Hernandez on Suicide Watch


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As they sang in the theme song to M*A*S*H*, suicide is painless.

As Tom Jones used to sing, “It’s not unusual…”

Well, at Cedar Junction Max prison it isn’t too unusual to have an inmate on suicide watch. So, only two days after arriving at his waiting depot, Aaron Hernandez was isolated from the general population of dangerous mugs. Here, alone, they decided he was a risk to do something untoward toward himself.

Suicide watch is not to be confused with an Apple Watch.

If you murder a bunch of people, offing yourself is child’s play.

Maybe someone told Hernandez that his prison stop is the famous location where the Boston Strangler, Albert de Salvo, found himself murdered by another inmate. No, he was stabbed, not strangled.

So, perhaps Hernandez has some reason for trepidation before he is sent packing again to Shirley, Mass., where his final stop will be for the next fifty years or so. That smaller, more intensely private maximum security prison, will allow for more safety than Cedar Junction—but it is a looney bin.

Inmates are alone 23 hours per day—with an hour for exercise. Then they do it again. It could be the fulcrum point where suicide watch is more necessary. Of course, no one would really care if he did have his way.

If Hernandez is thinking of suicide, it may not be possible that he has realized he did not break the bank at Monte Carlo or Gillette Stadium, and he isn’t going to get away with murder either.

Self-knowledge is a dangerous thing.

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Wicked Wick, Sticky Wicket



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When those teenage heartthrobs of the ‘80s come back as middle-aged mean, you better look out.

Keanu Reeves, one time pantywaist, is now tougher than dirt. His new film John Wick reincarnates him, raises him from the dead, and breathes new life into an old actor. In the meantime

John Wick is a familiar movie about a retired killer for the Russian mob that should be the dog that you let sleep. When some inconsiderate minor league mobsters pick on him, they make him return to form. And, that means he is a one-man superhuman wrecking machine.

Oh, we’ve seen it before—in fact, in The Equalizer just last month. He can clear a room of deadwood before its dead.

With a cast of familiar faces (Ian McShane, Willem Dafoe, John Leguizamo, etc.), we have a movie so intensely cool that you will need to fan yourself at the half-way mark.

John Wick apparently is a candle in the wind that everyone recognizes. His friends simply defer and step aside. His enemies won’t have time.

Though you’ve seen the dance steps before, they are done with style and panache again. The old wine is now in a new bottle, perhaps a franchise movie.

Reeves is so laconic you may start to become giddy with his no-nonsense mechanical killer. We still can’t figure out why these sort of movies are entertaining. Violence and kill count are astronomical, but it works on a plane or dimension that string theory can only dream about.

Time flies when you’re counting corpses left in John Wick’s wake. Director Chad Stahelski already has the sequel on the drawing board.



Hernandez and His Sheriff


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Available on Amazon: Volume Two coming soon!

The convicted killer told his guards he would miss them now that he was leaving the little country club jail for the Big House.

His nemesis, Sheriff Tom Hodgson, said that Hernandez was a top level sociopath, “the best I’ve seen,” as he put. We presume the good sheriff has seen many a wayward killer. He thinks that Hernandez has set up such defense mechanisms wrapped in his charm that there are plenty who are equally fooled.

Moron Brandon Spikes, former teammate at Florida and New England, tweeted that he was “confused” by the judicial system.

Yeah, guilty verdicts tend to confuse dumbbells who think no one is murdered without good reason.

Hey, Spikes, it means that the jury thinks he acted egregiously and cruelly to kill his friend. Just be glad it was not your night.

Guards also reported that Aaron has kept his bebop swagger that would charm the pants of Justin Bieber if given half the chance. That insouciant inner rhythm of Hernandez may stand him in good stead while he is in the shower at MCI Cedar Junction.

But, it appears he will not for long be liable to connect with Jerry Remy’s murderous son. Hernandez is headed out to MCI Florence. No, she is not pretty. She is, however, in Shirley, another town in Massachusetts that has a particularly secure maximum penalty room.

In a week or so Aaron Hernandez will live in a six by twelve cell for over twenty hours per day with a break for exercise and allowed visitors three times per week.

We should hear about his mental crack up in about three years, when his appeal process runs out.

Until then we will be seeing Hernandez in the Hub for his next big gig: the double murder by drive by. It should be shorter and even more peculiar.

