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Memphis Police Begin Search for Suspected Cop Killer

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Memphis Police Begin Search for Suspected Cop Killer

Authorities have issued an arrest warrant for 29-year-old Tremaine Wilbourn, the man believed to have shot and killed a Memphis police officer this weekend, the Associated Press reports.
http://gawker.com/memphis-police...

“You can be assured that we will continue to pursue this suspect and we will exhaust all means until he is in custody,” said Memphis Police Director Toney Armstrong on Sunday.

Wilbourn is suspected of fatally shooting Officer Sean Bolton, 33, during the investigation of a parked car last night. From CBS News:

According to police, Bolton saw a vehicle that was illegally parked when he pulled in front of it and illuminated it with his spotlight. When he approached the vehicle, he was confronted by the passenger and a brief struggle ensued between the two of them. The passenger drew a weapon and shot Bolton, multiple times, police said.

Police said a civilian had used Bolton’s radio to notify police about the shooting.

According to the news network, the driver of the vehicle later turned himself into police and has since been released without charges.

U.S. Marshals have offered a $10,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of Wilbourn. He is considered armed and dangerous.

[Image via Memphis Police Department]


Nigerian Army Frees 101 Children, 77 Adults From Boko Haram

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Nigerian Army Frees 101 Children, 77 Adults From Boko Haram

On Sunday, the Nigerian army announced it had destroyed several Boko Haram terrorist camps, rescuing 178 captives, the BBC reports.

In a statement, army spokesperson Colonel Tukur Gusau said that 101 of those freed were children, while 67 were women and 10 were men.

“In addition, one Boko Haram terrorists commander was captured alive and is presently undergoing investigation,” said Gusau.

The 219 missing schoolgirls who inspired the #BringBackOurGirls hashtag campaign last April were not among the rescued, the Associated Press reports. From AFP:

The Nigerian military has announced the release of hundreds of people held captive by Boko Haram in recent months, especially in the notorious Sambisa forest, a longtime Islamist stronghold now affiliated with the Islamic State group.

Last week, the army said it had released 30 hostages including 21 children about 90 kilometres east of Maiduguri, and 59 captives in another operation near the town of Konduga in the same area.

According to Amnesty International, at least 2,000 women and girls have been abducted by Boko Haram since 2014.

[Image via AP Images]

Police: Drunk Guy With Guns Drove Wrong Way, Almost Crashed Into Cop Car

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Police: Drunk Guy With Guns Drove Wrong Way, Almost Crashed Into Cop Car

According to police, an intoxicated man armed with multiple weapons was arrested in Oregon on Saturday after he drove into oncoming traffic, almost striking a patrol car.

Officers with Portland’s Gang Enforcement Team say they pulled over 36-year-old Sabahudin Nuhanovic shortly afterward, discovering a concealed handgun and two other firearms. From KATU:

As officers made contact with Nuhanovic, he reached for his waistband several times before officers were able to get him into custody. During a search, officers located an unloaded handgun in Nuhanovic’s waistband. During a search of Nuhanovic’s vehicle, officers located and seized another handgun, a shotgun, and ammunition.

Nuhanovic now faces two counts of unlawful possession of a firearm, and one count each of unlawful use of a weapon, reckless driving and driving under the influence of intoxicants.

[Image via Portland Police Bureau]

9-Year-Old Bat Boy Dies Day After Being Hit in Head With Practice Swing

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9-Year-Old Bat Boy Dies Day After Being Hit in Head With Practice Swing

A nine-year-old who spent the summer working as bat boy for Kansas collegiate baseball team the Liberal Bee Jays died Sunday evening, one day after he was hit in the head by a warmup swing during a National Baseball Congress World Series game.

Kaiser Carlile reportedly ran onto the field to retrieve a bat and was struck by a player taking a practice swing. Witnesses said they heard the bat hit Carlile, who was wearing a helmet, and watched as he fell over, stood up, and then fell again. From KSN:

According to witness Jim Parks, the incident took place after one of the Bee Jay’s batters had struck out and the batter on deck was taking practice swings.

Parks said Kaiser Carlile, the bat boy and a Bee Jays superfan, was running to pick up a bat on the ground when the on-deck batter took a practice swing and accidentally hit the boy in the head.

“He was swinging, and it hit him in the helmet, knocked him down, he got back up, but he went right back down again,” said Parks.

“Just to see him fall, that’s what crushes you,” team president Nathan McCaffrey told CNN after confirming the boy’s death.

The home plate umpire, who also works as a firefighter and paramedic, performed CPR on the boy until an ambulance arrived. Carlile was rushed to the Intensive Care Unit at Via Christi St. Francis hospital in Wichita, where he died Sunday evening.

Members of the Bee Jays paid tribute to their nine-year-old teammate—who was set to begin fourth grade later this month—last night.



Contact the author at taylor@gawker.com.

Gizmodo Hitchhiking Robot Lasts Just Two Weeks in US Because Humans Are Terrible | Jalopnik Street O

Report: Britney Spears Could Be Under Conservatorship for Life

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Report: Britney Spears Could Be Under Conservatorship for Life

Britney Spears has been under personal and financial conservatorship since 2008, when she was committed to a hospital after allegedly neglecting to take her prescription meds and, according to a family source, “driving around her neighborhood like a mad-woman.” Although she’s turned things around since then, TMZ reported Monday that the conservatorship could last her entire lifetime simply because it’s working so well for her business.

