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Hacker forces 150,000 printers to print images of robots
02.07.2017
12:59 pm
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Over the course of the past week, over 150,000 printers suddenly became active without their owners’ knowledge and began printing strange messages (among them “YOUR PRINTER HAS BEEN PWND’D”) as well as images of robots.

The stunt was instigated by a hacker going by the name “stackoverflowin.” The purpose of the mass hack was benign, a way of telling under-informed users that their printers are vulnerable to attack and that it might be time to take steps to prevent that. The vulnerability takes the form of leaving port 9100 open to external connections.

Some of the messages referenced Russian President Vladimir Putin’s much-publicized hacks on U.S. political figures during the 2016 election. Among them were the following:
 

stackoverflowin has returned to his glory, your printer is part of a botnet, the god has returned, everyone likes a meme, fix your bullsh*t.

...

stackoverflowin the hacker god has returned, your printer is part of a flaming botnet, operating on putin’s forehead utilising BTI’s (break the internet) complete infrastructure.

...

stackoverflowin/stack the almighty, hacker god has returned to his throne, as the greatest memegod. Your printer is part of a flaming botnet.

 
As stated in the messages, stackoverflowin used a “flaming botnet,” meaning a form of hack that forces a computer to forward transmissions to another computer without the owner’s knowledge.

Last week Jens Müller, Juraj Somorovsky, and Vladislav Mladenov went public with an advisory message about printers’ vulnerability to hacks, listing the many models that were affected. It seems that virtually all well-known printer brands are vulnerable, including HP, Epson, Canon, Afico, Konica Minolta, Brother, Samsung, and Oki.

More after the jump…...
 

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Posted by Martin Schneider
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02.07.2017
12:59 pm
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The unintentional beauty of graffiti removal
02.03.2017
02:07 pm
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Las Cruces, New Mexico-based photographer and artist Mattie Kannard has spent the past eight years photographing graffiti, but only after it has been painted over by the building owners. The results often resemble an unintentional pastiche of Mark Rothko’s style of abstract expressionism.

She explained her love for “graffiti removal” in an essay posted to accompany her Flickr album titled “Paint Over.”

“I love graffiti. But I love buff even more. When graffiti is removed, it is “buffed.” It gets painted over. As in, “Man! That tag I did last night was buffed this morning.” Before I knew the correct term, I called a buff “paint over,” and in 2009 I started taking and collecting photographs of graffiti that had been painted over. Over the last three years I’ve amassed almost two hundred pictures of beautiful buffed pieces.

Graffiti artists and property owners have an unspoken agreement to be in dialogue with each other. The artist starts a conversation with a tag, a mural, a phrase, an image. The property owner replies with a buff, a paint-over designed to erase the graffiti and discourage a repeat performance.

There’s one problem. In most cases, the paint used to cover the graffiti doesn’t match the original wall or surface paint. When people want to cover graffiti fast, they use what they have on hand – a leftover can or bucket of color, rarely even a distant cousin of the current palette. So instead of erasing the art, the buff becomes art itself… a wonderful, sometimes clumsy, sometimes precise, statement of color – an unintentional ode to what once was. This contrast, this visual band-aid, is what becomes so beautiful. The tag isn’t forgotten, it is unwittingly translated, transformed. It becomes simple, striking, an abstract skin.

Shapes emerge, sometimes vague, amorphous blobs or awkward angles, but more often geometric wonders created by paint rollers as they glide over a graffiti artist’s organic, snakelike scrawls. Corners contain expanses of color, sometimes in a neat rectangle or square. These are often the most striking buffs, but I also love the captivating, irregular shapes, the number of sides dictated by the highs and lows of the graffiti tag, the buffer’s paint roller guided by the spray can strokes of the original artist.”