Afterglowing with the Jury


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Jurors didn’t mind meeting the press for a little sharing of the limelight.

They admitted they largely felt shooting Odin Lloyd six times was egregious. They apparently thought it was a hard sell to say he wouldn’t kill his friend when Aaron Hernandez never showed sympathy, sorrow, or concern.

That insouciant body language was enough to convict him alone. Perhaps too the jurors were a little off put by the notion that he kept kissing old Robert Kraft whenever they met. They also thought it was strange that he knew the exact time when Lloyd was murdered, but the police couldn’t establish it for a year or two.

It did not help when the Ninja defense team decided to freely admit that Aaron Hernandez was at the murder scene, witnessing the killing of his best friend, but he had no trouble driving the other killers home and continuing to entertain them in his palatial McMansion.

If the jury revealed anything surprising, it was that Shayanna, the star witness for the prosecution, wasn’t worth the price of admission. She won immunity for not giving up much toward a conviction,

She probably should be commended for her excellent tightrope walk to inspire Hernandez to mouth the words, “I love you,” more times than can be believed.

Then on the day of the Boston Marathon anniversary, Hernandez had the temerity to make a mockery of the time with his mouthing the words, “Be Strong,” to his family cheerleading squad.

Boston Strong is the motto of the downtrodden fans of the bombing—and Hernandez managed to cheapen their da


DATELINE: Guilty on all Counts

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Well, they found Billy the Kid guilty on all counts too, but he busted out of their two-bit hoosegow.

The jury of seven women and five men were polled and all said guilty of everything. They threw such a heavy book at Hernandez that the tough Patriot star’s legs turned to jelly and he fell down into his chair.

His so-called wife and so-called mother were weeping hysterically at the jury. Were they so surprised? Hernandez himself didn’t need a hanky, but he looked a tad dazed.

Yep, when you think you are about to beat the rap, the guilty verdict tends to put a cold wet blanket on your lifelong party.

Athletes who have been treated like golden lads may have a slightly skewed sense of their own importance. We saw Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson looking about the same this year.

It’s a face only Alfred E. Neumann could love.

“What, me worry?” Perhaps only as he fell into his chair while his lawyers stood with their paychecks in their pockets did Hernandez finally realize the gravity of his charmed life.

Paying the piper may be what Kraft did with $40 million smackeroos, but the Piped Piper of North Attleboro is now going the route of the rats. His next stop along the primrose trip to the life without parole stage of the Big House will come when he faces a double murder drive by extravaganza in Boston in a few months.

Whether he finds new lawyers, or has court appointed representatives, he will miss the friendly face of old Judge Garsh.

Smoke, Smoke, Smoke That Cigarette!


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The Hernandez jury had a pressing issue to raise with Judge Susan Garsh—and court was convened to address it.

Smokers on the jury want a smoke break. We heard testimony that Aaron Hernandez used to take smoke breaks all the time: of course, his cigarette of choice was the marijuana brand.

If you recall the old Phil Harris song from the 1950s, you may recall that, “Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette…till you smoke yourself to death.”

Jurors are ready to tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate that he will just have to wait because the jurors just gotta have another cigarette.

The old song noted that if the singer ever met the guy that invented the cigarette, “I’d murder that son of gun in the first degree.”

Heavens, we are reminded that nicotine slaves are all the same: everything has to stop while they have that cigarette.

Judge Garsh reminded jurors that they can take a smoke break. Smoke’em if they gottem. But they will be on police duty of the courtyard grounds at the end of every day.

And, the nonsmokers cannot deliberate while the smokers go out for a final puff before the EMTs arrive with oxygen. You hate to make Hernandez wait, but the jury just must have that cigarette.

It’s almost enough to make Hernandez take out his Glockenspiel and play the tune while he waits for a verdict.

Missing Time, But Never Missing Ancient Aliens



Hey, Porcupine!

The History Channel runs their ever-popular Ancient Aliens series as a marathon at least once or twice per week. With its usual batch of crypto-experts, including the guy with the electrically shocked hairdo, we have come to listen to their endless expertise on any and all mythologies under the sun–or beyond it.

Of course, we don’t know how much expertise these guys truly have, or what degrees they hold, if any. Nonetheless, they now speak to us with authority on the unsolved mysteries of the universe.

They haven’t ridden in flying saucers that they admit to, but know someone who has.