Spears’s dad, Jamie Spears, oversees her finances and personal life with the help of doctors and lawyers, but has reportedly allowed her to make her own personal decisions since at least 2010. (This is with one rumored exception: her ex-fiancé, Jason Trawick, was a co-conservator during their relationship, but gave up the role when they split in 2013. Brit’s dad allegedly ended the relationship because Trawick was tired of “babysitting” Britney and wanted out.)

TMZ says she currently has “substantial day-to-day freedom” over her life.

But no matter how well she’s doing with her relationships—she broke up with producer Charlie Ebersol in June—and mental health, the financial conservatorship “will stay in place indefinitely,” TMZ reported back in 2010 and again Monday. Britney Spears™, the business enterprise, is doing quite well under its current management, bringing in $14 million last year.

The conservatorship doesn’t even mind if she wants to hoard cute dogs and dress them up in little outfits or whatever. She can afford it.

Good for you, Britney (corporation and person).

[h/t TMZ, Photo: Getty Images]

How to Safely Consume American Cheese 

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How to Safely Consume American Cheese 

STOP. You there, with the American cheese—yes, you, the American. Hold it right there.

Don’t just shove that gleaming American cheese slice into your watery maw with no forethought as usual. Things have changed. In what could prove to be the biggest existential danger to the average American since the Lil Caesars out by the highway closed, Kraft has issued a recall of individually wrapped slices of American cheese. I won’t “beat around the bushes” with you, friends—it’s bad.

“The Kraft Heinz Company is voluntarily recalling select code dates and manufacturing codes of Kraft Singles individually-wrapped slices due to the possibility that a thin strip of the individual packaging film may remain adhered to the slice after the wrapper has been removed,” the company says. “If the film sticks to the slice and is not removed, it could potentially cause a choking hazard.”

Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. This is so fucked up. Fuck, man. Fuck. Jesus.

First of all calm the fuck down. Don’t tell me to calm down—you fucking calm down. Here is what we’re going to do, as a nation. We are going to strictly follow a safety protocol when eating our individually wrapped slices of American cheese. If we don’t, we’re all fucking dead. Okay? Don’t fuck around with this.

SAFELY EAT AMERICAN CHEEZ

1. Unwrap your individually wrapped slice of American cheese.

2. ***IMPORTANT***: Look at the cheese real close. Is there any plastic on there? No? You sure? Turn it over. Any plastic there? Look close.

3. If there’s plastic still on it take the plastic off.

4. Enjoy that individually unwrapped slice of American cheese.

Rest assured this issue will be addressed in the upcoming Republican presidential debate.

[Photo: Flickr]

Man Loses Leg in Horrifying Escalator Collapse

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Six days after a Chinese woman was swallowed alive by an escalator, a man in Shanghai lost his leg after falling through the top of an escalator at a mall.
http://gawker.com/woman-swallowe...

According to CNN, Chinese state media reports that the 35-year-old man was working as a janitor at Shanghai’s Cloud Nine shopping mall when the metal panel at the top of the escalator gave way, trapping the man’s leg inside. Firefighters were able to extract the man after about 20 minutes, and he was sent to a nearby hospital, where doctors were forced to amputate the lower half of his leg.

From CNN:

“The doctor said in order to prevent (the) situation from getting worse, they amputated his left calf,” a family member of the victim told Xinhua.

An investigation into the accident is still underway but the latest state media reports say the victim violated operation regulations by not shutting the escalator down first before cleaning it.

Last Sunday, 30-year-old Xiang Liujuan died after being sucked into an escalator in a Jingzhou mall. And on Tuesday, a toddler suffered injuries to his hands and arms after becoming stuck in an escalator in Guangxi. Despite the rash of gruesome incidents, Chinese authorities say their escalators are safe and point out that there were only 49 escalator or elevator-related accidents last year. I’d still take the stairs though.


Contact the author at taylor@gawker.com.


Hotels Are Full Now

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Hotels Are Full Now

Hotels: they’re full now. More full than ever. What is it about hotels that is making them so full now?

A good question—do you know the answer? Beats me. “Travel,” would be my top guess, followed by “El Sexxxo.” But facts are facts, and what we report here are exactly those things (facts). And if you want the facts, here they are: hotels are more full now—than ever!!!

Here are the facts and numerical measurements from industry magazine Hotel News Now, via Calculated Risk:

In year-over-year measurements [for the week of July 19-25], the industry’s occupancy increased 1.5% to 79.1%. Average daily rate for the week was up 5.1% to US$125.04...

The 79.1% occupancy rate reported for last week was the best week on record

This year (2015) is expected to be the “best year ever for hotels.”

Why? It’s not my position to say. I arm you with the facts; you, in turn, venture out into the world to seek out the explanation of those facts—and, perhaps, to make your fortune in the process. It’s not about whether or not it “should” be this way—it’s about upholding and respecting traditions with roots that reach deep into our collective heritage, forming an indelible part of our national psyche.

Hotels are full now.