 

“Graffiti removal” photo courtesy of Mattie Kannard’s photostream
 

 

 
Much more after the jump…

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Posted by Doug Jones
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02.03.2017
02:07 pm
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Lurid covers from ‘Killing,’ the transcendentally trashy European murder comic
01.31.2017
11:00 am
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In the early ‘60s, a distinctive anti-hero theme emerged in Italian comics. It was typified by Diabolik and Kriminal—both masters of disguise, and both thieves who preyed upon other criminals. Diabolik came first, in 1962, and Kriminal followed in 1964, adding the wrinkle that the protagonist was also a remorseless killer.

And in 1966, Killing blew both of them out of the water. The title character swiped Kriminal’s costume—a skeleton costume topped with a skull mask—but Kriminal’s was bright yellow, and Killing sported a more standard Halloween-issue black and white union suit. Killing (a/k/a Satanik, a/k/a Sadistik, a/k/a Kilink…) further upped the ante in the violence department by eschewing comic book style drawings in favor of photo illustrations, so all the violence was represented graphically with Grand Guignol theatrical effects. The resulting book was misogynistic as hell and utterly without redeeming value, so naturally it became a trans-oceanic phenomenon, published under the various names listed above not just in Italy, but Germany, Belgium, and several South American nations.
 

 

 
Much more mayhem and ‘Killing’ after the jump…

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Posted by Ron Kretsch
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01.31.2017
11:00 am
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‘The Giggler’: The horrific serial killer from Boston whose calling card was ‘laughter’
01.24.2017
09:29 am
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One of the only photos of Boston serial killer Kenneth Harrison, aka “The Giggler.”
 
Serial killer Kenneth Harrison began his Boston murder spree that would span the course of three years in 1967. His first victim was a six-year-old girl who had accepted a ride from Harrison while he was working as a Boston cab driver. Harrison somehow convinced the child to exit the cab with a promise of a “piggyback ride” on a bridge on the Fort Point Channel that separated South Boston from downtown. Harrison allegedly flew into a rage and thrust the girl over the bridge into the water. Her body was found almost two months later on a popular patch of beach and her death was ruled “accidental.”

When Harrison claimed his second victim, he would also acquire his macabre Batman villian-like moniker of “The Giggler.” On June 15th, 1969 Harrison was drinking his way to oblivion in the various bars and titty-clubs in the mythical downtown Boston den of sleaze, known as the Combat Zone. While at a standard Zone dive, the Novelty Bar, Harrison joined ex-Marine and city employee Joe Breen on the shuffleboard court and the two drank and carried on together for the rest of the evening. After Breen’s pals came back to the Novelty to collect their friend after checking out a few more of the Zone’s watering holes, Breen and Harrison were gone. And that’s because Harrison had already taken Breen out to the back of the Novelty and smashed his skull in—leaving the 31-year-old face down in a puddle of dirty water. Later, Harrison dropped a dime on himself by calling the Boston Police Department switchboard in the early morning hours of June 16th. Here’s a transcript of the chilling call which you can listen to here:

Switchboard Operator: Boston Police

Harrison: My dear, at the corner of Washington and Kneeland Streets in a construction site there’ll be a man down in the water, dead. The Giggler…Ah ha ha ha…

Harrison would add two more victims to his list in 1969 with the heinous murder of a nine-year-old boy he strangled with a piece of twine before disposing of his body in a train tunnel in South Station, and a 75-year-old woman who he also he tossed from the Fort Channel Bridge. Following the murder of the boy, Harrison once again tipped off the Boston PO on January 6th telling them where to find the child’s body. Unfortunately the cops weren’t able to put the two calls together. When he was finally apprehended a few weeks after the murder of his shuffleboard partner Joe Breen, Harrison would confess to all four murders and in November of 1970 he was convicted for the first degree murder of Breen, for which he received a life sentence. He would also received three additional life-terms, one for each of his other victims. During his confession Harrison also tried to take responsibility for the arson of the transient-friendly Paramount Hotel that claimed the lives of eleven, and injured more than 50. According to Harrison, and keeping true to his ominous nickname, he noted that he set the fire for “shits and giggles.” Harrison was never indicted for the blaze. In accordance with a plea bargain for the murders, Harrison ended up serving his time at a place we used to hear horrific stories about as kids growing up in Boston, Bridgewater State Hospital.

