Now I have written about pedophiles and necrophiles, murderers and rapists, and I have been disgusted and outraged by them all. Somehow Omaima Nelson has added the yecchhh factor that most of the others somehow lacked.

Californian William E. Nelson met Omaima in 1991 in a bar while playing pool. He must have thought he’d really lucked out. Omaima was an attractive, Egyptian-born former nanny and model and only 24 years old. William himself was 56 and a not-so-svelte 230 pounds.

Regardless of these differences, romance blossomed right away. Possibly William’s Costa Mesa apartment and Corvette and money and property were better inducements than his personal attributes, but “love” was in the air. Within days the couple were married.

How does that saying go? Marry in haste, repent in leisure? There was no leisure time for repentance in this marriage.

Most likely William Nelson had no idea that his bride had had a troubled and violent past. Omaima had a history of seducing older men, tying them up during sex and then robbing them. She had even been convicted of tying up and beating up a former boyfriend at gunpoint. Not nice. Pretty sure William wasn’t told of that little episode during their brief and frantic courtship.

Sadly, after only 3 weeks of “wedded bliss” William E. Nelson was separated … from his head, his hands, his ribs, his entrails and so on and so forth.

Pardon me while I shudder.

Omaima the lovely bride had shackled her husband to their bed during Thanksgiving weekend, 1991, as what William thought was a precursor to some sex. Having him completely at her mercy, Omaima then introduced scissors and an iron into the scenario.

William died, likely painfully and horrifically, which was what Omaima had intended. She had wanted his money but not the husband that went with it.

Oh, but what to do with the body? What’s a girl to do?

Disposing of a 6’4″, 230 pound body is not easy for a petite former model, but Omaima Aree Nelson is nothing if not determined. And bizarre.

For the upcoming events, Omaima Nelson decked herself out in red high heels, a red hat and red lipstick.

This is where it gets really yeeccchhh. Consider yourself warned.

For the next few hours, Omaima Nelson was busy decapitating, skinning, dismembering and dissecting poor William Nelson. She spent hours upon hours grinding some of his body parts in the garbage disposal. She filled garbage bags with other body parts and put them in his Corvette, then drove around the county to dispose of them like garbage. And still there was more William Nelson to dispose of.

And all that work made Omaima Nelson hungry.

So parts of the butchered William Nelson were boiled, breaded, deep-fried, dipped in barbecue sauce and eaten by the black widow.

Omaima later joked to police, “Nothing tastes as good as the man I married. It’s the sauce that does it.”

How did she get caught? Because grinding him up, cooking him up, eating him up and tossing him away did not get rid of William Nelson entirely. Omaima Nelson approached two ex-boyfriends to ask for help. ONE of them alerted police.

Randolph J. Pawloski, the prosecutor, had visited the scene of the crime — the Nelsons’ Costa Mesa apartment. It was horrifying. It was a bloody abattoir.

“There were suitcases and plastic bags soaked with dark liquid from his body parts. In the fry cooker there sat Mr. Nelson’s hands and when we opened the refrigerator there was Mr. Nelson’s head with stab wounds,” Mr. Palowski recounted. “She had his entrails in his Corvette and she was trying to get an ex-boyfriend to yank out the dentures from the head so she could dump it in the Back Bay.”

I cannot imagine (and really don’t want to imagine) going into that apartment, with the pools of blood on the floor, the bloody walls and sheets, and then finding hands fried in oil and a boiled head in the freezer. And of course the skinned lower body and torso that were awaiting disposal.

Spare a thought for the police officers and detectives and everyone else that had to visit the scene. Someone should invent a brain bleach to wipe the mind clear of horrors like that.

When the coroner’s office weighed the accumulated body parts, there were 80 pounds of William Nelson unaccounted for.

So Omaima Nelson was caught “red handed” as they say in the Corvette with the entrails.

Needless to say, Omaima Nelson was charged with murder. Did this hellbeast admit her guilt? Hell no! Instead she began bleating about how her husband, the evil William, had tied her hands, kicked her, bit her, grabbed and choked her and threatened to kill her. And he raped her which was awful because when she was a child she’d been beaten by men in Egypt and subjected to female circumcision so she freaked out. It was totally self-defense, doncha know, that she grabbed scissors to protect herself (I thought she was tied up).

