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Man Trashes Church Because He Was Paid By Check..Not Cash

SPOKANE -- An angry church member caused a lot of destruction at a North Spokane Church early Tuesday morning.

The Spokane County Sheriff's Department says the dispute was over a $70 electric repair bill. That bill apparently sparked a tirade overnight.

The suspect, Mark Heitman, allegedly used his truck to ram the Country Crossroads Christian Church at 7011 North Altamont. That was his last stop, but before doing that, he went on a rampage at the church pastor's home.

That pastor, Dan Eubank, told us Heitman went to his home first and broke out windows in his truck before heading to the church.

Eubank said that he believes Heitman was upset over repair work he had done for the church.

"He'd done work on the church and we paid him with a check not cash, I didn't have cash and he got mad," said Eubank.

Heitman rammed the church building several times with his truck, apparently trying to get in. When he did break in, he reportedly broke nearly every window, television and computer screen, and most of the lighting fixtures. He also allegedly smashed the church instruments, and even crushed the toilets. Damages are estimated at tens of thousands of dollars.

Sheriff's deputies say they found Heitman at Auto Masters on North Nevada. A friend working at the shop said Heitman was crying and felt terrible for what he'd done to the church, and that he was planning on turning himself in.

Country Crossroads Christian Church has a congregation of about 120 people and has been serving the community for over 15 years. Pastor Eubank is waiting on the insurance to assess the situation to get his church up and running again.

Heitman is being charged with second degree burglary and malicious mischief.

JOKE: "Wash. Biol. Surv."

The inscription on the metal bands used by the United States Department of the Interior to tag migratory birds has been changed.

The small metal bands used to bear the address of the Washington Biological Survey, which was abbreviated: "Wash. Biol. Surv." until recently when the agency received a letter from an Arkansas outdoorsman.

The letter read: "Dear sirs, While camping last week I shot one of your birds. I think it was a crow. I followed the cooking instructions on the leg tag, and I want to tell you, it was horrible."

The bands are now marked "Fish and Wildlife Service."

JOKE: A hunter was out enjoying a nice morning

A hunter was out enjoying a nice morning in the woods when he decided to take a leak. He walked over to a tree and propped up his gun. Just then a gust of wind blew, the gun fell over, and discharged ... shooting him in the genitals.

Several hours later, lying in a hospital bed, he was approached by his doctor, who said, "Well sir, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you are going to be OK. The damage was local to your groin, there was very little internal damage and we were able to remove all of the buckshot."

"What's the bad news?" asked the hunter.

"The bad news is that there was some pretty extensive buckshot damage done to your penis. I'm going to have to refer you to my sister."

"Well I guess that isn't too bad," the hunter replied. "Is your sister a plastic surgeon?"

"Not exactly." answered the doctor. "She's a flute player in the Chicago Symphony. She's going to teach you where to put your fingers so you don't piss in your eyes!"

TOUCHING SONG OF A BOY AND HIS DOG CALLED STAINS

WOW..THIS IS COOL BUT VERY DIFFERENT

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Las Vegas man emerges from tunnels to resume life in the sunshine

Beneath the flashy Strip and the vast suburbs of the arid Las Vegas Valley are hundreds of miles of flood-control tunnels thought to shelter about 300 lost souls.
LAS VEGAS — He lived in the shadows, if you could call it living.
For nearly four years, Glenn Harrington spent most days foraging for money, smoking marijuana and methamphetamine and searching for a place to crash: a buddy's couch, a deck chair at the Tropicana pool, behind a sign. Last year, after police busted him and a friend at the sign, a homeless guy directed them to the tunnels.
Beneath the flashy Strip and the vast suburbs of the arid Las Vegas Valley are hundreds of miles of flood-control tunnels thought to shelter about 300 lost souls.
The pitch-black passages stay dry most of the year but are a breeding ground for mosquitoes and, where shallow pools of water collect, even crayfish. They reek of sodden trash and urine.
But a person can disappear in the tunnels. And Harrington wanted to disappear.