On April 20th, 1989 Harrison took his own life by swallowing as many of his anti-depressants as he could, most likely inspired to do so in order to avoid being killed by an inmate at Concord State Prison where Harrison was due to be transferred to on April 21st.
 

An article on Harrison’s murder of Joe Breen and his subsequent arrest in ‘The Boston Globe.’

Posted by Cherrybomb
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01.24.2017
09:29 am
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All-too-realistic serial killer jacket covered in latex skin, ears & human faces can now be yours!
01.11.2017
09:34 am
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A jacket inspired by murderer Ed Gein made by Kayla Arena.
 
Not only can you own a jacket that that would make “Buffalo Bill” forget all about putting the fucking lotion in the bucket shout “shut up and take my money!” you can have it customized to your precise measurements. Because nothing looks worse than a poorly fitting blazer made of authentic looking body parts.

The inspiration for this creation by Kayla Arena and Toby Barron was, according to their Etsy page,  “American Murderer and Body Snatcher, Ed Gein.” If you’re unfamiliar with Gein’s handiwork, Arena and Barron are referring to the career of one of the world’s most infamous murderers. Ed Gein’s life and nefarious activities have provided storylines for numerous films including Psycho, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Silence of the Lambs. After Gein’s mother died he descended into a poor mental state and became a regular at local graveyards searching for body parts which he collected in great numbers. Gein would return the bodies to their resting spots sans a few limbs with such care that his grave robbing went unnoticed for several years. When he escalated his after-hours activities to include the murder of two women in 1957, he was arrested, tried, and convicted for his crimes. Gein would die at the age of 77 in a psychiatric facility in Wisconsin.

As a full-time ghoul myself, I enthusiastically applaud Arena and Barron’s commitment to making this odd piece of outerwear as realistic as possible. Arena has worked as FX talent on several films since the late 2000s. According to her Etsy page it takes 8-10 weeks to make one of these babies which will ship to you from her homebase of Australia for $1100. In addition to the jacket she also sells many more gorgeously grotesque items on her website such as hats, lamps, handbags, shoes and a retro-style chair all constructed with the same “fabric” (which includes details synthetic hair and false eyelashes) as the Ed Gein jacket. Yikes!
 

A close look at the back detail of Arena’s Ed Gein jacket.
 

YOU could be wearing this!
 
More after the jump…

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Posted by Cherrybomb
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01.11.2017
09:34 am
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That time the most famous director in Mexico shot a film critic in the balls
12.29.2016
07:36 am
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Even if you’ve never seen one of Emilio Fernandez’s movies—even if you’ve never seen him in Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch or Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia—you’ve seen Emilio Fernandez. According to legend, he was the model for the Academy’s Oscar statuette.

Another legend attached to Fernandez is that he shot a film critic in the balls at one of his parties. Bob Dylan mentions this tale in Sam Shepard’s one-act play Short Life of Trouble:

BOB: You know, Emilio Fernandez used to shoot the critics that didn’t like his movies. At parties.

I first heard this story from the writer Barry Gifford after I tracked him down in Berkeley years ago. He’d heard it from the director and actor Alfonso Arau, who played the part of Herrera in The Wild Bunch. Like a no-nose bike seat, the account in Brando Rides Alone, Gifford’s book about One-Eyed Jacks, supports everything but the testicles:

Mexico’s most famous (along with Luis Buñuel)—certainly most infamous—director, Emilio Fernandez, known as “El Indio” because of his mother’s origins, made many unforgettable films, several featuring María Félix (Enamorada) or Dolores Del Rio (María Candelária, called by Beatriz Reyes Nevares “the classic and most memorable of all Mexican films”); he also directed a version of John Steinbeck’s story The Pearl/La Perla, starring Pedro Armendáriz. […]