[Photo: Flickr]

Here's Video of the Jerk Who Killed hitchBOT

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Here's Video of the Jerk Who Killed hitchBOT

The hitchhiking robot known as hitchBOT was destroyed in Philadelphia over the weekend. And now we finally have footage of the jerk who did it. Vlogger Jesse Wellens posted the footage below to Snapchat. It shows a lone man in a sports jersey repeatedly kicking hitchBOT.

Judging from the timecode, the person kicks hitchBOT at 5:46 in the morning on Saturday August 1st. Without more context, it’s hard to say why this man destroyed the beloved robot. But this person clearly has some anger issues.

I think I know who will be first against the wall during the robot uprising.

Update: There’s a (probably fake) listing on Craigslist in Philly for hitchBOT.

Here's Video of the Jerk Who Killed hitchBOT

I’m also getting lots of emails from people pointing out that Ed Bassmaster often wears an oversized number 12 Randall Cunningham jersey. Especially when he’s playing his alter-ego Always Teste.

Here's Video of the Jerk Who Killed hitchBOT

It could be nothing, but Bassmaster and Jesse Wellens were both 1) The last people to record video of hitchBOT in one piece and 2) The people who acquired this supposed surveillance camera footage. If this was a prank, it would be a pretty shit one.

Update, again: There’s also the question of where the supposed security camera would be mounted. Looking at Google Street View, there’s no clear indication that there was a security camera from that vantage point as of June 2014. Which doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have been installed since then. But it’s one more red flag pointing to this being some kind of prank by Bassmaster and Wellens.

From Google Street View:

Here's Video of the Jerk Who Killed hitchBOT

Paulie And Danny Fought In Brooklyn, And The Better Man Survived

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Paulie And Danny Fought In Brooklyn, And The Better Man Survived

Danny Garcia has a devilish face; a Luciferian goatee; a muscular physique; an evil, laconic smile; a garish fashion taste; and a goading, belligerent father. You can imagine him whipping the ass of cowering middle school classmates for kicks.

I am reading too much into Danny Garcia’s personality, yes. But the brutal power matched by just-above-mediocre boxing skills; the 31-0 record padded by undeserved wins; the tendency to wear leopard-skin shorts with no remorse; the father shouting racial slurs at opponents during press conferences ... Danny Garcia is easy not to like, particularly if you’re not from Philly and have no obligation to root for the Philly guy. If Danny Garcia is, in secret, a warm and caring man with a settled commitment to justice and protecting the underdog, I apologize to him. I don’t imagine that is the case.

The truth doesn’t matter, really. A potent villain is part of what makes boxing fun. A potent villain, Danny Garcia, a combo-punching knockout artist with a lazy streak and pronounced eyebrows, came to Brooklyn on Saturday to take on the hometown guy, Paulie Malignaggi—who himself spent years as a brash, loudmouthed, clownish yapper with showy sequined trunks and what not, but who has now, in the twilight of his career at age 34, settled into the satisfying role of hero underdog himself. Paulie is in fact one of boxing’s most amazing stories. A skinny little shit who has never had power and whose oft-broken hands have reduced him to fighting almost exclusively with his left hand, he used quickness, guile, and sheer will to maintain a long career at the very top level of the welterweight division. He has never beaten one of the world’s best, but he has held his own against a whole bunch of them, an accomplishment akin to fending off armed gladiators using nothing but a briskly snapped wet towel.

Paulie And Danny Fought In Brooklyn, And The Better Man Survived

He is also, in his spare time, the best boxing announcer working today, making his ongoing risk of brain cells all the more brave, or insane.

Danny Garcia has spent his career quite successfully fighting at 140 pounds. Now, he has moved up to 147 pounds, as boxers tend to do as their careers progress, allowing them to forgo some of the pain of starving themselves and sitting in saunas to make weight. Bigger fighters tend to hit harder, so Garcia was easing himself into the division with Paulie, who poses the least physical danger of anyone with a respectable name and record.

Paulie has lost an ounce of quickness, as all aging fighters do, but his style is roughly the same as it has always been. He orients himself sideways, lead hand down, right hand at his chin, jerking his upper body constantly back and forth, and at the merest hint of an incoming punch, bends low at the waist and rotates on his front foot, popping up safely to the side. His offense consists of a jab. He slide steps forward and bends and jabs to the belly, or he jabs to the face, and he spins off to the side, and jabs again. He throws right hands only as changes of pace, to give his opponent the illusion that there might be something to worry about other than a jab. Paulie’s offense is more the notion of offense than actual, menacing offense; he throws his hand in his opponent’s face enough to convince him that he is in a fight and prevent him from getting comfortable, but the actual threat to anyone’s physical health remains low. He enters the ring in a skeleton-face bandana and gives the ol’ “cutthroat arm across the neck” sign to the crowd like a real bad man, but it is all for show. Paulie’s real accomplishment is just being able to hang with the best guys in the world, given his fundamental limitations.

Stipulate, then, that Paulie Malignaggi never had any real chance of winning against Danny Garcia, who does possess the sort of neck-snapping left hook power that has made some unfortunate fighters of lesser caliber spin halfway around and fall down as if a sniper had shot them in the jaw with an AK-47. He shuffles forward deliberately with his elbows flared, as if his muscles are strung so tightly that he is incapable of forcing his arms down to his sides. Garcia is above average in all departments and superlative in power, which makes him good enough to be undefeated but not good enough to be unpredictable.

