'Darth Vader' spared jail in Jedi church attacks
The attack involved a church founded on the Jedi faith of 'Star Wars' films
HOLYHEAD, Wales - A man who dressed up as Darth Vader, wearing a garbage bag for a cape, and assaulted the founders of a group calling itself the Jedi church was given a suspended sentence Tuesday.
Arwel Wynne Hughes, 27, attacked Jedi church founder Barney Jones — aka Master Jonba Hehol — with a metal crutch, hitting him on the head, prosecutors told Holyhead Magistrates' Court.
He also whacked Jones' 18-year-old cousin, Michael Jones — known as Master Mormi Hehol — bruising his thigh in the March 25 incident, prosecutors said.
The two cousins and Barney Jones' brother, Daniel, set up the Church of Jediism, Anglesey order, last year. Jedi is the faith followed by some of the central characters in the "Star Wars" films.
The group, which claims about 30 members, says on its Web site that it uses "insight and knowledge" from the films as "a guide to living a better and more worthwhile life."
"We all love the films and what they stand for. Obviously some people are going to laugh about it," the Wales on Sunday newspaper quoted Barney Jones as saying last month. "But a lot of people do take it seriously."
Unfortunately for Hughes, his March attack was recorded on a video camera that the cousins had set up to film themselves in a light saber battle.
"Darth Vader! Jedis!" Hughes shouted as he approached.
Hughes claimed he couldn't remember the incident, having drunk the better part of a 2 1/2-gallon box of wine beforehand.
"He knows his behavior was wrong and didn't want it to happen but he has no recollection of it," said Hughes' lawyer, Frances Jones.
District Judge Andrew Shaw sentenced Hughes to two months in jail but suspended the sentence for one year. He also ordered Hughes to pay $195 to each of his victims and $117 in court costs.
In the 2001 United Kingdom census, 390,000 — 0.7 percent of the population — listed Jedi as their religion.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Huh? What? Who's that?
Who's that in my casket?Man presumed dead in train accident calls daughter at own funeral MOST PECULIAR!
updated 2:40 p.m. MT, Fri., Sept. 17, 2004 TORONTO - Dane Squires was late for his own funeral. At least it seemed that way after people gathered Thursday at a Toronto funeral home to mourn the retired welder from Newfoundland, whom they believed had been hit by a train.Relatives of Squires were watching the casket being loaded into a hearse when his daughter Trina was told she had an important phone call.Story continues below ↓
advertisement
Her father was on the other end."She totally, totally lost it," Squires' brother Gilbert said."She said, `There's a ghost talking to me on the phone. Please somebody try to make sense out of this because I'm losing my mind.'"Squires was initially identified as the man who was hit by a commuter train last Friday night. The body was badly mutilated in the accident but still fit Squires' description, police said. Authorities haven't yet identified the victim."He went to my sister's house, and whoever answered the door fainted," said Gilbert Squires, noting his brother didn't become aware of the confusion until he read his own obituary in the newspaper.Squires' sister identified the dead man as her brother after viewing the body at the coroner's office this week, police said.
updated 2:40 p.m. MT, Fri., Sept. 17, 2004 TORONTO - Dane Squires was late for his own funeral. At least it seemed that way after people gathered Thursday at a Toronto funeral home to mourn the retired welder from Newfoundland, whom they believed had been hit by a train.Relatives of Squires were watching the casket being loaded into a hearse when his daughter Trina was told she had an important phone call.Story continues below ↓
advertisement
Her father was on the other end."She totally, totally lost it," Squires' brother Gilbert said."She said, `There's a ghost talking to me on the phone. Please somebody try to make sense out of this because I'm losing my mind.'"Squires was initially identified as the man who was hit by a commuter train last Friday night. The body was badly mutilated in the accident but still fit Squires' description, police said. Authorities haven't yet identified the victim."He went to my sister's house, and whoever answered the door fainted," said Gilbert Squires, noting his brother didn't become aware of the confusion until he read his own obituary in the newspaper.Squires' sister identified the dead man as her brother after viewing the body at the coroner's office this week, police said.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Wait
Well friends,
After months of work to finish the challenge my Stake President gave me of reading the Book of Mormon, I am happy to announce that my mission papers are finally in! This doesn't seem real at all. I think part of that has to do with the fact that it's been three months since my first attempt to put the papers in. It also had taken three months to get those papers and to do the work. I'm starting to notice a pattern. So, I suppose anyone who actually reads my blog has three months to send me your guess as to where I will be serving. And then I suppose I will be out on a mission three months after that.
After months of work to finish the challenge my Stake President gave me of reading the Book of Mormon, I am happy to announce that my mission papers are finally in! This doesn't seem real at all. I think part of that has to do with the fact that it's been three months since my first attempt to put the papers in. It also had taken three months to get those papers and to do the work. I'm starting to notice a pattern. So, I suppose anyone who actually reads my blog has three months to send me your guess as to where I will be serving. And then I suppose I will be out on a mission three months after that.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The Race
"Quit" "Give up, you're beaten!" they shout at me and plead,
"There's just too much against you now, this time you can't succeed."
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure's face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children's race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race
Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, "My dad will be so proud."
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And 'mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn't win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he'd disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win the race!"
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that's all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race."
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face.
That steady look that said again, "Get up and win the race!"
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
"If I'm to gain those yards," he thought, "I've got to run real fast!"
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye,
"There's no sense running any more. Three strikes, I'm out... why try?"
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, closer all the way.
"I've lost, so what's the use?" he thought, "I'll live with my disgrace."
But the he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.
"Get up," an echo sounded low, "Get up and take your place.
You weren't meant for failure here; get up and win the race."
With borrowed will, "Get up," it said, "You haven't lost at all,
For winning is no more than this - to rise each time you fall."
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he'd ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place.
Head high and proud and happy, no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he'd won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, "I didn't do so well."
"To me you won," his father said, "you rose each time you fell."
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all,
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
"Quit!" "Give up, you're beaten!" They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, "Get up and win that race!"
-D. H Groberg-
"There's just too much against you now, this time you can't succeed."
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure's face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children's race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race
Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, "My dad will be so proud."
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And 'mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn't win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he'd disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win the race!"
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that's all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race."
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face.
That steady look that said again, "Get up and win the race!"
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
"If I'm to gain those yards," he thought, "I've got to run real fast!"
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye,
"There's no sense running any more. Three strikes, I'm out... why try?"
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, closer all the way.
"I've lost, so what's the use?" he thought, "I'll live with my disgrace."
But the he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.
"Get up," an echo sounded low, "Get up and take your place.
You weren't meant for failure here; get up and win the race."
With borrowed will, "Get up," it said, "You haven't lost at all,
For winning is no more than this - to rise each time you fall."
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he'd ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place.
Head high and proud and happy, no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he'd won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, "I didn't do so well."
"To me you won," his father said, "you rose each time you fell."
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all,
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
"Quit!" "Give up, you're beaten!" They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, "Get up and win that race!"
-D. H Groberg-
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)