“If I didn’t defend my life, I would have been dead. I’m sorry it happened, but I’m glad I lived,” Omaima Aree Nelson said. “I’m sorry I dismembered him.”

Poor helpless Omaima fell into a “trance-like state” after she’d killed William in self-defense and had no memory of hacking him up. Well, she did vaguely recall cutting off his penis and his ring finger and wrapping up body parts.

And Omaima Nelson had actually told the psychiatrist that she sat at the kitchen table with her husband’s ribs and said out loud, “It’s so sweet, it’s so delicious… I like mine tender.” Maybe she should’ve kept that to herself. I wonder if she still had the red hat on.

The Orange County jury found Omaima Nelson guilty of 2nd degree murder in 1993 and she was sentenced to 25 years to life in state prison.

At her parole hearing in 2011, Omaima Nelson stuck to her story of self-defense, and added, “”I swear to God I did not eat any part of him. I am not a monster.” Commissioner Cynthia Fritz then asked her, “What was your purpose in cooking him?” That shut her up.

Omaima Nelson insisted that she had changed from the person she was 20 years ago. Back then she had “look for love in all the wrong places… but now I value my integrity and my journey.” She then added, “I have a strong desire to help others.”

To prove she’d changed, Omaima Nelson told the parole hearing about her conjugal visits with her latest deceased husband, a man in his 70s she’d married while in prison. (What’s with these guys? Are they that desperate for sex they’ll marry lifers who butchered their previous husbands?)

“We had 3-day conjugal visits,” she told the commissioners. “There were knives in the kitchen. He never felt threatened or endangered in any way. I loved him so much.”

This elderly husband could not testify as he had died, naturally one supposes.

William Nelson’s daughter Margaret testified at the parole hearing. She said it best: “I don’t know the adequate punishment for a murderer who doesn’t even leave a family a body to mourn over. But I do know you don’t let her out.”

The parole board did not let her out. They deemed her to be a risk to society. Smart people.

I wish I could end this article with an idea of how William Nelson was when he was alive rather than how he wound up dead. He missed becoming a father-in-law and a grandfather. His daughter characterized him as kind and patient. He is mourned.

Omaima Nelson, may you rot in prison for the rest of your life and in hell thereafter. And may old men beware and stay out of your clutches.

To read about Omaima’s parole hearing, click here.

And it got worse for Michael Adamson because after the dog dug her up, he proudly brought Michael a souvenir of his adventure — Delphine Adamson’s hand. And don’t you know Michael Adamson had a visitor when this grisly presentation was made.

I can only imagine the conversation between the two men after that.

“Uh, Michael? Uh, what’s that your dog’s carrying in his mouth? … Is that a … a HAND? … Uh, gotta go. Bye.”

And then after that Michael Adamson’s life kinda sorta went down the crapper. Investigators arrived at the tiny primitive cabin in the bush outside Chelmsford, Ontario and very quickly uncovered the remaining remains of Delphine Adamson. She was a mere 50 metres from the cabin, placed in a shallow grave. Seems like Michael Adamson didn’t really put all that much effort into the body disposal portion of the murder. Lazy bastard.

Delphine and Michael Adamson had only been married a few months. Wedded bliss wasn’t so blissful, I guess. Some might think they had little in common, what with the 39-year gap in their ages. Delphine was 62 when she was murdered, and her murderer was all of 23.

Now I’m an older broad, and I can tell you readers that lots of older broads are HOT (not me unhappily) so don’t judge! Delphine’s mistake was not in marrying a much younger man but rather in marrying a lazy, greedy, homicidal bastard.

Delphine was the mother of ten, and a grandmother several times over. She’d packed a lot of life into the life she led before she met Michael. She was well loved and is much missed by her friends and family.

