911 Horror Stories: Isn't This System Here To Protect Us?

911 Horror Stories: Isn't This System Here To Protect Us?

I Am Not a Sarah Palin Fan, but Come ON!

Does the name Levi Johnston sound familiar to you? If you have any idea who this person is by name alone, then you are way ahead of me; that is until I clicked on MSNBC headlines around 6:00 A.M. yesterday morning. Once I began to read the article presented on the site by the fine folks at People.com, I remembered the incident that first propelled Johnston into the public arena. He’s the guy who made a baby with Governor Sarah Palin’s daughter, Bristol. Knowing very little about him as a person, I read on, hoping to gain some insight into this 19 year old boy. As it turns out, Johnston is not only the teenaged father of Palin’s grandchild, but he is also the latest Hollywood wannabe. Young Levi plans to further his ride to fame by exposing more Palin “family secrets”. Helping Levi to continue his skyrocketing status is none other than slick magazine monthly, Vanity Fair, as they feature him in the October edition due out next week.
Who needs talent when you have the ability to further your ride to tabloid stardom by simply dropping Sarah Palin’s name in the most unflattering ways possible? This newest scathing interview degrades Palin in her role as mother and ex-Governor of Alaska. I initially ignored the details of the pending VF interview until I caught the tail end of a discussion about Johnston on NPR’s ‘All Things Considered’. It gave me pause; this boy continues to be granted valuable media attention to degrade the Palin family, especially Sarah, to feed a public interest I am unable to grasp. As NPR droned on about Johnston, a bright light of realization flashed like lightening through my muddled mind. I realized that Johnston is playing the press. Alaska boy has the press by the short hairs and they are falling for his act. Johnston’s outrageous claims are not about a vendetta against Sarah Palin. Johnston is not helping us see into a lie perpetuated by the ex-First Family of Alaska, not at all. Instead Levi, who by all accounts, has the mentality of a typical reality show whore, has found an alternative route to his fifteen minutes by trashing the Palin family. Shopping his reality show ideas has led nowhere, so he is using the media to “expose” the so-called mythical image of Sarah Palin. He’s not as dumb as he looks considering his greatest achievement in life to date has been his role as sperm donor to Palin’s daughter Bristol. Johnston plans to milk it for all it’s worth.
Let me assure you, I am not a Sarah Palin fan. I have nothing against the woman personally; she is just not the type of woman I would choose to represent our nation as Vice President. Her down home persona and self proclaimed status as a “hockey mom” is not what I envision when I think of our nation’s first female V.P. If I had to pick a conservative for the first of my gender to rise to such status, I would choose someone more like Condoleezza Rice. Ms. Rice is the antipathy of the Sarah Palin character; if you will allow me to categorize my gender in such a fashion. Condoleezza Rice exudes authority, carries herself with distinction, earned her status through hard work, education, experience and reputation. Most thinking Americans, would feel more comfortable if Ms. Rice was called to assume the role of President in a crisis. I belabor this point slightly so I can assure you that I have no agenda as I come to the defense of Sarah Palin and the way the media is giving credence to this teen aged boy whose motives have become obvious, so why all the attention?
The excerpts from Johnston’s pending interview with Vanity Fair ring about as true as the accusations of the group of right-wing conservatives who continue to insist that President Obama was not born in the United States. Sarah Palin is quoted by Levi Johnston several times and the words he claims she used when confiding her most private family matters sound more like a slightly stoned teenager than the ex-Governor I heard speak during her run for the Vice Presidency. For example, Johnston insists that Palin, when describing her job as Governor of Alaska, said the job was “too hard”. That sounds more like a high school freshman describing her dislike for Algebra I. I cannot imagine a woman who managed to fight her way to the Governorship of a U.S. State lacking the vocabulary to describe her job in terms as juvenile as “too hard”. That is assuming she would confide in this teenaged genius who impregnated her young daughter. Who knew that Palin and Johnston were so close? I thought he was just sleeping with her daughter. Evidently he also played a role as advisor to the Governor of Alaska, unofficially of course.
Johnston goes on to insist that Sarah Palin and her husband Todd discussed the option of divorce with him and, in his words, “sounded pretty serious.” and why wouldn’t they bring their marital problems to Mr. Johnston? Considering his vast knowledge of life and contraception, he would be the ultimate choice for a married couple to seek out concerning the possible demise of their union. What married couple thinking of divorce hasn’t sat down with a teenage boy sleeping their daughter and asked for such advice?
My favorite direct quote involves Sarah and her evil plan to adopt her unborn grandson nagging the young couple by saying, and I quote; “So are you gonna let me adopt him?” I don’t think they were ‘gonna’ let her adopt that baby, even though she “nagged constantly”. My question is fairly simple; is this guy a complete idiot? He made it abundantly clear while being interviewed by Larry King that neither abortion nor adoption had ever been discussed. That is the problem with liars that aren’t very bright. It’s difficult to keep all those stories straight.
Excuse me, Levi, but your stories aren’t consistent.
There is little doubt that the Palin family has issues. Every family has issues. What I can’t seem to grasp is why this woman from Alaska, the least of all conservative political threats, is being so demonized in the press? If attacking Sarah Palin will save our political system and ultimately our failing nation, then the media must find credible snitches to interview. Levi Johnston with his current appearance at the Teen Choice Awards just doesn’t seem credible. I have a hard time believing that bringing down Sarah Palin will serve any purpose, except to continue to prove our press mean spirited and untrustworthy. Anyone with common sense knows there will never be a President Sarah Palin; there are far too many thinking conservatives in our country. If they balked at a man like John McCain, the poster boy for war heroes and rouge conservatives, than Ms. Palin has about as much chance at the Presidency as I do; I was born in Canada. Relax, let Sarah live her life and quit embarrassing yourself, U. S. media, by quoting this ridiculous teenager whose only claim to fame is his ability to fertilize an egg. Would someone from VH1 call this kid and offer him a show? They had a murderer on the last one, compulsive liar would be a giant step up.

