Throwing your mother to pit bulls, mummified fingers in a jar
Today's Blood-Soaked Yet Truly Morbid Fact!
A Brazilian man arguing with his 88-year-old mother threw her into a neighbor's yard, where two pit bulls mauled her to death. Painter Luiz Polidoro, 48, picked up his mother Maria and pitched her over the yard wall during an argument on Thursday afternoon at her house. Two pit bulls tied up in the neighboring yard then savaged her, and she died later in hospital. "He is an alcoholic. He was robbing his mother's pension money so he could drink," the dogs' owner, Helder Bento Rodrigues, told O Estado de Sao Paulo newspaper. Polidoro told police his mother had jumped over the wall on her own. The newspaper said he had tried to rescue her. When police arrived, he was cradling the blood-soaked woman. Polidoro has been jailed in Sao Paulo and charged with murder.
Culled from: Reuters
Generously submitted by: Nepetine
**********************************************************************
I like how the dogs' owner tries to deflect the attention off the dogs and onto the rotten thieving alcoholic son!
*******
Tidings Of Discomfort and Gloom!
It's crunch time for Xmess presents, so I thought I'd share some of my favorite online shops for those of you still searching for the perfect gift. These sites have helped me out many times in the past!
Gorey Details
Dark Candles
Gravestone Artwear
Madame Talbot's Victorian Lowbrow
Satan's Sideshow
Design Toscano
Pyramid Collection
*******
Morbid Mirth Du Jour!
Would you like to know how you're going to die? Just ask the Death Psychic! Turns out that I'll die while having fun with fireworks, when an M-80 blows up in my hand and I die from massive blood loss. Considering I wince when I have to strike a match, I somehow doubt it...
*******
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Rebecca
"I grew up in an isolated farmhouse in northern New York, 15 minutes drive from town, which at least four months out of the year was more like 30 minutes to town, with snow covering the roads and windchill warnings each month in winter. The house had been built in the mid-1800's, and had been owned most recently by four generations of a family [I'll call them Smith]. When my father bought it, the house was what a realtor would describe as a "fixer-upper," in that it was mildewy on the inside, had water damage on the ceilings and cluster flies everywhere they could think to fit.
"My parents had been adamant about making a place their own, and coupled with the limited funds of a young family, they chose the farmhouse, whose barn had burned down to its stone foundation which we played among as kids.
"The house, and the 60 acres it held, were sold to my father by an elderly woman who had been living alone for quite some time, which would account for the disrepair of the place. My father began to gut the interior of the home, starting with the carpets, days after she was moved into a nursing home by her son.
"The recarpeting, resurfacing, repainting, and all other things that are redone when one undertakes the gutting of a house were accomplished room-by-room, which is why my father had to fix the plumbing. The bathrooms were the last on the list to be restored for use before our family moved in fully, so my father set to work on the plumbing, some of which was located in the cellar.
"The cellar, or basement, was very cold and damp, and not unlike other New England cellars. The Smith family hadn't fully removed all of the sundries located in the basement, and so there were the remnants of four generations of mason jars and pickle jars and fruit preserves and tennis rackets and all other things in the basement.
"My father, having navigated this debris to locate the pipes, was clattering away with his wrench when he heard a clinking sound coming from some jars along the floor. Feeling bored, he started dumping out old coffee cans full of nails and glass jars with rusty bolts and things, but was quite shocked to discover that one of the glass jars held four mummified human fingers.
"He called Mrs. Smith, who said "Oh! There they are!" and proceeded to explain that her uncle (this must have been around 1890) had gone out one night on a horse-drawn sleigh and had forgotten gloves, so his fingers had gotten frostbite. These fingers, then, had to be amputated, and apparently, he was so attached to them that he put them in a jar in the basement for safekeeping. He then died of unrelated causes, and without telling anyone where the fingers were hidden, and so was buried without them.
"The son of the Smith family came to pick up the grisly souvenir, which my father had respectfully left in its original jar, and as far as I know, the fingers were buried alongside the uncle, roughly 85 years after his death."
Awww, why on earth would they bury those fingers? What a great family heirloom!!
