SC Democrat candidate fakes her own beating and kidnapping for publicity, votes – IOTW Report

SC Democrat candidate fakes her own beating and kidnapping for publicity, votes

Saturday, 22 August 2020, 8:30 MJA Uncategorized 35

TPM –
Police have arrested a Democratic candidate in South Carolina for allegedly filming a fake kidnapping of herself to win votes while running for mayor, reports The State.

Authorities charged Sabrina Belcher with conspiracy as well as filing a false police report following the fake kidnapping. She was filmed being robbed, beaten and kidnapped on Tuesday in a video on Facebook live and according to The State, Belcher arranged the whole incident in order to get “sympathy” before the election.

“They staged a kidnapping and beating in order to garner publicity, sympathy and votes in the November election,” said police. more

35 Comments on SC Democrat candidate fakes her own beating and kidnapping for publicity, votes

  3. The new normal for “Black Privilege” is now the Smollett Syndrome.
    If you are Black you can create a fake race crime and even if you get caught and exposed it all just goes away. No judicial justice because somehow it is society’s fault for your illegal bad decision.

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  6. I’m assuming that at least one weave was harmed in the filming of the kidnap hoax.

    Her hair is comedy gold
    Her lips utter stupid lies
    Her hands look like dinner rolls
    She’s got Lori Lightfoot eyes…

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  9. Proof of Fake media:

    Campaign photo — vs. — Arrest photo.

    @Thirdtwin

    It it sung to the tune of “Betty Davis Eyes” by Kim Carnes

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  12. …meanwhile, White people are getting beat for being Trump supporters, for daring to drive down a highway when they don’t know BLM took it over, for the terrible high crime of having pale skin, occasionally for the high crime 0f being 7 and wearing a red hat, and sometimes murdered for acting like a 5 year old when they actually ARE 5, and yet the media doesn’t blow THAT up or really even MENTION it, and there’s no national outrage or calls for violence to address the ACTUAL genocide in progress…

    …but sure, let’s worry ’bout Big Black Bertha here. I’m sure somewhere, somehow, she’s been the victim of wayyycism, maybe she was frightened by a shoelace in a loop shape like some ancestor she never had was hung with, so let’s go get Whitey some more and beat him until those reparations fall out because, slavery, or something…/s

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  17. Sadly, eating her opponents wasn’t an effective strategy so she decided to have this awful face beating instead. I bet the other Silverbacks don’t recognize her.

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  22. Chuckie AUGUST 22, 2020 AT 9:52 AM
    “Body by Hostess”

    …more like Mrs. Freshley, Hostess got kinda tiny in their cake sizes there when they came back after the union destroyed the orignial, but Mrs. Freshley is still big, high fat, and low-rent, just like SHE is, so it’s a match made in Sam’s Club over in the snack food aisle if ever there WAS one…

    https://d2d8wwwkmhfcva.cloudfront.net/800x/d2lnr5mha7bycj.cloudfront.net/product-image/file/large_3abf5d05-a05e-4e39-b074-8cd5758b6cb9.jpg

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  25. Love the last name “Belcher” I’ll bet this big brown cow belches constantly after her endless stream of meals which judging from the photo of her fat moon face non-stop 7 days a week, 24 hours per day.

    Naturally she is a member of the democrat communist party.

    I can just imagine the endless stream of big Macs, Church’s fried Chicken with multiple order of fries, washed down by gallons of chocolate shakes. People who know her well probably keep a safe distance away from her cavernous maw otherwise they run the risk the risk of being inadvertently being swept up with the fast flowing non-stop river of food being consumed by this human Jabba the Hut. A horrific fate indeed.

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  29. …under some circumstances, this ain’t no JOKE when someone’s THIS big. There’s a LOT of health problems that come WITH that extra donut, and it doesn’t just affect the Chunkie tha Chip, it ALSO affects the people who have to SAVE them from themselves time and again, and not JUST family, but the folks who have a DUTY to try to keep them alive.

    There’s been PLENTY of reality shows about 600 pounders, but I was IN a reality show for one once. My Squad unit was called for a guy who weighted somewhere in the vicinity of 550 pounds (what he remembered from the doctor, anyway), had heart problems because of it (duh), was diabetic because of it, was BLIND because of the diabetes, and was depressed because of all the forgoing so of COURSE he DRANK heavily, too. (heh, “Heavily).