The fight unfolded predictably. Garcia moved forward. Paulie moved around, jabbing. Paulie moved sideways, jabbing. Anywhere he moved, he jabbed. He has an uncanny ability to shoot a jab while his feet seem to slide backwards simultaneously, conveyor belt style. At times he would jump in close, throw a flurry of three or four wholly unharmful punches to Garcia’s stomach, then jump back again. Garcia, meanwhile, would step in and try to counter Paulie with a chopping right hand to knock his head off, and miss. Garcia missed an astounding number of right hands by inches, as Paulie ducked away; millions, by my estimate. Paulie possesses a cleverness—feinting, setting traps, moving in and out—that Garcia, comfortable in his ability to hurt people, lacks. Garcia simply moves forward at one speed. He is not slow, but he is plodding, and his refusal to crank up his energy and hasten his attack extended Paulie Malignaggi’s boxing career by at least several rounds.

Paulie And Danny Fought In Brooklyn, And The Better Man Survived

Fights take place in brutal reality. The good guy does not always win. Sentimentality in boxing is best reserved for remembrances of times past rather than analyses of punches being presently thrown. Though Danny Garcia is unlikeable and plodding and relatively predictable, he is also far more strong and far more dangerous than Paulie Malignaggi. Garcia’s margin for error in this fight was near infinite, while Paulie was dodging devastation with each roll of his shoulder. Fatigue, which creeps up round by round, posed an existential threat to Paulie. All that moving and rolling takes its toll. By the ninth round, he was solidly tired. He began to catch Garcia’s left hook on his glove, rather than ducking under it. Shortly after Garcia pushed him back to the ropes, and caught him with that chopping right hand that had missed so many times before. Paulie scurried to the other side of the ring, but Garcia caught him there too, swinging a few final hooks before the ref jumped in and wrapped his arms around Paulie and stopped the fight. Though there had not even been a single knockdown, Paulie did not cuss, or argue. He returned to his corner and sat on his stool and cried. This was probably his last turn in the ring. He lost, as we all knew he would. But he is a skinny 34-year-old with one hand and 40 pro fights, and he survived.

Photos: Top and bottom via AP, middle via Getty

T.S. Guillermo to Skirt Hawaii While a Monstrous Typhoon Aims for China

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T.S. Guillermo to Skirt Hawaii While a Monstrous Typhoon Aims for China

This swirling mass of terror above is Super Typhoon Soudelor in the western Pacific, which is the strongest tropical cyclone we’ve seen in 2015, packing winds of 180 MPH (and gusts to 220 MPH) as it makes its way toward East Asia later this week. Meanwhile, a much weaker tropical storm is heading toward Hawaii.

Guillermo

T.S. Guillermo to Skirt Hawaii While a Monstrous Typhoon Aims for China

Beginning here in the United States, all eyes in Hawaii are on Tropical Storm Guillermo this afternoon as the system makes its way toward the island chain. The seventh named storm of the eastern Pacific hurricane season began life nearly 2,500 miles to the east of its current position, still in the area covered by the National Hurricane Center in Miami. Since it developed last week, Guillermo has since crossed 140°W—the line of longitude that separates the eastern and central Pacific basins—and swirled into Hawaii’s area of concern.

T.S. Guillermo to Skirt Hawaii While a Monstrous Typhoon Aims for China

Now a tropical storm with 70 MPH winds, Guillermo is still on track to come very close to Hawaii, as forecasters have expected for several days now. Satellite imagery shows that Guillermo isn’t the healthiest system, with the southern half of the tropical storm lacking in thunderstorm activity as wind shear in the upper levels of the atmosphere shred away it.

The lopsided nature of Guillermo makes the exact track of the center of the storm key to who gets inclement weather, if any at all. Assuming the storm holds together long enough to make it to Hawaii, the latest forecast from the Central Pacific Hurricane Center shows the storm’s center skirting north of the islands, which would dramatically lessen the impact it has on the state. If the tropical storm were to track along the southern edge of the cone of uncertainty—or if the thunderstorms reform south of the center of circulation—most of the islands would experience a period of gusty winds and heavy rain between Wednesday afternoon and Thursday night.

For what it’s worth, the latest model guidance are in pretty good agreement that the center of the storm will track a few dozen miles north of the islands, but it’s going to be close enough that residents and visitors alike will have to watch how Guillermo develops over the coming days. Regardless of its track, high surf and rip currents are likely as the storm approaches and moves through the area. Stay out of the water if you’re not a confident swimmer, and heed the advice of lifeguards and local officials if they tell you not to go in the water.

Super Typhoon Soudelor

T.S. Guillermo to Skirt Hawaii While a Monstrous Typhoon Aims for China

A few thousand miles to Guillermo’s northwest is a powerful super typhoon that has its sights set on an East Asia landfall late this week. The term “super typhoon” is a designation based on wind speeds much the same way we use “major hurricane” in the Atlantic and eastern Pacific basins. A super typhoon is similar to a category five hurricane in our part of the world—a typhoon has to reach winds of 150 MPH or greater to achieve the designation. (A category five has winds of 156 MPH or stronger.)

