MIAMI (CBSMiami/AP) — The ringleader of a Russian-mob involved in the Miami Beach “B-Girl” scam has been sentenced to three years in federal prison. A Miami judge on Friday agreed that 46-year-old Alec Simchuk deserved credit for voluntarily returning from Russia, pleading guilty and testifying against others. Simchuk, formerly of Hallandale Beach, came to the U.S. Even though Russian thugs broke one of his legs in a bid to stop him from cooperating. The scam involved attractive Russian and Eastern European women who trolled South Beach hotels, such as the Delano, Clevelander and others along Ocean Drive in order to lure the men to seedy after-hours private clubs. 4.1/10 591 votes 2009 PG-13. Directed by Emily Dell. With Julie 'Jules' Urich, Missy Yager, Wesley Jonathan, Drew Sidora. A story about a female breakdancer overcoming a brutal attack to claim. Once in the private clubs, the women plied the male visitors with liquor to get them drunk and then charged huge amounts on their credit cards. Total losses were in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. In Simchuk’s plea agreement, he admitted that his organization ran up bogus bills for booze, wine and champagne on the credit cards of bedazzled male tourists, prosecutors said. In total, the B-Girls, who received 20 percent commissions for bringing in customers, ripped off about 90 patrons, mostly tourists or businessmen with telltale signs of wealth, such as expensive watches or shoes, authorities said. Most of the 19 people charged in the scam have been convicted. (TM and © Copyright 2013 CBS Radio Inc. And its relevant subsidiaries. CBS RADIO and EYE Logo TM and Copyright 2013 CBS Broadcasting Inc. Used under license. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed. The Associated Press contributed to this report.). Contents • • • • Plot [ ] In, Angel is a who lives with her mother Gabby. Her abusive boyfriend Hector won't accept that she wants to break up. One night Angel and her best friend Rosie trade hats and jackets and Hector fatally stabs Rosie thinking she is Angel. When he realizes his mistake he stabs Angel too. After many weeks of recovery, Angel wants to breakdance again but is having difficulty. Gabby moves with Angel to Los Angeles to live with Angel's grandmother, where she believes Angel will be safe. Angel gets a night job at a car rental company and goes to college during the day. She also joins a group of breakdancers who need a sixth member to compete. Cast [ ] • Julie Urich as Angel • Missy Yager as Gabby • as Carlos • as Righteous • as Rosie • as Hector • Richard Yniguez as Father Rivera • as Crescencia • Oren Michaeli as Tejon • Jonathan Perez as Rico • Keith Stallworth as Junior • Richard Steelo Vasquez as Silas • as Trece • as Professor Leasing • as Dr. Volchek • Josue Figueroa as Beast • Bunnie Rivera as Maria References [ ]. November 1, 2010. Retrieved January 17, 2012. • Calhoun, Bob.. Archived from on September 19, 2011. Retrieved January 17, 2012. February 18, 2010. Retrieved January 17, 2012. October 4, 2009. Retrieved January 17, 2012. January 26, 2010. Retrieved January 17, 2012. November 3, 2009. Archived from on August 12, 2011. Retrieved January 17, 2012. Archived from on September 29, 2011. Retrieved 2012-12-07. October 14, 2009. Retrieved January 17, 2012. External links [ ] • • on • on • at •.
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I've read a number of different threads now where the discussion has turned to the Kill Ratio of destroyed German fighters. Virtually everyone is agreeing that the. Specifically and most often used as a comparator in aerial combat, where it is known as a kill-ratio. For example, during the Korean War. Teenage bellhop Produced. Production executive. Executive producer. Executive producer. Executive producer. Executive producer. Executive producer. Executive producer Music by Cinematography by Film Editing by Casting By Production Design by Makeup Department. Key hair stylist. Assistant makeup artist. Assistant makeup artist. Makeup artist Production Management. Production manager Second Unit Director or Assistant Director. Second assistant director. Second unit director. Third assistant director. First assistant director Art Department. Art department assistant Sound Department. Boom operator Visual Effects. Visual effects supervisor Stunts. Stunt performer. Stunt coordinator. Stunt double: Amy Huberman. Stunt double: Brian McGuinness / stunt performer. Fight choreographer / stunt double: Nick Dunning / stunt performer Camera and Electrical Department. Digital imaging technician. Focus puller. 2nd camera operator. Still photographer Costume and Wardrobe Department. Costume assistant. Costume assistant. Costume assistant. Costume assistant Editorial Department. On-line editor. Assistant editor Music Department. Arrangements and programming. Music scoring mixer. Composer: additional music Transportation Department. Unit driver Other crew. Script supervisor. Assistant to producers. Production accountant. Production coordinator. On set medic. Crime The movie follows the life of Chicago burglar Kaspar Karr. Kaspar cases and robs stores. He counts up his score and a small interview follows where Kaspar introduces himself. He shows his. See full summary ». Oct 29, 2007. Street Thief is a film that will leave you with many lingering questions. Is the story real or fake? What happened to Kaspar Karr? Why is 'Karr' spelled with a 'K' in the film, but with a 'C' on the DVD cover and all of the advertising? Did a proofreader fall asleep on the job? All good questions. Unfortunately I am. About the Movie Two documentary filmmakers embarked on a journey to peer into the daily lives of ordinary career criminals. What they didn’t expect was to end up spending a year in the life of Kaspar Carr. A reclusive man, whose skills have made him one of Chicago’s most prolific and elusive burglars. It is ultimately Carr who draws them into his world in a way they never expected. Borrowing from the traditions of film noir and cinema verite, “Street Thief” creates a new, exhilarating genre of filmmaking; tapping into our voyeuristic obsession with crime, and questioning the very nature of documentary filmmaking. A pair of filmmakers spend several weeks getting inside the mind of a master thief in this mock documentary from first-time directors Malik Bader and Miles Harrison. Kaspar Carr is a professional burglar who lives and works in Chicago. Carr loves his job and is good at it, and two documentary filmmakers are granted access to his private world when he agrees to let them make a film about him. The sharp-tongued and strongly opinionated Carr proves to be a fascinating subject as he discusses his philosophy, his working methods, and his feelings about his victims. However, the documentarians are goaded to move to the next level when Carr invites them to tag along as he pulls a few jobs, and they find themselves not merely documenting the actions of a thief but taking part in his life of crime. When Carr disappears during a robbery of a movie theater, the film crew is left wondering what to do and what has become of their protagonist. Deliberately blurring the line between truth and fiction, Street Thief's co-director Malik Bader also stars as Kaspar Carr. Beginning of a short life On November 23, 1859, Henry McCarty was born in New York City but moved to Kansas with his family when he was very young. His father died soon after the move and his mother remarried and moved west to New Mexico. Henry took his stepfather's name, Antrim, and eventually changed his name to William H. There are very few facts about Bonney's career that can be verified. His problems with the law began at age fifteen, when he was thrown in jail for theft in Silver City, New Mexico. After escaping to Arizona, he shot and killed an older man who had bullied him into a fight. Bonney then fled back to New Mexico. Reputation grows Back in New Mexico, Bonney became involved in the Lincoln County War (1878–79), a violent struggle between rival groups of cattle ranchers and merchants. He proved to be a fearless fighter and an excellent shot. However, two of those shots ended up killing Sheriff James Brady and a deputy. On this day in History, Billy the Kid is shot to death on Jul 14, 1881. Learn more about what happened today on History. Nov 22, 2017. Billy the Kid, byname of William H. Bonney, Jr., original name Henry McCarty?, (born November 23, 1859/60, New York, New York, U.S.—died July 14, 1881, Fort Sumner, New Mexico), one of the most notorious gunfighters of the American West, reputed to have killed at least 27 men before being gunned. As a result, Bonney was wanted for murder. 'His equal for sheer inborn savagery,' wrote journalist Emerson Hough, 'has never lived.' Such statements sent Bonney's reputation soaring and won him the nickname Billy the Kid. Billy struck a deal with Territorial Governor Lew Wallace. He agreed to testify against other murderers in return for having the charges against him dropped. However, after gaining his freedom, Billy returned to his criminal ways. He led several other men in stealing cattle from some Texas ranchers. Wallace then ordered him arrested. Sheriff Pat Garrett soon took the Kid into custody. A judge told Billy that 'You are sentenced to be hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead, dead!' Billy the Kid's reply was 'And you can go to hell, hell, hell!' A violent end Billy the Kid was somehow able to overpower and kill his jail guard, shoot another deputy, and escape. This time the lawmen would take no chances. In July 1881 Sheriff Garrett and his posse (a group of men organized by the sheriff to assist him) trapped Billy at a house in Fort Sumner, New Mexico. They ambushed him in a dark room and shot him to death. The next day he was buried in a borrowed white shirt that was too large for his slim body. Admirers scraped together $208 for a gravestone, which was later broken into pieces and stolen by souvenir hunters. Billy had lived exactly twenty-one years, seven months, and twenty-one days. Over the years, the legend of Billy the Kid grew as a result of several books and movies made about his life, many of which exaggerated. I have read quite a few accounts of William Bonney, and although none of them perfectly match i have come to the conclusion that the actual proofs of any facts are very few, there are what they say are facts that Billy may have killed four men two of them being a sheriff and a deputy, who is alleged to have been controlled by the alleged territorial boss of Lincoln county. Although Billy was involved in the ambush of the sheriff and deputy,where are the facts that he actually killed them? The story being that Billy had stolen some Cheese because he was hungry is a story that could be told of millions of youngsters, especially among those who are to proud to beg. Also it is only speculation that Billy run with the Gang stealing Chisholm cattle, and even if true it could have only been for a very short time, as from the time the conflict started in 1876 to the time Pat Garrett was elected sheriff was four years, where would billy have had time to do all of the stuff he was accused of when the war lasted during most of his known history? Also, no evidence that Billy was the leader of anything, his friends say that he was easy going, easy to get along with but good with a gun. I have also noticed that the only picture of him to my knowledge show him carrying a rifle not a six shooter. To sum this up at least in my mind is that Billy along with just a very few others were the only one that stuck with their employer, Tunstal after he was murdered by the Jessie Evans gang who were deputized by sheriff Brady. Was Billy the kid an outlaw, well i think any man will be called an outlaw by some people depending on which side of any disagreement they happen to be on, in this case the Murphy- Dolan factor happen to have control of both the political and the economic sides of the issue. Billy Bonney refused to let the issue be dropped because he thought that Murphy and Dolan should pay for the murder of John Tunstal so he was declared an out law. Billy the Kid was given a big reputation by pat Garrett for the purpose of Glorifying himself. Yeah right, Billy the Kid was the greatest gunman that ever lived, but i beat him. Most of the story of the Lincoln county war is pretty much how most western movies start out, first the big man of the town who will do any thing to keep his monopoly, including murder. The only odd ones in the story here are John Chisum, and Pat Garrett, Chisum who was on the same side as Tunstall but did not get involved in any of the battle and Garrett who was not involved untill after it was all over and went after Billy the Kid. Billy the kid being one of the few decent ones in the whole dammed story. — More than a century after Billy the Kid’s heyday, the Old West outlaw is still stirring up trouble. But this time, the showdown pits mayors against sheriffs, and forensic science against the uncertainties of the grave. Could DNA testing resolve once and for all who lies buried beneath the Kid’s New Mexico headstone, or would it merely cast fresh doubt on a 122-year-old legend? At first blush, the saga sounds like a straightforward detective story: Tradition says that Billy the Kid (a.k.a. Bonney, Henry McCarty, Kid Antrim) was killed by Sheriff Pat Garrett back in 1881 and buried in Fort Sumner, N.M. But in 1950, a Texas man named “Brushy Bill” Roberts claimed that he was the real Billy the Kid and that someone else had been shot in his place. He said he had lived incognito for decades but was finally seeking pardon for his crimes. Roberts died later that year, and is now buried in Hamilton, Texas. As if that weren’t complicated enough, there was yet another claimant to the infamous name: John Miller, who died in 1937 and is buried in Prescott, Ariz. So which story is correct? Back in June, two New Mexico sheriffs and the mayor of Capitan, N.M., proposed a 21st-century solution: Exhume the remains from all three gravesites, and match the DNA against a sample taken from the body of Billy the Kid’s mother, Catherine Antrim, who is buried in Silver City, N.M. The results would confirm one of the stories, or at least disprove the impostors’ claims. “This part of our history is something that we need to prove and stand on,” said Gary Graves, the sheriff of De Baca County, which encompasses Fort Sumner. “Other people in other states have done this with Jesse James. They want to prove their history. And if history has to change, so be it.” But it turns out that the mystery of Billy the Kid isn’t that simple: Rather, it touches upon the twists and turns of Old West history as well as the politics and economics of the New West. Graves, along with Lincoln County Sheriff Tom Sullivan and Capitan Mayor Steve Sederwall, has petitioned New Mexico’s 6th District Court for an