    …well, one night, ONE of those factors got to him, and he fell down the stairs into his basement. It was a LONG staircase (of course). It was a NARROW staircase (of course, although his momentum kept him rolling and he DID damage the railing on the way, so there’s that). The basement had NO other exits (of course). The basement was COMPLETELY underground (of course), so no sneaky breaking exterior walls to get him out, not without a backhoe and and afternoon to spend on it.

    Couldn’t have set this up to be more difficult if we were doing it as a training exercise.

    …it was massively (heh, “Massively”) apparent from the get-go that the two of us weren’t shifting THIS elefunk on our own (I was with one of our three females at the time and NOT the heavier one, THIS one weighted ~110 at a guess, and I went about 160 at the time, so we weren’t even a match pound-for-pound), and the fancy metal cot with the collapsable wheels, drop rails, and fully adjustable to the Trendelenburg position wasn’t going down there, no how, no way, so it was time to call the calvary.

    We had a heavy rescue unit at the time, this very large, oddly-shaped vehicle with SEVERELY uncomforable seating for 10 guys, perpendicular to the direction of travel, in full turnouts AND SCBA tanks on square metal benches with rudimentary lap belts ONLY inside the BOX on the unit with no view out besides the tiny windows on the back door, so if you were driving and you two-footed brake and gas in motion there were 10 guys that were gonna kick your ass when you got back to quarters because they REALLY don’t like being crushed from one end of the box to the other for however long it took to get there, UP hills and DOWN hills espeically…but we NEEDED those 10 guys. Also, we NEEDED the rope in the compartments on the outside, along with the carabiners and such, and most PARTICUARLY needed the bathtub-sided orange rescue basket on the top that, owing to the lack of mountains where I lived, never came off for more than the occasional ice rescue.

    I don’t know how long it took them to get this juggernaut crewed and to us from the crosstown station where it was based to the house we were at what was almost the farthest edge of our district away from it (of course), but it seemed like a REALLY long time becuase me, my lightweight partner, and the squad lietenant first responder that finally joined us (they took their cars home at night when they had duty and were SUPPOSED to be FIRST repsonders as the title implies, but HE was way over on the other side of town TOO, so he was more like a “3rd Responder”, but it happens, geography is a troubling thing) were dealing with this guy who was kind of a problem to assess because he was SO fat it was hard to determine PRIMARY exam things like pulses and breathing because you REALLY had to smash into the fat to ausculate or palpate anything about the heart and lungs, SECONDARY exam things like broken bones because of the fat around them that was ALREADY mottled and bruised because dude didn’t move around a lot and it showed, and trying to contain him from flailing without hurting him FURTHER because he was blind AND roaring drunk BESIDES being in pain, none of which did anything to make him more reasonable, and we didn’t even find out about his heart issues until the backup crew arrived and someone could talk to his tiny wife about it while we were packaging him, because SHE didn’t want NO part of what was going on down THERE, no SIR!

    Well, we got more guys and, by the machinatinons of God because WE certainly didn’t plan it the Chaplain was on the manpower unit that night, and he was able to talk the guy down a bit to where we could at LEAST stop concentrating on not being flabbed to death by heavy, wildly flailing flesh and do some assessment, and unsurprisingly he had some sprung ribs, a broken arm, and a tib-fib fracture that we could determine in the field, probably some other stuff too, so we went for just splinting EVERYTHING becuase we were going to have to strap him in the basket and TILT it to get it up the staircase with ropes because no one could be at the SIDES, and we also demolished the parts of the railing HE didn’t take out on the way down so there could be SOME manpower and guidance as far up as possible till we got to the kitchen above, where we had to take out a poorly placed stove to be able to maneuver the basket out of the undersized doors at ALL.

    Dude was NOT happy about ANY of this, but happily he managed to NOT puke while we were engaged in this as many drunks DO, because if we had an airway management problem halfway up the steps, we would have had to lower him to where the banniser was gone and someone could get to his face and turn him MORE sideways to clear it, and wouldn’t THAT have been fun, but you can’t tube CONSCIOUS patients in a field setting unless you REALLY want a fight (AND a puke) on your hands, so it was what it was.