Nadia's Room of Her Own

She was fierce. This was not out of choice, what little girl dreams of being a fighter in need of her wits and sometimes her fists just so she could grow up? No, Nadia dreamt of being a Princess in her own beautiful castle. She thought of lovely gardens and ballrooms where she could wear gowns of emerald green and dance the night away with the most handsome Prince of all the other Kingdoms. She dreamt of a family and a mother with golden hair and hands that soothed her brow. Her father was, of course the King and he loved and protected her from the things in life that hurt. In her fantasy there was lots laughter and fun, there was sunshine, warmth, beauty and little Nadia wedged safely between her loving parents. Nadia learned to be fierce for one reason alone; her reality was far from her dreams.


She was blessed with sun kissed long blond hair and flawless complexion. Her beauty coupled with the dreamy look in her aqua hued eyes and the way she held herself, standing tall with her little chin raised slightly in the knowledge that she was perhaps truly a little Royal who had been stolen by an evil servant or switched at birth, often brought to the minds of those who observed her the image of a young princess. No one could have imagined the battle that raged with in her soul for her reality was as stark and cold as any young girl's could be, she lived in a home for children that had no one but the State to see to their needs. Mrs. Smite who ran the home for children with out parents had unusual ideas of what the c hildren in her care required.


The house itself was old and dilapidated and quite filthy. It was very big so Mrs. Smite had room for many children and that suited the corpulent guardian's needs to a tee. Lots of kids meant a big check from the State every month for every child she kept. When Nadia was 11 there were fourteen children living there under the buckling, leaky roof. The 'lucky' children had a bed to sleep in at night, however there were never less than 3 or 4 in each one. There was a double bed that had springs popping up through the top of the mattress. So if you slept in that one you always had scrapes and cuts on various parts of your body. There was an old army cot. The three littlest always got stuck with that one. Besides, the small ones learned quickly to do as the older ones said or else their lives would quickly become riddled with painful beatings. There were three mattresses on the floor that were pushed together to make one large palette. That was where Nadia usually slept, curled up in the upper right hand corner with her most important possession, a moth eaten light yellow cotton blanket. In the big house with 12 rooms and 3 bathrooms all the children, the beds and their meager possessions were allowed one room, the attic room at the top of the house where Mrs. Smite lived.


