Karmelo Anthony is yet another young black male who threw his life away — and more importantly took away an innocent person’s life — for no reason. It’s time for the black community to stop rallying around and defending these sociopath thugs and instead work on raising children who won’t make these kinds of insane, self-destructive choices in the first place.
Keep in mind, if Karmelo had plead guilty early on, it would have cut the fundraiser short. His parents chose to send him to trial so they could keep raking in the cash. They don’t love or care about him. Awful people who inevitably raised an awful son. My only regret is that they can’t be thrown in a prison cell along with him.
THANK YOU!
Our new documentary Minnesota Mao has already surpassed 100,000 views.
Help us keep the momentum going by spreading the word and sharing the FREE documentary with your friends and family.
The full documentary is available here: https://t.co/K40Cb0dNvF
Defense rests in the Karmelo Anthony case. Total disaster for them. Their own witnesses contradicted themselves and testified that Karmelo was the aggressor and shouldn’t have been in the tent. There essentially was no defense offered. They should have taken a plea deal a year ago but his retarded family preferred to milk the whole thing for cash. One of the most open and shut murder trials we’ve ever seen.
Five days after the LA election, Spencer Pratt falls to third place and a woman who hardly anyone voted for in person, Nithya Raman, totally dominated in mail voting to come in second. No one with a functional brain believes these results.
To you, it's just a Cracker Barrel parking lot. To me, it's where I gave my life to Jesus Christ.
I was 21 years old. I was working at the Cracker Barrel in Tallahassee after some of the worst years of my life. I'd made mistakes. Real ones.
I grew up in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, raised by a mom who worked hard and didn't accept excuses. But I made decisions that should have ended my story before it ever really started. By the grace of God, they didn't. But every day, I was carrying them.
One afternoon, a church group came into the restaurant, just back from a revival. I served them their meals like I served any other table. But something happened while I was serving them. I can't fully explain it to you. The Lord spoke to me. He said, “Stop running from Me.”
It knocked me back.
I went to find the table, and they were all gone. I could see through their windows that they were getting on their bus, and I knew deep down that if I let them drive away, I was going to keep running. So I went outside. The last woman, just as she was stepping onto the bus, turned to me and asked, “Are you okay?”
I told her, “No ma’am, I’m not okay.” I told her the Lord was telling me to stop running.
That whole bus emptied out, stood with me in the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel in Tallahassee, Florida, and prayed over me right there.
I gave my life to Christ that day. Right there.
I still get emotional about it. Because I know what I was before that moment, and I know what He's done since. He gave me a wife who shares my faith. He gave me three sons. He gave me a career, a community, a calling I never would have dared to ask for. He took a kid from Crown Heights who’d run out of chances and gave him a life that doesn't make sense apart from grace.
People ask me sometimes why I talk about it. Why I bring up the parking lot. Why I don't just keep that part private and let folks see the polished version.
I'll tell you why.
Because there's a young man out there right now — maybe in Tallahassee, maybe in Tampa, maybe in Miami, maybe in a small town in the Panhandle — who thinks his story is already over. Who thinks the mistakes he's made disqualify him from the life he could have had. Who thinks God doesn't want anything to do with somebody like him.
I'm here to tell him: that's a lie.
In life, you're not who you are at the lowest point. You're who you choose to become after.
The Lord met me in a Cracker Barrel parking lot. He'll meet you wherever you are.
You just have to stop running.
You have far too much time if you, a middle aged objectively rotund man, spend a beautiful Saturday morning protesting a girl in her mid twenties by saying she should've swam faster 4 years ago because she didn't want to a man in the locker room.
Seek therapy.