn't going to be deterred by the possibility of the death penalty.

    and considering that society let him down in this way....
    Quote Originally Posted by keda
    he was prematurely born of a 16-year-old when his drunk and abusive father pushed her out of a moving car, that he was born with an ear deformity and brain damage (contested), was physically, mentally and emotionally abused as a child, that his mother deserted him
    .....society needs to accept some responsibility.
    What about all the people who've overcome the same abuse to lead productive, decent lives? Wonder what their opinion would be...

  11. #11
    I am in Jail

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    Leave him with the general prison pop. They'll take care of him.

  12. #12
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    In a perfect world, sure, but the softies are obliged to protect him and if somebody does get to him with a jug of boiling water, or more commonly via his food, he'll have grounds to sue the DoC.

  13. #13
    I am in Jail

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    He's gotta take a shower some time, Keda. Don't worry, those boys always find a way for a child killer. They have plenty of time on their hands.

  14. #14
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    I know literary extracts are generally frowned upon, but it's late and the mrs is in bkk and I'm bored so if you think it's crap, easy, stop reading.


    Background: Harry, our hero, finally cleared after being wrongfully arrested and on remand...

    His mind carried to a long night, when he was sitting silently on his bunk, alone and lonely in the dank, detestable near darkness of a cramped cockroach infested cell, the only light coming from a low-wattage lamp suspended by an equally rusted canopy above the iron door, and covered in fly shit. He would normally turn it off well before two, but tonight was different.

    Even at that hour the cellblock in a maximum security prison is never completely devoid of noise. Long before that, the main lights would be extinguished, televisions and radios closed down, and the order for silence blared over the intercom. But it is never completely silent.

    You could still hear the graveyard crew with their walkie talkies turned down low as they paced up and down, toilets flushing, tormented men crying out in their sleep, maniacal laughter, coughing, sneezing, farting, sobbing.

    Then there was the occasional cry, of pain and anguish as an inmate decided to take himself out by slashing his wrists with a razor blade or shard of glass, or hanging with a homemade noose, but then had second thoughts, or couldn't handle the pain of what he had just done or wished he had the nerve to do to himself; or the fear of what was to come in the afterlife.

    Some nights you will hear an inmate, almost always a nonce, scream out of sheer fear, or frustration. For some reason when a nonce, fresh from the dock, got turned out for the first time, he often spent an hour or so shrieking, banging on his door, and or destroying his cell furniture, with no regard to the next morning's march to face the governor on charges of destroying Her Majesty's property.

    Harry had often tried to shut out the primal screams from grown men, howling from deep within, their dignity removed and soul bared, unashamed, for all to hear.

    This night, though, it was not the spasmodic sounds that disturbed his silence, but a nauseating stench that was saturating his lungs, and he gagged on his own breath. He could not sleep, but tossed and turned, and paced his three by two meter cell before tossing and turning more. One might imagine he would have been used to such a hostile environment, having spent weeks in that part of it, but some things are not so easy to accept or adjust to and this was one of them.

    Besides, the smells had never been this bad before. He had started to shiver, through tiredness, hunger and a bright sliver of fear. The cold settled on his nose and lips, and the stench hit him more fervently than before, stirred perhaps by what little breeze could enter through the musty, heavily barred window. It was the foulest thing his nostrils had ever experienced. He rearranged the cell's sparse furniture, allowing him to climb onto a chair and hold his face close to the heavily barred window for gulps of valuable dust filled air, but for almost two hours he remained unaware that the smell pervading his cell was the smell of fresh death.

    It really does have a unique smell; you may not know what it is at first, or even the second or third time. You may not even realise it's there, but eventually it will dawn on you that this particular crisp odour can be one thing and one thing only. It is the smell of blood, enough blood to steal the life from its host, uniting with the involuntary release of urine and faeces when the bowels relax as they never had since babyhood. It will dawn on you, then, but only after the scent has crept around your subconscious for a while, sneaking down into your hippocampus and setting off strange primitive reactions in your thalamus. Then you will remember; only then will you remember having read about it in some book.

    At first, Harry thought it was just another prisoner gone over the top, and in the process of redecorating his cell. He did not know, at the time, that a man had committed suicide in a neighbouring cell soon after the final body count of the day.

    Much of the blood had drained from his body through a ridged gash across the upper part of his left forearm, forming a crimson pool in which the corps rested, its bowels and bladder evacuated. His skin was ashen and clammy, eyes sunk deep into their sockets, staring at the ceiling as though they could not believe they were dead. A fresh razor blade, used only the once, lay peacefully at his side, having fulfilled its purpose.

    Outside every cell door there is a card for each of the occupants, slotted in a hinge on the wall, proclaiming their surname and sentence, and colour coded to denote religion. On the outside of the dead man's cell door, Tom's white card also sported a large, bold, red '42' written in the middle, for all to see.

    This denoted Rule 42, a segregated prisoner, usually for his own protection from the other inmates, and usually applied to rapists, child molesters and other sex offenders who tend to be singled out for sexual and other physical brutalities by the other inmates. Prison officers must never open a Rule 42's door while other inmates are within striking distance.