injunction allowing them to exhume Catherine Antrim’s remains and extract a tissue sample for DNA testing. They say the only reputed heir of Billy the Kid, self-proclaimed great-grandson Elbert Garcia, supports the request. Graves has even opened an official homicide investigation file on the death of Billy the Kid (case No. 03-06-136-01, “opened 6/7/03”). But the mayors of Fort Sumner and Silver City say they won’t let the bodies buried in their towns be disturbed, and that sets the stage for a legal showdown this winter in New Mexico’s 6th District Court. One hearing, scheduled in December, is to determine whether Silver City’s mayor has legal standing in the matter of Catherine Antrim’s remains, said Sherry Tippett, the attorney representing Graves and his fellow petitioners. The key hearing on the exhumation is due in January. Both sides say they’ll appeal if the court rulings don’t go their way. “We’ll go as far as we can go with it,” Fort Sumner Mayor Raymond Lopez told MSNBC.com. “I’ve got attorneys coming out of the woodwork on a pro bono basis.” Politics and the kid Why wouldn’t Lopez and his counterpart in Silver City, Terry Fortenberry, want to have the tests done, particularly if the results could well back the mainstream view that Billy the Kid was indeed killed and buried in their locale? That’s what De Baca County Sheriff Graves, who works in Fort Sumner, is wondering. “This is a very, very hot issue, in which New Mexico is losing a lot of tax dollars, tourist income,” the sheriff said. “Why are we throwing it away? You take a small town such as Fort Sumner — we are very, very, very dependent upon our tourism base.” By solidifying its claim on the Billy the Kid story, Fort Sumner and New Mexico could give their tourism trade a boost, Graves said. That angle is one reason why New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson supports the use of DNA analysis to solve the mystery. “We want to get to the bottom of it,” Richardson said in a “And if it means New Mexico gets a little attention, so be it. I’m the governor, I want to see promotion, I want to see tourism go up. I want to see people fascinated by Billy the Kid. And that means a fascination with New Mexico.” Lopez and other opponents of the testing, however, say there’s more to be lost than to be gained. “This is an industry for us,” Lopez said. “It’s no different from Intel, or Sandia Labs, or Kirtland Air Force Base. It’s that big for us. We don’t have much to live off of other than the legend, so we have to protect it.” Science and the kid Theoretically, DNA testing could indeed show which individuals are related to each other, and which are not, all on the basis of samples taken from remains. The tests proposed for Antrim and her purported progeny would analyze mitochondrial DNA, which is passed down virtually intact from a mother to her children. If you can assume that the samples were collected from the right remains, today’s genetic tools could identify even century-old remains, as they did in the case of Russia’s last czar and his family. The problem is, how do you know that you’ve got the right remains? “I have no problem with the DNA bit,” said El Paso historian Leon Metz, who wrote a biography of Sheriff Pat Garrett. “The only thing that worries me is that I have been to Catherine’s grave, and she has a nice marker on her grave, and I assume that’s her grave — but is it?”. Over the decades, remains have been moved and gravestones have been shuffled to such an extent that it’s not crystal-clear that Antrim is buried precisely where her markers now stands. Metz said the same goes for Billy the Kid: “We know where the stone is, but we don’t know if he’s under it.” So what happens if the wrong remains are retrieved and tested? “Guess what happens?” Fort Sumner Mayor Lopez asked. “Sixty miles from Fort Sumner, someone else is going to say, ‘Well, Billy the Kid was buried here.’ And 60 miles from there, someone will say, ‘He’s buried here.’. There’s nothing good that can come out of this.” Lopez said he’s already satisfied with the evidence backing Fort Sumner’s claim, and contends that most of the town is with him on this: “If anybody else wants to say they have Billy the Kid, that’s fine — let them prove it.” The mayor has complained that Sheriff Graves was wasting public resources on a publicity stunt for other personal gain. But Graves said he’s not making a dime on the venture, and insisted that no public funds were being used. “Every dollar that has been spent on this has been either private money or out of our own pocket,” he said. The sheriff said there was too much at stake not to do the testing. “I don’t believe that we’re the only town in the world, and the world is very interested in this,” he said. “People want the truth, people don’t want a lie. If Billy the Kid is not here, they want to know that.” History and the kid The DNA controversy does indeed go beyond De Baca County, N.M.: A grass-roots group called the is helping to organize opposition to the exhumations. “We get e-mail almost every day: people from Brazil, Argentina, throughout the United States,” Trisha Saunders, one of the group’s co-founders, told MSNBC.com. “They all say the same thing: We come to see gravesites that are undisturbed, we don’t want to see sites that are pulled apart.” Saunders, who lives in Seattle, said she became involved in the controversy because she was enthralled by the unspoiled charms of the Old West and worried that the campaign to dig up the old cemeteries would backfire. “We’ve really only heard the tourism/boosterism aspects of this whole procedure,” She said. “The consequences will be really severe. I think, rather than having a positive effect on tourism there, it’s having just the opposite: It’s really devastating the economy of those small towns, and really cheapening the historical authenticity of those small villages and cemeteries.” Graves sees it differently: “When we’re dead and gone, all that’s left is a shell,” he said. “I believe if Miss Antrim were alive, she would state, ‘I’ll gladly donate my DNA because I want you to prove that that is my son.’” But lacking a pronouncement from the grave, the showdown over Billy the Kid won’t be over soon. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. “However it comes out, it keeps the legend alive,” Metz said. © 2013 msnbc.com. $147 worth of digital books Get ebooks collectively valued at up to $147. Pay what you want Name your price of $1 or more and increase your contribution to upgrade your bundle. DRM-free Download these ebooks onto your favorite reading device to peruse anywhere, anytime. Multi-format These books come in PDF, ePUB, and MOBI file types to support many devices, including Kindle, iPad, Kobo, and Nook. Support charity Choose exactly how your purchase is divided between the creators, charity, or even the Humble tip jar. Bundles sold. Welcome to the official Dungeons Website! Dungeons Copyright © 2017 Kalypso Media Group GmbH. All rights reserved. Dungeons & Dragons (abbreviated as D&D or DnD) is a role-playing game (RPG) in a fantasy setting originally designed by Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson, and first. The Paperback of the Dungeons amp; Dragons 5th Edition (2017 Edition): Questions and Answers by George A Duckett at Barnes & Noble. FREE Shipping on. Major Changes (incl. Many evil multiplayerchanges!) • Multiplayer deathmatch available. Enter enemy dungeons and destroy their dungeon hearts. • New skirmish map 'Sandbox'. Create the dungeon of your dreams! • New game mode 'Sandbox'. Spawn enemy heroes yourself! • Quickslotbar added. You can now set troops, spells, traps, rooms, etc. For quick reusability • Multiplayer teams. Play 2vs2 or 3vs1? • New 'Show duel during play' option in multiplayer menu. Notfies you, when someone is ready for a duel while playing the game normally! • Multiplayer game announcements. Also coop game announcements! • F3 now picks all idle creatures, F4 picks a random snot • Your snots now fetch boni and potions to your treasuries • New option for no camera movement over world map • Performance improvements. Balancing and campaign improvements • Rebalanced Gob-O-Bot (less damage) • Rebalanced Vampire (More life, improved life stealing) • Rebalanced Pit Fiend (Reduced Skill cooldown, Skill now dows piercing damage) • Cannon towers now do proper area damage! • Minor fixes for map 'Prince of Hell' • Minor fixes for map 'The Titan of Alphaas' • Minor fixes for map 'Two Sides of a Medal' • Minor fixes for map 'The Crossing' • Minor fixes for map 'The End of Yaina Overproud' • Minor fixes for map 'The Shadow of Absolute Evil' • Fixes in map 'Everything has and end.' • Fixed Shadow getting stuck in a small area of map 'The Shadow of the Absolute Evil' • No more spiders in tutorial mission 'Dungeons for Advanced Students'. Feature List • The dungeon manager you’ve been waiting for: Dungeons 3 is the biggest, best, and evil-est dungeon sim yet, topped off with a fully reworked overworld RTS mode. • Under new management: Command the united forces of evil under the guidance of new character Thalya and lead them to victory. • Size does matter: Extensive single player campaign with 20 missions and more than 20 hours of playtime, randomly generated levels, a brand new co-op mode for two players, more rooms, and more unique abilities. • Speak (no) evil: The fan-favourite Dungeons narrator is back with his unmistakable voice, continuing the Dungeons legacy in the best way possible. About This Game Through enticing the dark elf priestess Thalya from the fluffy clutches of the surface world to become his chief lieutenant, the Dungeon Lord has found a way to direct his campaign of conquest from the confines of his underground lair. With Thalya on the front line, and the united forces of evil to support her, players will have to use every trick in the book to best those do-gooders of the overworld, once and for all! Unleash your dark side by creating a unique underground dungeon from a huge array of rooms, traps and structures. Raise the most terrifying army the world has ever seen, by choosing from despicable creatures such as orcs, succubae, zombies and much, much more. Then, once you have built your forces, emerge from the darkness and guide your army to the light of the overworld, where you will corrupt the land and dispatch anything even vaguely heroic, cute or unicorn-shaped. And in a first for the Dungeons series, experience randomly generated levels, so that no two sessions are alike – never-ending fun for any evil conqueror! Oct 1, 2017 - 78 minWatch The Adventures Of Panda Warrior online. How many of these shitty panda movies are there? Just looking at this DVD cover is highly unpleasant. In terms of visuals, it's worse than the Video Brinquedo bootleg. I have so many questions. What the hell are those characters? Why does the pig have conical fleshy appendages growing. Watch The Adventures of Panda Warrior Cartoon Online Full Movie on KissCartoon in high quality. The Adventures of Panda Warrior Full Movie Free cartoons online. In the Americanized version Rob Schneider voices Patrick, the panda lead. (Schneider was also the voice of the titular character in Lionsgate’s Norm of the North, released theatrically last January.) Other voices including Haylie Duff, Norm MacDonald, Lauren Elizabeth, and Spongebob’s voice Tom Kenny. Here’s the synopsis: When Patrick (Schneider), a peaceful soldier from ancient China, is magically transported to Merryland and turned into a Panda, he must join forces with Peggy the flying pig (Elizabeth), GoGo the daring goat (Duff), and King Leo the courageous lion (MacDonald) in order to free the once-peaceful world from the tyranny of the evil nine-headed snake that has enslaved them. London has Fallen doesn't seek to lead the audience up the garden path. It very obviously advertises itself as destructive action with a simple good guy bad guy message, a dollop of patriotism and a little smaltz. Perfect rainy day feel good flick. Its neither cerebral nor nuanced. But then London has Fallen doesn't seek to lead the audience up the garden path. It very obviously advertises itself as destructive action with a simple good guy bad guy message, a dollop of patriotism and a little smaltz. Perfect rainy day feel good flick. Many of those who enjoyed Gerard Butler's disgraced Secret Service agent single-handedly saving president Aaron Eckhart's butt the first time will likely turn up to see him do it all over again. Far more than London Bridge falls down in London Has Fallen, the latest entry in the major world capitals. Enjoy London Has Fallen online with XFINITY®'s high-quality streaming anytime, anywhere. Watch your favorite movies with XFINITY® today! Mar 03, 2016 Watch video While not as strong as its predecessor, London Has Fallen offers even more brainless action. Dec 30, 2017 London Has Fallen summary of box office results, charts and release information and related links. Feb 02, 2016 The upcoming release of the action movie 'London Has Fallen' is irresponsible at this time of heightened fears about terrorism, Lewis Beale says. Its neither cerebral nor nuanced. But then again neither are the mass of negative reviewers. What did they expect? Did they watch the trailer? Who goes to a movie knowing they won't enjoy it? Whats wrong with some people? Our President (Aaron Eckhart) travels to London for a state funeral with his star Secret Service guard (Gerard Butler). After a massive (and impressively rendered) terrorist attack on the city's major landmarks they're on their own to escape the culprits. Check your mind at the door and just Our President (Aaron Eckhart) travels to London for a state funeral with his star Secret Service guard (Gerard Butler). After a massive (and impressively rendered) terrorist attack on the city's major landmarks they're on their own to escape the culprits. Check your mind at the door and just enjoy an almost non-stop string of well-staged action encounters. Even though plausibility is in short supply and predictability abounds, Butler's seemingly superhuman ability and gung ho attitude power thru the ridiculous odds. It rips along with few pauses for drama and an boundless body count. Action movies, regardless of their explicit intent or savage coincidences, always tend to be a blend of entertainment, and implicitly, a political mine-field waiting to be criticized for its portrayal of the bad guys. Bad guys, no matter how hard you try to justify them, are always the main Action movies, regardless of their explicit intent or savage coincidences, always tend to be a blend of entertainment, and implicitly, a political mine-field waiting to be criticized for its portrayal of the bad guys. Bad guys, no matter how hard you try to justify them, are always the main concern and heavily scrutinized subject of many critics and talks within action movies. Now, after 2013’s obsession with White House abduction