T.S. Guillermo to Skirt Hawaii While a Monstrous Typhoon Aims for China

The term “super typhoon” doesn’t do this storm justice. Soudelor has 180 MPH winds according to the latest advisory from the Joint Typhoon Warning Center , and the U.S. military’s tropical forecasting branch predicts that Soudelor will strengthen even further over the coming hours, possibly reaching a mind-blowing maximum wind speed of 185 MPH before it gets too strong for its own good and starts a slow but steady weakening trend. Weakening is relative when it comes to a storm this strong, and the JTWC expects the storm to maintain winds of 135 MPH (equivalent of a category four) when it reaches the smaller islands of Japan’s Okinawa Prefecture on Friday. Soudelor will continue toward Taiwan and mainland China on Saturday as a formidable typhoon with wind of more than 100 MPH, which will likely cause significant damage, flooding and mudslides from heavy rain, and storm surge as a result.

Soudelor’s cone of uncertainty is quite large, and the storm could move anywhere within (or even outside of) that cone over the next couple of days. If you’re in Asia or plan to visit soon, don’t pay attention to just the path of the center of the storm—destructive winds and flooding rains extend far away from the eye, and the storm could always change track with little or no notice.

If you were wondering, the name “Soudelor” is one of 140 typhoon names used for storms in the western Pacific basin. The name was contributed by the Federated States of Micronesia, and it means “chief” or “ruler” in the Pohnpeian language, according to Guam’s Pacific Daily News.

Typhoon vs. Hurricane

One of the most common questions asked after a story like this is “I thought they were called typhoons in the Pacific?” We only call strong tropical cyclones “typhoons” in the western Pacific Ocean near Asia. Strong tropical cyclones that form in the central and eastern Pacific—think near Hawaii or the west coast of Mexico—are called “hurricanes” like they are over in the Atlantic Ocean.

There’s not much of a difference between a hurricane and a typhoon except that the two terms each require storms to reach slightly different wind speeds before being called one. It’s all just a name.

[Images: NOAA, author, JMA, JTWC]


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Lovers' Madness: The Ohio Man Who Murdered His Wife Out of 'Mercy'

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Lovers' Madness: The Ohio Man Who Murdered His Wife Out of 'Mercy'

101 is the age at which David Tilley will be released from jail if he serves out his full prison term in the Hocking Correctional Facility in Nelsonville, Ohio. 18 years is the term of his sentence—fairly light, considering the crime, which is murder.


The picture on the front page of the Athens, Ohio newspaper showed an old man with unwashed hair, pale spotted skin. His eyes were colorless; his hair and beard wild, a color more yellow than white. His mouth hung open. The headline read: Guysville Man Arrested in Wife’s Fatal Shooting.

The first report was brief: A man, 83 at the time, had called the sheriff’s office to tell them his wife had been shot. He would be waiting for them on the porch, he said. In his wheelchair (he had recently had one leg amputated), his hands in the air. He talked with the dispatcher for some time, over 15 minutes, though he never told her who had done the shooting. At one point, he whispered—not to the dispatcher—“I did it for you.”

The woman was named Hope. She had been married to David Tilley for over 20 years. David had shot her in the head while she was sleeping. He said she had asked him to.


The Tilleys had come to southern Ohio to retire. Hope wanted to live on a farm, according to David, and after years of following her husband around for his job, David said it was her choice where they would end up. She chose Guysville.

An unincorporated town of less than two thousand people along the Hocking River, Guysville is long low hills, roads crumbling into gravel. There are quilt stores, collapsing barns, farms—mostly, it’s just farms—a single gas station. Guysville is centered on a crossroads, the lonely intersection of US Route 50 and State Route 329, where the devil might make a deal. The banks rise high and wooded. You can buy land cheap in Guysville. You can see no one for days.

Before retiring in 1993, David Tilley had had a long career in academia, working at several colleges over the years, including Knox College in Illinois. It was at Knox in the 1980s that David met Hope, then a student at the college. There was a 37-year age difference between David and Hope, but they began a relationship. She went on to Yale, to graduate school, and David went with her.

She and David were married in New Haven in 1987. David was 61 at the time; Hope was just 23.

Hope, by then, had already distinguished herself. A member of Phi Beta Kappa in college, graduating summa cum laude, she received the Faculty Scholarship Prize at Knox, an honor bestowed upon a single student who displayed “exceptional ability both in scholastic pursuits and in at least one extracurricular activity.”

But despite her academic gifts, it was sometimes difficult for Hope to focus. Restless and an idealist—spirited to the point of belligerence, according to friends—she was committed to a variety of social justice causes, but she seemed to have trouble seeing a task through to completion.

Her passions were intense, but fleeting. She had a series of jobs: teaching at the college level, tutoring, volunteering. She published with David a newspaper called Sawmill Press (until they ran out of money), operated with David a restaurant (until they ran out of money), owned a pet supply business called Daisy Field Supply (which had multiple complaints filed against it). She went for another master’s degree, this time at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio, and eventually worked in special education for a nearby school district.

Then she was fired, for reasons that are unclear, though in 2011, David theorized that Hope’s relentless crusading for underserved students “didn’t play well with the authorities.”

Friends of the couple present Hope as vivacious, intelligent, charitable, loving, and bright. Also: intense, distractible, desperate, and hurt. She had so many dreams, ideals, and causes. She also had fears to rival them.