    Sex related crimes are frowned upon by the prison population; it is a strict code, and one that non-sexual offenders enjoy, if only and at least in part because it allows them the luxury of superiority over the lower life forms. You may be busted for robbing and beating up an old man for his pension, or slicing someone's face so bad that he is unrecognisable for life, or hospitalising your neighbour for blocking your driveway, but if your interests extend to sexual deviation then prison is not the healthiest place to be, because now there are no rules and the inmates will find a way to you.

    You may be officially segregated under Rule 42, your door never opened whilst mainstream doors on the same landing are open, and always accompanied by at least one officer whenever you are released from your cell, whether for the statutory hour's exercise or the twice weekly shower. But even your escorts don't like you, and will sometimes turn a blind eye long enough for a swift and brutal attack by one or more inmates. The attack may last only a few scurried seconds, but this is ample time for a frenzied series of blows, a jug of boiling water over the face or back of the neck, or a snooker ball in a sock to connect with your head, kneecap, and or elbow.

    If waves are made, the officer will claim he was doing his job to the best of his ability within an undermanned Prison Service, and the Prison Officers Union would support him, effectively passing the problem over to the Home Office. Unless a death, or life threatening injuries result from such an attack, the outside world will rarely hear about it from under the carpet.

    Even your cell is no sanctuary. You have to eat, and as a segregated inmate you do not enjoy the restrictive freedoms of the other inmates, to go and collect your own food from the communal pot. You are fed in your cell, and those delivering your meals do not like you, either. They will piss in your tea, gob in your sandwiches, and sometimes even mash a turd into your soup; and if the officer opening your door is not vigilant, whether by accident or design, or perhaps distracted by a nearby commotion...

    In some cases, when a mainstream prisoner feels threatened or intimidated, abnormally depressed or simply needs to be alone for a while, he may apply for a stint under Rule 42. This entails a governor's application, to clarify the reasons for his request, although such an application is rarely declined, if only because it eases the congestion by keeping one extra body out of way. In such cases some of the other inmates understand, while others regard all Rule 42s as sex offenders and hence legitimate targets for their own frustrations.

    In Tom's case, he had no choice. He possessed what inmates called a "freak" profile, which everybody, the entire country knew about.

    Tom, a 24 year old hospital mortuary worker, was identified and subsequently apprehended for beating unconscious and then raping a fourteen year old girl who was on her way home from a school netball game, but what the police found when they turned over his bedsit brought him national, and semi-global attention.

    He had been a part-time intern at a funeral parlour, where he worked the night shift, alone. Turns out he liked it like that. When the police shook down his room after they picked him up for the rape, they found hundreds of photos of naked corpses, both male and female, which he had taken at the funeral home. They also found dozens of videos of him meting out grotesque physical abuses and performing various sexual acts with the younger female stiffs.

    His lawyers tried the insanity defence, trusting that the jury may agree, but that didn't work, and after a sensational trial the jury came back with the expected guilty verdict late on a Friday afternoon. The local remand prison felt they could not provide the security from fellow inmates that Tom's rights demanded as a convicted prisoner, and rather than wait out the weekend in a police cell, he was transferred early next morning to the Scrubs.

    In preparation, the Scrubs admin had juggled around some of their inmates, allocating a cell at the end of Harry's landing, and coincidentally, next door to him, away from the mainstream population.

    On his first afternoon, Tom had been cornered in the shower and turned over by a group of four blacks. He didn't call for help as they bent him over, but took it with a whimper; even when a salami appeared at his mouth, he understood what was expected, opened wide and serviced its owner to the best of his ability.

    After it was over, he did not complain to the officer, who magically appeared at the door as his last assailant strolled out. He knew the score, and took it like a man, mostly because he had no choice.

    It was rape, sure, and painful, and Tom bled badly, but the blacks had had their fill and left. They could have mashed him to a pulp within seconds, but chose to comply with a clandestine agreement not to, for which he was grateful. Besides, it was a sexual pain, and one that Tom had mustered a reservoir of strength to tolerate if not enjoy. What he couldn't stomach was physical violence.

    "Problem?" the screw asked, noting the pink water drain from his body as Tom showered, doubled over from the pain.

    "No, sir," Tom gasped through gritted teeth.

    "You sure," the screw smiled, now satisfied that this nonce would continue servicing his more boisterous, and privileged charges, thereby giving him and his colleagues an easier life.

    An understanding, it was called; they would make Tom available whenever they felt the time and conditions were right, to take care of the more troublesome inmates within the controlling elite, or those who were so inclined. In return, they would expect and demand a measure of cooperation, less unacceptable behaviour, and also the occasional snippet of useful information from the beneficiaries; a mutually profitable exchange, and one leading to a more harmonious life for both inmates and jailers.

    But this still left the other convicts, those who wanted quality time with the necro for other than sexual gratification, and over the eight days, Harry often heard banging and thumping moments after his neighbour's door was clanked open. For more than a week, he had lived with the shrieks and screams of dismay, and of fear, sometimes even when the jingle of keys approached, and before the necro's door was opened.