movies, White House Down and the original Olympus Has Fallen, which spawned our currently reviewed London Has Fallen, its hard not to be political when the main players in the film are today’s world leaders. In 2013, London’s predecessor Olympus Has Fallen showed a very political situation of a North Korean terrorist trying to unify Korea by capturing the American President, and using it as leverage to remove American opposition in North Korea for a South Korean invasion. While London Has Fallen does not have as much of a very intellectual plot as its original, one thing is for sure, the action, language and kick-ass Mike Banning (Gerard Butler) are amped up to mirror signature John McClane moments, but never ever quite passes them. London Has Fallen is a less thought-out actioner, yet, the film tries to out-do its predecessor’s actions, with a smaller budget, which never boasts well for action movies. Usually, when studios give a smaller budget to sequels, their faith in the subject matter is not very convincing. Yet, London Has Fallen is a more aggressive, solid action film that Olympus on many levels, and perhaps thats because of the cast and crew’s fun with the material, rather than a serious tone found in the first film. Rugged with grit and braun, London Has Fallen is easily a fun and mindless action movie for die-hard action movie fans, as well as passive fanfare for casual action fans to the genre as well. Filled with ridiculous one-liners, sometimes really animated and disgraceful action special effects and some serious contemplative moments of justification and reveal, London Has Fallen is the perfect post-Oscar action movie to cozy up to for the month of March. As mentioned above, Olympus was a much more plot-heavy and politically savvy action film, while London is nothing short of a revenge film. But who is to say revenge films are bad? Anyone remember Kill Bill or Mad Max: Fury Road? The baddie this time, Aamir Barkawi (Alon Aboutboul) is a arms-dealing terrorist, arming any nation or any one body, with deep enough pockets, with weapons that could take out some of the world largest and longest standing national landmarks. When his dealings get him directly entangled with the interests of the United States, the United States military orders a drone strike attack on Aamir and his family. Of course, to amp up the melodrama and emotions, despite all of the intelligence of the United States government, the day of the strike is the same day as Aamir’s youngest daughter’s wedding. Barely escaping the bombing of the United States, Aamir and his son Kamran Barkawi (Waleed Zuaiter) spend two long, hard year, devising a plan that will get their revenge and debt in blood. Upon the news of the sudden death of the British Prime Minister, President Benjamin Asher (Aaron Eckhart) along with his top personal Secret Service Agent Banning, make their way to the UK for a highly publicized funeral for the former Prime Minister. Gathering some of the biggest leaders in the world, Barkawi’s plans being to unfold, trapping leaders, bombing landmarks and killing off thousands of people, including innocent civilians, in an attempt to capturing the leader of the free world, and globally broadcasting his execution. Banning, whose steps ahead of every nations top security outlets, goes above and beyond his duties, not informing a single soul of the President’s movements and plans. His quick decisions saves the President for as long as he can, until he in inevitably captured and planned to be publicly executed for fear propaganda. Some of the most interesting parts of London Has Fallen aren’t even within the scenes of the film, but facts surrounding the film as a whole make for one interesting little pop culture entry. Olympus, which was directed by American go-to action director Antoine Fuqua (Southpaw and The Equalizer) dropped out of the sequel, and was replaced, surprisingly by Iranian born filmmaker Babak Najafi, the man behind the Easy Money sequel and Berlin Film Festival darling Sebbe. What’s truly surprising with London is the studio’s confidence in an International director taking the reigns of a quite heavy Pro-America action film, one that has no problem showcasing the always tacky shots of the tattered American flag victoriously whisking in the wind over a sunrise or sunset. London Has Fallen tries to be bigger in scale and scope than it's predecessor, and because of that it contains scenes of destruction and exploding buildings containing really bad visual effects. I understand this isn't a big budget movie so it obviously not going to have the great effects, London Has Fallen tries to be bigger in scale and scope than it's predecessor, and because of that it contains scenes of destruction and exploding buildings containing really bad visual effects. I understand this isn't a big budget movie so it obviously not going to have the great effects, but if that's the case then why try use them when they're just going to be bad? Another one of the 'terrorist group declares war on the entire world and somehow is more powerful than the rest of the world's army combined' hollywood film, with zero respect for the viewer's intelligence. The film desperately wants to be taken seriously though, which is difficult Another one of the 'terrorist group declares war on the entire world and somehow is more powerful than the rest of the world's army combined' hollywood film, with zero respect for the viewer's intelligence. The film desperately wants to be taken seriously though, which is difficult considering what is going on in the laughable plot. There are plenty of cliches though so yay? Don't even watch this for free, there are better shows for your time. Oh and Morgan Freeman is in this film, but his character has zero personality. Thursday, March 3, 2016, 7:01 AM Title 'London Has Fallen' Film Info: With Gerard Butler, Aaron Eckhart, Morgan Freeman. Terrorists attack England. Good thing the U.S. Sent Gerard Butler. Director: Babak Najafi. R: Strong language, gory violence. Area theaters. Remember “Olympus Has Fallen”? This one is worse. In the sequel 'London Has Fallen,' Gerard Butler is once again Secret Service agent Mike Banning, sworn to protect President Ben Asher. Asher’s enemies laid waste to Washington, D.C. In the first film. This time, Asher decides to put the entire world in danger when he decides to attend a state funeral rather than just keep a low profile for a while. Sure enough, the angry survivor of an anti-terrorist drone attack (relevancy alert!) has a score to settle. And suddenly London erupts in explosions, assassinations and those cute little two-tone police sirens. Aaron Eckhart plays an enemy-collecting president in “London Has Fallen.” (Jack English/AP) Like the first movie, 'London Has Fallen' is basically a 9/11 revenge fantasy. Once again, Americans are attacked — and once again, we have a one-man Army (Butler) who doesn't just murder the enemy, but enjoys it. Unlike the first film — which was directed by Antoine “Training Day” Fuqua — the new one can’t keep track of the action. Director Babak Najafi’s only idea is to cram the screen with dozens of men in ski masks shooting at each other. Previews show Morgan Freeman taking charge, but really all he does in “London Has Fallen” is watch TV. (David Appleby/AP) There's no sense of who anyone is, or where, or even what's going on; the final, ludicrous battle has Banning telling some two-dozen hardened Special Forces guys to stand down while he goes into the terrorists' headquarters. Meanwhile, back at the White House, useless politicians are played feebly by Morgan Freeman, Melissa Leo, Jackie Earle Haley and Robert Forster. All they do is sit and shakily watch the whole thing unfold on a video feed. This image released by Focus Features shows Aaron Eckhart, left, and Gerard Butler in a scene from Grammercy Pictures', 'London Has Fallen.' (David Appleby/Grammercy Pictures/Focus Features via AP) (David Appleby/AP) It all ends eventually, but not before a lot of flagrant flag-waving and gratuitous sadism. At one point, Banning has a wounded terrorist on the ground. He digs a knife into his back and twists, slowly — holding a walkie-talkie close so the man's brother can hear the agonizing screams. 'Was that necessary?' The president asks. 'No,' the agent calmly answers. Kind of like this sequel. Arizona border vigilantes have been charged with intent to sell cocaine after they supposedly stole five kilograms of the substance from a fake drug cartel during an. Border Vigilantes is a 1941 American Western film directed by Derwin Abrahams and written by J. Benton Cheney. The film stars William Boyd, Russell Hayden, Andy Clyde, Frances Gifford, Victor Jory, Ethel Wales and Morris Ankrum. The film was released on April 18, 1941, by Paramount Pictures. Border Vigilantes was. I crawl out of the back of the pickup with my rifle in hand. “Keep your weapons nice and tight,” Captain Pain orders. I am traveling light. Unlike the others, I don’t view southern Arizona as a war zone, so I didn’t put steel plates in my chest rig. Next to everyone else’s commando-style AR-15s, my Ruger Mini-14 with a wood stock is slightly out of place. But everything else is square—I’m wearing a MultiCam uniform, desert tan combat boots, and a radio on my shoulder. I fit in just fine. We are in a Walmart parking lot in Nogales. Captain Pain and a couple of others go into the store to get supplies. In Pain’s absence, Showtime is our commanding officer. He is a Marine special-ops veteran who did three tours in Afghanistan. He has camo paint on his face and a yeti beard. He gets in the cab to check Facebook on his phone while Destroyer, Jaeger, Spartan, and I stand with our backs to the truck, rifles in hand, keeping watch for anything suspicious. The Mexican border is three miles away. “There you go,” Jaeger says, looking across the lot. “Camaro with rims.” His hands rest casually on the butt of his camouflage AR-15, which hangs over his chest from a three-point tactical sling. “You know every other Mexican has chrome rims on his car,” Destroyer says in a reasoned tone, suggesting that this particular ride might not belong to a drug cartel. He’s clutching the pistol grip of his AK-47, his trigger finger responsibly pointed down the receiver. “Last time we were here, [there was] a blacked-out car,” Spartan adds. “Big-ass rims on it. Bumping Mexican music. It cruised us twice. Slowly, too.” He spits out a sunflower seed. Library of Congress Destroyer nods toward the parking lot entrance. “Here comes the sheriff,” he says. A cop car is pulling into the lot. “He’s looking at us,” Jaeger says. “Of course he is,” Destroyer says. “Keep your hands out!” a man in a dress shirt suddenly yells from the row of cars across from us. “Police!” His hand is hovering over his sidearm. The guys I’m with hold their hands out at their sides. Their rifles dangle over their chests. I don’t have a tactical sling, so my rifle is still in my hand. “Put your weapon down!” another plainclothes cop shouts at me. I bend down slowly and put my rifle on the ground. The police approach us. “You guys hunters or what?”. “Militia,” Jaeger replies. “You guys have IDs?” I reach for mine. “Keep your hands out of your pocket, please!” one barks. Two cop cars pull up and three uniformed officers from the Nogales Police Department get out. “What are you guys doing down here exactly?” a cop asks. Her name tag reads “Hernandez” and she has short, spiky black hair. “We’re just being the eyes and ears of the Border Patrol, basically,” Jaeger says. “Somebody probably saw guys with long rifles and camouflage and thought, ‘Holy crap!' ” another officer says. “Scary-lookin’ bunch,” Destroyer says as he picks at his teeth in a slightly forced pose of calm. “Nah, you guys aren’t scary,” Officer Hernandez says. “I guess people just aren’t really used to seeing a group out practicing their right to bear their arms, and they freak out if they do. No worries.” She radios in our IDs and then asks how we ended up in Arizona. “Well, back in Colorado we are part of a patriot organization,” Jaeger says. “Three Percent United Patriots.” “So do you guys get like deployed and come for days at a time, or?” “Yeah,” Jaeger says. “Our CO has the final say in who comes and who doesn’t.” “It takes balls to do what you guys do out there,” Hernandez says. “Thank you.” She gives us back our IDs. The cops get in their cars and leave. Destroyer looks at me. “Is your camera rolling?” I am wearing a body cam on my chest rig. “Yeah,” I say. “Smart man,” he says approvingly. “You’re gonna have to post that,” Jaeger says. Ready for the Worst Captain Pain takes us back to the FOB—forward operating base—a one-hour drive down a rugged dirt road that winds over the Patagonia Mountains. Destroyer says that was the best interaction he’s ever had with cops. “Moral of the story: Come fully armed to a police encounter,” he says. Jaeger is surprised how friendly Officer Hernandez was, given her name. He points out that her hair was shorter than all of ours; Destroyer refers to her as “it.” “How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” he asks. One to screw it in and 19 to whine about how men should do it.” “How do you tell a Jew from a Slav?” Jaeger says. They’re both ashes. Hahaha!” Jaeger’s parents are German immigrants. He has dual citizenship, and he’s conspicuously proud of his heritage. Some guys call him a Nazi, neither approvingly nor disapprovingly, but in a boys-will-be-boys sort of way. The Operation Spring Break forward operating base Photo by Shane Bauer Spartan, who is a Transportation Security Administration agent, laughs along with the stream of jokes but doesn’t say much. Whatever emotions he has are stowed away behind wraparound shades, a thick red beard, and the Middle Eastern keffiyeh that’s often draped over his head. Stoicism is expected here, so the fact that I rarely speak doesn’t draw attention. I don’t lie to the guys, but I don’t tell them I’m a journalist either. I can tell them about my background in the militia movement: Before joining the Three Percent United Patriots (3UP) for this border operation, I trained with the California State Militia and the 31st Defense Legion across northern and central California. I learned marksmanship, land navigation, patrolling skills, rappelling, radio communication, code language, how to set up an FOB in a hostile situation, and how to hold defensive positions. Like the other guys, I adopt a call sign to protect my identity. In California, some knew me as Rattlesnake. Here, they call me Cali. Becoming a militia member began with opening a new Facebook account. I used my real name, but the only personal information I divulged on my profile was that I was married and that I had held jobs as a welder and a for the Corrections Corporation of America. A “Don’t Tread on Me” flag was my avatar. I found and “liked” militia pages: Three Percenter