Michael Adamson’s life before Delphine wasn’t so great. He started boozing at age 12 and doing drugs by 15. And in 1997 he was convicted of using a firearm during a robbery and spent 25 months in the penitentiary. Just the sort of person you’d want your mom to marry — not! No, I have to think that this odd couple was a truly odd coupling.

According to Michael Adamson, he and Delphine shared a love of nature and the woods. (And presumably each other?) It was Delphine who popped the question and they married on September 14, 2000.

The newlyweds lived in a basement apartment in Sudbury, and often headed out to the tiny cabin in the woods to commune with the nature they loved.

According to Michael Adamson, Delphine didn’t want him to work. Riiiight. She wanted them both to live off of her teeny tiny income and his social assistance. Riiiight. But then money problems surfaced and the tiny income became a big issue. I’m thinking he was just a lazy, greedy bastard.

Michael Adamson had to find a way to get his hands Delphine’s income without having to share it with Delphine, and he found his answer at the cabin.

On January 29, 2001 (that’s after an entire four months of marriage) Michael Adamson bludgeoned his elderly bride to death with an axe. And since she loved nature so much, her murderer thoughtfully arranged for her to become one with the landscape.

Only he didn’t dig a hole deep enough or far enough away from the cabin because he was a lazy bastard!

And so Michael was so remorseful and grief stricken that he carried on with his life, driving Delphine’s truck and spending Delphine’s money, hanging out at the cabin/murder scene with the dog.

And when anyone asked about Delphine, he lied. When her worried family asked about her, he lied. When the police asked about his missing wife, he lied. Delphine Adamson had previously gone walkabout for three days and returned under her own steam, so that’s what she was doing this time, according to her husband.

Despite suspicions, nothing could be proven until May 1st, 2001 when his husky became a retriever and brought Delphine’s hand back to Michael and friend.

Michael Adamson was charged with 1st degree murder.

Defense counsel Donald Plaunt told the court he pleaded with his client to plead not guilty as there were many “triable” issues, but Michael Adamson was “awash in anguish over the events” and wouldn’t heed his advice “and wanted to come out in the open and accept responsibility” for his actions.

Michael Adamson pleaded guilty to 2nd degree murder.

Assistant Crown attorney Alex Kurke said Adamson’s murder was not only brutally violent, but she left behind so many loved ones who were left with feelings of anger, bitterness and frustration at not having a chance to say goodbye. Too true.

Justice Ian Gordon awarded Michael Adamson a life sentence with no chance of parole for ten years. And that, dear readers, is THIS YEAR. The killer’s previous conviction for the armed robbery will make it somewhat unlikely he’ll get parole as soon as that. Good!

I, for one, am hoping that this lazy, greedy, murdering asshole will continue to rot in prison until he finds himself rotting in hell. And I pray that if Michael Adamson gets out, he won’t find another woman willing to become his bride. He’s shown himself much too willing to make that “til death do us part” part happen if and when it suits him.

For a good writeup about Delphine and her family’s grief and sorrow click here.

Jamie’s three sons, whom she shared joint custody with her ex-husband, were at Jamie’s new home to spend some time with their mother. This was an unexpected stay but Jamie and her ex-husband still had a workable relationship and behaved like decent human beings, which is the way adults are supposed to do when children are involved.

To make things even better for Jamie Orman, Halloween was just a few days away and anyone you talk to who knew Jamie well would tell you that it was her absolute favorite holiday. This is where the happy story takes a turn for the worse as Jamie’s life was ended before she got to see all the young kids in her new neighborhood dressed up in their cute and adorable costumes to collect candy.

During the early morning hours of Tuesday, October 27th, 2009, 30 year old Jamie Lynn Orman and her 15 year old son Derrick were killed while they slept in separate beds in a basement bedroom. Both were shot at close range. To make this tragedy even worse, Jamie and her boyfriend John were expecting a child during the winter months. This unborn child was the third victim of this apparent robbery gone wrong.

Jamie’s boyfriend John Lawrence wasn’t home that evening but Jamie’s other two sons, Travis (aged 9) and Jacob (aged 14), were sleeping in another part of the home when they were awakened by the sounds of gunfire in the house.