    Tom had been conditioned, within just a few days, to fear not only his open door but the thought of it; he imagined all manner of evils lurking beyond, even on most occasions when there were none. He had been mentally and emotionally dismantled in less than a couple of hundred hours, and in that condition there was little difference between the fear generated by a four-headed monster and the mere thought of one.

    And prison officers do not like to be disturbed after the evening lock-in, either, but when Harry had come close to throwing up for the second time he decided to press the alarm buzzer in his cell and to hell with the consequences. He noted the time; 02.07.

    As an unconvicted prisoner, Home Office regulations allowed him to keep possession of his watch, among other luxuries, which is how he knew that twenty-four minutes had elapsed from the time he pressed his buzzer to the time he heard the distant echo of boots along the bottom landing. They had come, eventually, more than twenty minutes after he had pressed his emergency buzzer.

    The rattle of keys merged with the clang of steel toed boots as they began climbing the stairs, until they reached his landing. Then he heard a roar of revulsion as the screw approached and then passed his cell to the peephole next door, followed by a formal though panicked call to the wing office, "We have one less body!"

    Activity ensued, little of which he could see through the one-inch peephole into and out of his cell, but it was clear that someone had died and that the process of a custodial death was underway.


    He was escorted to an office the next morning, immediately after breakfast.

    After a brief series of formal questions, for the record, he was asked, "Do you know what time you raised the alarm?"

    He answered truthfully, 02.07 a.m., but this was brushed aside.

    "You must have made a mistake, laddie," said the burly Scotsman, shaking his head convincingly, "because we have your alarm logged at zero-two twenty-nine, and ours at zero-two thirty-one."

    "No, sir, I called at two, ah, zero-two zero-seven."

    "Your watch must be wrong." The Scotsman shook his head, deep in thought, and then replied with finality, "Canna be, son. You're saying our officers took more than twenty minutes to respond, are ya?" So saying, he opened a drawer and reached inside, pulling out a half-ounce pack of Golden Virginia rolling tobacco, a packet of Rizlas and a box of matches, which he slid across to the prisoner. "This is for your distress," he said, "sign here, here, and here, please."

    There would be no enquiry or investigation into Tom's death or incidents leading to it, the official record would show that the duty officers had responded immediately to the emergency call, and that everything had scrupulously followed regulations.

  15. #15
    I am in Jail
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    Quote Originally Posted by friscofrankie
    fuck it. Fuck revenge, or punishment nothing can repay the suffering he caused, just cull the fucker from the herd as quickly as possible without regard to reducing or inducing undue pain. just get rid of 'im
    That's what I reckon too. Take him out the back and put a bullet in his head.

  16. #16
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    Justice wont really be served by killing him.

    and dont forget who created this monster ... they shoulder some of the responsibility

  17. #17
    Member bendix's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by keda View Post
    I know literary extracts are generally frowned upon, but it's late and the mrs is in bkk and I'm bored so if you think it's crap, easy, stop reading.


    Wow. To take so much trouble to type and post that, you must be REALLY REALLY obsessed with the subject.

    Is there something you would like to share with us?

  18. #18
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    No problem. Right or wrong. The inmates in the Florida Prison System will take care of all.

  19. #19
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    Quote Originally Posted by bendix View Post
    Quote Originally Posted by keda View Post
    I know literary extracts are generally frowned upon, but it's late and the mrs is in bkk and I'm bored so if you think it's crap, easy, stop reading.


    Wow. To take so much trouble to type and post that, you must be REALLY REALLY obsessed with the subject.

    Is there something you would like to share with us?
    Nah not really, that was an extract cut 'n pasted from a decade old text. Not that bored, really.

  20. #20
    Thailand Expat raycarey's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by bendix
    Wow. To take so much trouble to type and post that, you must be REALLY REALLY obsessed with the subject.
    maybe keda is FINALLY bored with demonizing and mocking islam?

    quite the dramatic thread title btw.

  21. #21
    Member bendix's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by raycarey View Post
    Quote Originally Posted by bendix
    Wow. To take so much trouble to type and post that, you must be REALLY REALLY obsessed with the subject.
    maybe keda is FINALLY bored with demonizing and mocking islam?

    quite the dramatic thread title btw.
    Demonising islam? An unhealthy interest in sex offenders and the fate of their perpetuators in prison?

    God help us from yet another Fox News devotee.

  22. #22
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    I do not understand why a troubled childhood constitutes a legal mitigant for a crime sentencing.

    Anyone?

  23. #23
    Member bendix's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by The_Ghost_Of_The_Moog View Post
    I do not understand why a troubled childhood constitutes a legal mitigant for a crime sentencing.

    Anyone?

    Oh, the usual bullshit 'society dealt me a bad hand' stuff. Frankly, I agree with Maggie Thatcher when she said there is no such thing as society.

    Having said that, I'm vehemently anti-death penalty.

  24. #24
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    Its a bit like all the UK pro-celebrity phaedopiles who say they downloaded child porn because they themselves were abused as children.

    I think this makes them even more egregious. But thats just my opinion.

  25. #25
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    Wasn't that Pete Townshend?

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