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MysteriousRose
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Local Time: Sep 6 2008, 11:31 PM
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 MysteriousRose2
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8 Oct 2005
LOL! This is my almost, might have been, could have been, questionable sighting.
 Okay my friend and I were driving down the street at around 4:00am it was dark out, with few streetlights down this long stretch of road and our car was the only car on the street at that time. There was a little hill and we were at the top and you can't see what's ahead until you get to the top and start to head down the other side of the hill. So we were driving along and just as we came over the top of the hill all of a sudden down the road a few yards ahead of us we saw a weird sight. There was this huge guy walking down the middle of the street where cars drive right in the middle of the street and he was huge and bulky he looked like the Incredible Hulk or Robocop or something and he was walking stiffly like a robot. I was just looking with my mouth open in shock, I thought i was seeing things then my friend was like "what is that?!" LOL!! The guy was huge too I was about to do a U-turn and go back the other way! LOL! From afar you couldn't make out any details, he looked like a man from afar as far as having 2 arms 2 legs and a head! LOL! Couldn't make out the face or what he was wearing he was wearing all black though. Just when I was about to turn around, he started walking towards the sidewalk or to the other side of the street my friend was like keep going don't stop! LOL! So we drove on past real fast. LOL! But that was so wierd. He walked mechanical like, really stiffly, was really tall and bulky like like the Incredible Hulk or Robocop and walked fast & steady down the middle of the street his head never turned or anything like how a normal person walking looks around at stuff and head moves around and arms and legs move about loosely, he was stiff from head to toe and walked like a big robot. LOL! So that was my story, it might have been a really wierd looking man or something who knows. LOL! But that was sooooo weird & spooky! LOL! I never saw a person with that much muscles and huge & stuff in real life only on TV in those Konan the Barbarian movies and stuff or the hulk or something. LOL! So that was interesting. :rainbow:
2 Oct 2005
Did anyone see the show on TLC about the 2 headed baby? OMG!! That was soooooo wierd!! They were meant to be conjoined twins joined at the top of the head, except one didn't fully develope because somehting went wrong, so one only had the head and neck develope and the other twin was normally developed. OMG!! That was so sad! The strange thing was that the other head was alive!! It was a person too because it had a brain and the mom & nurses said it had a personality, she would cry when the other twin was alseep or just looking around, and vice versa, the head would be content when the fully developed twin would cry, and they showed how they put a bottle to the head's mouth and the head was sucking the bottle!! The head had a brain and would look around and stuff, the nurses and the mother said the head had a distinct personality, I think that head was a person, but the doctors kept saying it was a parasite because it had no heart or any other body parts and lived off of the fully developed baby's blood stream and heart & lungs etc. That was so wierd. So they operated to remove the other head and the baby survived, but she had some brain swelling that left her brain damaged. Aaawww! But she did survive. The mother said that she could tell the difference because she had a "light" go out of her eyes that was there before, and the docs did tests and said she had brain damage but they can't tell how bad off yet bedcause she was still a baby. That was something.
That brings me to the other question of what makes a person a person, the head had no heart or anything but it did have a brain, a consciousness & personality. I thought it was the heart that makes a person a person, but this baby had no heart but was alive. I wonder if she would have been normal mentally if they had not removed the head, but I think it was for the best like a mercy killing because no one would want to live like that when they get old enough to understand. Too bad the other twin ended up with brain damage, hopefully it was just mild. So how many thinks the head was a real person and not just a parasite like the docs said?
Also TLC will be having some more interesting wierd shows on all day today I think they will show the 2 headed baby again, plus they have one called "I am my own twin", I wonder what that is and how they can tell the person was meant to be twins, they described it as twins that fused together to become one, he/she must have 2 hearts or something, I will check that out, plus they have another called "Half Ton Man" about a man who weighed 1,072 pounds!! I saw that one, that was really sad, they said he had to lay on his stomach because the weight would crush his heart and lungs and stuff, they said his skin had stretched beyond the ability to stretch and that internal fluids were seeping through his skin onto the bed etc.!OMG!!!!! They gave him an operation to remove all of the fat and then cut away part of his stomach so that he could only eat 1 ounce of food at a time. Another one they have on today is Called "Archie, the 84 pound baby", now that I have to see too!~ Another one is "Girl with x-ray eyes" about a girl who claims to be able to see inside the human body, that should be interesting too. :rainbow: So check out TLC all day today, it will be good, they have other wierd things on too.