Arau told me that after completing a new film Fernandez invited to dinner at his estancia the most prominent film critics from Mexico City. After dinner and undoubtedly many drinks, El Indio screened for them his latest effort, then solicited their opinions. One after another, the critics, stuffed and glowing from whiskey and Tequila, praised the film, telling their host what he wanted to hear, that it was his best to date, possibly another masterpiece, as moving as María Candelária. Then a journalist rose and begged to differ, not impolitely, but making clear his opinion that the new movie, while reasonably effective as melodrama, was not a particularly worthy addition to the maestro’s oeuvre. A silence fell over the room. El Indio, initially uncomprehending and a good two-and-a-half sheets to the wind, finally realized that he was being disrespected on his own turf and drew from beneath his coat a revolver. Without hesitating, he shot the disputatious fool, killing him in front of his fellow guests.

Arau said that for the offense of murdering a critic Fernandez was forced to spend some time in jail (where he was well treated), but since he was a national hero, and the insulting behavior of the deceased was compounded by the fact that at the time of the incident he had been availing himself of El Indio’s hospitality, the director’s sentence was cut short. Emilio Fernandez is a legend. (He died in 1986.) Nobody remembers the name of the dead critic.

More after the jump…

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Posted by Oliver Hall
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12.29.2016
07:36 am
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Patty Hearst sexploitation films were a ‘thing’ in the 1970s
12.14.2016
10:41 am
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‘Patty’ poster available at WestgateGallery.com
 
Although the notion of rushing a “cash in” product to market to capitalize on a story or scandal in the headlines isn’t exactly a new thing, even in the more freewheeling 1970s a porno “cash in” was still, historically speaking, a fairly novel phenomenon. Case in point, when publishing heiress Patty Hearst was abducted by the left-wing terrorists known as the Symbionese Liberation Army.

If you weren’t around then or need a refresher course, on February 4th, 1974, Patty Hearst, then a 19-year-old sophomore at the University of California, Berkeley was abducted from her apartment by the SLA, a radical leftist urban guerrilla group led by escaped convict “Field Marshal” Donald DeFreeze. She was raped, beaten, constantly threatened with death and basically brainwashed/coerced into participating in various highly illegal activities, including an infamous April 15, 1974 San Francisco bank robbery, helping to make improvised explosives and driving a getaway car.
 

 
Hearst was arrested in a San Francisco apartment with another SLA member on September 18, 1975. At her police station booking she listed her occupation as “Urban Guerilla” and asked her lawyer to “Tell everybody that I’m smiling, that I feel free and strong and I send my greetings and love to all the sisters and brothers out there.” Hearst was just 87 pounds when she was apprehended, and despite being described by the prominent psychologist Dr. Margaret Singer, who examined her, as “a low-IQ, low-affect zombie” and clearly having suffered psychological and physical trauma, she was convicted by a jury of several crimes and sentenced to decades in federal prison. Jimmy Carter commuted her prison sentence after 22 months served and Bill Clinton gave her a full pardon in 2001. Hearst appeared in two John Waters films and has been active in charity fundraising, concentrating her efforts towards pediatric AIDS.

The Hearst story was quite a big deal in the mid-70s, daily frontpage news, on the cover of TIME, Newsweek, the Saturday Evening Post and People and the subject of frequent TV news stories. You could buy “special edition” magazines devoted to Hearst’s travails next to the TV Guide and Reader’s Digest at the grocery store checkout line. And there were two, arguably three, exploitation films made about her at the time.
 

 
The most curious of the three was a film simply called Patty (no last name is ever mentioned) a mockumentary that came in hardcore XXX-rated, softcore X-rated and R-rated versions. The only “star” worth mentioning was 70s porn stalwart Jamie Gillis and the film was directed by Robert L. Roberts the same low budget sleaze auteur who gave the world Sweet Savior, the 1971 “love-thrill murders” Manson Family-themed exploitation film starring former teen heartthrob Troy Donahue as a shaggy hippie cult leader.

