Life behind the Burnt Orange curtain: 3 teenagers dead on Halloween night.

**This post has been supplemented with additional developments…read through before bashing my earlier presumptions :) ***


hit and run

Hit-and-Run Driver Kills 3 Teenage Girls Trick-or-Treating in Santa Ana

A hit-and-run driver struck and killed three teenage girls who were trick-or-treating in Santa Ana Friday night, according to authorities.

The children were struck at the corner of Fairhaven Avenue and Jacaranda Street (map) around 6:45 p.m., Orange County Fire Authority said.

All three were found dead upon arrival, Santa Ana Police Department Capt. Anthony Bertagna said.

The girls were 13 and 16 years old, OCFA Capt. Steve Concialdi said.

It was unclear if the girls were related or friends, he said.

Santa Ana is one of the less “orangey” cities in Orange County.

This mecca-county of exclusive Republican Whiteness in SoCal is not everything you might think, especially if you place much value in horseshit reality television dealing with certain despicable housewives and their vile husbandry.

oc wives

By the same token, Santa Ana is populated largely by a lot of my people, many of them acting badly.

In fact, if they catch this guy, which they probably will, I would put $20 on it that he’s Hispanic, and another $10 that he was drinking, and maybe $5 that he was illegal.

Such is life behind the Burnt Orange curtain!

burnt orange

The parents have not even been notified. Sad

Los Angeles Times

Authorities believe they have located the suspect vehicle, a Nissan Pathfinder, which was found behind a Big Lots store near the crime scene, police said.

Police are looking for two men who they said were in the car at the time of the incident.

from Google Earth
from Google Earth

Even the NYT has chimed in with more of a characteristic journalistic flourish!

The scene was “very sad,” he said, “when millions of children, teenagers and adults are out trick-or-treating on a wonderful evening to insert tragedy like this.”

Police were seeking two men from a Nissan Pathfinder that hit the girls, police Chief Carlos Rojas said at a media briefing.

The SUV was found abandoned near the scene, but the suspects had not yet been found, Rojas said.

Police were working to determine the girls’ names and to find their parents, Cpl. Anthony Bertagna said.

Jeff Evans was trick-or-treating with his 8-year-old daughter about a half-block away when he heard squealing tires, looked over and saw the collision.

“When we got over here, there was already a tarp over two girls,” Evans told the Orange County Register.

Soon after the accident some 60 people had gathered at the scene, where the fire department had chaplains and volunteers to counsel those upset by the incident.

More from the Los Angeles Times. Photographs. The indescribable torment of parenthood comes to life for an unfortunate, tragic few.




Ah, from CBS LA:

“We are still looking for the individuals that were inside the vehicle and, at this moment in time, we believe that they were two male Blacks,” he added.

Whoops…apologies to all my carnales!

The twins, Lexi and Lexandra Perez, shown here:


And the third victim, friend Andrea Gonzalez.


The suspect is estimated to have been travelling twice the posted 35 mph speed limit. On Halloween night. On a residential street with crosswalks. This represents flagrant disregard for human life. I hope the neighborhood parents catch up with the driver before the police do.

A very preliminary report of arrests today of suspects in the hit and run killing of the two girls.

Multiple people were arrested in connection to the crime around 11:30 a.m. Sunday, Bertagna told the Los Angeles Times.

No further details were made available. A news conference was scheduled for Monday around 11 a.m.

I’ve strongly suspected that these scumbags didn’t want their party weekend disrupted. Between Friday’s incident (which happened early in the evening) and Saturday night, I suspect they lived it up with nary a remorseful bone stirring in their body.

If so, and it is proven, they shouldn’t be allowed to walk until they will need canes to do so. But it is California, so who knows…

Police arrested a 31-year-old man on suspicious of this hit and run today. His name is Jaquinn Ramone Bell. He is only a suspect and must be presumed innocent. But what a fuck up he is.

Court records indicated a man with his name had a recent conviction for a driving under the influence and child abuse, among other crimes. Bell’s driver’s license had been suspended Aug. 4, the day of his conviction, according to the DMV.

Bell was taken into custody about 11:30 a.m. Sunday along with his mother, half-sister and two minors, who were placed in protective custody.

Rojas declined to discuss Bell’s criminal record, but Orange County court records show that a Jaquinn Ramone Bell pleaded guilty Aug. 4 to child abuse and endangerment, driving under the influence of drugs and alcohol, and hit-and-run with property damage.

In that case, Bell was sentenced to three years of probation and 10 days in jail for the child abuse count, as well as eight days in jail for the DUI count. He also got three months in first-offender alcohol program for the DUI and was ordered into a child abuser’s treatment program, court records show.