It all started with the granddaddy of crypto-UFOlogists, Erick Van Daniken. We read his stuff back in the hippie days—and many things have passed since. He is as topical as ever. In fact, he may be completely mainstream now. We know those creatures exist, visited Earth, and the government has covered everything up–from the Nazca Lines to Roswell.

Well, Ancient Aliens has a new batch of episodes, and we couldn’t miss it—though we wish we had missing time on this week’s show.

The series is at the bottom of the barrel, contending that aliens were influential on the American Civil War. As protectors of the great Republic, they were sending messages to Abe Lincoln and trying to save the Union. Following the premiere came Hangar 1, season two, that suggested UFOs have fought against the United States in Korea and Vietnam.

These space gods can be fickle. Either they’re for us or against us. It depends on the war. We wish they’d get their act together.

If you think Ancient Aliens may have crossed wires with ghost hunters, you’d be with us on this one. When they noted that writer Ambrose Bierce suffered a head wound during the war and that’s what made him a great writer, we knew where this was headed. All great writers have their inspired stories coming from UFO visitors. Our blog is a direct result of alien abductions.

In 1913 Bierce went missing—apparently joining aliens in the great beyond, in the Mexican desert. Lucky guy.

It all ties together—different dimensions, UFOs, spirit worlds, string theory, and lost time. It’s just that they seem to be stretching credulity beyond the big bang they get for the buck.

We just wish those aliens would take us away.

Channel 7 of Boston, All the News A Nitwit Can Report

DATELINE: Fulvous Yellow Journalism

nightcrawlers 101

One of the worst perps in the media world of Boston’s nightcrawlers is WHDH, aka Channel 7. In fact, the nightcrawler in question was out in broad daylight, bothering Hernandez jurors this week.

It must be a slow news day when all you have to cover are two of the biggest trials of the 21st century.

Today Judge Garsh demanded to speak to anyone in charge at this alleged news station about why they are following and harassing jurors.

A quick check of Channel 7’s website featured a story that lawyers were conferring with the bench because of something raised by two jurors. It does not mention that this alleged news organization may be banned from the proceedings. It does not mention that WHDH-TV news is the news.

You have to love the epitome of yellow journalism when they are so yellow they cannot mention their own culpability.

Other Boston news stations reveled in the idea that their chief rival will be exposed for the corrupt fools they are. Only one cable news network chose to go the high road and not mention the call letters of WHDH.

TV news makes strange bedfellows.

Garsh is never better than when she is on the warpath. Her dander was up, and we haven’t seen such dander since Lee Harvey Oswald’s mother went on a rampage against the media.

If heads are going to roll at Channel 7, we would be hard pressed to tell you what end of the nightcrawler station has a head.

Vice Squad Required




If you have a sense of “been there before” after seeing the first ten minutes of this movie, you would be accurate. It was called Westworld, Jurassic Park, or Fantasy Island, when it was the high rent district. Now the place is called Vice.

You can only tell inmates from paying customers by the little bracelet they wear. It’s a shiny brave new world for dolts. Turn left at The Outer Limits.

Yes, it’s one of those adult fantasy locales where clients can commit turpitude with impunity. This time the greedy owner and manager is Bruce Willis, playing Ricardo Montalban, playing Richard Attenborough. Usually Willis has a nose for selecting good sci-fi scripts, but he seems to have settled for the contempt of familiarity this time on the GPS of script locators.

Unrecognizable in his appearance as a jaded cop investigating the looney fantasy resort is Thomas Jane. He used to be a blond Mickey Mantle type, but in this film with his stringy long black hair he resembles Kurt Russell with toothpick in mouth and rasp in his throat. He misplaced his eyepatch.

It seems one of the androids has had memory bleed and escapes from the self-contained pleasure palace. Since she is a killing machine that doesn’t realize she’s a robot, you have a problem, Houston.

The movie is a glossy, mindless romp of violence, sex, and ersatz moral decline. The women are topless, and the men never take off their pants. It’s heterosexual fantasy time, according to PG standards. The real villains in this movie are the religious fundamentalists who want to close down any place where license is given to licentiousness.

You’d think this movie would be set in a Nevada desert where no one would care—but then you wouldn’t have a movie. For trivia enthusiasts, it’s Mobile, Alabama.

Ben Hur Meets Leave It to Beaver


still the beaver

Well, call it pretension.

