by Patrick H. Moore

On June 17, 2013, Cameron Langford of AlterNet reported that Texas jailers at the Live Oak County Jail were sued by two former female inmates because they ran a “rape camp” where they “repeatedly raped and humiliated female inmates,” and forced them to masturbate and sodomize male guards, and one another.

The former inmates J.A.S. and J.M.N. brought a civil action in Federal court against Live Oak County and its former jailers Vincent Aguilar, Israel Charles Jr. and Jaime E. Smith.

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by BJW Nashe

In early 1994, Aaron Bacon was a 16 year-old living with his parents in Phoenix, Arizona. Aaron was described as a compassionate, highly intelligent kid, but his parents found his recent behavior alarming. He was smoking marijuana and experimenting with psychedelics. He was listening to death metal and writing dark, angry poetry. His grades began to suffer, and he got into some minor accidents with the family car. His parents were worried that he was associating with gang members (hanging around with non-whites?) Confused and afraid, the Bacons decided to look outside the family for help.

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by Starks Shrink

We have become somewhat inured to murder in many of its forms. Robberies go awry, angry men stand their ground, kids take guns to school; stories such as these are constantly in the news, but the particular murder that always chills to the bone is when we hear of a mother who kills her own child. Throughout the animal kingdom, it is the female of the species who is nearly always tasked with ensuring the survival of the offspring. Filicide is most often committed by fathers, generally to get back at or to hurt the mothers, so on those rare occasions when a mother, who has the sacred charge of caring for her offspring, becomes the lethal force in their lives, we are shocked and horrified.

I place these unlikely murderers in three groups based on the motives that drive them to commit these awful crimes: neglect or abuse, mental illness, and sheer malice.

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by BJW Nashe

SerialKillersInk.net recently came out with their new Serial Killer Trivia Game. You can purchase it online at their web site. You can also purchase arts and crafts and mementos from an entire menagerie of convicted murderers. Same thing with web sites such as Supernaught.com and MurderAuction.com. Manson is a big attraction, of course. Plenty of his handicrafts are for sale. You can also find items pertaining to criminals such as Richard Ramirez, Ted Bundy, Kenneth Bianchi, Angelo Buono, Jeffrey Dahmer, etc. This is now a growing industry catering to folks who, for various reasons, enjoy collecting anything remotely associated with notorious criminals. No matter how much the self-proclaimed “defenders of public decency” try to shut it down, this market for “true crime collectibles,” or “murderabilia,” keeps on thriving.

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commentary by Patrick H. Moore

The word sexist is a dirty word and I would rather be called many other pejorative terms rather than it. Of course, as an American male who flailed through early childhood in the 1950s and came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, there is little doubt that somewhere in my compromised soul I carry a bit of the sexist, not a lot, I trust, but I’m certain there is some there.

Why do I bring this up? Very simple. A story that comes to us out of Iran got me thinking about sexism in general and the fact that like most human foibles, it tends to be relative in nature.

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by Lise LaSalle

Recently, I had the pleasure of discovering an older movie called “Six Degrees of Separation”, a film adaptation of a play written by Pulitzer Prize winner John Guare. The story was inspired by real-life con artist David Hampton who impersonated Sidney Poitier’s son and managed to fool many people in upper crust circles.  In the movie, Stockard Channing was magnificent playing a socialite married to art dealer Donald Sutherland. Will Smith got jiggy with it and gave a super performance in the role of David Hampton. This movie is a real gem.

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 commentary by Patrick H. Moore

In the annals of serial killers, there is probably no one creepier than Eddie Gein, the Plainfield, Wisconsin, mama’s boy par excellence. Largely forgotten due to the obscurity of his rural existence and the fact that many more urbane serial killers have followed in his footsteps, Eddie was the real life inspiration for Norman Bates in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho”, for Buffalo Bill in “The Silence of the Lambs”, and for the original film version of the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”  I was seven years old when Eddie’s crimes were discovered and was living in rural Wisconsin, yet I have no memory of these events.  No doubt the good country folk tried hard to keep it on the down-low.  It was fully 30 years later when I first read about Eddie’s grisly machinations.  His is a fascinating and strangely sad tale which, not unlike in “Psycho”, illuminates the price a boy/man and his victims sometimes pay due to being saddled, in part, with an overly domineering mother.

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by Darcia Helle

To the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only the truth. ~ Voltaire

If books and TV shows like the Rizzoli and Isles series are to be believed, then medical examiners are crime-fighting heroes who find all the answers hidden within the murder victim’s body, while also pretty much dictating the investigative process. The ladies also wear 5-inch Manolo Blahnik heels while performing autopsies and wandering through crime scenes. Today we’ll take a look at the history of autopsies, and learn whether medical examiners are as vital in solving murders as Maura Isles and her $800 shoes would like us to believe

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by Lise LaSalle

After writing an article titled The Infamous Trial of Candy Crush, I thought that I had put this subject to rest until after the sentencing retrial. But lately, the media waves of the deep ocean that is the Jodi Arias saga have been violently crashing on the Shore of Crazy Island and quite a storm is brewing.

Jodi is more than ever associated with the name Candy Crush. She is still as popular and addictive as the game and manufacturers around the world are looking for a replacement to acquire this slice of the market to gain the same popularity. Cha ching!

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by BJW Nashe

When I lived in Santa Cruz, California from 1982-87, I had no idea that this pleasant seaside town was once dubbed “The Murder Capital of the World.” By the time I moved there to attend UC Santa Cruz, where I majored in philosophy (with an unofficial minor in hallucinogens), there was little or no mention of murder. The mass killing had occurred a decade earlier. The only murders I recall were found in existentialist novels by Albert Camus and Fyodor Dostoevsky. I lived a block and half from the sea. We liked to stroll along West Cliff Drive late at night. Everything seemed perfect.

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