I can only imagine the terror and shock they must have experienced when they stumbled upon the body of their brother Derrick, who survived long enough to stumble into the hallway. Jacob tried to help save his older brother but instead had him die in his arms. The boys called 911 and Cape Girardeau arrived on the scene to investigate.

The police began talking to all parties at the house and original reports were Jamie Orman, her son and unborn child were killed during an apparent home invasion. Local authorities tried to put the public at ease, saying it was a random event and to take steps to secure their homes. As the investigation continued it became apparent that the initial speculation was wrong and that something far more sinister was at play here.

Apparently, John Lawrence had moved on from his failed marriage but his estranged wife Michelle had not. John filed for divorce in June 2008 and a court date of January 2010 had been set to end the proceedings. The house that John and Jamie had been living in just so happened to be where Michelle had lived with her husband and children as well. In fact her name was still on the deed of the Lawrence home and she was still listed as a beneficiary on the house insurance policy as well as John’s life insurance policy.

With the final divorce proceedings rapidly approaching, Michelle Lawrence hatched a plan that would eliminate her soon to be ex-husband and give her a nice little paycheck in the process. By having her husband killed, Michelle would collect his life insurance policy as the beneficiary.

Somewhere along the way she must have figured the life insurance windfall wasn’t quite enough and she could pad her bank account even further if their former marital home located on North Missouri Ave burned to the ground after he was shot to death.

Michelle Lawrence now has a whole plan dreamed up in that warped little head of hers but she needs someone to actually do the task for her. Enter Ryan Terrell Patterson, a co-worker of Michelle’s who had some prior convictions and a couple of guns in his possession. She also happens to be Michelle’s new boyfriend.

Michelle and Ryan took a week to come up with their overall plan to dispose of Michelle’s former husband and collect somewhere in the area of $400,000. Ryan’s cut would be $200,000 and the thought of easy money and making his new girlfriend happy gave him all the motivation he needed to take the life of another man.

A week may not seem like a long time to hatch such a grand scheme but these two disgusting human beings had to act quickly before the divorce proceedings were finalized and Michelle’s name was removed as a beneficiary on the insurance policies.

While Michelle went to the local Walmart to purchase bullets for Ryan’s gun, Ryan attempted to recruit an accomplice to help him with his crime. Originally he tried to convince a female co-worker to help him out for a cool $15,000 but when she refused, he recruited Samuel Ray Hughes.

The original plan was for Ryan and Samuel to go in through the garage door but when they found it locked, Ryan ordered Samuel to take on the role of lookout while he went around the back. Ryan allegedly kicked in the basement door, which must have led to the bedroom where Jamie and Derrick were sleeping in separate beds.

According to Samuel he ran around back to investigate around back when he heard gunshots. What he found was Ryan standing over Derrick with the gun in his hand. Samuel claims that he was told they were heading to the house to rob it and no mention of murder was ever stated. Whether this is the truth or just his way of minimizing his guilt in the triple homicide we’ll never know.

In the end, Samuel and Ryan fled the scene, leaving a gas can with $3 worth of gas in it behind that was intended to be used to burn down the Lawrence home.

As police questioned all the people involved in the case, things went from the whole home invasion angle to murder in rather short order. Police interviewed the female co-worker Ryan Patterson originally attempted to recruit as a lookout. She told police about Ryan’s recruitment efforts on October 26th and how he offered her cash to assist in “hitting a lick”, what she determined was either the act of robbing or killing a person. Like most normal people she refused the offer but Ryan asked her to think about it.

Police eventually questioned John’s ex-wife Michelle and her lover Ryan. Both lied to police saying they were together the whole time. As the questions continued to mount, their web of lies untangled as they always seem to do.

During a ride to the police station, Ryan was quite helpful, mentioning the plan that he had plotted to burn John Lawrence’s truck, that he had prior convictions and the he owned a .44 caliber gun, which was the same caliber weapon used to kill Jamie and Derrick Orman. When police began to administer a gunpowder residue test, Ryan admitted that he had fired off both .22 and .44 caliber weapons. Ryan, along with Michelle Lawrence and Samuel Hughes were charged with various offenses.