Of course, the State thought that the kids were living two to a room in the 7 other bedrooms on the middle two floors. The State thought many of things about the situation in the big old house that were not true. They even gave Mrs. Smite awards to thank her for her great love for children and for all the sacrifices she made to give Nadia and the others a real home. That's why they overlooked the mess, after all who would have time to keep a perfect home with all the effort it took to care for and love all those unfortunate youngsters? It was easy to fool them, there was a different social worker on almost every visit. The visits were few and far between, why waste time on a success story like the Smite House? Most importantly Nadia and the others knew exactly what was to be said when the State came around. They knew what to say because the first words a new resident would hear was the story of Bobby and what happened to him when he tried to tell the lady from the State what life was really like with big, mean Mrs. Smite. Little Bobby never got to finish his tale because when the State lady went to relieve herself Bobby accidentally fell down the basement stairs and broke his little neck. Mrs. Smite had him buried in the Smite family plot that was situated perfectly for all to see from the attic window where the children were kept. A little white cross marked where she buried his broken little body. Mrs. Smite told each new child the story while she sat them right on top of his grave.

So Mrs. Smite had her checks, lots of free food and clothes from families who had parents and admired her so much for all she gave to her little unfortunates. She had 14 little slaves to do her bidding and fetch her a Pepsi or make her a meal. And she had 14 little thieves to steal for her anything she desired. If one got caught the State sadly shook their collective heads and said 'If wonderful Mrs. Smite couldn't help them then no one could.' and off to Juvenile Hall they'd be sent. They learned quickly ways to steal and not get caught. Mrs. Smite had lots of stories about Juvie and she had pictures of bruised and battered boys and girls in an album labled Juvenile Hall that she liked to thumb through with whomever she sent to get her new things. Then each month there was Sale Day and many neighbors and people from town would come and buy the stolen items that Mrs. Smite didn't want. She told folks that so many generous people had donated such fine things to help her feed and clothe her orphans. It struck Nadia that no one ever wondered why the little residents of Mrs. Smite were all so very thin and always in the same shabby outfits. Actually nobody really looked at them at all.

And so it went on and on...and on, but Nadia had her blanket, scraps of food she would steal and best of all she had her dreams. They changed as she grew older but there was always a mother to love her and a father that protected her from all the things in life that hurt. When she was with her parents things like gnawing hunger faded a bit. It was difficult as she watched Mrs. Smite stuff her face with all the delicious food people gave to her to help feed her children from the State. She would imagine what her father would do to Mrs. Smite when she slapped Nadia's face or pinched her thin little arms or pulled out handfuls of her long blond hair. She would dream of her mother's healing touch as she cared for Nadia's wounds and held her while she cried. She would close her eyes and picture a picnic with her real parents and a basket filled with her favorite food her mother made just for Nadia. Then she fantasized that after they ate her father would push her on the swing that hung from the giant oak tree in the back yard of her very own family home. When the older boys started to do things to her body she didn't like, she would go some place wonderful with her beautiful mother and big, strong father like on a sailboat or to a baseball game. Mrs. Smite laughed and called her a nasty word when Nadia tried to tell her what the boys were doing and how she needed her help to make them stop. She was on her own. The only thing that helped at all was Nadia imagining exactly what her father would do to those evil boys. She was surprised when she imagined them bleeding and wounded, but it made her feel something inside she'd never felt before. Nadia felt a sense of power.

By the time Nadia was 16 her dreams had changed completely. Now when the old fat cow hit her she'd close her eyes and picture her father punching Mrs. Smite square in the face with all his strength. She would imagine the look of surprise and then horror as blood gushed from her flattened nose.