Nation, Patriotic Warriors, Arizona State Militia. Then Facebook generated endless suggestions of other militia pages, and I “liked” those too. To keep my page active, I shared other people’s posts: blogs about President Barack Obama trying to declare martial law, and threats of Syrians crossing the border. I posted memes about American flags and police lives mattering. Then I sent dozens of friend requests to people who belonged to militia-related Facebook groups. Some were suspicious of me: “Kinda have a veg profile, so I got to ask why you want to be my friend????” one messaged. Many, however, accepted my friend requests automatically. Within a couple of days, I had more than 100 friends, and virtually any militia member who looked at my page would likely find that we had at least one friend in common. Then I came across the Three Percent United Patriots’ private “Operation Spring Break” Facebook group. I requested access, and when it was granted I saw a post asking who was coming to the operation in April. I replied, “Yes.” The purpose of the operation wasn’t posted anywhere because it was understood implicitly—to catch illegal immigrants and drug smugglers. Eventually, the coordinates for the forward operating base inside Arizona’s San Rafael Ranch State Park were posted. No one asked me anything about myself. All I had to do was show up. The list of required equipment was extensive, including weapons, medical supplies, and body cameras. The idea was that video footage would disprove anyone making false accusations against the militiamen. I used my body cam to capture what I saw and heard. No one raised an eyebrow. The founder of the militia group I joined says its membership “exploded” after the Ferguson protests. Members of 3UP view their border operations as an opportunity to serve the nation while putting their training to the test and honing their skills for the battle to come. Like most militiamen, they believe societal collapse is imminent. There are many theories about what will make the “Shit Hit The Fan.” Some believe it will be economic collapse. It could be civil unrest provoked. It could be a natural disaster. It could be a government attempt to disarm gun owners and impose martial law. While many in the broader “patriot” movement prepare for that day to arrive, members of 3UP see themselves as men of action, sheepdogs in a nation of blind, ignorant sheep. As we approach the FOB on our way back from Walmart, Captain Pain radios in our arrival. This is protocol for anyone coming or going. Two men are patrolling the perimeter with AR-15s, and if we don’t announce ourselves, they might mistake us for bad guys. These are not the only security measures: I’m told there are motion sensors in the dry riverbed that flanks the base, men sometimes take positions on surrounding hilltops, and most meals are prepared with bacon grease or pork to keep would-be Muslim infiltrators at bay. The best way to understand America’s paramilitary movement is to go deep inside it. Help fund investigations like this with a to MoJo. Shane Bauer It’s midday and men are sitting around playing cards, staring at empty fire pits, and napping in their tents. More than 40 people have come here from Arizona, Colorado, Texas, Tennessee, Alabama, North Carolina, and other states. Almost all are white, but there are one or two Latinos. They are roofers, electricians, heavy-equipment operators, welders, a prison nurse, and a bounty hunter. Most of the men are militia infantry like me, but others have more specialized roles. Blackfin controls shortwave radio communications from a camper with a tall antenna sticking out of its roof and a generator humming at its side. A man from Oregon cooks breakfast and dinner under a large kitchen tent. The camp medic, Rogue, sits under the medical tent, staring into his cellphone. Some of the men grumble about a local TV news crew from Alabama that’s filming around the base and nearly foiled one of the nighttime ops by switching on a light near the border fence. A modified American flag hangs motionless from a gnarled mesquite tree, its canton of 50 stars replaced with a Roman numeral III surrounded by 13 stars. It’s the standard of the three percenters, symbolizing their foundational belief that just 3 percent of American colonists were responsible for overthrowing the British in the Revolutionary War, and that it will take 3 percent of today’s Americans to bring about the “restoration of the Founders’ Republic.” The idea originated in 2008 with, a former militia member and far-right-wing blogger who died in August. Vanderboegh said three percenters were “willing to fight, die and, if forced by any would-be oppressor, to kill” to defend the Constitution. The three percenter philosophy has quickly grown into a grassroots, national movement, part of a of right-wing militia activity following Obama’s election in 2008. An Amazon search turns up more than 4,000 results, ranging from baby clothes to iPhone cases with the three percenter logo. There are more than 300 three-percenter Facebook pages, websites, and discussion forums. The main 3UP Facebook group has more than 15,000 members, though the actual number of people who belong to active real-life “threeper” groups is difficult to estimate. Most meals are prepared with bacon grease or pork to keep would-be Muslim infiltrators at bay. A Marine veteran and IT manager from Colorado named Mike Morris, known here as Fifty Cal, felt that if threepers were going to restore the Constitution, they needed to be organized and well trained. In 2013, he founded 3UP and became its commanding officer. Membership “exploded” after the Ferguson protests, he says. He boasts that the 3UP’s Colorado branch, its largest, now has 3,400 members. We don’t see Fifty Cal much; mostly he stays holed up in a Kodiak trailer at the far end of camp, planning day and nighttime operations, consulting with officers, and watching war movies. This is the eighth and largest national border op he’s organized since 2014. He doesn’t think 3UP is going to stop drug smuggling or illegal immigration with these operations, but he feels they are a chance for patriots to serve their country. He doesn’t even think immigration is the main concern. The real problem is that America has become unrecognizable: The federal government has become tyrannical and the country’s customs and culture are being destroyed. “We lose more and more rights, more and more freedom, every day,” Fifty Cal told me when I called him after the border op. (I attempted to contact all the militia members mentioned in this article. A few agreed to talk on the record.) He said 3UP isn’t “all about guns and camo.” It has done relief work in response to the water crisis in, Michigan, and in Louisiana and South Carolina. It has donated food and clothes to veterans. “3UP itself is not necessarily a militia,” Fifty Cal told the site. “We are more like the close cousin of the militia, maybe militia evolved.” Fifty Cal steps out of his trailer and hacks a phlegmy smoker’s cough. A green and white Border Patrol SUV rolls into camp and a portly, smiling white man in a green uniform steps out. Fifty Cal is not smiling, and I am nervous. Most of the men sitting around the base aren’t carrying their rifles, but they are wearing sidearms. Fifty Cal runs his hand down his long, red goatee. His belly bulges through a black T-shirt that says “ISIS Hunting Permit” over an image of a skull. He drags on his cigarette, revealing his tattoo-sleeved arms. “What’s up, my friend?” the agent says. Fifty Cal opens his arms and the two embrace, slapping each other’s backs. Fifty Cal grins. “Good to see you, man,” he says. “How you been?”. John Bazemore/AP “Just trying to get by, man. You know how it is.” The agent’s name is Mike. Guys stand around and chat with him like old buddies. Mike tells us stories about drunk teenagers who have been overturning vehicles, and about Border Patrol motion sensors capturing pictures of an old man who hikes naked. Mike has worked in this area for 10 years, and the guys try to glean tips from him on how to spot Mexicans sneaking through the desert. Mike says he likes his job. “This is a combat deployment that I get to go home every day and sleep in my own bed. I get all the action, but I don’t have to go packing bags.” Fifty Cal and his executive officer, Ghost, walk with Mike over to his vehicle, where they talk for a while. After Mike leaves, Ghost marches through the camp. He walks like a drill sergeant and looks like a construction worker, his build sinewy and his skin deeply tanned. “Who took a picture of the Border Patrol agent?” he asks. People shake their heads. Someone says Sandstone had a camera out. Ghost goes to find him. “We don’t take photo ops with the Border Patrol,” one man says. Ghost comes off as an enforcer, but really he is a man of the people. While Fifty Cal sequesters himself in his trailer, Ghost sits around the fire with his men. He doesn’t say much about politics, but on his Facebook page he writes that Hillary Clinton is a “bitch” who “needs to hang from a tall tree until dead dead dead.” A lot of the guys don’t like either party. “Each of ’em is as corrupt as the other nowadays,” Fifty Cal says. Jaeger says he’ll be voting for Gary Johnson, the. Ghost, however, supports Donald Trump. He tells us he’s worried about the day when ISIS integrates with the cartels and starts hopping over the four-foot border fence just south of here. Until Trump is president, Ghost says, we are the wall. The guys just can’t believe how many Muslims there are in the country today. “Saudi fucking Aurora is what it is,” Captain Pain says of his hometown in Colorado. “We need to kill more of those motherfuckers. I never seen so many fucking towelheads stateside.” “I remember when the part of Aurora I lived in was just white people,” Jaeger says. Like Fifty Cal, Ghost laments how much the country is changing. People like him with an honest trade used to be comfortable. And he didn’t hear people complaining about white men all the time like they do now. Everyone’s become so uptight. It wasn’t like that when he was young, living in Los Angeles, cruising up Hollywood Boulevard with his buddies. “We’d fuck with the hookers,” hanging a $20 bill out the window and watching them chase the car. “Actually, there were some damn good-looking hookers compared to East Aurora. Big old fat nigger wandering around: ‘Come here, baby!' ” he shouts mockingly. Get the fuck back! There ain’t enough booze in the world, woman.” He lets the N-word slip sometimes, even though it seems to make some of the guys a little uncomfortable. Fifty Cal later told me that racism isn’t tolerated and that “We have removed and blocked folks that didn’t align with our ideals.” In its official communications, 3UP insists it is not a white supremacist organization. No one ever speaks up at this kind of language, though. To show offense would be to give in to political correctness, which is a step toward Big Brother mind control. On patrol with 3UP, looking for immigrants and drug smugglers Photo by Shane Bauer Ghost says America’s sense of history has gone down an “Orwellian memory hole.” Who remembers Randy Weaver anymore? Ghost was 25 years old in 1991, when Weaver, a member of the white supremacist Christian Identity movement who’d been charged with selling sawed-off shotguns, holed up with his family in their cabin in Ruby Ridge, Idaho, for 18 months. A shootout ensued, and a federal deputy and Weaver’s 13-year-old son were killed. During the 10-day that followed, an FBI sniper killed Weaver’s wife as she held their baby. Ghost is convinced that Weaver’s real crime was distrusting the government. To Ghost and other patriots, Ruby Ridge remains a sign that the government is willing to go to war against its citizens. A year after Ruby Ridge came the siege of the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas, where cultists had been stockpiling weapons and more than 1 million rounds of ammunition. The FBI eventually assaulted the compound, resulting in a that killed more than 70 men, women, and children. The rumor that the feds intentionally set the fire persists among far-right groups and conspiracy peddlers like Alex Jones. The 1994 federal assault weapons ban solidified patriots’ belief that Washington was making final preparations to turn America into a totalitarian state. By the, hundreds of paramilitary groups had formed across the country, styling themselves as “militias” to invoke the volunteers who’d fought in the American Revolution. The 1995 Oklahoma City bombing sparked a backlash against the anti-government extremism that had spawned Timothy McVeigh. The militia movement effectively went dormant following the election of George W. Bush in 2000. Then came the first black president. In the three years after Obama took office, the number of active militias in the United States increased, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center., there were more than 275 groups in at least 41 states. Stopgunviolence/YouTube The movement is bound together by a shared disdain for the federal government, but individual members’ motivations for joining can vary widely. “We all have different reasons to be here,” Captain Clyde Massengale of the California State Militia’s Delta Company told the new recruits at my first training. “Some might believe what is happening is something biblical right now. Some might believe it’s the New World Order. Some might believe the New World Order is making what is happening follow the Bible. Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares?” Come what may, the militia would be ready. When shit hit the fan, it would have a secret, fortified bugout location where we could bring our families. A new community might someday need to be built there. Massengale said that under his command, life in the bugout would be modeled after ancient Rome. Active, patched members of the California State Militia would be considered citizens, while lapsed members and outsiders would not. “We need worker bees,” he said. “You wanna come in? We’ll bring you in. You’ll be down in the field growing food, gathering wood. We’ll be the ones standing watch,” he said. Then he added in a loud whisper, “In the houses, not in the tents. Hahahaha!” I looked to the one black man in the group, a recruit who had family near the mass shooting in San Bernardino a week earlier. “I hate to tell you, but I’m in for the long count,” he told the captain. “So you’ll be seeing my black ass here every time.” The captain responded that in his experience, black people were always the best at learning and executing orders. “We need to see some more black asses, is what we need,” he said. Another man added, “We need diversity.” Walking the Line For the afternoon op, Ghost pairs me with Doc, a deep-voiced 55-year-old welder from North Carolina. We climb into Ghost’s truck, The Moose, and he asks me how much ammo I have on me. About 50 rounds, I tell him. “I’ll probably never need all that,” he says. “However, we get out there, say we catch a group of about six or seven going south—” He suddenly stiffens to strike a pose. Sandstone is taking a picture of us. Doc tells him to send it to him on Facebook. We drive in a three-truck convoy for about 45 minutes, down long dirt roads flanked by expanses of tall, dry grass and scattered mesquite trees. “Three hundred twenty-three dollars for a flight to Tucson and back,” Doc shouts to me as the wind whips our faces. “One hundred forty dollars for meals. The feeling that you’re doing something for everybody else in the country: priceless.” The mountains that shelter the base grow small in the distance. “Yee-haw!” Doc shouts. “Rock and roll!” When we pass through a near-empty border town, Doc points out a ranch. “These fuckers are in bed with the cartel if they don’t belong to it. You can kinda tell by just how trashy it is. It’s not well maintained. If they’re ranching, where’s all the fucking cattle?” The family is Latino. “They don’t like us at all,” Doc tells me. “You catch on fire, don’t expect us to piss on you to put you out.” I’ve heard mention of this ranch several times. Fifty Cal said that every time they come to Arizona, they sit on top of a nearby hill and watch the people coming and going from it. I ask Doc whether any of them have ever spoken to the rancher. “Nah, I never even seen him out myself.” Ghost drops Doc and me off on the road and tells us to patrol the ravine and look out from the ridge above for the next several hours. Doc says he’s glad I have a body camera, just in case. “What made you sign up?” I ask Doc as we walk along the high slope of the ravine. “I saw the way this country was headed,” he says. “I started giving up on the sheep. Sheep don’t wake up. They’re sheep. You ain’t gonna turn a sheep into a sheepdog. You can only find the sheepdogs that are out there.” He says everything changed for him after Obama was elected. “I see a time comin’ when there will be blue hats patrolling our streets.” He is referring to blue-helmeted UN troops. “‘Cuz he wants to make the world government. He wants to subject the US to international law and submissiveness. World government control. Just to make the US another satellite nation. Do away with sovereignty.” We sit in the shade of a tree. Doc leans against his backpack and rests the muzzle of his AR-15 on his knee, pointing straight ahead. He says he bought his first semi-automatic rifle once he realized what Obama was doing. “My goal was, as soon as the blue helmets hit the shore, to kiss my wife goodbye and do the best I can. I’d find the blue helmets and start killin’ ’em as fast as I can until they get me.”. “I worry every day that people who come into the militia will go out and do something,” one commander tells me. Lots of militiamen worry about a UN invasion, but Doc worries the invaders won’t actually be wearing blue helmets: They might be undercover. Take the earlier this year, when a bunch of armed patriots occupied the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in eastern Oregon to protest the federal government’s claim over public lands. Doc says there were police there with tactical gear and M4 rifles who wouldn’t tell people what agency they were with. “That ain’t the way this country works,” Doc says. “A law enforcement officer has to identify himself to you.” They might have been UN troops. Or they could have been cartel. When he first heard of the 3UP border operation, “I thought to myself, if I get a little bit of training, I might get more of them”—the blue helmets—”before they get me. Instead of getting 5 or 6, I might get 10 or 12. I’ve learned enough now that I might even get a couple dozen.” The militia movement walks a delicate line between stoking its members’ paranoid fears and fantasies of rebellion and holding them in check. I remember the probing looks of militia recruiters in California when they asked why I wanted to join them. At a hushed meeting in a San Rafael Starbucks, an officer from the 31st Defense Legion simply told me, “No crazies and no anarchists.” It didn’t seem that they were testing my politics so much as wondering, “How close are you to snapping? Can you keep it under control?” After the San Bernardino, the California State Militia expelled a man because he was posting the prayer times of a mosque. One of its officers warned me they’d told the FBI about a prospective recruit who said he wanted to assassinate Gov. I later asked Massengale if he worried that one of his men could snap. He replied, “I worry every day that people who come into the militia will go out and do something.” It’s as if many militia leaders know they are dealing with a pool of volatile white men, some of whom are convinced that society has screwed them and are at risk of exploding. For some, like Doc, the militia seems to rein them in by giving them a sense of purpose. Bo Rader/The Wichita Eagle via AP For others, the militia provides a justification for violent fantasies of insurrection. In 2010, a man in Idaho trained members of his militia to build bombs to fight off a communist invasion. The following year, the head of the Alaska Peacemakers Militia conspired to kill a judge and police officers. Also in 2011, members of a militia in Georgia planned to attack government buildings and random people with the deadly poison ricin, all to save the Constitution. In 2014, another group of Georgia militiamen planned to bomb federal facilities because they believed it would spark martial law and provoke a militia uprising. David Burgert, a Montana militia leader, shot at police officers shortly after being released from prison, where he’d served time for possessing illegal weapons as part of a conspiracy to assassinate cops and criminal justice officials to trigger a patriot revolution. He disappeared into the woods and remains at large. This October, three men belonging to a Kansas militia called the Crusaders were charged with for allegedly plotting to bomb Somali immigrants on the day after the election. And there was Forever Enduring, Always Ready (FEAR), a small Georgia militia consisting of active-duty soldiers who had served in Iraq and Afghanistan. In 2011, its leader, Isaac Aguigui, asphyxiated his pregnant wife to get her life insurance money. He then spent nearly $90,000 on guns and ammo for the. He intended to buy land for training militias in Washington state and to further fanciful plots such as poisoning the state’s apple supply, bombing a park, assassinating Obama, and ultimately overthrowing the government. When a teenage friend of Aguigui who was not a FEAR member heard about some of its plans, two militia members shot him and his girlfriend. Aguigui is now serving life in prison. “What are you doing down here?” the police officer asked. “Hunting Mexicans,” Yota replied. Doc walks down into the ravine and I walk along the ridge above it so that one of us can maintain radio contact with Ghost. When we meet back up, Doc looks at the yellowing horizon. “That’s a purty sunset,” he says. He suggests we trudge up the hill to get a good view. On the way, he points out a white desert flower, the distant mountains. The bottoms of the scattered clouds become a deep, fiery purple. “Oooooh baby!” Doc says. “Please can I get a shot of that?” He pulls out his flip phone and photographs the sunset, and we find a tree to sit under for the next couple of hours. We sit on opposite sides, taking turns scanning the horizon and the ravine with binoculars. It becomes cold and dark. Doc offers me a piece of an apple-cinnamon-flavored survival bar as a treat. He bites into his chunk. “You ain’t got to eat that if you don’t want to, now,” he says bashfully. “Drier than mama’s pound cake.” I eat the rest out of politeness, though it tastes like stale flour. A group of coyotes yips in the distance. “I got a little baby I want to bring out here and hold by the firelight,” Doc says. “I just don’t want all these other fuckers around while I’m doin’ it.” He says he wants to bring his daughter, too. “She’s a sweetheart of a girl.” He remembers that she once posted on Facebook that she would just like to lie in the back of a pickup and look at the stars. We sit there silently, staring up at the sky. Two hours later, Ghost picks us up. On the way back, our convoy stops suddenly. There is a stack of stones by the side of the road that Bull, a thick-necked bounty hunter from Alabama, is certain wasn’t there before. We pile out of the trucks. Rogue tells us this is how the cartels mark their drop-off points. Doc thinks he sees a light, but it turns out it’s his own flashlight reflecting off a road sign. Late one in August 2014, heavily armed 3UP members came upon three men on a ridge near this spot. The militiamen shouted to them in Spanish, ordering them to sit and wait. The men hid behind rocks and announced they were American citizens. They made their way back to their campsite and the militiamen followed. The Border Patrol showed up and found that the men were scientists who had been counting bats in a nearby cave. A 3UP member snaps a selfie by the border fence. Photo by Shane Bauer Back at the base, Captain Yota, a former Marine sniper with a long, sculpted beard, is amped up, and so is Rogue. They say the cartel rolled up on them while we were out. After they’d dropped us off, a teenage boy and girl, both Latino-looking with American accents, pulled up in a Honda and asked them for directions. “Are you boys the Minutemen?” Rogue recalls the boy asking. “Fuck no,” Rogue told him. “Isn’t this area run by such-and-such cartel?” Rogue recalls the boy saying. “We’re like, ‘We’re hoping we run into some of those fucks,'” Yota recounts. “‘We’re gonna shoot ’em in the face.' ” “You really see them out here?” the boy said. “That’s crazy! You boys got rifles? Can I take a picture?” Everyone agrees the boy was a cartel scout making a “soft contact.” The situation reminds Yota of getting pulled over by a Mexican American cop earlier today because his license plate was obscured with mud. “Who you with?” Yota says the officer asked him. “The militia,” Yota asked. “What are you doing down here?” the officer asked. “Hunting Mexicans.” In the morning, I pour some coffee into a tin cup and wander over to the fire pit. Rogue and Iceman are having a lively discussion. “My favorite is the one where the first stab goes under the clavicle,” Rogue is saying, “then in one of the lobes of the lungs so they can’t scream.” “My favorite is where you come up and grab ’em by the throat and insert the knife right there,” Iceman says. He points to the hollow at the bottom of his throat. “Then rip from the left and to the right.” “This one is two motions,” Rogue says. “A down stab and a side stab. You go down and puncture the lung, so they can’t build any compression to scream, and when you come across, you’re shooting behind the throat.” He demonstrates the quick two-step motion in the air—”Then you just hold ’em till they quit kicking.” “Another good one is just frickin’ reach up and just stab ’em in the back of the frickin’ brain stem,” Iceman says. “Eh, that’s harder than people think,” Rogue says skeptically. “You got a helmet on. You’re movin’.” Everyone sitting around the fire but me is from Colorado. I’ve been noticing that the Arizona guys huddle around a separate fire pit by the kitchen tent. They hold their own meetings and their own ops. Captain Yota says that when he was taking a piss in the woods, he heard one of the Arizona guys whining about how the Colorado guys don’t leave the base with battle buddies like they are supposed to. “I’m holding my dick, and I’m like, ‘What, motherfucker?' “Chickenshit bastards.” “Asshole,” Ghost says. “Pretty sure this will be the last op that we see the Arizona boys.” Ghost says some of the men from Arizona recently refused to follow his leadership. “Fuck no,” Yota says. “They’re ostracized. They want to do that bullshit? Mark Peterman Arizona and Colorado are by far the most represented states on the base. The Arizona guys, who run border ops year-round, feel that this is their turf. The 3UP leadership, however, is from Colorado. There might be a coup brewing. Why should Arizona report to Colorado? Should there even be a national leadership? Then there is the bigger question: how to unify the militia movement more broadly. 3UP has previously coordinated with Arizona Border Recon but does not currently do so. In these ever-tenuous militia alliances, leadership inevitably becomes a point of contention. A ranking officer of the California State Militia told me that breakaway factions could become foes. “They are a possible threat. We don’t know what their intentions are, but they know all of our strengths and weaknesses.” He was in the process of reaching out to the state’s myriad breakaway groups because someday his men might find themselves traipsing through another militia’s territory and he wanted to make sure they were recognized as allies, not enemies. Homegrown Soldiers Forty-one states have laws that prohibit or limit paramilitary training and unofficial military forces. Arizona Colorado’s prohibits training people to use guns to promote “civil disorder.” California two or more people from practicing with weapons as part of a group that teaches “guerrilla warfare or sabotage.” Yet, according to, a senior research fellow with the Anti-Defamation League’s, there isn’t a known case of these laws ever being enforced against private militias. It’s not as if evidence of paramilitary training is hard to find. A man in West Virginia posts videos on Facebook of strafing exercises he does with his militia using an actual combat helicopter. I emailed a militia in Texas that told me it practices ambush tactics, shooting blanks at each other. Pitcavage says anti-paramilitary laws are difficult to enforce because typically prosecutors need to prove that the training is intended to cause civil unrest. And there is an added concern among law enforcement that going after a group simply for training “could backfire and make them feel persecuted or victimized,” further radicalizing them. By calling themselves militias, paramilitary groups claim to be protected by the Constitution. “America has a rich history of the militia,” a California State Militia member told us at a training. “Men would get together in their local community and organize and say, ‘Hey, I’m here for you. You’re here for me. If something happens over at your farm, we ring the bell in town. Everybody comes. And we protect each other.' ” Militias and the Law Forty-one states have laws that limit or prohibit private military groups or paramilitary training. However, there is no record of these laws being invoked against patriot militias.. Yet this historical depiction is a “fantasy,” says Pitcavage. While today’s militia movement is made up of grassroots groups