21 Sep 2005
Anyone checking out this new series tonight called Invasion?! OMG that is a creepy coincidence!! This show was filmed months ago and the series just happenes to revolve around an alien invasion that happens during a huge hurricane!! Now that is creepy! LOL! :eek: It looks good though! They put up a warning though before it started that due to recent events some people may be sensitive to certain scenes in the show. That is a trip! They are trying to survive a hurricane and it's like Katrina all over again except there's an alien invasion taking place during the hurricane. Spooky coincidence! :ghost: [popcorn]
16 Sep 2005
More interesting Katrina flood info.
Trapped in New Orleans by the flood--and martial law The real heroes and sheroes of New Orleans September 9, 2005 | Pages 4 and 5 LARRY BRADSHAW and LORRIE BETH SLONSKY are emergency medical services (EMS) workers from San Francisco and contributors to Socialist Worker. They were attending an EMS conference in New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina struck. They spent most of the next week trapped by the flooding--and the martial law cordon around the city. Here, they tell their story. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - TWO DAYS after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreens store at the corner of Royal and Iberville Streets in the city’s historic French Quarter remained locked. The dairy display case was clearly visible through the widows. It was now 48 hours without electricity, running water, plumbing, and the milk, yogurt, and cheeses were beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat. The owners and managers had locked up the food, water, pampers and prescriptions, and fled the city. Outside Walgreens’ windows, residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry. The much-promised federal, state and local aid never materialized, and the windows at Walgreens gave way to the looters. There was an alternative. The cops could have broken one small window and distributed the nuts, fruit juices and bottled water in an organized and systematic manner. But they did not. Instead, they spent hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing away the looters. We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived home on Saturday. We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at a newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting the Walgreens in the French Quarter. We also suspect the media will have been inundated with “hero” images of the National Guard, the troops and police struggling to help the “victims” of the hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed, were the real heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class of New Orleans. The maintenance workers who used a forklift to carry the sick and disabled. The engineers who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running. The electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks to share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on rooftop parking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent many hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious patients to keep them alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators. Refinery workers who broke into boat yards, “stealing” boats to rescue their neighbors clinging to their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hotwire any car that could be found to ferry people out of the city. And the food service workers who scoured the commercial kitchens, improvising communal meals for hundreds of those stranded. Most of these workers had lost their homes and had not heard from members of their families. Yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure for the 20 percent of New Orleans that was not under water. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ON DAY Two, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in the French Quarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees like ourselves and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and shelter from Katrina. Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of New Orleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources, including the National Guard and scores of buses, were pouring into the city. The buses and the other resources must have been invisible, because none of us had seen them. We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came up with $25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the city. Those who didn’t have the requisite $45 each were subsidized by those who did have extra money. We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours standing outside, sharing the limited water, food and clothes we had. We created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and newborn babies. We waited late into the night for the “imminent” arrival of the buses. The buses never arrived. We later learned that the minute they arrived at the city limits, they were commandeered by the military. By Day Four, our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was dangerously bad. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked their doors, telling us that “officials” had told us to report to the convention center to wait for more buses. As we entered the center of the city, we finally encountered the National Guard. The guard members told us we wouldn’t be allowed into the Superdome, as the city’s primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hellhole. They further told us that the city’s only other shelter--the convention center--was also descending into chaos and squalor, and that the police weren’t allowing anyone else in. Quite naturally, we asked, “If we can’t go to the only two shelters in the city, what was our alternative?” The guards told us that this was our problem--and no, they didn’t have extra water to give to us. This would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile “law enforcement.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - WE WALKED to the police command center at Harrah’s on Canal Street and were told the same thing--that we were on our own, and no, they didn’t have water to give us. We now numbered several hundred. We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post. We would be plainly visible to the media and constitute a highly visible embarrassment to city officials. The police told us that we couldn’t stay. Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order, the police commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greater New Orleans Bridge to the south side of the Mississippi, where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the city. The crowd cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation, so was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. The commander turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, “I swear to you that the buses are there.” We organized ourselves, and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with great excitement and hope. As we marched past the convention center, many locals saw our determined and optimistic group, and asked where we were headed. We told them about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few belongings, and quickly, our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now joined us, as did people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and other people in wheelchairs. We marched the two to three miles to the freeway and up the steep incline to the bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it didn’t dampen our enthusiasm. As we approached the bridge, armed sheriffs formed a line across the foot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began firing their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in various directions. As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of our conversation with the police commander and the commander’s assurances. The sheriffs informed us that there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us to get us to move. We questioned why we couldn’t cross the bridge anyway, especially as there was little traffic on the six-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank was not going to become New Orleans, and there would be no Superdomes in their city. These were code words for: if you are poor and Black, you are not crossing the Mississippi River, and you are not getting out of New Orleans. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - OUR SMALL group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the rain under an overpass. We debated our options and, in the end, decided to build an encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway--on the center divide, between the O’Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasoned that we would be visible to everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway, and we could wait and watch for the arrival of the yet-to-be-seen buses. All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned away--some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others verbally berated and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and prohibited from self-evacuating the city on foot. Meanwhile, the only two city shelters sank further into squalor and disrepair. The only way across the bridge was by vehicle. We saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucks and any car that could be hotwired. All were packed with people trying to escape the misery that New Orleans had become. Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water delivery truck and brought it up to us. Let’s hear it for looting! A mile or so down the freeway, an Army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations on a tight turn. We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts. Now--secure with these two necessities, food and water--cooperation, community and creativity flowered. We organized a clean-up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles. We made beds from wood pallets and cardboard. We designated a storm drain as the bathroom, and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken umbrellas and other scraps. We even organized a food-recycling system where individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for babies and candies for kids!). This was something we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. When individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for yourself. You had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or food for your parents. But when these basic needs were met, people began to look out for each other, working together and constructing a community. If the relief organizations had saturated the city with food and water in the first two or three days, the desperation, frustration and ugliness would not have set in. Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families and individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to 80 or 90 people. From a woman with a battery-powered radio, we learned that the media was talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news organizations saw us on their way into the city. Officials were being asked what they were going to do about all those families living up on the freeway. The officials responded that they were going to take care of us. Some of us got a sinking feeling. “Taking care of us” had an ominous tone to it. Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking city) was accurate. Just as dusk set in, a sheriff showed up, jumped out of his patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces and screamed, “Get off the f*cking freeway.” A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away our flimsy structures. As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our food and water. Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the law enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated into groups of 20 or more. In every congregation of “victims,” they saw “mob” or “riot.” We felt safety in numbers. Our “we must stay together” attitude was impossible because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups. In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered once again. Reduced to a small group of eight people, in the dark, we sought refuge in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on Cilo Street. We were hiding from possible criminal elements, but equally and definitely, we were hiding from the police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill policies. The next day, our group of eight walked most of the day, made contact with the New Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban search-and-rescue team. We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a ride with the National Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the limited response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section of their unit was in Iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and were unable to complete all the tasks they were assigned. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - WE ARRIVED at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The airport had become another Superdome. We eight were caught in a press of humanity as flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush landed briefly at the airport for a photo op. After being evacuated on a Coast Guard cargo plane, we arrived in San Antonio, Texas. There, the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses didn’t have air conditioners. In the dark, hundreds of us were forced to share two filthy overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) were subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches. Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been confiscated at the airport--because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet no food had been provided to the men, women, children, elderly and disabled, as we sat for hours waiting to be “medically screened” to make sure we weren’t carrying any communicable diseases. This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heartfelt reception given to us by ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money and toiletries with words of welcome. Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept and racist. There was more suffering than need be. Lives were lost that did not need to be lost.
