Old rockers never die …


… or else they die over and over and over again. Christina Fincher, for Reuters:

British police are to re-examine the death of former Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones after receiving new information.

Jones, a founding member of the rock band, was 27 when he was found dead at the bottom of a swimming pool at his home in southern England 40 years ago.

An inquest recorded a verdict of death by misadventure.

A spokesman for Sussex police said on Monday the force had received new information about the musician’s death from an investigative journalist.

“These papers will be examined by Sussex Police but it is too early to comment at this time on what the outcome will be,” he said ….

A Rolling Stone gathers no moss. Moldy mystery, though? Hell, we already knew that from Keith Richards.

What? Yeah, I’m completely empty these days.

But really. How is that guy still breathing? It’s a mystery of the Universe. And don’t get me started on … um … er … never mind. I’m just reaching. You know. Craving attention, or something.

How to flush your home business down the crapper


You know, if he was selling to the cops, that would be one thing. But there’s no hint of that here. Hector Castro explains:

“A plainclothes sergeant and officer from the department’s training unit were in the bathroom when they heard the man answer his cell phone and attempt to make a deal for the drugs,” police reported.

The suspected dealer, apparently growing more desperate, made several more calls in his effort to sell the drugs, all while the sergeant eavesdropped on his conversations.

As the man left the bathroom, he saw the sergeant and asked if he worked for probation, in the mistaken belief that he was at the probation office.

When confronted by the officer about the dealing, the man reportedly confessed and surrendered his stash of drugs.

Write your own punch line, I suppose. The obvious is already taken.

Trenchtown Keystone? The great sand heist


Excuse me, but how do you steal a beach? Okay, Rory Carroll explains this for us, courtesy of The Guardian:

Thieves in Jamaica have embarrassed police and triggered a political row by stealing a beach – and making a clean getaway.

Hundreds of tonnes of white sand vanished from a planned resort on the island’s north coast in July but three months later there is no sign of suspects nor sand.

An estimated 500 truck-loads of sand were removed from the Coral Spring beach in Trelawny and were believed to have been sold to rival resorts, a hefty logistical feat which has stumped police.

“It’s a very complex investigation because it involves so many aspects,” Mark Shields, the deputy commissioner for crime at the Jamaica Constabulary Force, told the BBC.

“You’ve got the receivers of the stolen sand, or what we believe to be the sand. The trucks themselves, the organisers and, of course, there is some suspicion that some police were in collusion with the movers of the sand.”

And while Carroll notes that Jamaican police have received much criticism of late, especially for its investigation of cricket coach Bob Woolmer’s death, he also notes that last year thieves stole a Hungarian resort.

So it’s not just Jamaica, jah?

(A tip o’the hat to Jonah at Slog.)

Stop reading now … really


What? What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

On Monday, August 4, 2008 … while on routine patrol in a fully marked Fort Wayne police car … I was traveling northbound in the 4500 block of S. Hanna St. and observed what I believed was a naked man standing in front of a large picture window of a home, in plain view. I turned my squad car around and again observed the male white standing in front of a large picture window … in what appeared to be a well-lit living room with his genital region clearly visible to myself and others living or traveling on the road ….

…. I called for assistance from another on-duty unit and together … [we] approached the residence on foot. I could clearly see through the open front door, the male white … was lying on his sofa inserting an item, later identified as a claw hammer covered with a plastic bag, into his rectum while completely naked. We observed he had some type of lubricant on his genital area and buttocks which we learned was motor oil

Insert (donut) punch line here.

Damn it.

(via The Smoking Gun)

A new kind of vigilante


In the small town of Gerald, Missouri, Bill Jakob seemed a godsend. With support from the local police department, the federal agent took on the local methamphetamine problem. Over nearly five months, the man colloquially referred to as “Sergeant Bill” led the charge, searching homes, seizing evidence, and arresting suspects in the town of less than twelve hundred, a place so wracked by the drug trade that its mayor calls the area “a meth capital of the United States”.

And then a reporter—always a pesky reporter—decided to look into the story, and what Linda Trest of The Gasconade County Republican discovered brought the whole operation to a scandalous collapse. As Monica Davey explains for the New York Times:

Sergeant Bill, it turned out, was no federal agent, but Bill A. Jakob, an unemployed former trucking company owner, a former security guard, a former wedding minister and a former small-town cop from 23 miles down the road.

The fantastic vigilante is now the target of a federal criminal investigation, and Gerald has lost three of its five police officers. The drug allegations themselves are in doubt. Seventeen plaintiffs have filed a civil rights lawsuit, and Mayor Otis Schulte is the target of of an impeachment petition.

This is your War on Drugs.
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