with the self-proclaimed mission of protecting the country against a tyrannical federal government, the militias enshrined in the Constitution were heavily regulated, top-down organizations. Militias were originally a creation of the colonial leadership, and participation was mandatory. They were tasked with defending the colonies from hostile French and Spanish forces and their Native American allies. In the South, militias also patrolled for runaway slaves. After 1775, the militias were deployed to help defend the colonies against the British army, though George Washington their “behavior and want of discipline.” After independence, participation in what the Second Amendment enshrined as the “well-regulated Militia” was mandated by federal and state law. Forced militia enrollment became so unpopular that by the middle of the 19th century, states found a way to get around it. All able-bodied men were still technically required to belong to a militia, but those who wished to participate could join the “organized” militia, which was trained by the state and eventually evolved into the National Guard. All other men were lumped into the “unorganized” militia, which had no responsibilities and essentially faded into obscurity. Yet the stipulation that every able-bodied man between 17 and 45 is an automatic member of the militia is. Modern militias cite these arcane provisions as their legal justification. But Pitcavage points out that these laws make no allowance for privately organized militias. “It’s like saying the fact you are registered for the draft means you can organize an Army battalion,” he says. Patriot militias overlook that detail, just as they overlook the historic age limit on militia service. “When they wrote that, when you were 45 you were ancient,” said the executive officer of the California State Militia’s Delta Company, who looked to be in his late 40s. “I mean, come on.” I am assigned to Bravo team for an afternoon op. There are three of us. “I’ll take the lead,” Iceman says. “I want you in the middle,” he says, pointing to Sandstone. “You’re gonna cover our six,” he says, indicating that I should watch the rear. We pile into The Moose. Iceman tells me to rack my rifle’s chamber. I usually leave it open for added safety, but I don’t want to seem like a wimp, so I load it without hesitation—chk-chk. Associated Press Iceman is a lanky 28-year-old with a thick black beard and a short mohawk hidden under his boonie hat. A transparent, coiled wire in his ear is attached to a Chinese Baofeng radio. An AR-15 hangs in front of him and a long combat knife is strapped to his waist. He has eight 30-round magazines attached to his chest rig as well as some clips for the sidearm strapped to his leg. He wears head-to-toe MultiCam, hard-knuckled combat gloves, kneepads, and a patch specifying his blood type. Another patch says, “Colorado 3UP RRT,” denoting him as a member of the Rapid Response Team, the group’s special-forces unit. Sandstone is similarly dressed, except instead of carrying a rifle, a long sword is strapped to his back, the handle wrapped in Army-green paracord. A sheathed machete is attached to his chest. Slender, with a shaved head, a pink face, and a wispy red goatee, he often grimaces dramatically, as if in pain. Unlike Iceman, who jokes on occasion, Sandstone is always serious, even when he spritzes himself with the MistyMate strapped to his back. Reader support gives us the independence to dig deep where others in the media don’t. By making a tax-deductible donation to MoJo today. During the long, bumpy drive over the mountain, Sandstone barely speaks, but Iceman tells me about himself. Seven years ago, shortly after high school, he wound up homeless, living out of his car. He joined the Marine Corps and was sent to Afghanistan. There, he searched cars entering his base for bombs and drugs. He was glad to leave, but it didn’t take long before he felt that he was “scratching at the walls” of the hole he’d escaped by joining the military. Life still seemed stacked against him. He was working at a Subway and had a baby with heart problems. Sometimes he found himself hungry and penniless. Iceman lay awake at night and wondered about the way of things. Why don’t veterans get the recognition they deserve? Why is the country so divided? He had a sinking suspicion that the government was behind it all. Racism had been nearly extinct—he didn’t care about race—but then Obama stoked the flames and now black people were marching in the streets. Was the government trying to start a race war to make it easier to enact martial law so that Obama could secure a third term, bring in UN troops, and launch the New World Order like George Soros and the big bankers want? There were clear signs of government overreach—the National Security Agency, everyone knew, was spying on us. Then there were the other things Iceman had read about on the internet, like FEMA’s construction of internment camps for American citizens. He revered people like Edward Snowden who took action against the government. Iceman started to believe it might be necessary to take up arms someday, not as a soldier, but as a citizen. After joining 3UP, he felt like the hole inside him began to fill. “This is therapy, I guess,” he says as we careen down the dirt road. This is his third or fourth border operation. The first time, he was jumpy. “This is all too familiar,” he says. It reminds him of Afghanistan. “It’s hard to believe, right? We got a war zone in our own backyard.” None of the 3UPers have ever actually been shot at in Arizona, but that seems to be of no consequence. Iceman and Sandstone discuss intimacies and betrayals back home. They are clearly good friends, but their friendship exists within a hierarchy and Iceman has higher rank. Sandstone sometimes calls him “sir” and salutes him, even in casual conversation. “I can’t believe this is America,” Iceman says. “It’s hard to believe, right? We got a war zone in our own backyard.” As we drive, our convoy stops on occasion to drop two-man squads along the road, each executing a different mission. We drive far into the desert, until we’re within sight of the border fence. Ghost gets out of the truck, points to a saddle on a distant mountain, and tells us to walk toward it until we hit Duquesne Road several miles away. My squad, Bravo, and the other squad, Alpha, are to spread apart, sweeping the area. “This is not a race,” Ghost says. “You’re whitetail huntin’. You’re stalkin’. You got from now until dark to make it back to Duquesne Road, okay? You got plenty of time. Heads up: These guys will probably see you before you see them. If that’s the case, the fuckers will get down on the grass. So take your time.” He drives away and we all check our weapons to make sure they are locked and loaded. If we see someone who looks like an immigrant, my understanding is that we are to radio the base and it will alert Border Patrol. But no commanding officer has ever made the protocol clear to me. How do we detain the person? What happens if we see someone jump from behind a bush and run? (Fifty Cal later told me he had briefed members on what to do, instructing them, “Our job is very close to a mall cop. Observe and report. You cannot chase anybody down. You cannot handcuff anybody. We’re not an offensive group.”) “I suggest blousing your boots,” Iceman says to me. “Keeps critters from getting up your leg. You don’t want a bug biting your cock.” “No,” I say. “I don’t.” I bend down and cinch the bottoms of my pant legs. It’s windy and the sun is blazing in the cloudless sky. At the top of a small hill, Iceman takes a knee and Sandstone and I do the same. For several minutes, we look out over the valley, mottled with creosote bushes, sotol, and grass. I sense that for them, there is a romance to this—the open land, the distant mountains, the belief that they are defending the frontier in service of the nation. I, too, relish this moment. Like them, I have a rationale for my attraction to danger and violence. I, too, am here. We walk down the hill and enter a narrow, sandy wash. Iceman bends over a patch of sand and points to the ground. “That’s a footprint, isn’t it?” Sandstone says. “Yep,” Iceman replies. “That’s a moccasin.” “Carpet shoe?” Sandstone says. “Yep,” Iceman says. “Straight-up carpet shoe.” I look closely at where he is pointing and I see nothing but dull waves of sand identical to those throughout the wash. “Should we follow them?” Sandstone says. “Yep.” The Resurgence of Militias The number of militia and anti-government “patriot” groups spiked in the ’90s during the Clinton administration and then quickly declined during the Bush years, only to surge again after the election of President Barack Obama.. This dynamic continues for a good while. Sandstone points out new moccasin prints that I cannot see, Iceman says “yep” without hesitation, and we head off in a new direction. At one point, Sandstone finds a piece of cellophane that he determines to be the wrapper of a phone battery. He crumples it in his hand and confidently leads us on yet another course. Sandstone is observant. He takes photographs of airplane contrails and altocumulus cloud patterns and posts them on Facebook as evidence that the government is spraying us with chemicals and conducting surveillance. He reads up on things: the Bilderberg Group, the Rothschilds, and what really happened on 9/11. He does not consider himself left or right, though he does support Trump as a matter of practicality. He swings a sledgehammer and breaks concrete all day and has little to show for it. Why should he have to compete with anyone who will work for less? I hear a voice over the radio. He and Geezer are near the top of the mountain, and they have intel to relay: There is an all-terrain vehicle at the border fence, and another ATV and a white minivan are driving toward it. Captain Yota chimes in over the radio, reminding Bull that people do use this area for recreation and it is the weekend. The ATV at the fence, Bull replies, is playing Mexican music. We walk for 20 minutes until we come to the edge of a 10-foot ravine. At the bottom, there’s a backpack, a blanket, a couple of jugs of water, and a pair of blue jeans, supplies likely left for, or by, migrants. There is another backpack nearby. Iceman and Sandstone become tense. As if on cue, a coyote yips, startling all of us. For a few seconds, I raise my weapon and point it off in the distance, scanning the horizon to defend against an ambush. “Cali, I want you to cover our six,” Iceman says. “Got it,” I say. They climb down into the ravine. Iceman nudges the backpack with his foot. He orders Sandstone not to open it and speaks into his lapel mic: “Relay is that we have found several backpacks, along with a duffel bag, that have significant weight to them.” Captain Yota tells him to see what is inside. “Solid copy.”. 3UP members on night patrol Photo by Shane Bauer Sandstone opens a backpack and pulls out anchovy and tuna packets, Snickers, suckers. He and Iceman open the other one, pulling out shoes, fresh clothes, and more food and candy. There are full water jugs at 20-foot intervals up the ravine. In a crevice, Sandstone spots a Mexican blanket, tightly wound with a rope. He unsheathes his sword, cuts the rope, and unfurls the blanket. Nothing inside. They start to climb out of the ravine, but Iceman stops. “You know what?” he says, pulling out his long combat knife and marching back to where he came from. He swings and jabs a jug, spilling the water onto the sand. He marches over to the next one and stabs it passionately. I almost ask him to stop—this water could be someone’s lifeline—but it does not seem wise. He stabs each item meticulously—the candy bars, the tuna packets. Sandstone follows behind, stomping the food into the dirt. When they are done, Sandstone sheathes his sword and we continue our journey north. A hundred yards from the ravine, Iceman stops. “Y’alls didn’t see me stab those water jugs,” he says. “What water jugs?” Sandstone quips. We continue on quietly for a while. “I tell you what, it felt good stabbing them fuckin’ water bottles,” Iceman says, “knowing they ain’t gettin’ no water.” “It felt good stomping all that shit into the dirt,” Sandstone says. “They’ll be expecting a change of clothes, a change of fucking shoes, three gallons of water, and some tuna fish.” “And some fuckin’ candy,” Iceman says. “And what are they gonna get? Nothin’!” We walk down another wash, where the shadows have become long and the light golden. We stop, drop our bags and rifles, and sit. Sandstone eats some crackers and gives a Slim Jim to Iceman, who is scraping burrs off his boot with a knife. Nearby, a gnarled, sunbaked shirt is lying in the sand. Sandstone gets up, walks over, and pisses on it. “Anything Can Happen” By the time we are picked up, it’s dark. I pull my tube mask over my face to protect against the freezing air in the back of The Moose. There is a flurry of alarmed radio chatter about a heart attack on the base. Ghost races back over the mountain. A helicopter blocks us, sitting in the road with Border Patrol vehicles scattered around. “Go ahead and pull security,” Captain Pain tells me and the other men in the bed of the truck. We stand at the edge of the road, our weapons at the ready, and stare out into the black desert. With the patient inside, the helicopter lifts off, fades into a dot of light, and vanishes over the mountains. Lucian Read The base is tense. During the medical evacuation, the Colorado leadership was in the field. The Arizona guys took charge and refused to stand down once Colorado tried to assert control from afar. Now the Arizona guys gather around their fire pit while Blackfin lectures some of the Colorado crew. “Pride will get you killed,” he says, a slight against Arizona’s refusal to relinquish control. “Pride will get everyone else killed.” Bad decisions were made, Blackfin says. Instead of standing around, men should have staked out the perimeter immediately. “Your enemy will kill you at your weakest point. Suicide bombers? They’re gonna get you at your weakest time. It’s easy and it’s effective. As soon as something chaotic happens, you still need to pull security.” We shouldn’t wait for someone to tell us to do things like this—it should be automatic. “That’s what we do here. We’re alpha leaders. Even if you don’t want to be. You have to be—or you will die.” I listen to this talking-to with Iceman and Sandstone, but since we were out on an op, we are comfortably not implicated in any of this. Then Captain Yota starts to speak. He is furious. He asks who was using a cellphone to navigate out in the field. I raise my hand. After following Iceman and Sandstone for more than two hours, I had checked my phone’s map to see how much farther we had to go. “People get so used to fucking technology,” Yota says. “You know what I had in the Marine Corps? I had a fucking protractor, a