A Brazilian man arguing with his 88-year-old mother threw her into a neighbor's yard, where two pit bulls mauled her to death. Painter Luiz Polidoro, 48, picked up his mother Maria and pitched her over the yard wall during an argument on Thursday afternoon at her house. Two pit bulls tied up in the neighboring yard then savaged her, and she died later in hospital. "He is an alcoholic. He was robbing his mother's pension money so he could drink," the dogs' owner, Helder Bento Rodrigues, told O Estado de Sao Paulo newspaper. Polidoro told police his mother had jumped over the wall on her own. The newspaper said he had tried to rescue her. When police arrived, he was cradling the blood-soaked woman. Polidoro has been jailed in Sao Paulo and charged with murder.
Culled from: Reuters
Generously submitted by: Nepetine
**********************************************************************
I like how the dogs' owner tries to deflect the attention off the dogs and onto the rotten thieving alcoholic son!
*******
Tidings Of Discomfort and Gloom!
It's crunch time for Xmess presents, so I thought I'd share some of my favorite online shops for those of you still searching for the perfect gift. These sites have helped me out many times in the past!
Gorey Details
Dark Candles
Gravestone Artwear
Madame Talbot's Victorian Lowbrow
Satan's Sideshow
Design Toscano
Pyramid Collection
*******
Morbid Mirth Du Jour!
Would you like to know how you're going to die? Just ask the Death Psychic! Turns out that I'll die while having fun with fireworks, when an M-80 blows up in my hand and I die from massive blood loss. Considering I wince when I have to strike a match, I somehow doubt it...
*******
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Rebecca
"I grew up in an isolated farmhouse in northern New York, 15 minutes drive from town, which at least four months out of the year was more like 30 minutes to town, with snow covering the roads and windchill warnings each month in winter. The house had been built in the mid-1800's, and had been owned most recently by four generations of a family [I'll call them Smith]. When my father bought it, the house was what a realtor would describe as a "fixer-upper," in that it was mildewy on the inside, had water damage on the ceilings and cluster flies everywhere they could think to fit.
"My parents had been adamant about making a place their own, and coupled with the limited funds of a young family, they chose the farmhouse, whose barn had burned down to its stone foundation which we played among as kids.
"The house, and the 60 acres it held, were sold to my father by an elderly woman who had been living alone for quite some time, which would account for the disrepair of the place. My father began to gut the interior of the home, starting with the carpets, days after she was moved into a nursing home by her son.
"The recarpeting, resurfacing, repainting, and all other things that are redone when one undertakes the gutting of a house were accomplished room-by-room, which is why my father had to fix the plumbing. The bathrooms were the last on the list to be restored for use before our family moved in fully, so my father set to work on the plumbing, some of which was located in the cellar.
"The cellar, or basement, was very cold and damp, and not unlike other New England cellars. The Smith family hadn't fully removed all of the sundries located in the basement, and so there were the remnants of four generations of mason jars and pickle jars and fruit preserves and tennis rackets and all other things in the basement.
"My father, having navigated this debris to locate the pipes, was clattering away with his wrench when he heard a clinking sound coming from some jars along the floor. Feeling bored, he started dumping out old coffee cans full of nails and glass jars with rusty bolts and things, but was quite shocked to discover that one of the glass jars held four mummified human fingers.
"He called Mrs. Smith, who said "Oh! There they are!" and proceeded to explain that her uncle (this must have been around 1890) had gone out one night on a horse-drawn sleigh and had forgotten gloves, so his fingers had gotten frostbite. These fingers, then, had to be amputated, and apparently, he was so attached to them that he put them in a jar in the basement for safekeeping. He then died of unrelated causes, and without telling anyone where the fingers were hidden, and so was buried without them.
"The son of the Smith family came to pick up the grisly souvenir, which my father had respectfully left in its original jar, and as far as I know, the fingers were buried alongside the uncle, roughly 85 years after his death."
Awww, why on earth would they bury those fingers? What a great family heirloom!!
Labels: alcoholic drinks, christmas, coffee, death, family, jokes, kids, links, mom, money, morbid facts, news, presents, snow, us, victoria, water
posted by Flami at 8:30:00 PM
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