When we learned that Boyhood was innovative filmmaking and all the rage for its cleverness, you could have knocked us over with a Huck Finn metaphor, or like a Tom Sawyer simile.

Instead, we were mistreated to an almost three-hour epic. Yes, indeed, the film took years to complete, following the coming of age and shoe size busting nature of a young actor growing up. And it takes hours to tell.

Normally in movies, you have several actors depicting a character growing up in phases. One of the hilarious consequences is that the young man never seems quite likely to become the adult. We recall when Sal Mineo morphed into Tony Curtis. Now that was a stretch of growth. The movie was Six Bridges to Cross. Our dear friend Jan Merlin played the same character at age 14 and age 31. Now that was a stretch of acting.

So, we are not terribly impressed to see the same child grow up before our eyes. We have been there and done that. We watched all the reruns of Leave It to Beaver in a marathon session. Then we took a look at the adult Beaver raising his own kids. Yep, it was Jerry Mathers all the way. And no one gave him an Oscar.

If you want an epic of time travel, you can likely hit any of the children growing up on TV shows that last more than five or six seasons. They even wear the same clothes for years. Ask John Boy Walton.

Our beef with Boyhood is that it is not a TV series. It is a movie of some little consequence. So, to give it the full breadth of nearly three hours running is an offense against bladders.

At least a TV series is in chunks with commercials breaking us up—and no one pretends they are telling the greatest story ever told in epic time.

We know that the director thinks he has a special movie when it runs over two hours nowadays. How much over two hours may tell you how much ego has been injected into the film.

Boyhood is on steroids, which sounds about right for Millenial kids.

As the Juries Turn: Hernandez Vs. Tsarnaev



Like dueling banjos in movie classic Deliverance, the twin trials of the Marathon Bomber and Aaron Hernandez have stretched the attention deficit abilities of the media in Boston.

The twin cases remind some of the fact that Hernandez always has shared the spotlight. Even in his playing days, he was the second half of the road show featuring the irrepressible Gronk.

So, Hernandez probably is not surprised that he and the mad bomber have gone to jury consideration in tandem. The most peculiar point is that the bomber case required deliberation on 31 counts. The Boston jury and the lawyers made short work of it. He was guilty within two days.

Of course, the Ninja lawyers have fought the prosecution every step of the way to put Hernandez and his Glockenspiel back out on the street to make more drive-by thrills.

When the jury asked for a list on paper of 430 odd exhibits, the Ninja lawyers had to wonder if it was necessary. Don’t help, Ninjas.

You’d think old crone Judge Garsh would have provided a list de rigueur, but she has always wanted a big hug from the big lug after all her hard work in setting him free.

Also, now begins the fun part for Tsarnaev: his death throes. He will have a second phase trial to determine what needle will be put into which arm. Yes, he can be given a lethal injection even in Massachusetts where religious leaders like Cardinal O’Malley, palley of killers,  believe in letting mad bombers live.

Hernandez will also have a part two trial—but that’s for the other murders he is accused of doing.

Hernandez will never be executed. He is set to live in one of the great maximum security prisons of the Commonweath—sharing a cell with some other low life if it comes to that. Yes, the local prisoners will be sharing the wealth of Aaron’s big booty for years to come.

Tsarnaev is likely to be put in the holding pen for a wait. They say Timothy McVeigh’s memorial bed and gurney have been taken out of mothballs.

It’s a tale of two tails, and never the twain shall meet.

Innocent Kid, aka Aaron Hernandez???

DATELINE: Unfunny Bonehead


As the Sultan of Swash defended Aaron Hernandez in his final summation, we were hit with a little seasickness.

Ignore the fact that Hernandez walks with all the swagger of an overblown egomaniac.

James Sultan described Hernandez as a “kid” who did not know what to do when he witnessed his diabolical idiot associates murder Odin Lloyd.

Of course, the only one with a motive to kill Lloyd is Hernandez, but don’t let that get in the way. As far as James Sultan is concerned, those thugs on Hernandez’s payroll were high on angel dust, bought by their innocent kid friend.

It’s like saying Luca Bracci was merely a tool for the innocent Godfather who watched helplessly as people were garroted.

It’s like saying the cook didn’t spoil the soup. It was the ingredients.

Hernandez, smugly sitting at trial for 135 witnesses, is not the brains of this outfit. Apparently, the Jesse James Gang was being led by someone else—probably that sniveling little coward Bob Ford.

