The first rule of Oedipus Club? Mum’s the word.
A time machine is just like a washing machine, except a time machine can make your old clothes fit you again.
Having two eyes on the front of your face really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?
Just started a new job as Head Chef at an even bigger monastery. Out of the frying pan, into the Friar.
Judge sentences Boromir for regular domestic abuse, saying, “One does not simply walk into more doors
FUN FACT: IKEA has a team dedicated to designing the bit you have left after construction that looks essential but isn’t in the instructions
The oral sex with my imaginary girlfriend is mind-blowing.
Due to an unfortunate typo, I’ve now got front row tickets tonight to the “MOOB Awards”.
We never hear anything from Rick Astley these days. It’s almost like he’s given us up, and let us down.
“I’m calling from the anagram club, you’ll have to rearrange your interview.” “No problem, it’s ‘view true irony’.” “Ok, son, you’re in.”
Encampments of homeless sex offenders reveal insanity of residency restrictions By Brandon Buskey October 23, 2014
On the outskirts of Florida’s Miami-Dade County, dozens of individuals formerly convicted of sexual offenses live as exiles on an abandoned strip of land near a railroad track. The area has no shelter from the elements, no running water, and no bathrooms. The most fortunate inhabitants of this makeshift encampment sleep in cars or in tents. Others make due with a tarp or anything else that passes as cover. Each night brings new threats of violence, malnutrition, and disease.
The images are disturbingly reminiscent of scenes from nearly a decade ago, when a collection of over 100 former sexual offenders formed a similar camp under a bridge spanning the Julia Tuttle Causeway. Local officials scattered that Skid Row sometime in 2010, following a barrage of condemnation by the public.
Like the people under the bridge, the people by the tracks did not simply fall into these tragic circumstances. They were shoved.
Miami-Dade County has forced them and hundreds more into homelessness with an ordinance that prohibits those convicted of certain sexual offenses from living within 2,500 feet – nearly half a mile – of a school. The ordinance has kept many of the inhabitants from living with family or loved ones who could offer shelter, and it has made it extraordinarily difficult to find affordable housing in the mostly urban county. More importantly, the ordinance creates the very conditions that undermine its stated rationale of public safety.
The origins of the encampment reveal both the senselessness of the ordinance and the arbitrariness of its enforcement. A number of those first exiled to the tracks lived for years in a trailer park named River Park, one of the few locations compliant with the ordinance that offered affordable housing. In May of 2013, officials with – ironically – the Miami-Dade Homeless Trust complained to local law enforcement that former sexual offenders were living within 2,500 feet of a youth emergency shelter called Miami Bridge Youth and Family Services.
Officials hastily resolved to label Miami Bridge a school and then evicted over 50 individuals from River Park under the ordinance. Their decision came despite the facts that for 25 years Miami-Dade had never classified the shelter as a school, that state law enforcement acknowledged having no trouble with River Park residents, and that a river separates the trailer park from Miami Bridge. As a result of the county’s actions, the majority of the evictees became homeless and relocated to the tracks.
The Florida Department of Corrections has since only exacerbated the crisis. Rather than helping people recently released from prison identify housing suitable under the Miami-Dade ordinance, its probation officers instead direct those unable to find housing to the tracks. Many at the tracks tell the same story of this surreal experience.