Cape Girardeau County Prosecuting Attorney Morley Swingle was charged with prosecuting these three and soon found that two were willing to talk in exchange for some leniency on the charges. Samuel Hughes plead guilty to second-degree murder in December 2010 in exchange for his testimony against Ryan Patterson.

Samuel has consistently told anyone who would listen that he thought he was assisting in a home robbery and not to end John’s life. I don’t feel sorry for Samuel and I’m sure he’s headed for somewhere warm and toasty in his afterlife for his role in the death of three people.

Ryan’s girlfriend Michelle Lawrence was next to make her own deal, pleading guilty to a single count of conspiracy to commit murder in June of 2011. Like Samuel she will be testifying against her former lover.

The alleged trigger man Ryan Terrell Patterson was charged with three counts of First-Degree Murder, three counts of Armed Criminal Action, and one count each of First-Degree Burglary and First-Degree Attempted Arson. He has pleaded not guilty to the charges and his defense team is countering that the person who actually pulled the trigger was one of the prosecution’s star witnesses, Samuel Hughes.

Ryan Terrell Patterson’s trial began on August 1st, 2011 and Morley Swingle is seeking the death penalty for Ryan’s offenses. Here’s hoping that the jury of his peers review the evidence and find him guilty of killing three innocent people.

Swingle has stated that he will request the maximum sentence for both his witnesses, which means Samuel Hughes will face a 20 year sentence and Michelle may be locked up for 15 years. Under the truth in sentences guidelines, both would have to serve at least 85% of their sentence before eligible for parole.

Really? Michelle Lawrence, the mastermind behind this entire scheme could possibly be released 12 years and 9 months despite the fact that her plans resulted in the death of Jamie Orman, Derrick Orman and the unborn Joey Orman, who never took a single breath because of this sorry excuse for a human being.

Let’s keep in mind that she plotted to kill the father of her own children and burn down his house so her and her lover could live the high life. She told Ryan and Samuel the best way to break into the house and most likely gave them details of the layout so they could make quick work of John Lawrence. She bought the bullets used to kill three people. She even headed over to her dad’s house with Ryan so he could do a little practice shooting before the murders took place. Finally, when things were unraveling she lied to police to try and protect herself.

Apparently I’m not the only one who was outraged by the light sentence assigned to the conspiracy to commit murder charge that Michelle Lawrence has pleaded guilty. Jamie Orman’s sister and father approached legislators about increasing the maximum sentence from 15 years to 25 years. Unfortunately the Missouri state countered that there would be no changes to the sentencing and there were no weaknesses in the statute.

In the end, Michelle Lawrence started the ball rolling in a scheme that killed Jamie and her two sons, as well as destroying the lives of all those around her. For that I think she deserves a spot in hell when her time on this earth ends.

View Ryan Terrell Patterson’s “Request for Arrest Warrant” and “Affidavit of Probable Cause” – Click Here

View Samuel Ray Hughes’ “Request for Arrest Warrant” and “Affidavit of Probable Cause” – Click Here

View Michelle Renee Lawrence’s “Request for Arrest Warrant” and “Affidavit of Probable Cause” – Click Here

Editor’s Notes: There were major developments in this case after Christopher submitted it to us. On Thursday, August 4th, 2011, a jury found Ryan Terrell Patterson guilty on all three counts of First Degree Murder. Later that same day the same jury sentenced Patterson to Life Without Parole.

I’d like to note that after sentencing, Ryan Patterson was laughing and joking with his supporters in the courtroom. Tell me that the life sentence wasn’t what fatboy was hoping for. I would really like to ask the jury if they think a triple murderer who killed a pregnant mother of 3 and a 15-year old boy doesn’t deserve the death penalty, then who in the hell does?