Essentially Patty seems like it was a bunch of sex scenes with various pairings (group sex, lesbian, interracial and even a little girl-on-snake action according to a VARIETY review) held together with a framing device of “a Freudian psychologist and four of his colleagues” (along with the director himself) conversing about “Patty.” The film’s tagline was “The story of a revolutionary, told in highly erotic terms.” NY Times film reviewer Vincent Canby dubbed it “a frisky romp.”

According to the Temple of Schlock blog, the film had been considered “lost” but that:

The negative for all three was rescued from a condemned movie theater in New Jersey almost seven years ago and sold on eBay to a DVD company on January 14, 2008. A DVD/Blu-ray will hopefully come out sometime soon.

(Apparently a 2017 release has already been announced by Synapse, but with no further information available.)
 

 
And then there is Tanya AKA Sex Queen of the SLA a comedy directed by one “P. Duncan Fingersnarl” (Nate Rogers) in 1976. Here’s what one reviewer on IMDB said about it:

This film is a fun spoof, based on the real-life 70s Patty Hearst kidnapping. In the movie, a young affluent woman named Charlotte Cane, is kidnapped and held for ransom. Her kidnappers are a group of radical revolutionaries, who are holed-up in a grungy hideout, in the Oakland ghetto.

They’re a mixed-race bunch, who are committed to camaraderie, and saving the ‘people’ from the oppressive ‘insect pig’ capitalists. This band of freedom-fighters, are also dedicated to having lots of sex with each other. There’s plenty of juicy sex scenes, including both interracial and lesbian trysts, between the group members. The sex in this film, is very graphic indeed, including showing lots of male full- frontal nudity.

Charlotte gets caught-up in the lustful antics of her kidnappers, and has marathon sex sessions with them all. She enthusiastically enjoys her newly uninhibited sexuality, that the kidnappers have awakened in her. Charlotte also becomes sympathetic, to the radical extremist cause of the group. She even renounces her name, choosing to be called Tanya instead. So, Tanya has to decide if she really wants to return to her former affluent, sheltered existence, when she gets the chance to do so.

 
More after the jump…

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Posted by Richard Metzger
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12.14.2016
10:41 am
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Murderers and Meths Drinkers: A strange, grim tour of ‘The London Nobody Knows’
12.08.2016
09:46 am
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The great actor James Mason stands in a Victorian urinal in London talking about goldfish. Here, Mason says referring to this Holborn convenience, is true democracy as “All men are equal in the eyes of a lavatory attendant.” It’s one of the many quirky moments in an excellent documentary called The London Nobody Knows.

Another instance is Mason turning up at the door of a resident on Hanbury Street to view the garden where Jack the Ripper brutally murdered Annie Chapman. The streets look little changed in the seventy-nine years since her killing—dark, derelict, and foreboding.

Mason was a major box office star when he fronted this delightful short. He had recently starred in Stanley Kubrick’s Lolita and Hitchcock’s North by Northwest and was yet to make the few ill-considered choices that briefly dimmed his star at the start of the seventies. Between acting commitments in early 1967, Mason donned his brown brogues, wool cap and camel jacket to play—or rather perform—the role of inquisitive tour guide across the cobbled lanes, the dereliction, the people, the buskers, the down and outs, the nooks and crannies of a radically changing city.

The London Nobody Knows is a delightful yet oddly haunting film. The tone is set at the beginning when Mason visits the derelict Bedford Music Hall—the favorite venue of the legendary Marie Lloyd, the queen of music hall. As Lloyd is heard singing “The Boy I Love Is Up in the Gallery,” Mason recounts how the ghost of a little known performer Belle Elmore was said to haunt the theater. Belle, Mason explains, was better known as Cora Turner—wife and victim of one Dr. Hawley Harvey Crippen—the notorious murderer. This mix of the comic and the darkly tragic filter through the whole film—as can be seen by the later sequences of down and outs and meths drinkers—those poor unfortunates who sought inebriation—and usually blindness and death—in the consumption of denatured alcohol. Even an almost picturesque scene by the River Thames is tinged by the tale of pirates chained hand and foot by the edge waters to drown. Locals came and ate picnics while watching these poor brigands die.