At least he had a good weekend....
At least he had a good weekend….

About that attention whore, the White Knight, and their “anti-street harassment” propaganda piece.

Oh lord, here we go again.

Yet another viral woe-is-me hysterical female victim video is making the rounds. And it was instigated by this White Knight (literally):


His name is Rob Bliss and he has his creative hands in a little of everything. A man of many dubious socially redeeming talents and beau to a woman who evidently complained incessantly about that modern phenomenon of “street harassment” (actually, female whining is the real modern phenomenon), prompting him to spring to action on a path to reclaim her honor. Bliss concocted a plan and Shoshana Roberts, a New York actress and not the girlfriend, was procured to play a leading role in his scheme.


Basically, Shoshana walked a few steps behind Bliss through the streets of New York for many, many hours of surreptitious camera footage. The “secret video camera” was rigged in Bliss’ backpack which filmed the curvy don’t-quit-your-day-job actress as she paraded past all manner of Black and Hispanic men as they hooted, hollered, remarked, gesticulated, praised and made dramatic expressions of repressed lust. Bliss condensed all the “harassment” and edited it into a video which you see here:

Shoshana has that unique thickness and expansive booty that drives Black and Hispanic men into frenzies but leaves White and Asian men cold.

This footage is rigged and cherry-picked. The video production, sponsored and perpetuated by hollaback, one of those generic and aggravating social-responsibility sites whose liberated mission it is to tackle all manners of inappropriate and un-PC behavior (in this case, “street harassment”), purports to illustrate all the abuse Shoshana experienced over a 10-hour stroll through the Big Apple.

Frankly, if this footage represents all the bad male behavior she experienced during that amount of walking in New York City, big fucking deal.

Can I please see the other 9 hours and 58 minutes of mundane and unmentionable boredom? Oh, no, that won’t happen; it would be counterproductive to the histrionic point these do-gooders are trying to make. We would see that women don’t experience that much egregious flirting despite what the victimization movements and White Knights drone on about.

I’d like to propose an alternative video and would like Rob Bliss to produce it.

I would like to follow him and his sneaky camera through the streets of Los Angeles for 10 hours in order so we could all marvel at the anonymity and invisibility that visits my presence any time I step out in public. It would be far more amazing than the two minutes of leering the JAP thickster “endured” in New York. The amazing manner with which people’s disinterested eyes avert my existence would be a spectacle to behold, and I’m sure, send chills up and down Shoshana’s spine (she of “I don’t like the attention, wink wink”).

Besides, we all know and realize that the extent of Shoshana Roberts’ interest in highlighting the horrors of street harassment is only as sincere as the amount of acting gigs she squeezes out of this little publicity stunt.

And Bliss…well, his girlfriend apparently represents a timid social cause. Because passive, manipulative strategies to back into a woman’s respect are far more preferable than leers and catcalls, right?

DreamHost…best served when your account is in arrears.

Sorry, blame DreamHost.

Is complaining about your blog host like biting the hand that feeds you?

Who knows, but DreamHost sometimes drives me crazy.

My renewal is paid annually in August but I have 60 days to pay it, and being the financial wizard that I am, I take advantage of that and wait until October to cough up the dues. During that period of time, I receive regular email reminders from DreamHost telling me that I better pay up. During this time, my blog runs as smoothly as can be expected.

However, once I pay the renewal, guess what happens?

My site starts going down and freezing again. This has happened in previous years as well.

This morning, it was down again, and I presume judging by the astronomic dip in views, for quite a while.

But hey…I’m paid up for the year. I guess this will continue until DreamHost wants my money again.


The scourge of the Purveyors of Bland; in defense of Hate as an artful human trait.

Amusingly, a couple of blogs on my blogroll have posted the same video in the past several days.

Right View from the Left Coast


Goodbye, America (in a photo)

The video you can find in both posts is a reprehensible spew of left-wing tropes stacked atop each other like mushy layers of sewage at the bottom of an outhouse on a sweltering day. Its essential and archetypal ingredients are blather, reflexive dearth of thinking, sandwiched between egregious doses of childish ideological aggression, bloated furthermore by fanciful sophomoric assumptions. Typical left-wing one-size-fits-all attempts to malign that which does not abide.

The video is apparently the bowel movement residue of a bumper-sticker philosophy group of socially aware toy revolutionaries called FCKH8 purporting to make the world more hospitable for queers, bitches, and niggers/spics/slants/kykes/ragheads.

They have a website where they resort to rash consumerism while capitalistically engaging in profit motive to dump their enlightened product on the worst detritus the Millennials and forward have to offer. That intolerable swath of undernourished, overbearded dweeb with a hankering for egalitarianism and overriding sense of Utopian erase-suffering shaming philosophy.



