It seems the jury in the case of Southwest Airlines vs. the verbally abusive very fat woman who happens to be black came back with a resounding NOT GUILTY. Here’s the story, courtesy of the Portsmouth Herald…
PORTSMOUTH - Nadine Thompson said she did not get a jury of her peers when an all-white jury on Friday ruled that Southwest Airlines did not discriminate against her for being black. But Lance Hellman of Portsmouth, a juror in the case, said race had nothing whatever to do with the verdict.
Thompson, a cosmetics executive from Exeter, said Monday she would not appeal the verdict because she said has no desire to again be characterized in public “as a fat, black, foul-mouthed ghetto momma. It was the most humiliating thing I’ve ever gone through in my life.”
A U.S. District Court jury of eight people deliberated for just over an hour Friday before finding against Thompson.
In 2003, Thompson, who is significantly overweight, boarded a Southwest Airlines flight in Manchester. She was asked to leave her seat, under the airline’s “customer of size” policy, and talk to airline officials in the airport lobby about buying two tickets to accommodate her size. There, according to testimony, she became verbally abusive and was escorted out of the airport by sheriff’s deputies.
During testimony, Southwest Airlines employees said they did make a mistake in the way they asked her to leave the plane, but they never used racist words and were concerned solely with her weight.
Nadine Thompson
Exeter resident who sued airline Lance Hallman
Juror from Portsmouth The wife and I don’t like Valentine’s Day. Well, it’s not that we don’t like it. We just don’t give in to the ridiculous corporate pressure to buy something else expensive just six weeks after Christmas to show “how much we love you.” Like my brother in law said, “If you don’t know how much I love you after the other 364 days, this one day isn’t gonna make any difference.” There’s no good reason to dislike it like I do really. I just don’t like being hit over the head for three weeks by the various jewelers/chocolatiers/florists/car dealers saying “don’t you owe it to her to buy (insert product here)?” No. I don’t owe it to her. If I wanted to buy her something nice, I would just buy it for her. I won’t wait until I see some commercials from Zale’s to do it. So, in honor of that, I bring you this story that’s turned into a gift. Three weeks ago, my wife and daughters were coming to the office to visit. Before they arrived, I had been at Publix picking up lunch and decided to get her some flowers to surprise her. I got back to the office and put them in the overhead storage bin at my desk. That night at the car dealership, we were sitting in the salesman’s office going thru the minutia of buying a car when out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman carrying a bsket of flowers. “FUCK!!” I exclaimed. Startled, my wife asked “Ummm…what’s wrong?” “I bought you flowers today to surprise you, and they’re still sitting in the cabinet above my desk, and by Monday they’ll be worthless.” “Awwww…” she said. “That was awfully sweet.” Anyway, move forward three weeks and I have still forgotten to take those flowers out of the cabinet…until today. p.s. Don’t mention this to her. She doesn’t read my blogs until the evenings and not usually for a few days. It’ll be our little secret. Last night’s visit came around 2:11am. It seemed that someone wanted a new pull-up. That’s what we get for letting her have juice right before bed. But to her credit, she didn’t come to our room first. She went looking for her pullups in the nursery, but couldn’t find them. Then she told me she was cold, which she was. See, we got her an electric blanket last week, but she still doesn’t understand that it works much better if the user is actually UNDER the covers and not on top of them. So I got her changed (actually, I got the pull-up…she did the rest herself), got the bed arranged and got her back into it, but this time she was under the electric blanket. She was asleep again in about two minutes. We’re getting there. I figure in another 11 years I’ll actually get a good night’s sleep… I’d like to preface this entry by saying that I fully intend to swear. A LOT!! There is no way to adequately and appropriately discuss the subject that I am about to talk about without obscenities, so I plan to use plenty of them. If you are easily offended, then I’d suggest heading back to some other, less obscenity-laced website, like this one. You might not know it, but I have had an assful of the celebrity stalking and star fucking that goes on in this country. Every day on every radio and television station, there are segments talking about pop stars and actors and wannabe actors and no-talent hacks and who’s married to whom and who’s diddling whom and who got arrested for what and who is which starlette’s baby daddy, etc. Enough. The simple fact is that it’s all envy, pure and simple. People demand access to celebrities and athlete’s private lives and private moments because they can’t live that way in their own lives. These are the same people that will bitch about Michael Vick or Roger Clemens making 15 million a year “just to throw and / or hit a baseball” and how “no actor is worth 25 million a movie. Yet people still watch and listen. Shit, entertainment tonight’s been on so long that I bet Mary Hart no longer even has a working vagina, yet people still watch, just waiting to hear that new morsel about Bennifer or Brangelina or whomever else is in the news, like Kenne Cheswigger and Chenise Risheen and others. But there is an exception to my rant about the media and the people doing this. And that exception is the clusterfuck that is the marriage of Britney Spears and Kevin Federline. These two media whores couldn’t get enough attention if the government added a 25th hour to every day to extend the non-stop coverage of their pathetic, drug-haze, DFACS needing existence. I don’t think Britney or that turkey buzzard she married leave the house without thinking of some way to get their name/picture/image/film snippet into the daily celebrity stalker news reels. Just look at the last few months and years. There was Britney’s repossession of meth-head’s ferarri, the baby in the lap fiasco, Britney’s Hindu ceremony (including media), Federcletus’ new Popozao single which stands to be the most mocked arrangement in the history of man, and I won’t even go into their coon-ass, white-trash courtship and wedding or the subsequent breeding. Anyway, last week the Grammy Awards were aired. I know it’s not the Oscars and that some of the folks attending don’t hold it in the same regard as other awards shows, but it’s still the Grammys, and she has actually won one of the awards, so she should respect the event a little. Anyway, here’s what she and Cletus wore to the event:
And now for Britney. For the first time in a while, she’s dressed better than a homeless crackhead visiting a swap-meet or some single mom cruising the local mini-mart for a latte and a pack of Newports. Oh, except for this little thing: Hey Britney, you know-nothing nearly talentless whore!! Your fucking nipple is hanging out!! I mean, is she so desperate for attention this week that now it’s an “accidental nip slip?” What’s next? Some paperazzi stumbling upon Britney giving herself a Brazillian in the snack chip aisle at the local Super Walmart? “Oh gosh fellas. I didn’t expect to see YOU here. What am I doing? Hey, why can’t you guys just leave me and my family alone? We’re just regular people like you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish waxing my taint for my loser-ass husband who’s in Vegas blowing my money like it’s going out of style and fucking hookers and crack whores alike. And I left my beloved child locked in the car outside, and I don’t want his brain to melt. Bodyguards, confiscate everything but the film they’ve already shot, act surly, and then demand that I be given the space I need to see if they have anymore addidas track suits here, along with some horribly out of stle Ug boots. Oh, and get me some fruit roll ups too…” This child has no shot of being remotely normal. Zero. Shit, I bet Francis Bean Cobain is more likely to become the President of the United States of America than this kid is to even know how to read or write. But know this, little Shaun Preston will most assuredly be able to speak wigger. So that’s it. Much like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and most of the rest of the local 96Rock playlist, I have had a lifetime ass-full of these inbred turds and I will tolerate it no longer. I will change channels, stations, and grocery aisles and do anything else I have to do to avoid them any longer. Oh, and I can’t wait for the impending bungled murder / suicide that should happen within the next three years. I’ll watch and read about that. Thanks for reading everyone. Have a great Tuesday. Search 
 |
What say you?