    As it was, though, we kept him strapped tight, didn’t break anything NEW, and literally manhandled him, basket and all, into the back of the unit after ditching the cot since it was not possible it would be of any use. We then had to strap THIS thing in the groaning rear of the unit so it couldn’t move (which the floor wasn’t designed for), and keep a couple of guys in case he needed to be tipped for puking en route, then off to the hospital we went. I didn’t start OUT in the box but because, thin though I was, I was still bigger and stronger than my female partner, so I got to be in the back with the drunk blind guy in pain all the way to the nearest hospital that was all the way over by the fire station where the heavy rescuse truck came from, completely across town (of course).

    Happily, though, while dude cussed and hollered with pain all the way to the hospital (the morphine in field doses wouldn’t TOUCH him becasue of his size and jacked-up liver, plus it generally isn’t a great idea to keep bombing someone with giant doses of a respiratory depressant to someone who’s been drinking all night and is currently strapped to the floor of a truck face-up and very difficult to plant a tube in around the fat were he to have a respiratory or cardiac arrest, so he and we just had to put up with it while the squad which, according to my partner, had some understeer because of the weight in the back, got to the hospital, not to mention finding out little things like his sugar level and what his weak, grossly enlarged heart was up to at the moment, lest it feel lonely and decide to leave us at any time. Good times, good times.

    Then we got to horse this guy out into the hospital, again doing a basket carry, but they DID have A bed big enough for him (and we had warned them, so it was ready), so we had to unpack our fleshy present to them as gingerly as a quarter-ton of writhing drunk CAN be unpacked, and rail it up so the doctor could improve on our necessarily cursory assessments with actual lab tests and portable X-ray machines, and wasn’t the girl who got to cathadarize this guy lucky tonight!

    At some point during the proceedings the hospital decided they had enough internal manpower and released us. We got to go back, clean out the unit from all the wrappers and such, put away all the straps and ropes, reclaim our cart, wash the guy’s sweat and spit off us, and go wait for the next run. I’m not sure what his outcome was, but whatever it was he apparently stayed away from the stairs going forwards becasue we NEVER had to do THAT again.

    …and this is SOME of the fun you get with your ton. Girlfriend in this article isn’t gonna have a nice life with all that lard behind her (heh, “Behind”), whatever the outcome of the mayorial election is. Odds are mayor pay would just make her FATTER ’cause she could afford ACTUAL Hostess at that point. Whatever, the moral of this story is “Don’t get grotesquely fat, and try never to get in a position where you have to carry those who DO”, which includes carrying them as a taxpayer-suppported, elected official, if you can HELP it…

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  31. SNS — I sometimes think there is some catharsis is putting fingers to keys, but have you ever considered taking up private journaling for some of these memories?

    😉

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  32. AbigailAdams
    AUGUST 22, 2020 AT 2:14 PM

    “…have you ever considered taking up private journaling for some of these memories?”

    …and leave everyone ELSE alone with my long, boring, overly-personal stories?

    …how’m I gonna get everyone angry at me for taking up bandwith and tiring their eyes THAT way?

    …it’s not fun if I’m only boring MYSELF, as any grandparent could tell you…:)

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  33. SNS — You and I have been around here a long time and I know you took my teasing in the spirit I intended. I was referring mainly to the graphic description of the guy. You’re really too good a writer sometimes! LOL! Nothing left at all to the imagination. 🙂

    For a time I was morbidly fascinated with that program “My 600 Pound Life” — in the same way as that program about hoarding. Trying to understand the psychology behind these kinds of addictions is difficult for anyone who doesn’t suffer them. We all have our little bugaboos. Mine are also around food, mostly: I can’t stand it when someone uses their personal (used) eating utensil to help themselves to a communal platter or dish. I once watched a friend poke through ALL the garlic pork on a serving dish at a Chinese restaurant, looking for what I could not tell, and had to scratch that much-anticipated item off my lunch. I also cannot stand leftovers in the fridge being there so long that no one remembers when they were first put in there. I ain’t eatin’ it! And canned tomato items (paste, diced, whole, juice, stewed, chopped, you name it) past their pull dates. I swear I can taste that tinny taste in the product. Also, I cannot stand it when the cook touches the raw food unnecessarily much in preparation. Quit fondling the steaks! Ewww.

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