As a side note: the Bedford Music Hall was where Peter Sellers parents performed and Sellers was born and raised in a tenement apartment next to the theater. Sellers later claimed he was a reincarnation of another Bedford artiste—Dan Leno.
 
0101flecthenob.jpg
 
Now, when I said Mason performs as “tour guide”—he is in fact giving his interpretation of Geoffrey Scowcroft Fletcher—a journalist, writer, artist and long forgotten pioneer of what is now ponderously termed “psychogeography”—on whose work the film is based. Fletcher wandered London drawing its inhabitants, noting down events, sights and things of historical importance which he then wrote up in a weekly column for the Daily Telegraph. Fletcher’s books—The London Nobody Knows (1962), Down Among the Meths Men (1966) and a pinch of London’s River (1965) are the source material for Mason’s journey. (The Situationists were, of course, also known for taking similarly drifting “revolutionary” strolls, which they termed “dérive.”)

The London Nobody Knows was directed by Norman Cohen and produced by Michael Klinger. Cohen went onto make his name as a director of hit British comedy films like Till Death Us Do Part (1969), Dad’s Army (1971), and Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall and the series of seventies sex comedies—-Confessions of a Pop Performer, Confessions of a Holiday Camp and Confessions of a Driving Instructor. While Klinger who produced Roman Polanski’s early films Cul-de-Sac and Repulsion went on to produce Michael Caine in Get Carter and Pulp and the Lee Marvin/Roger Moore feature Shout at the Devil.
 

 
If there’s one thing you are going to watch today then make it this—as it’s a rewarding look back at a world long gone (London during a year change) the year of so-called psychedelia and the “summer of love.” As can be seen from this film—that world was media hype—the world of The London Nobody Knows was very, very real.
 
Watch ‘The London Nobody Knows’ after the jump…

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Posted by Paul Gallagher
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12.08.2016
09:46 am
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Married to the Mob: Dames and Molls who hung with Mafia Wise Guys
11.23.2016
11:54 am
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001mobmollbulletalicegranville31.jpg
 
Mob molls are tough dames. They gotta put up with a lotta shit and a lotta bad juju. Not every broad has what it takes to hang with the Mob. Take bit-part actress Alice Granville (above) who was shot twice in the arm by her hitman husband Pete Donahue. Apparently she didn’t even wince. Donahue was a trigger-happy lieutenant for mob boss Dutch Schultz. Granville said her mob beau only shot her to prove how much he loved her. Hate to think what he got her for Valentine’s Day.

Or take fifteen-year-old Carmen Martinez (below)—who was willing to kill for her mob bf. That’s her struggling with cops on her way to Felony Court having been charged with the murder of seventeen-year-old Raul Banuchi in 1951. What says “I love you” more than whacking someone?

Being a Mob moll takes a lotta guts, a lotta loyalty and a helluva lotta just plain dumb. Here’s a rogue’s gallery of some hardboiled Mob molls.
 
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003mobmolls42.jpg
Mob moll Smitty White claims the fifth while getting the third degree from New York’s finest after her boyfriend Ralph Prisco was shot and killed during a failed holdup in 1942. The word “moll” comes from “molly” as in the old 17th century English term for prostitute—though like many English words when transposed to America (fanny being an obvious example) the word developed a different meaning—as in the girlfriend or female accomplice of a gangster.
 
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Big Mama Virginia Hill—the so-called ‘Queen of Mob Molls’ looks like butter wouldn’t melt…. when testifying she knew nothing about her boyfriend Bugsy Siegel’s crime record and Mob connections after he was whacked in 1951.
 