Steve and Kathryn, who gave no last name, rest in their queen-size bed in one of the tunnel system's more elaborate encampments. They have rebuffed offers of assistance.

So, he and his friend Thomas Kruse last fall headed to a culvert that leads into the tunnels. They slumbered outside for a few nights. They plied the handful of tunnel residents with weed and, eventually, were given the OK to move in.
Harrington paid two guys $20 each to lug a red leather sofa from a nearby apartment complex into an offshoot of the main corridor, nicknamed the Caesars tunnel. His new neighbors included a couple who had hauled in a studio apartment's worth of furniture.
Harrington, 44, is a slight, affable man with brown eyes, receding dark hair and a nervous laugh. The youngest in a family of eight children from Buffalo, N.Y., he joined his mom and a sister in Vegas almost three decades ago. He worked at casinos and once was an assistant food and beverage manager. He had a girlfriend and a daughter, Caylee, and liked the desert's ceaseless sunshine.
But the relationship was tempestuous. For years, Harrington had taken and quit jobs — and occasionally left town — on a whim. He often ended up on the sofa of a sister, playing the kind uncle to her children and pleading for money, then vanishing.
He says his girlfriend, also wrestling with addictions, left him and their daughter; her mother eventually took Caylee, then 3, back to Montana. He fought for custody, but lost, and returned to Vegas a woeful man. He started blowing money on drugs and slot machines and ended up on the streets.
Other tunnel residents tell similar stories, if they share them at all. A tacit code in the tunnels: Your past sins may remain unspoken.


Glenn Harrington left tunnel life with the help of the nonprofit HELP of Southern Nevada. Here, he was preparing to move to a subsidized apartment.
Harrington slept fitfully in the surroundings, wracked by fears: surging stormwater, bugs inching across his face, a fellow itinerant stealing the black duffel bag containing his only change of clothes. He soon was squabbling with neighbors.
Book opened eyes
A few years back, a book about the storm-drain society caught the attention of homeless-outreach workers at the nonprofit HELP of Southern Nevada. The group intensified its efforts in March, when former corrections officer Rich Penska and others armed with flashlights and offers of housing and medical help began heading underground several times a month.
They repeatedly visited the Caesars tunnel and chatted with Steve and Kathryn, an amiable couple who had survived there for more than a year. They showed off their living quarters: a hotel-size bed, a flowered bedspread, sheets swiped from a laundry service. Dean Koontz books. Perfume bottles. Discarded tickets for shows Kathryn dreamed of seeing.
The pleas to Steve and Kathryn pinged off the walls, but Harrington listened.
A plea for help
Duffel bag in hand, he planted himself outside the Caesars tunnel on a sweltering June day. His neighbors had been mocking him: Was he too good for the tunnels?
Days earlier, he had approached Penska. Get me out of here, Harrington had begged.
Penska, 49, and the father of two adult sons, also grew up in Buffalo. He sized up Harrington, who swore he wasn't using drugs. Penska assumed — correctly — that was bunk, but that didn't mean the plea wasn't sincere.
Harrington's friend Kruse, 52, recently had accepted help from the group after getting sloshed, falling down a hill and breaking his ankle. Another man from the Caesars tunnel also had moved out. Penska realized Harrington was struggling more than Steve and Kathryn, who made subsistence living look oddly effortless. On top of that, the couple feared that Steve would be locked up on outstanding drug charges if they accepted housing. (That's why they asked that their last names not be used.)
Penska shuttled Harrington to a recovery facility, where he bunked with seven men and received intensive counseling.
As time passed and his head cleared, he started to catalog things his old neighbors were missing. A refrigerator. Old Spice deodorant. Hot food, hot showers, hot coffee. A sense of dignity.
He ultimately moved to a two-man room, occasionally visited Kruse, who had moved into an apartment, and counted down the days until Penska and other counselors determined he, too, was ready for his own place.
Harrington occasionally talked to Caylee, now 9 and still living with her grandmother in Montana. He decorated his half of the room with pictures of her in a pink princess dress.
One October morning, Penska took Harrington to his new apartment. He tossed garbage bags full of stuff and his old duffel bag into Penska's SUV and hugged his housemates goodbye.
Harrington hadn't called any place his own in almost five years. But now a county program was helping him cover $650 a month in rent and utilities. He was eager to look for restaurant work.
He and Penska pulled up to the beige stucco complex, with huge palms and azure pools. The manager handed Harrington keys and a checklist explaining the complex's rules.
He opened the door to apartment 44. He opened the refrigerator and freezer. His surroundings were austere: dark-brown carpet, a bed with no frame, a TV with no stand, a slightly musty odor.
But Penska, who also received a key, had set the table with a pair of white plates and cups, and that small gesture seemed to make Harrington feel at home.
Penska knew many things could go wrong. Harrington could suffer tragedy and seek solace in meth; he could start feeling euphoric and crack open some beers. He could slide back onto the streets.
Kruse came by. For Penska, it was an affecting scene: The old neighbors sat on Harrington's black sofa, laughing, their faces warm with sunlight. The tunnels seemed a long time ago.