fucking 1-by-50,000 grid fuckin’ map, and a compass. I mean, we’re out here to do a mission and catch bad guys, right? To find drugs, catch illegals? How the fuck are we gonna do that if we can’t do our simple-ass job?” “Shit, man, I got left for dead in fucking Iraq,” Yota continues. He was a sniper for eight years and claims his lieutenant abandoned him and his spotter near Ramadi. “My FOB was seven miles away. I had to go through fuckin’, a goddamn town that’s full of bad guys to get home.” He says he got back by “offin’ motherfuckers.” “Guess what, I’m here, right?” He throws up his hands in frustration. He is also angry about how my team handled the backpacks. Iceman should have taken control of the situation and searched the bags without calling it in. “If it’s fuckin’ drugs, back the fuck away from it. Take pictures and secure the shit. Don’t touch it! But if it’s fucking food and water? Destroy the shit. ‘Cuz there’s a lot of humanitarian groups that drop off food, water, and everything to these fucking bastards who come into our country illegally.” Fifty Cal later told me, “We would never deny food and water to an immigrant.” He said this cache was clearly meant for a drug cartel, given the “high-dollar items” in the backpacks. I bolt awake to my alarm at 3:15 a.m. I’ve been appointed to stand the late-night watch. I walk to the fire, where Bull is sitting, his baseball hat pulled low over his eyes. There always seems to be something simmering inside him. His shoulders are tight and when he speaks, it’s usually in a low, angry drawl. He is with the. I ask him what they do, given that there is no border there. “Companies have had to close their doors because they can’t compete with some fucking illegal taking cash under the table. Nobody can compete with that. They fuck up everything.” One time, Bull was at a gas station and a Mexican man was trying to buy alcohol, he tells me. The cashier asked for his driver’s license, but all he had was a Mexican ID. Bull came up behind him. “You don’t have a driver’s license?” he asked the man. He says the man pushed past and got into his car. “So I’m like, this is easy as fuck,” Bull recalls. He called the cops and reported the man for driving without a license. But when the cops showed up, Bull says, they focused their attention on him rather than the Mexican. “What’s your interest in asking him if he’s driving without a license?” a cop asked him. Bull tried to school the police on his power to make a citizen’s arrest and then he left, outraged. When he came to Arizona for his last border operation, he scooped up some dirt near the border fence, put it in a bag with some flowers, and brought it back to Alabama. He tracked down the cop he’d argued with and gave him the bag. “He was fuckin’ pissed,” Bull says. “That’s when I figured his old lady was an illegal or something.”. “I wish I coulda picked those motherfuckers off. If only we didn’t have our hands so fucking tied.” The news crew, from a CBS affiliate in Alabama, has been following the Borderkeepers. They ride along in the back of the militiamen’s trucks, shoot interviews, and spend a lot of time in their air-conditioned car, which is seen as a sign of softness. Guys talk with them readily, but I am careful to avoid them, so as not to appear in their footage. In her segment on her time here, reporter Brittany Bivins that the Borderkeepers are “people who really live in our neighborhoods” and who “spend their vacation time, they spend their money, to go down to the border, and they’re very passionate about what they’re doing.” Bivins the border op to the heroin epidemic back in Birmingham. She says cartel spotters watch the base and the drug smugglers are “fighting back,” though she doesn’t go into detail. “Anything can happen on the border,” she says. One of her main sources is Bull. Bivins they can find the Borderkeepers on Facebook if they want to get involved. Bull tells me that when he was sitting up on top of that hill watching the ATV near the border fence, he saw “Mexican males” coming and going from a vehicle playing Mexican music. It was obvious what was going on. “I had my sight on ’em,” he says. “I wish I coulda picked those motherfuckers off. If only we didn’t have our hands so fucking tied.” Spirits are high as we stand around the fire at night. Ghost regales us with stories from past ops and tells us about the tradition of no-pants Mondays on the base. Too Tall talks about a trip he took to the hospital with Cornbread, who’d gotten dehydrated. “You want to see cartel? Go to the hospital,” Too Tall says. “Cadillacs, Malibus. Every motherfucker up there was stopping by my truck.” Cornbread says he wanted to throat-punch the Mexican man in the hospital bed next to him. “That motherfucker didn’t have to pay shit. And they charging me out the damn ass for it. And somebody’s getting the same treatment for nothing. It’s bullshit.” Denver comes up behind Ghost and hands a cigar over his shoulder. Ghost is very pleased. “Did you get you some Cubans now that the nigger opened up the border?” he asks Denver. Ghost lights his, flaring out his lips and biting down on it with his front teeth. Someone makes a joke about how cigars are like horse cocks. Staring at me across the fire, Sarge, a large twentysomething man in a keffiyeh, declares he’s saving his cock for me, and everyone looks in my direction. “‘Cuz California’s got that tight little socialist butthole,” Sarge says. “I’m about to bring some democracy up in that motherfucker.” Everyone laughs. “I’m gonna bring some free trade up in that ass.” I laugh uncomfortably until the attention fades. Most of the harassment in the camp is directed at the lone woman from Arizona, a blond, tattooed prison nurse who works in a solitary confinement unit. Guys thrust their pelvises at her when she’s not looking. “I got the cure for what ails you,” Sarge tells her. He also calls me “baby girl” and tells me I have a pretty mouth. I consider sleeping with my rifle in my tent. Sarge falls into a side conversation that moves from sex to the Department of Veterans Affairs. “Imagine me talking to a psych evaluator at the VA? They tried to give me a lot of pills. I said nope.” “They told me I was already nuts,” Rosco says. “I was like, ‘Yeah.' ” “That’s what they do at the VA.” Sarge says. “They just throw a shitload of pills at you.” “You’re basically a lab rat,” Too Tall says. “They just pump as much shit in you as possible.” I get up from my stump and stand with Jaeger and Destroyer. Jaeger is insisting that the Mexican military sometimes drives its Humvees over the border and shoots at the Border Patrol. “Time to put some Apaches on the border,” Destroyer says. “Last year in June, a Mexican Apache flew from their base down in Mexico all the way into Phoenix,” Jaeger says matter-of-factly. “No shit?” “Yeah, over military bases and whatnot,” Jaeger says. “The sad part is the Air Force base that’s down there. They went to scramble jets and they were ordered to stand down.” “Wouldn’t you know?” Destroyer says. “They fucking invaded! Holy shit!” “Yeah, it’s almost like they are testing our borders for military purposes.” “Yeah, no kidding.” Campfire smoke suddenly wafts in our direction. “Stop attracting the smoke, Jaeger!” Destroyer says. “Dammit!” “Just because I like to burn people,” Jaeger says mock-defensively. Destroyer laughs. It’s a “homemade Auschwitz,” Jaeger says. “It just takes a lot longer. Hahaha!” Jaeger tries to speak to Destroyer in German, but it’s often too rudimentary for Destroyer to understand. Destroyer is fluent; he was born and raised in Switzerland and served in the Swiss military. It strikes me as strange that someone raised in Europe would get involved in the patriot movement. He says he was home-schooled by his American mother. “I was taught the right stuff,” he says. Destroyer recalls a time he came to the United States through Canada with his family. They had to wait two hours at the border because his dad did not have a US passport. “Dude, they took my dad out, fingerprinted him, basically treated him like a common criminal. Spent two hours on the Canadian border. It’s fucking bullshit. It’s like, does he look like a criminal? We’re a family of seven, you know?” Someone asks where a guy called Wolfman is. Rogue says he left today. “He had to go home and take care of some bullshit,” Yota says. “Bullshit with an ex and a kid, I’ll tell you that. Some drama shit he’s gotta go to court on Monday for.” “Shitty ex-wife.” “Most of ’em usually are,” Jaeger says. “And they wonder why bitches get killed,” Yota says. “Hahaha!” “Seriously. They push and push and push till you can’t take it no more. Then the dude ends up fuckin’ offing ’em. Then the dude looks like a fuckin’ evil-ass person and it’s like, dude, you were pushed.” “You want to know what the No. 1 reason listed for men committing suicide is?” Jaeger says. “Women,” Yota says. “Exes taking away their kids,” Jaeger says. “I haven’t seen my boy since he was four,” Yota says. “I know where they live and everything. You know how tempting it is to just go see my kid?” “Snatch and grab,” Destroyer says. “But I know if I go I’ll end up in fucking jail.” “Women are fucked,” Jaeger says. “They always win in court,” Destroyer says. “I’ve won every court case,” Yota says. “Every court case. And what she does is she moves to another state ‘cuz the case follows the kid and then I’ve got to file in that state.” “And that just costs you a lot,” Destroyer says. “I’ve gone through almost $22,000. Then I just gave up—well, I ran out of money. Used all my deployment money fighting on this shit. Didn’t get nowhere. I figure if he’s anything like me, I’ll get a knock on my door when he’s 13. That’s when I turned into a little bastard.” “Did you ever outgrow it?” another guy says. “No, I’m still an asshole. I just went to the Marine Corps and that made me an even bigger asshole.” “They paid you for it, right?” “But I’m a true motherfucker.” “Are you really an asshole if you speak the truth?” Jaeger says. “Not really,” Yota says. “There you go,” Jaeger says. Survival and Evasion One day, I ride into town to resupply with Captain Pain, Showtime, Destroyer, and Jaeger. We stop at Pizza Hut. Everyone takes advantage of the cell reception to check Facebook. Captain Pain has an online business selling threeper holsters, shirts, and decals. He shows us a picture of a big-breasted woman in a bikini on Instagram. “So who’s in charge of waterboarding this time?” Captain Pain asks. “Mostly me,” Showtime says, barely looking up from his phone. “You’re waterboarding people?” I ask. “Yeah,” Showtime says with a jolly half-smile. “You probably can’t even call it waterboarding,” Captain Pain says. His tone is very reasonable. “You know those little water bottles we have at camp? I’ll pour it around their nose and around their mouths, but not a lot of it gets in there.” “That’s ‘cuz they’re upside-down,” Showtime says. “Then they try to hold their breath, so we tase ’em in the armpit. Hahaha!” He makes like he’s tasing himself in the side. Showtime explains that the waterboarding and tasing are part of their SERE school—Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape—for recruits to the Rapid Response Team, 3UP’s special forces. “I think it’s a really vital course,” Captain Pain says. “If they snatch you up out here, it’s really gonna be fucked up.” The course starts in the middle of the night, when the recruits arrive at Captain Yota’s house in the mountains. They sleep in their cars, and early in the morning they’re woken up and made to do physical training until they “fall out.” Then they get “captured.” “We’ll put a bag on their head, cuff ’em, strip ’em down,” Showtime says. “They just got a big-ass T-shirt on. So it gets pretty cold in January. Hahaha!” The recruits are told to imagine they are out in Arizona and have been captured by a drug cartel. They’re put in a stall in a horse barn and subjected to sleep deprivation. “We keep ’em up. Keep ’em hungry,” Showtime says. The mock detainees are cuffed to a table sloped at an angle and asked questions like how many people are in their group and what radio frequency they use. Their task is to resist giving any information. “We got a stress box,” Showtime says. “We put ’em in there. Stick a cattle prod through the holes. One guy, he tried to turn around and we got him right between his legs in the ball sack.” “Yeah, too much fun,” Destroyer says. “How long were they sitting there?” I ask, trying not to sound alarmed. “Couple hours,” Showtime says. Fifty Cal says Border Patrol agents provide 3UP with “very useful information to help make our ops better.” The other day, a Border Patrol agent showed up with two boxes of doughnuts. I asked him whether they ever get any pressure from their superiors in Washington, DC, about us being around. “Not that I ever heard of,” he said. “When you guys come through, they warn us like, ‘Heads up, those guys are out there.’ Good!” I later asked the agency to comment on these interactions between its officers and militiamen. A spokesman only replied that the agency “appreciates the efforts of concerned citizens as they act as our eyes and ears” but “does not endorse or support any private group or organization taking matters into their own hands.” Fifty Cal told me he’s still in touch with his Border Patrol contacts “pretty much weekly.” The agents “give us very useful information to help make our ops better,” including recommendations for times and areas to patrol. Captain Pain says that with the new connection to Border Patrol intel, Colorado won’t need to rely on the Arizona guys for their local knowledge. Colorado can set up its own base next time. There is still the problem of equipment, though: The Arizona guys supply the kitchen and lights. Ghost says he has propane lights and gas burners back home. Pain says that when he gets back he’s going to try to get some gun shops to sponsor the border operations. They might try crowdfunding, too. “I’ll let you in on a little something nobody knows but me,” Ghost says to the few of us sitting around. “We have 640 acres in Texas we can use. It won’t be ours, but it will be leased to us.” He says the land is directly on the border, so immigrants would have to pass right through it. The owner is a 3UP sympathizer. “That dude’s gonna give us free rein. We can build barracks. We can build fucking shooting lanes. We can do whatever we want to the property.” “Catch fucking beaners,” Captain Pain says. “Throw up a sign that says, ‘No Trespassing,'” Destroyer says. “Then we can shoot ’em.” I don’t bother sleeping in my tent. I’m too exhausted to deal with the cold and the next op is only four hours away, so I get in the cab of my truck, lay the passenger seat back, and turn on the heat. I wake at 3 a.m., stumble past the guys around the fire, and pour a cup of coffee. Ghost assigns Iceman and me to go up Witch’s Tit, the spot Dennis recommended. Iceman looks like an apparition from hell. He is wearing a nylon skull mask and a battle helmet with built-in night vision goggles that pull down over his eyes, which he’s blackened like a raccoon’s. By 5 a.m., we are hopping between boulders in a dry riverbed that snakes up a narrow valley. Iceman goes ploddingly, planning and executing each step. “Fuckin’ A, it’s pitch-black out here,” he whispers. He has an eye condition that makes him nearly blind at night, even with the goggles. He is breathing heavily, either from exhaustion or panic. When he takes his monster mask off, he looks remarkably vulnerable and afraid. I take the lead. An hour into our patrol, I suggest that we climb the side of the mountain to get up onto the ridge, where we are meant to stand watch. It is steep and Iceman scrambles up using his rifle as a walking stick. Birds trill and a white-blue light is filling the sky. Eventually, we reach the top and sit, looking over the southwest side of the mountain. “Mobile One, Delta,” I say into the radio. “Delta is in position.” “Solid copy.” Iceman scans the valley below with his binoculars and then bundles up in his nylon woobie blanket. He tells me to keep an eye out; he’ll use his powerful sense of hearing to conduct audio surveillance. He buries his face in his knees and five minutes later is taking deep, long breaths. I watch the sun slowly wipe away the shadow of the mountain. After about 30 minutes, Iceman wakes up and looks across the valley. “It’s hard to believe that just on the other side of that is Mexico,” he says. From here, the border fence is a barely perceptible stitch across the land. “You ever been there?” I ask. He turns to me and smiles. “Not legally.” “How’d you get there?” “Hopped the fence.” He was out on an op with someone else and they jumped across. “We’re like, ‘We’re in Mexico, dude.' ” Iceman and I stare across the valley, now orange with the dawn. Insects crackle. There is barely a breeze. “We have shots fired on the fence line,” Rogue says over the radio. How could we not hear that? “None of our people are involved.” Iceman shoves his blanket into his bag and zips it shut. “We’re moving,” he says, standing up. “If we hear shots fired, I want to return fire,” he says, shrugging his pack onto his shoulders. He moves in close and looks straight into my eyes, his jaw taut. “If I can slay me a body today, I’ll be fucking happy,” he says. We walk along the ridge to the southern side of the mountain. A few minutes later, Captain Pain radios for us to head toward the road for exfiltration. I am deeply relieved. Iceman and I find a dirt road and make a leisurely descent. “You know, Cali, I have to say, you’re not a bad operator,” Iceman says. “Thank you,” I say. “If you ever decide to make your way over to Colorado, you give me a holler. I’ll let you smoke some of that Colorado good stuff.” He says most people know nothing about Aurora. “Only thing I know about it is the theater shooting,” I admit. “I live basically right down the street from that theater,” Iceman says. “I lost a high school friend.” His voice is solemn. “She was kinda hot. We called her ‘mountain titties.' ” Back at the base, the cook has bacon and rice ready for us. Ghost, bored by the fire pit, picks a.223-caliber bullet off the ground and rolls the dusty copper in his fingertips. The cadences of a father-son argument between Captain Pain and Spartan rise and fall from another part of camp. Ghost leans his elbow against the arm of his chair, flicks his wrist, and lobs the bullet into the embers. A couple of postures shift. An eyebrow gives the briefest hint of disapproval. We sit silently. The cook comes by and offers a paper plate of banana bread baked by Ghost’s mother. The bullet explodes. The cook jumps—”Jesus!”—and a puff of ash covers me. “There it goes,” Jaeger says softly. I get up and brush off my stomach and legs. Then I head back to my tent and pack my things. I don’t radio in my departure. I start my truck and exit the base, alone. Funding for this project has been provided in part by the and the ongoing support of Mother Jones readers like you. *Correction: The print version of this article incorrectly stated the number of states with these laws. A town bedeviled with outlaws sends for Hoppy, Lucky and California after their own vigilante committee fails to solve the towns problems. Hoppy discovers that the bad guys are led by the town boss, and so are the vigilantes. Hopalong Cassidy, foreman of the Bar-20 ranch, is summoned to Silver Center by his friend, Dan Forbes, who suspects that the vigilante group of which he is a member has been corrupted because they have been foiled at every attempt to stop robberies. Forbes confides in Henry Logan, the town leader and head of the vigilantes, who, unknown to Forbes, orders him and Hoppy shot. Forbes survives his injury and Hoppy gets the better of his assailant when he is accosted in Gunsight Pass. Hoppy shoots the man, Ed Stone, and leaves him for dead, then he and his companions, ranch hands Lucky Jenkins and California Carlson, continue into town. Knowing that the criminals are expecting him, Hoppy tells Forbes and his daughter Helen to pretend that they do not know them. After Hoppy, Lucky and California prevent a robbery attempt planned by Logan, Logan's gang fights back by terrifying the community with raids, fires and vandalism. Hoppy and Forbes arrange for a wagonload of silver to be switched to entrap the criminals. When the silver seems to have disappeared, however, suspicion falls on Hoppy, until they find that California loaded the wrong boxes onto the wagon and the silver is still at Forbes's house. Hoppy, Lucky and California finally corner Logan and his gang at their hideout and during a gunfight, Hoppy is shot in the shoulder. He then tricks the gang into surrendering by exploding bullets in a fire, which makes it sound as if they are outnumbered. Logan and his gang are arrested, and Hoppy, Lucky and California leave the Forbes ranch to return to the Bar-20. Osmanli Cumhuriyeti (2008) on IMDb: Movies, TV, Celebs, and more. Comedy The life of Osman VII. Who was the emperor of the Turkish republic. Osmanli cumhuriyeti. Oct 14, 2014 - 2 min - Uploaded by Ata DemirerAta Demirer Resmi YouTube Kanalına Abone Olun: Takip edin; https. The Danish Film Institute registers international festival participation and awards for Danish films, though primarily for films whose festival distribution is handled by the Danish Film Institute, and primarily in connection with festivals prioritised by the Danish Film Institute. Festival participation and awards regarding Danish films that are not handled through the Danish Film Institute's festival distribution will only be registered in connection with 'launch' festivals, according to the Danish Film Institute's list of priority festivals.. As I was just praising Turkish movies how they have been successful recently and more and more quality movies have been produced I got hit by this 'Osmanli Cumhuriyeti' disaster. Although movie claims itself as a comedy and drama, it is actually not. There is nothing in this movie, NOTHING. It's not a comedy, it is not a drama, it is certainly not a documentary. Director Gani Mujde should do all of us a favor not to direct any more movies. Just quit directing movies like this and go back to writing that he is great. Instead of being a horrible movie director just be a great humorist. Another embarrassment is seeing Faith Solmaz as a screen writer in this movie. Such a great humorist became a part of this poor movie. A lumbar puncture is a procedure used to collect cerebrospinal fluid (CSF). CSF is a clear, protective fluid that flows around the brain and inside the spinal canal. A lumbar puncture is usually done to check for an infection, inflammation, bleeding, or other conditions that affect the brain. It may also be done to remove CSF to reduce pressure in the brain. DISCHARGE INSTRUCTIONS: Return to the emergency department if: • You have a severe headache that does not get better after you lie down. • You have a fever. • You have a stiff neck or trouble thinking clearly. • Your legs, feet, or other parts below the waist feel numb, tingly, or weak. • You have bleeding or a discharge coming from the area where the needle was put into your back. • You have severe pain in your back or neck. Contact your healthcare provider if: • You have questions or concerns about your condition or care. Medicines: You may need any of the following: • Acetaminophen decreases pain and fever. It is available without a doctor's order. Ask how much to take and how often to take it. Follow directions. Read the labels of all other medicines you are using to see if they also contain acetaminophen, or ask your doctor or pharmacist. Acetaminophen can cause liver damage if not taken correctly. Do not use more than 4 grams (4,000 milligrams) total of acetaminophen in one day. • NSAIDs help decrease swelling and pain or fever. This medicine is available with or without a doctor's order. Puncture (third-person singular simple present punctures, present participle puncturing, simple past and past participle punctured). To pierce; to break through; to tear a hole. The needle punctured the balloon instantly. Word Root of puncture. The Latin word pungere, meaning “to prick” or “to pierce,” and its form punctus give us the roots pung and punct. Words from the Latin pungere have something to do with pricking or piercing. A pungent smell is one that is so strong and sharp that it pierces the nose. NSAIDs can cause stomach bleeding or kidney problems in certain people. If you take blood thinner medicine, always ask your healthcare provider if NSAIDs are safe for you. Always read the medicine label and follow directions. • Prescription pain medicine may be given. Ask your healthcare provider how to take this medicine safely. Some prescription pain medicines contain acetaminophen. Do not take other medicines that contain acetaminophen without talking to your healthcare provider. Too much acetaminophen may cause liver damage. Prescription pain medicine may cause constipation. Ask your healthcare provider how to prevent or treat constipation. • Take your medicine as directed. Contact your healthcare provider if you think your medicine is not helping or if you have side effects. Tell him or her if you are allergic to any medicine. Keep a list of the medicines, vitamins, and herbs you take. Include the amounts, and when and why you take them. Bring the list or the pill bottles to follow-up visits. Carry your medicine list with you in case of an emergency. Care for a post-lumbar puncture headache: You may develop a headache during the first few hours after your procedure that may last for several days. The headache may be mild to severe and may get worse when you sit or stand. The following may help ease a post-lumbar puncture headache: • Drink more liquid than usual after your lumbar puncture. Ask how much liquid is right for you. Caffeine may be used to treat a headache. Drinks such as coffee, tea, or some soft drinks have caffeine. Caffeine is also available over the counter in tablet form. Ask about using caffeine to treat your headache. Do not drink alcohol. Alcohol can make your headache worse. • Lie down or rest to ease your headache pain. Follow up with your healthcare provider as directed: Write down your questions so you remember to ask them during your visits. © 2017 Truven Health Analytics Inc. Information is for End User's use only and may not be sold, redistributed or otherwise used for commercial purposes. All illustrations and images included in CareNotes® are the copyrighted property of A.D.A.M., Inc. Or Truven Health Analytics. The above information is an educational aid only. It is not intended as medical advice for individual conditions or treatments. Talk to your doctor, nurse or pharmacist before following any medical regimen to see if it is safe and effective for you. Contents • • • • • • • Plot [ ] Mike Weiss is a young Houston lawyer and a drug addict. Paul Danziger is his longtime friend and straight-laced law partner. They decide to take on a case involving Vicky, a local ER nurse, who is. As Weiss and Danziger dig deeper into the case, a healthcare and pharmaceutical conspiracy teeters on exposure and heavyweight attorneys move in on the defense. Out of their league but invested in their own gain, the mounting pressure of the case pushes the two underdog lawyers and their business to the breaking point. Cast [ ] • as • as Paul Danziger • as Jeffrey Dancort • as Red • as Vicky • as Daryl King • as Nathaniel Price • as Senator O'Reilly • Roxanna Hope as Sylvia • as Stephany • as himself • as ER Medic Production [ ] The original story was written by Danziger. Filming began on February 10, 2010 in. The film was directed by and. Adam Kassen was quoted as saying, 'From the moment we heard about this story, we connected to what it says about the current state of our medical industry and the flawed hero that tries to fix it.' Release [ ] After the film premiered at the 2011, Millennium Films acquired the distribution rights. It had a limited release on September 23, 2011, and played in five theaters. The total domestic gross was $68,945. Puncture was released on DVD and Blu-ray on January 3, 2012. Reception [ ], a, reports that 51% of 41 surveyed critics gave the film a positive review, and the average rating was 5.6/10; the site consensus reads: 'There's a compelling story at the heart of Puncture but viewers will have to pierce through the formulaic storytelling to find it.' Rated it 54/100 based on 17 reviews. Rated it 3/4 stars and wrote that Evans' performance upstages the issues raised in the film. Kirk Honeycutt of wrote, 'The film is chock-a-block with extraordinary performances and no one will fault the filmmaking either. This is a well-made movie, make no mistake. It just suffers from a dysfunctional hero.' Ronnie Scheib of wrote, 'Though conceptually intriguing, the mix of downward drug spiral with uphill struggle for good never really coalesces.' Jeannette Catsoulis of wrote, 'Notable at least in part for its fumbled potential, this health-care-industry melodrama possesses all the right ingredients: an idealistic young lawyer, a corrupt corporate villain and a sympathetic victim. It just fails to assemble them into a compelling whole.' References [ ]. Retrieved 2014-04-05. Retrieved 2010-08-26. • Wrigley, Deborah (2011-09-23)... Retrieved 2014-04-05. • McClintock, Pamela (2010-03-16)... Retrieved 2010-08-26. Retrieved 2014-04-05. • Keefer, Ryan (2011-12-28)... Retrieved 2014-04-05. Retrieved 2014-04-05. Retrieved 2014-04-05. • (2011-10-05)... Retrieved 2014-04-05. • Honeycutt, Kirk (2011-09-06)... Retrieved 2014-04-05. • Scheib, Ronnie (2011-05-24)... Retrieved 2014-04-05. • Catsoulis, Jeannette (2011-09-22)... Retrieved 2014-04-05. External links [ ] • on •. |
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