COUPLE RAPED TORTURED AND MURDERED IN CRIME SO HORRIFIC POLICE OFFICERS NEEDED THERAPY AFTER DISCOVERING THE BODIES
Channon Christian aged 21 and her boyfriend Christopher Newsom aged 23 were carjacked and kidnapped in Knoxville Tennessee on 6 January 2007 after leaving a dinner date.
The pair were taken to a residence where they endured hours of brutal sexual assaults and torture with Christopher bound gagged blindfolded and dragged to railway tracks.
Christopher was shot three times including once in the head before his body was doused in petrol and set on fire.
Channon was repeatedly raped with bleach poured into her body to destroy evidence then wrapped in plastic bags while still alive and forced into a wheelie bin where she suffocated.
Their bodies were found over two days with fingerprints from Channons abandoned car leading police to ringleader Lemaricus Davidson and four other suspects.
All five were convicted after multiple trials with Davidson sentenced to death and the others receiving life imprisonment as the extreme brutality left investigators requiring therapy.
GOD BLESS YOU SIR 🫵🏻🫡
My respect 96 years .
🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸
AMERICAN MADE .
The GOAT !!
Clint Eastwood Said Something About Getting Old That Stopped Me Cold.
Aging is not gentle.
You are still here. Still present. Still watching the world move. But the body that carried you through everything - the wars, the work, the wildness of youth - begins to ask for more than you can give it. Joints that never complained now speak up in the morning. Eyes that once took in everything now flinch at the light. Breathing, which never required a single thought, starts needing little pauses.
But none of that is the hardest part.
The hardest part is the quiet.
At a certain age, you reach for the phone and remember there is no one left to call.
The people who knew you when you were young - who remembered the same summers, the same streets, the same faces
- are gone. One by one, then all at once, until the memories you carry have no one left to share them with.
So you tell the stories anyway.
To whoever will listen. With a little more color than perhaps the truth deserves. With a touch of pride you've earned and a grief you don't always name. You know the person across from you wasn't there. You know they can't quite feel it the way you do.
But you tell them. Because the telling is the holding on.
Those stories are not just memories. They are the proof that a life was lived. That people were loved. That things mattered.
And if no one asks for them - you offer them anyway, quietly, like setting something down on a table and hoping someone picks it up.
Old age is not simply what happens to a face or a body.
It is memory looking for a place to rest.
And what an older person needs - more than advice, more than solutions, more than someone telling them how to feel - is simply someone willing to sit down, be still, and listen.
Not to fix anything.
Just to be there.
That is the whole gift. And it costs nothing.
~Wild Whispers .
Charlie Kirk had a profound impact on me. Both during his life and, as I discuss in this excerpt from my new book, after his death.
This was hard to write about but I hope you'll find it meaningful.
https://t.co/JExbF5irNr
Very concerning.
So cattle are being smuggled over the border? Not just humans a drugs?
Imagine that.
I wonder how much money the cartels are making from this particular criminal enterprise.
Has anyone shown @SecRollins this?
So…
Judge McConnell who’s ordering the Trump Admin to restart asylum applications from 39 of the most dangerous countries on Earth has donated $700K to Dems.
Importing the dangerous to hunt Americans.
Another Dem Activist cosplaying as a Judged.
The Judiciary is compromised.
In the jungles of Vietnam, one Green Beret became a legend of unbreakable will.
🧵Meet Col. Robert L. Howard — wounded 14 times over 54 months of combat, nominated for the Medal of Honor THREE TIMES in just 13 months.
This is the story of one of America’s most decorated warriors. 🇺🇸🦉
There is a new l $400 million dollar Muslim only community in Sheridan, Illinois
It sits on 165 acres, has 332 condo-style units, water park, golf, lakes and a planned mosque
It’s called V Resort Living
The ad for the property needed a voice over because the man couldn’t speak English
It emphasizes a “safe & faith-based community” for Muslims
That’s their way of saying it’s “Muslim only” without saying it’s “Muslim only”
It’s already “complete” in terms of physical structures and units are being sold now
I am a J6er.
A Pardoned Patriot.
January 6th, 2021, was my first political event ever. I walked into the Capitol peacefully through the upper west terrace Senate Wing Entrance, the same spot and 23 seconds behind Ashlii Babbit — just 22 minutes inside. I saw no violence. I committed none. Officers stood by as citizens walked in and out on a handicap ramp. No signs. No warnings. I chanted “Stop the Steal” in the Crypt, wearing the shirt that simply said “Count ALL Legal Votes.” I went because I love my country and still believed our voices could matter.
Then the hammer fell.
In unprecedented persecution Twenty-four FBI agents came after a misdemeanor. They knocked while my family was sick with COVID. They raided my home. I self-surrendered in chains — leg irons, waist belt, handcuffed like a threat to the nation. Processed, fingerprinted, mugshot. A federal judge who called January 6th the worst occupation of the Capitol since the War of 1812 sentenced me to 30 days in prison and three years of probation for the “crime” of illegal picketing. I became the first person in Washington State ever sentenced to prison for it.
The propaganda hut machine unleashed hell. Fifty-seven hit pieces. Facebook and Airbnb deplatformed me overnight, destroying the real estate business I had built for a decade. My community turned its back. Both fathers who raised me disowned me — one called me a “fvcking insurrectionist” on the very day it happened. My little girl cried, terrified her daddy was going to prison. And while I sat in that halfway house — breathalyzed, strip searched, haunted by the sound of train whistles — my wife emailed me a Dear John letter. She wanted a divorce. The marriage I thought would last forever ended in the cold, isolated darkness of incarceration.
The grief was a black ocean, a heavy weighted blanket crushing me. It pulled me under night after night. I stood at the edge and seriously contemplated ending it all. The darkness whispered that the hate-filled leftists who still want J6ers dead had already won. But faith — raw, stubborn, saving faith in God — reached down and pulled me back from the abyss. I chose not to let them win. I chose to live. I chose to fight.
Tempered by that fire and reborn in the grace of faith, I have fallen deeply in love with a beautiful blonde farmgirl named. She stands with me in all things, her soul radiating “LOVE MORE” and a fierce loyalty to the soil. Together I am healing hands in the earth, lavender fields swaying like a living promise of renewal. In her love and in the sacred toil of the land, I have found a serenity I never thought possible after the storm.
To every J6er reading this: Rejoice! The best is yet to come.
We are rebuilding our lives from the ashes. We are reconciling with God and with ourselves. We are reintegrating into the fight — speaking truth, organizing, refusing to be silenced. The grief is still strong. We lost who we were, our careers, our businesses, our families, our peace. The non-stop hate and attacks rain down every single time we announce ourselves as J6ers. But we are not alone. And we are not defeated.
Fear and faith can’t live in the same house.
We were and are being forged in the flames God wants us to be.
We are rising stronger.
God Bless the J6ers!.