It is not clear when her anxieties began to control her. “All along,” The Athens NEWS reported, which also said her anxieties “increas[ed]” during the marriage, but eventually Hope was afraid of driving. Of eating food. Of swallowing—a phobia called phagophobia, which is symptomatic of a severe anxiety disorder.

Her worst fear was that David would die before her—understandable given David’s illnesses and age—and that she would be unable to care for herself alone, a somewhat reasonable concern given her mounting anxieties.

As he aged, David had had multiple health scares, which had caused him to be hospitalized. Shortly before Hope’s death, he had lost his left leg at the knee due to complications from diabetes. He was losing his hearing. His vision was bad.

Hope had health issues as well, something requiring medication (anxiety?), the cost of which was another of her worries—but David took care of her the best he could; she had done the same for him, after all. He credited Hope with sticking up for him in the hospital and managing his care, “[driving] the doctors crazy,” and, as he said, “she saved my life two or three times, because she forced them to re-think things that weren’t working.” They were a good team.


Folie à deux means madness of two. Means: lovers’ madness. Means: mental illness can be contagious, a psychosis shared; thoughts festering, spreading. In such closeness, we began to talk the same. In such closeness, we began to fear.

The phrase was first coined by French psychiatrists in the 19th century. Early case studies included a couple who believed someone was breaking into their house and wearing down the heels of their shoes; importantly, both members of the couple believed this. Other cases of shared psychosis include sisters, and whole families (one case even included the family dog). Those suffering from folie à deux live together, share delusions, and are usually isolated with little or no contact with other people, no one outside their circle of two.

According to David, the couple moved around the country for his work in academic administration, choosing to settle based on his employment, not hers. It’s not clear, during the many years they were together, that Hope had meaningful work—not consistently, anyway, not as benefitting someone with an Ivy League education and multiple graduate degrees. When they lived in Connecticut, she had taught classes at Quinnipiac College. In Ohio, she volunteered. She worked temporary jobs, but she never seemed to stay anywhere long.

Even Daisy Field Supply, the pet supply business, which, according to Hope’s obituary, she ran for years, was in trouble. Given a C- rating by the Better Business Bureau, there were a dozen complaints about the business, mostly for products that never arrived, dated 2010, the year Hope died.

Her obituary requested, in lieu of flowers, that donations be sent to a dog rescue.


Just a few weeks before her death, a tornado hit southern Ohio.

The funnel ripped the roof off an auto body shop, took shark-sized hunks out of the newspaper building, the very place where, in a few short weeks, phones would buzz with news of Hope’s death; hands would type furious headlines, words like suicide, murder, assisted, mercy—words that, once written, could not be taken back. The Columbus Dispatch reported, “It was the first tornado to touch down in Athens County since May 1980,” and quoted Ryan Fogt, director of the Scalia Lab, a weather science and research lab at Ohio University, as saying: “a tornado in Athens County is quite rare… We don’t have as much training in how to respond.”

The tornado destroyed the high school football stadium. One year and $3 million dollars later, it re-opened, with a winning game against the Dawson-Bryant Hornets of Coal Grove.


Later, David said that the whole thing was Hope’s idea.

She was in pain; she needed him to end it. David said, among Hope’s many fears, was a specific fear of medical professionals, fear of psychotherapy, fear of medication, fear of getting help. David said, “She was definitely afraid of them, and really all medical things.” David said she thought there was no help for her, really, and that the only solution was to finish her life before it became even more unbearable or out of her control. David said she thought she couldn’t end her life herself. David said once he agreed to do it, what he said she wanted, peace settled over her, but, like a spell, it was short-lived: “then it became, every day, ‘Why am I still alive?’ That anger about that,” David said. David said they didn’t plan the date. David said she wanted him to do it without him telling her or warning her. David said, David said, David said.

In September 2010, David put a gun to Hope’s head while she was sleeping.


Hope, before she died, had written things.

Her writings were found scattered in the house after she died, according to The Columbus Dispatch, journals or notes which perhaps give an insight into her state of mind, perhaps asking for the ending David said she wanted. But these writings were never made public.

The picture of Hope printed with her obituary is at least 20 years old. She is thin with bright dark eyes, short brown hair feathered off her face. She wears a beige blazer and a striped navy and white polyester shirt. It looks like a school portrait, maybe a picture of her senior year. The picture has faded to sepia, drained of life and light.

But her eyes look so hopeful, so alive, focused on the distance.

In the only recent picture I could find of Hope, she has long, lank hair. She’s gained weight. She wears men’s clothes: baggy pants, a shapeless shirt, a long yellow duster coat. There’s a strange grin on her face, a hat hiding most of it. She’s holding a raccoon or groundhog—dead—by the tail. There’s a gun tucked into her waist.

In a picture of David, taken after the murder, David is in jail, the left leg of his blue prison uniform flopping out of his spindly, prison-issued wheelchair. The cloth drags empty, his leg long amputated. The pants are too short, rolled up to expose a skinny limb on the right side, falling-down socks and a thick, black orthopedic shoe. His prison-issued glasses are crooked and brown. His hair is shorn, his beard gone. He is not smiling. He has lost weight.