Well, that’s one way to describe the fey punk named Carlos Ortiz who was the other half of the fey duo with the dead victim.

If Hernandez beats this rap, you can be sure that those Ninja lawyers will be handsomely paid by the “innocent kid” they may put back on the street. Heaven help all those who were witnesses against him.


Who Done It? We Still Await the Verdict


Dumb America

Leave it to those Ninja lawyers of Aaron Hernandez to go out in a blaze of duplicity and slime. How else would you expect the star Patriot to behave?

It seems in one day with two witnesses, Hernandez gave a rousing defense by suggesting his two close friends were high on PCP (angel dust) and were the real killers.

How could a man with a $40m contract jeopardize it by doing the killing himself? That kind of argument might actually win the day if we know the average IQ of a Fall River juror.

The defense called an expert in PCP—no, not one of Hernandez’s dealers, but some kind of psychologist who couldn’t tell if the videotape showed people “behaving insanely” on PCP in Hernandez’s living room three minutes after killing poor Odin Lloyd.

The defense strongly counts again on what isn’t there. You couldn’t see the Glock, and you can’t see evidence of PCP. How seeing one thing proves his innocence and not seeing another proves his innocence is all in the vagaries of million dollar defense lawyers.

Final arguments may be coming, but the preview of coming attractions already tells us that the defense believes nothing has been proven—and Aaron should walk out of the courtroom a free man.

There’s only one problem. He has two more dead bodies to account for.

Never mind the old adage that when you run with dogs you get fleas. Hernandez is innocent in his world—and his associates are guiltier than sin itself.

The only problem is that they think he did it.

Imitation Game: Sincerest Form of Flattery


All the best films this year appear to be docudramas.

We highly anticipated The Imitation Game, and we were not disappointed with the movie—but we were furious at how a hero of World War II was so miserably treated by his own government.

Alan Turing (Benedict Cumberbatch) invented the crypto-computer that cracked the Nazi codes. He could not be celebrated, nor thanked, because it was top secret.

Following the story on three flashback levels, the film shows Turing as a youth with his friend Christopher in the years before the war, his team of cryptography experts during the war, and his run-ins with the police for being a consenting adult in 1951.

Populated with the usual familiar faces of high quality British drama on TV, you won’t be disappointed with the acting performances that are head and shoulders above anything much produced by American filmmakers. Charles Dance, Allen Leech, Mark Strong, and Matthew Goode, are familiar faces—and thank heavens for them.

Cumberbatch, of course, runs away with the film—proving himself one of those versatile actors that we may enjoy for decades in a variety of roles. He slips into his parts effortlessly (so it seems), and he can adapt to all sorts of film parts—from Sherlock to Khan to Julian Assange.

Dare we compare him to the classic British actors of yore? We still await his work in some Shakespearean film efforts before calling him another Olivier or Burton. He is less classical leading man and more odd stick character, but that should give him breadth many others do not.

His final moments in this movie are extraordinary.

The Prosecution Rests….but Satan Never Sleeps

DATELINE: Murder Will Out


If you thought Aaron Hernandez will testify to his own innocence, you have only to see that the prosecution has put witnesses on the stand who have already said it.

Hernandez told all the important people in his life that he didn’t do it, and the Ninja lawyers are not paid millions to put a redundancy on the stand.

Hernandez’s witness list will be shorter than Judge Garsh’s patience with the prosecution.

Did they prove their case? Or will Aaron walk to the next murder trial? Only the jury knows—and this group has been active in sending notes to the judge and having sidebars with sidecars.

One juror sent a note complaining that he or she could not see Hernandez’s crotch behind the defense table. We are ready for an appeal on that one.

Hernandez stared down those who let him. Only Alexander Bradley managed to win the battle of going eyeball to eyeball with the man who shot him in the eyeball. And, he couldn’t live to tell about it in Judge Garsh’s courtroom.

Hernandez loves to kiss rich men and thinks helicopters follow him everywhere. He may be right on both scores. Some men cannot be kissed enough by their millionaire sports heroes and media crews will fly anywhere for a story.

The Ninja defenders will work half a day more for their money. Heaven knows they want to move on to the next day in court.

This trial has proven only that Fall River is the place where killers walk—whether it’s Lizzie Borden or Aaron Hernandez. We’ve given forty whacks on this one—and taken forty-one.