Everything with these young Purveyors of Bland is about the hate.

Always the hate, the hate, stopping the hate, being anti-hate, the hate, everything is about the hate.

These simpletons act as if the world’s most pressing problem is, in fact, hate. They act as if the erasure of hate will lead all to fall into place in one tidy mound of cheer. How nice it must be to revel in soft, marshmallowy political pillows of spoiled naivete like these neophytes. The world is beautiful but it would be better if we just didn’t hate so much!

Personally, I love hate.

Hate is the spice of life. I’ll take a world full of hate, thank you.

Hate is human. What could be more human than hate?
Hate is peculiarly human. Animals do not hate.
Hate is awareness of dislike. Animals dislike, but on an instinctual level. They don’t comprehend “like” or “dislike.” But humans, ah, yes, humans…we take it to another level. We don’t simply dislike something…we dress it up with a higher-minded awareness and self-consciousness and it is transformed into that lovely thing call Hate.

The young socially-conscious, liberal kiddies think the world would improve if we rid it of hate and taught humans to not do so much of it.

I, on the other hand, think the world would improve if we nourished and perpetuated hate with resilient gusto.

If we, as a species, were comfortable with expressing hate, we would also be comfortable when others expressed it and finally, we might actually grow up and stop being such fussy little spineless children looking to pummel mankind into a sanitized amorphous collection of inoffensiveness.

Whistling Dixie in the City of Angels

I went through a strange stage in my 20’s.

It wasn’t sexual or perverse, or even dangerous. It was definitely not expensive.

I really, really, really, became absorbed in the imagery and cultural mythology of the American South.

It began, for me, in a college American history course. General Ed crap that caught my eye which is what General Ed is designed to do, I suppose, and I took it and ran.

The Civil War was the draw and I was spellbound by stories and Brady-ian images of the 19th Century national family feud which ripped this country apart at the seams. Abraham Lincoln and Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant and Stonewall Jackson…there was a riveting and long-dead cast of tragic, glorious characters and faint photographic faces. Lore of deadly, blood-washed battles. The nuanced and horrific tales of a dastardly war and its relentless gutting of the young nation.

Of course, it followed that I also took great interest in the unfolding cultural phenomena that was the American South. The Reconstruction, slavery, the deeply imbued racism that still stirs in Dixie’s hornet nest, and the legendary geographical culture that has found itself on the receiving end of an anathema from the “sophisticated” urban mentalities of the modern clerisy coastal class.

I even took great interest in Southern literature. Most of the greatest American literature found its roots in the South. The South was a land of stories and endless tragedy.

It was America without American sensibilities.

I loved it!

For a period in my 20’s, I read and studied everything Southern. I fancied myself a Southerner at heart. I even bought a ridiculous belt that was stamped its entire length with distressed, multicolored indentations of the Confederate flag. In 1985, this didn’t seem such a big deal. Now, that flag represents everything that must be quelled and defeated by the same coastal class that delights in denigrating the South while simultaneously appeasing and soothing the delicate sensibilities of a society that demands bland subjugation to avoidance of all conflict.

Perhaps this is why I found such communion with the South.

A little ol’ Mexican boy from East Los Angeles…what the hell could he possibly care about Dixie?

I fell for the languid, soulful entropy of a land that was steeped in its own ill-fated rules of death.

I admired the South’s pitiless acceleration toward the pursuit of a triumph that could never live in the face of Eastern, global elites, a moneyed class that would forever subvert this nation’s free will to the expediencies of profit and avarice and nepotistic pretensions.

My Southern fixation had nothing to do with wars or slavery or mint juleps. It had everything to do with that aggravating sense of manipulated alienation.

In 1984, I took my 1974 Ford Maverick up to about 105 mph on the northbound Glendale freeway here in Los Angeles. That piece of crap had no business going over 60, much less triple digits. An LAPD patrol car chased my ass down. LAPD never makes freeway traffic stops. I pulled over and the cop walked up and asked me if I knew how fast I was going, and for my car registration. I leaned over to pull it from my glove compartment and my concert jersey (not sure the band) rode up and my Confederate belt was exposed and I wondered at the time what this White LAPD cop could possibly have made of a mustachioed Mexican kid driving 100 in such an old clunker with such a ridiculous belt. I apologized and owed up to what I did. “Yeah, I was driving too fast, sorry,” and handed him the paper. Once everything was run and cleared, he told me to drive carefully and let me go without writing me a ticket.

I’m convinced he let me go because of that belt. Not because he felt a kinship or anything stupid like that. It wasn’t a Southern thing, at all. It was probably for embarrassment, the sort I feel when recalling this story.