It’s where Chevron moved their offices after Katrina to “reinforces (their) commitment to the greater New Orleans area“, skeered upper class white folks flee to when even Metairie gets too crazy for them and…wait…huh? Krazy Klansmen kill one of their own in a botched initiation ritual? What the shit?!
Slain woman was part of KKK initiation ritual, St. Tammany sheriff says
Jesus, what a nightmare…
The initiation continued at the campsite, with rituals that consisted mainly of lighting torches and “running around in the woods, ” Strain said.
Foster’s son, Shane Foster, and Frank Stafford showed up at the Circle K store on Louisiana 21 in Bogalusa early Monday morning and asked the clerk how they could remove bloodstains from their clothes, said Lt. Tom Anderson of the Washington Parish Sheriff’s Office. The clerk, who recognized the men, later called the Sheriff’s Office, and the men were soon found, Anderson said.
Insane racist fuckers from Oklahoma, meet the insane racist fuckers from Louisiana.
Also interesting to note in the story, these seemingly contradicting lines…
An investigation Monday resulted in the arrests of eight members of the Klan branch, which had flown under the radar of officials in St. Tammany and Washington parishes, investigators said.
The woman apparently learned about Foster’s group, the Sons of Dixie, through the Internet
But wait, the North Shore has more!
Arson suspected in Mandeville house fire; owner leading effort to recall Mayor Eddie Price.
Until the fire marshal’s investigation is complete, Boudreaux will not entertain the notion of a connection between the “Recall Mayor Price” sign in front of his house and the blaze that upended his life.
“Understand I am in no way suggesting Eddie Price or his supporters burned my house down okay? I am not even saying that at all! At least not until the fire marshal finished his investigation!”
Now these are some North Shore stories!
By the way, I have a North Shore story myself. I was buying a dresser around Christmas time in 2006 off Craigslist and fella said he lived in Lacombe. So I figured I would get the dresser on my way home to Pensacola that year. After very nearly getting wiped out on I-12 (the truck pulling a large trailer skidded into the median next to me), getting stuck in congested mall shopping at the exit, driving down lonely rode after lonely road, I finally found the guy’s house and, from the looks of it, thought for sure I was going to end up putting the lotion in the basket at the bottom of a deep, dark hole. After entering the home that smelled of weed and hearing how wonderful his cassette deck mixing station was, I got the dresser and got the hell out of there.