Though the reporter of the 2011 piece that ran with the jailhouse photograph of David would go on to write a benevolent story, sympathetic, David was reluctant to reveal details of Hope. He refused to admit anything personal or specific about her life or their life together or her mental state in the days and months and years leading up to the murder. He had confessed to the murder, he said, because he did not want to have a trial, because he did not want there to be a story. He did not know how much longer he had left to live. He was prepared to spend the remainder, without Hope, in prison. He was prepared to die there. He was donating the little money he had saved to charities both he and Hope had once believed in.


Maybe, now that David is 88, now that he is housed in the medical unit of the prison, maybe it is not right to talk about it again.

Aside from David, no one knows what happened except the dead. Hope’s mother did not want the case discussed in the papers; she called it “see[ing] [her] daughter exploited again”—and she especially did not want David portrayed as merciful “for [doing] something that is really murder.”

A link to David’s jailhouse interview on the newspaper’s public Facebook page had the following, chilling comment: “You should have just left this alone.”

Hope’s mother did not believe Hope was suicidal. But no one knew what to believe. David was religious. He had Bible study with friends, study he brought Hope to.

A 2012 article memorializing the previous year’s crime victims in the county, lists Hope Tilley’s death as “a kind of assisted suicide.” No mention of shared psychosis. No mention of anxiety or illnesses. No thought of “lovers’ madness.”

Or murder.

Because David confessed in closed court and was sent to prison so swiftly, because he will probably die there, we will never know. That label will never be challenged, never tested; a doctor never consulted; David’s friends never interviewed more than they already have been (everyone hesitant); Hope’s writings never produced and read; more pictures of Hope never unearthed; a fuller portrait of her years before David and with David never painted.

But Hope was bright. She was idealistic; she was in love. She was alive. And then she was not. Why? He said mercy. A mercy killing. Was it mercy to allow her to leave the dogs and the hills and the spiraling sky and the mounting years and the nights and the fears? Mercy to leave her alone, as she wanted (did she want it?). Mercy. Is that mercy? Even I believed at the onset that this piece would be about an old man, the “broken” woman he wanted to “save.” But I can’t write that. Not without her.


Alison Stine’s first YA novel SUPERVISION was published by HarperVoyager this month. Also the author of three books of poetry, she lives in the Appalachian foothills.

Illustration by Jim Cooke.

A Cloud That Looks Like Abe Lincoln

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A Cloud That Looks Like Abe Lincoln

Amateur photographer Linda Pelletier of Suffern, NY has sent us the following image of a cloud formation that bears an uncanny resemblance to Abe Lincoln.

Linda wrote to us this weekend: “I was trying to photograph lightning, one eve. I saw a face in the clouds. I thought it looked like my mom, so I snapped a couple of pics. As it turns out, the picture has an amazing detailed likeness to Abe Lincoln.”

A Cloud That Looks Like Abe Lincoln

That does look like Abe Lincoln.

[Photo of cloud by Linda Pelletier; top image via AP]

Deadspin The Greatest Boxer Alive Is Too Good For His Sport | io9 The io9 Guide To Gundam | Jezebel


Rob Rhinehart's Latest Attempt to Make You Buy Soylent Is Terrible

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Rob Rhinehart's Latest Attempt to Make You Buy Soylent Is Terrible

I think Rob Rhinehart is trying to turn himself into some sort of creepy nerd messiah. Today he posted a giant essay to promote the release of Soylent 2.0, the next version of his sperm-esque food replacement drink. It was all about how he’s given up alternating current so he can get ready for his life as a space cyborg.

Rhinehart has all the hallmarks of a future cult leader. First of all, he’s marketing a pseudoscientific bullshit product, Soylent, which promises to liberate your nerd mind from its analog meatsack. Though actual nutritionists say replacing your food with Soylent is a bad idea, why should you trust them? Rhinehart, an electrical engineer, knows better. If you just drink Soylant, you no longer need to do icky physical things like eat solid food and store rotting items in your house. (Yes, he actually refers to food as “rotting ingredients,” which is not exactly a good sign from a dude trying to sell you things to eat.)

But now Rhinehart has taken it to the next level. He isn’t just trying to sell you on a dubious product from science fiction. Now he’s discovered that the road to enlightenment is slick with Soylent. In today’s manifesto, he’ll sell you on a whole new way of life. Inject your fingers with magnets so you can feel electrical current. Then give up on dirty, dirty alternating current, which uses up so much energy. Use a butane “space stove” to heat water for your coffee. Ride in Ubers to cut down on emissions (that is, if you can’t ride “robot horse cheetahs, or drone multicopters.”) Get your clothing custom-made in China, and stop doing laundry. Drink Soylent warm so you don’t need a fridge.

It’s a little bit Scientology, and a little bit 4-Hour Work Week. There are cleansing products somehow related to outer space, and there is outsourcing of manual labor. Rhinehart calls it “opulence in asceticism.” And it’s all based on what every successful cult has as its foundation: a deeply-felt wish to make the world better, coupled with an equally fervent desire to be completely superior to everyone else. Just follow Rhinehart’s instructions, and you can be cleaner, smarter, and more special. Even better: you’ll be closer to the future, just the way hermit monks were once closer to their gods.

Writes Rhinehart in his cult manifesto:

The first space colonies will have no coal power plants. I am ready. For now though, as I am driven through the gleaming city, my hunger peacefully at bay, I have visions of the parking lots and grocery stores replaced by parks and community centers, power plants retrofitted as museums and galleries. Traffic and trash and pollution will evaporate, if only we are willing to adopt some routines.