More mob molls, after the jump…

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Posted by Paul Gallagher
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11.23.2016
11:54 am
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The real ‘Mickey and Mallory’: Candid pics of mass-murderer Charles Starkweather & Caril Fugate
11.10.2016
02:26 pm
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A photo of Caril Fugate and Charles Starkweather in happier times while the two were ‘dating.’
 
The horrific murder spree of Charles Starkweather and his fourteen-year-old girlfriend Caril Fugate ended much like bank-robbing folk heros Bonnie and Clyde—in a hail of bullets. The only difference was that both Fugate and Starkweather survived and were finally apprehended after leaving eleven people dead in their wake—including Fugate’s parents and her two-year old sister who Starkweather stabbed to death.

The pair served as inspiration for actor Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis’ portrayals of “Mickey and Mallory Knox” in Oliver Stone’s over-the-top 1994 film Natural Born Killers. Their gruesome story is also paralleled in Quentin Taratino’s script for 1993’s splatter-fest True Romance, and was the basis for the 1973 flick Badlands. The character of “The Kid” from Stephen King’s epic 1978 novel The Stand was (according to King) based on Starkweather. The brutality of the crimes committed during Fugate and Starkweather’s spree at times rivals the cinematic exploits of their Hollywood counterparts. After Starkweather murdered Fugate’s stepfather, mother and sister the couple brazenly took up residence in the home posting a note on the door stating that everyone inside had the “flue” and that all visitors should stay away. The note itself gave credence to the speculation that Fugate was being held against her will as it was signed “Miss Bartlett.” A tactic allegedly used by Fugate in an attempt to arouse suspicion as to the legitimacy of the note being written by Velda Bartlett (Fugate’s mother) who as she was married would have signed it as “Mrs. Bartlett” as well as spelling the word “flu” correctly.

When Fugate’s grandmother finally resorted to threats of calling the police the pair left town and quickly added three more victims to their growing body count. The details regarding the deaths of two teenage victims—Robert Jensen Jr. and Carol King, who unfortunately gave their killers a ride—are when things really go off the rails and they escalate the savagery of their crimes. Both Jensen Jr. and King were murdered in a storm cellar—but not before Starkweather raped King (who rather resembled Fugate). When the police recovered the bodies they found that King’s genitals had been slashed, a heinous revelation that Starkweather insisted was committed by Fugate saying that his young (and likely unwilling) accomplice was motivated to assault King because she was “jealous” of her.

The details of Starkweather and Fugate’s eventual apprehension are as violent as the fictionalized depictions of their exploits. After murdering three more people in Lincoln, Nebraska and stealing their car, the pair then attempted to ditch that car for another occupied by Merle Collison. When Collison refused to give up his automobile Starkweather filled the car and Collison with nine bullets. Shortly after what would be Starkweather’s last homicide another motorist happened upon the scene and after noticing the bullet riddled car and bloody body inside attempted to subdue Starkweather. During the scuffle Deputy Sheriff William Romer rolled up to what he thought was merely a manly roadside dispute that suddenly saw a frantic Fugate hurtling toward him screaming “He’s crazy! He just killed a man!” Starkweather jumped back into the car he’d stolen back in Lincoln and began a high-speed chase that would end in Douglas, Wyoming with the arrest of both young fugitives.

To end this grim tale I’ve got a large assortment of photos of Starkweather (who as you will see was a huge admirer of James Dean) and Fugate (now 72 who has always maintained her innocence—a claim supported by many including the authors of the 2014 book The Twelfth Victim: The Innocence of Caril Fugate in the Starkweather Murder Rampage), as well as other crime-scene artifacts from the couple’s bloody rampage through Nebraska and Wyoming for which Starkweather went to the electric chair in 1959.

Some are definitely NSFW.
 

The mugshot of Charles Starkweather, the spree-killer who terrorized Wyoming and Nebraska in 1958.
 

Caril Fugate.
 

Charles Starkweather, then nineteen, covered in blood after being taken into custody in Douglas, Wyoming.
 
More after the jump…

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Posted by Cherrybomb
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11.10.2016
02:26 pm
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