11 Sep 2005
Survivor Story: 6-Year-Old Leads Five Toddlers, Baby To Safety REGIONAL NEWS • Louisville • Cincinnati • Other Cities Contact WLEX WLEX-TV In the chaos that was Causeway Boulevard in New Orleans last Thursday, one group of survivors stood out: a 6-year-old boy walking down the road, holding a 5-month-old, surrounded by five toddlers who followed him around as if he were their leader. They were holding hands. Three of the children were about two years old, and one was wearing only diapers. A three-year-old girl, who wore colorful barrettes on the ends of her braids, had her 14-month-old brother in tow. The 6-year-old spoke for all of them, and he told rescuers his name was Deamonte Love. Thousands of human stories have flown past relief workers in the last week, but few have touched them as much as the seven children who were found wandering together Thursday at an evacuation point in downtown New Orleans. In the Baton Rouge headquarters of the rescue operation, paramedics tried to coax their names out of them; nurses who examined them stayed up that night, brooding. Transporting the children alone was "the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, knowing that their parents might be dead" , said Pat Coveney, a Houston emergency medical technician who put them into the back of his ambulance and drove them out of New Orleans. "It goes back to the same thing," he said. "How did a 6-year-old end up being in charge of six babies?" So far, parents displaced by flooding have reported 220 children missing, but that number is expected to rise, said Mike Kenner of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, which will help reunite families. With crowds churning at evacuation points, many children were parted from their parents accidentally; one woman handed her baby up onto a bus, turned around to pick up her suitcase and turned back to find that the bus had left. At the rescue headquarters, a cool tile-floored building swarming with firefighters and paramedics, the children ate cafeteria food and fell into a deep sleep. Deamonte volunteered his vital statistics. He said his father was tall and his mother was short. He gave his address, his phone number and the name of his elementary school. He said the 5-month-old was his brother, Darynael, and that two others were his cousins, Tyreek and Zoria. The other three lived in his apartment building. The children were clean and healthy -- downright plump in the case of the infant, said Joyce Miller, a nurse who examined them. It was clear, she said, that "time had been taken with those kids." The baby was "fat and happy." "This baby child was terrified," he said. "After she relaxed, it was gobble, gobble, gobble." As grim dispatches came in from the field, one woman in the office burst into tears, said Sharon Howard, assistant secretary of the office of public health. Late the same night, they got an encouraging report: A woman in a shelter in Thibodeaux was searching for seven children. People in the building started clapping at the news. But when they got the mother on the phone, it became clear that she was looking for a different group of seven children, Howard said. "What that made me understand was that this was happening across the state," she said. "That kind of frightened me." The children were transferred to a shelter operated by the Department of Social Services, rooms full of toys and cribs where mentors from the Big Buddy Program were on hand day and night. For the next two days, the staff did detective work. Deamonte began to give more details to Derrick Robertson, a 27-year-old Big Buddy mentor: How he saw his mother cry when he was loaded onto the helicopter. How he promised her he'd take care of his little brother. Late Saturday night, they found Deamonte's mother, who was in a shelter in San Antonio along with the four mothers of the other five children. Catrina Williams, 26, saw her children's pictures on a web site set up over the weekend by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. By Sunday, a private plane from Angel Flight was waiting to take the children to Texas. In a phone interview, Williams said she is the kind of mother who doesn't let her children out of her sight. What happened the Thursday after the hurricane, she said, was that her family, trapped in an apartment building on the 3200 block of Third Street in New Orleans, began to feel desperate. The water wasn't going down and they had been living without light, food or air conditioning for four days. The baby needed milk and the milk was gone. So she decided they would evacuate by helicopter. When a helicopter arrived to pick them up they were told to send the children first and that the helicopter would be back in 25 minutes. She and her neighbors had to make a quick decision. It was a wrenching moment. Williams' father, Adrian Love, told her to send the children ahead. "I told them to go ahead and give them up, because me, I would give my life for my kids. They should feel the same way," said Love, 48. "They were shedding tears. I said, Let the babies go.' " His daughter and her friends followed his advice. "We did what we had to do for our kids, because we love them," Williams said. The helicopter didn't come back. While the children were transported to Baton Rouge, their parents wound up in Texas, and although Williams was reassured that they would be reunited, days passed without any contact. On Sunday, she was elated. "All I know is I just want to see my kids," she said. "Everything else will just fall into place." At 3 p.m. Sunday, DSS workers said good-by to seven children who now had names: Deamonte Love; Darynael Love; Zoria Love and her brother Tyreek. The girl who cried "Gabby!" was Gabrielle Janae Alexander. The girl they called Peanut was Degahney Carter. And the boy whom they called G was actually Lee -- Leewood Moore Jr. The children were strapped into car seats and driven to an airport, where they were flown to San Antonio to rejoin their parents. As they loaded into the van, the shelter workers looked in the windows; some wept. The baby gaped with delight in the front seat. Deamonte was hanging onto Robertson's neck so desperately that Robertson decided, at the last minute, to ride with him as far as Lafayette. Shelter worker Kori Thomas, held Zoria, 3, who reached out to smooth her eyebrows. Tyreek put a single fat finger on the van window by way of goodbye. Robertson said he doubted the children would remember much of the helicopter evacuation, the Causeway, the sweltering heat or the smell of the flooded city. "I think what's going to stick with them is that they survived Hurricane Katrina," he said. "And that they were loved." OMG!!!! Doesn't that just melt your heart!!! :rainbow:
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| Lo-Fi Version | Time is now: 6th September 2008 - 05:31 PM |