This futuristic vision, this desire for a better world where we are “driven through the gleaming city,” rests on a completely fake premise. Pollution will never “evaporate” if we “adopt some routines.” You can’t fix political conflict and economic imbalances and runaway climate change by taking Uber and drinking Soylent. Just like you can’t replace food with a disgusting supplement.

But it’s so tempting to believe that Rhinehart has all the answers — because if he has them, then you do too. After all, cults and brands share one thing in common: they sell you products by appealing to a belief in your own potential superiority. You could optimize yourself. And live in a better world. If only you’d adopt some routines. And buy Soylent 2.0.


Contact the author at annalee@gizmodo.com.
Public PGP key
PGP fingerprint: CA58 326B 1ACB 133B 0D15 5BCE 3FC6 9123 B2AA 1E1A

500 Days of Kristin, Day 190: Kristin's Mini Magazine

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500 Days of Kristin, Day 190: Kristin's Mini Magazine

CEO of the Official Kristin Cavallari App for iPhone and Android Kristin Cavallari recently consented to an interview with Byrdie.com, a beauty blog, about how she “does it all.” The resulting article, which we briefly discussed last week, is titled, “Exclusive: How Kristin Cavallari Does It All (and Still Looks Amazing).”

So how? Does Kristin do it? All? Step one: she gets inspired by her own interests.

Byrdie: Where do you find inspiration for the content on your app, Kristin Cavallari Official?

Cavallari: I look at the app as my own mini magazine, which is based on all of my interests. It’s very health heavy, since I’m passionate about taking care of yourself, and there are fashion and beauty articles along with other various content, like sample workouts. I get a lot of feedback on the app, so I try to give my readers what they want.

We recorded some of that feedback on this site when Kristin decided to make her app cost $2.99 per month in June.

Kristin’s answer, it’s worth noting, is incomplete. She is clearly inspired by the blog “MoonDragon’s Realm,” from which she plagiarized a post about iodine last month.

(That’s how she does it all.)


This has been 500 Days of Kristin.

[Photo via Getty]

Delta Air Lines Bans Nasty-Ass Big-Game Trophies From Flights

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Delta Air Lines Bans Nasty-Ass Big-Game Trophies From Flights

In the wake of widespread outrage over the killing of Cecil the lion, Delta Air Lines announced today it would no longer ship lion, leopard, elephant, rhinoceros or buffalo trophies as freight.http://gawker.com/famous-lion-wa...

“Prior to this ban, Delta’s strict acceptance policy called for absolute compliance with all government regulations regarding protected species,” said the company in a statement Monday. “Delta will also review acceptance policies of other hunting trophies with appropriate government agencies and other organizations supporting legal shipments.”

According to corporate watchdog group SumOfUs.org, the world’s largest airline joins British Airways, Air France, KLM, Singapore Airways, Lufthansa, Air Emirates, Iberia Airlines, IAG Cargo and Qantas in banning the transport of animal trophies. From The New York Times:

Such a ban was initiated by South African Airways in April, and Emirates, Lufthansa and British Airways later joined. These airlines pledged not to carry big game trophies, including elephants, rhinos, lions and tigers as cargo.

One major holdout had been Delta, which has direct service between the United States and countries in Africa. But bowing to pressure from some travelers and activists, and an online petition on Change.org, Delta changed its position too.

While Delta has yet to say why it decided to change the policy, travel industry analyst Henry Harteveldt told the Associated Press he believes the announcement was probably the result of pressure following Cecil’s death.

“I don’t think there was much of this shipment taking place, so there is minimal revenue loss and big PR gain for them,” said Harteveldt.

CBS News reports that United Airlines, the only other U.S. carrier with flights to Africa, did not respond to requests for comment.

UPDATE 9:40 p.m.: According to NBC News, a United Airlines spokesperson said Monday that the carrier “hasn’t had many big game shipments” but is also banning them.

[Image via AP Images]

Tremaine Wilbourn, the man accused of killing a Memphis police officer on Saturday, has surrendered

It's All Ending: Gwen Stefani Files for Divorce From Gavin Rossdale

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It's All Ending: Gwen Stefani Files for Divorce From Gavin Rossdale

[Her and him] / [They] used to be together / [12 years] together / [Now? Not so much]

According to TMZ, No Doubt singer Gwen Stefani has filed for divorce from Bush singer Gavin Rossdale, citing irreconcilable differences:

Sources tell TMZ there is no prenup, so the 50/50 California community property laws kick in. 45-year-old Gwen is worth a reported $80 million, and 49-year-old Gavin’s worth an estimated $35 million. Given the length of the marriage, that will probably all go into one pot before it’s divided.

Gwen checked the box on the form to deny Gavin spousal support.

“While the two of us have come to the mutual decision that we will no longer be partners in marriage, we remain partners in parenthood and are committed to jointly raising our three sons in a happy and healthy environment,” Stefani and Rossdale said in a joint statement.

The couple’s marriage has long been plagued by rumors of infidelity on Rossdale’s part, Courtney Love telling Howard Stern in 2010 that she slept with the singer while he was with Stefani and “she does know.”

TMZ reports that Stefani has requested joint custody of their three children.

[Image via Getty Images]

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