Mother calls police on her 6-year-old shoplifting daughter

An Ohio mother sent her six-year-old daughter to the slammer after she caught her shoplifting at a local drug store. Carrollton mom Diane Lyons said she doesn't feel bad at all about turning her daughter Shiane into the police for shoplifting. "It was ah, it was a sin," said Lyons.

They were shopping the Discount Drug Mart in town a few days ago, when one of Lyons' other daughters said Shiane had stuffed a packet of stickers in her shirt.

"I went over there to see in her shirt and I found it and I took her right to the manager," said Lyons. She didn't stop there. She called the police to come get her daughter.

"The police came and took her in the cruiser to give her a little scare. The police said that she didn't even cry or scream in the vehicle," said Lyons.

The first-grader could have faced charges, but police let her off with a warning. It's a lesson Lyons wants all her kids to learn from. "For later in life. I don't want my kids stealing or anything like that," said Lyons.

Lyons even considered cashing in on a reward the store offers for turning in shoplifters. "There was a sign and I just didn't know. Then I felt bad so I just didn't even call," said Lyons.

JOKE: Have you ever wondered who first uttered this phrase??

Have you ever wondered who first uttered the phrase 'You Gotta Be Shittin' Me''?

Well, it just so happens to have originated through the Father of Our Country, way back when George Washington was crossing the Delaware River with his troops.

There were 33 (remember this number) in Washington 's boat. It was extremely dark and storming furiously and the water was tossing them about.

Finally, Washington grabbed Corporal Peters (remember this name) and stationed him at the front of the boat with a lantern. He ordered him to keep swinging it, so they could see where they were heading.

Corporal Peters, through driving rain and cold, continued swinging the lantern back and forth, back and forth.

Then a big gust of wind and a wave hit and threw Corporal Peters and his lantern into the Delaware . Washington and his troops searched for nearly an hour trying to find Corporal Peters, but to no avail. All of them felt terrible, for the Corporal had been one of their favorites.

Sometime later, Washington and his troops landed on the other side, wet and totally exhausted. He rallied the troops and told them that they must go on.

Another hour later, one of his men said, 'General, I see lights ahead.' They trudged toward the lights and came upon a huge house.

What they didn't know was that this was a house of ill repute, hidden in the forest to serve all who came.

General Washington pounded on the door, his men crowding around him. The door swung open, and much to hi s surprise stood a beautiful woman. A huge smile came across her face, to see so many men standing there.

Washington was the first to speak, 'Madam, I am General George Washington and these are my men. We are tired, wet, exhausted, and desperately need warmth and comfort.'

Again, the Madam looked at all the men standing there, and with a broad smile on her face, said, 'Well, General, you have come to the right place. We can surely give you warmth and comfort.. How many men do you have?'

Washington replied, 'Well, Madam, there are 32 of us without Peters.'

And the Madam said, 'You gotta be shittin me.'