Mrs. Smite sat in her big arm chair in the living room where she liked to eat KFC extra crispy legs and thighs. She would rest the red and white striped bucket on top of her massive stomach that acted like a jiggly table top. She always watched some stupid sitcom that would cause her to laugh and laugh at every inane punchline or prat fall. Nadia would watch in disgust as the bucket of chicken on her jelly belly would teeter on the edge of toppling over when she howled with laughter. Her swollen face would be covered with grease. From the tip of her nose to her chicken fat coated mouth to her chins, there was evidence of her gluttonous feast. The first chin sprouted black curly whiskers that caught bits of partially chewed fried chicken that flew from her mouth each time another line from the sitcom made her roar. As she laughed, spewing bits of food and grease, her extra chins would swing back and forth like extra layers of loose, flabby skin and send the debris of her poorly masticated meal around the room. Horrified, Nadia watched her guardian eat like an animal devouring it's prey. Mrs. Smite would suck everything possible off the bones of countless chickens legs and thighs. After close examination and a final trip into her filth covered mouth, she'd toss the bones toward a garbage can sitting not two feet from where she sat her gargantuan rear end. She almost always missed and you can believe she never once picked up a single shred of left over carcass. Those jobs and all the other ones as equally sickening were left for the 'ungrateful brats', for whom she 'so kindly opened her home'. One day when she had polished off her first bucket, she started to get up to fetch one of the side orders that came with each bucket. They all sat out on the counter like good little soldiers ready for the slaughter. Mrs. Smite had a habit of eating all of one thing before she moved on to the next. Nadia, who had been spying would normally have lots of time for her get away before Mrs. Smite hoisted her enormous girth out of her enormous chair, but she turned too quickly and knocked a vase off a table that stood right beside the kitchen door. Mrs. Smite heard the crash and the sound of breaking glass. Mrs. Smite could move fast for a woman off her size but only when she knew she was about to catch one of her charges red handed.


Nadia stood in frozen horror as Mrs. Smite rounded the doorway and saw her standing amongst broken shards of convicting evidence. Not a word was spoken. The only communication was the sneer of contempt that Mrs. Smite gave her before she grabbed the girls skeletal arm and pulled her down the basement stairs. Nadia's heart raced with a fear she had never felt. She knew what her guardian was capable of and images of pain and humiliation raced across her mind. She tried with all her might to go away in her imagination and conjour her fantasy parents, but even they failed her this time. Nadia had no escape.


They stood in the basement face to face, the huge woman and the emaciated young girl. Nadia knew that she had an instant before the pain began. In that instant she also knew she was all alone and she was not going to allow Mrs. Smite to hurt her, not again, not ever again. She quickly remembered her imaginary father's actions when he defended her from the things in life that hurt. She turned quickly and grabbed the first thing she saw; a 2x4 with a giant rusty nail protruding from it's side. With out a second thought she swung the board with all her might directly at the head of Mrs. Smite.

They tried Nadia as an adult for the muder of Mrs. Smite. The community came out in full force to memorialized the dead woman. Even the paper had an article paying tribute to 'the wonderful woman who dedicated her life to the love and care of children'. Many said it was just a matter of time before one of 'those kids' turned on Mrs. Smite. They weren't surprised in the least. What could you expect with kids from the kind of backgrounds from which they'd all come. It was all genetic, bad begets bad, and Mrs. Smite's untimely death proved that beyond a doubt. It was also beyond a doubt that Nadia was convicted of 1st degree murder.

The momentary look of surprise on Mrs. Smite's greasy face has always stayed with Nadia. Sometimes she woke in horror as that very face loomed in her dreams. But that was the worst of it, as far as she was concerned. She had her own room now. There was no more fighting for space on the bare matresses on the attic floor. Each day she was given three meals that, to Nadia, were like heaven. She didn't have to steal or hoard, they brought it right to her cell. She had a pillow and blanket and things of her own. She coveted her toothbrush and soap. The little towels were a gift, as were the showers she was allowed to take. There were no more boys doing nasty things to her body. In fact, every one stayed clear of Nadia. When she was out in the yard she enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine. No one made her do things she didn't want to do. And best of all, she still had her imaginary family. She spent most of her time with them, doing all the fun things that she just knew children with parents did all the time. Only for a girl like Nadia was life in the State Pen a move up in the world.

The Smite House was turned into a State run foster care home for kids with out parents. The changes were immense for all who lived there; they ate actual meals three times a day, each one had their own bed to sleep in and no one had to steal any longer just to survive. Nadia freed the Smite House kids even more so than she had done for herself. All the children that lived in the house were free to leave at 18 and make their way in the world. They had hope and a future thanks to her, but she never thought of what her actions had accomplished. All she knew was the rest of her days were to be spent in her little cell, 24 hours a day. She had known much worse.