Formal sentencing is now set for September 19th

The Pictures, From Top To Bottom, Are:

1. Ryan Terrell Patterson
2. Samuel Ray Hughes
3. Michelle Renee Lawrence
4. Jamie Lynn Orman
5. Derrick Orman
6. Police remove one of the victims from the crime scene
7. Jamie Orman’s sister, Stephanie Howard, and her husband Bryan
8. Jamie Orman’s two sisters, Stephanie Howard (left) and Kelly Hoffman (right)
9. Fatboy Patterson on his way to prison after sentencing

I’d also like to note that this is Christopher’s first story for PYSIH. He’s a good’un folks. He will be a regular contributor to the site, so let’s make him feel as welcome as we make every new writer feel. I’ve always believed that this website’s strength is twofold, our ability to draw some very bright, very passionate people who submit uncommonly intelligent comments every single day, and an uncanny knack to draw in some of the best amateur journalists out there. Chris is just another example of the latter…

Even her deadbeat ex, one inappropriately named David Best, seemed to have warmed to the idea of becoming a father, and had been accompanying Melissa to prenatal visits and taking her shopping for items for their unborn daughter. Melissa was going to name her Jenna- May.

For any woman who has ever given birth to a little girl, you know how exciting the last few months of your pregnancy can be. I know I was planning ballet lessons for my baby girl before she had even taken her first breath. Me, a confirmed tomboy, spent hours poring over lilac babygro’s and pink booties, sticking butterflies on her nursery wall and ironing tiny floral sheets for her cradle. I was in seventh heaven.

I’m pretty sure Melissa Shelver went through all of the same motions I did when she found out she was having a girl. She was probably over the frigging moon.

Cut to Valentine’s Day, 2006. East London, South Africa, or, International Nation of Professional Hijackers. Melissa and David went to her final scan before she was due to deliver little Jenna-May. On their way home, they were hijacked, taken to a remote bushy area and David was shot in the shoulder by their hijacker. Melissa begged for her baby to be spared. Instead, she was shot in the stomach. Twice.

Melissa, when speaking about the incident for the first time, recalled:

“There was blood all over the inside of the car.”

“As soon as I realized I’d been shot, I started going into labor. The mix of the heat, the panic, the blood, it all seemed so unreal.”

So Superdad David drove Melissa to the nearest hospital (after our gunman fled the scene with David’s wallet and incidentals, curiously, I always thought that hijackers took CARS,) where her baby was delivered, dead, by caesarean section.

Melissa wasn’t allowed to remove her baby’s blankets when she held her. The nurses deliberated for ages as to whether she should be allowed to hold baby Jenna-May AT ALL, since her little body was so horribly mangled. I cannot imagine anyone experiencing anything as horrible as what that young woman went through when she held her tiny baby’s corpse, when she should have been cuddling and nursing a pink, squalling, vibrantly alive newborn girl.

“As I looked at my daughter’s tiny face I could hardly believe she had gone. She was beautiful with thick curly black hair. But the nurse wouldn’t let me unwrap her blanket because of her wounds. “I was angry at the world because of what had happened to me. But I never imagined David would be behind it.”

Neither did anyone ELSE in this country, Melissa, that’s just not something anyone could imagine. But that’s NOT why David’s name is the title for this story. He is on “People You’ll See In Hell” because that is exactly where this sick puppy is going.

You see, dear reader, David Best hired a hitman to fake a hijacking and murder his unborn child.

As anyone will tell you, hitmen are apparently a dime a dozen in South Africa. Just ask Dina Rodrigues. She managed to hire a whole troupe. And they’ll work for minimum wage, too, if the victim is a baby, or an unborn baby.

That’s how David Best managed to afford the services of one Ludwe Mashumpa, whose going rate was, until the time of his arrest, about five thousand Rands (about 750 US Dollars) to fake a hijacking, deceptively injure his employer AND shoot a pregnant woman twice, in the stomach.

That’s about a month’s groceries for a family of five around these parts. Or a very, very big tattoo, followed by an ice- cream and a trip to the Johannesburg Zoo. You get the idea.

Nothing like a bit of old-fashioned indigence to breed a little value-for-your-money in sunny ole S.A, since according to the judge, Ludwe’s “financial circumstances made it easy for him to be manipulated.”

So Ludwe Mashumpa only goes to prison for a maximum of 15 years. Oh, right, I forgot to tell you that being socially disadvantaged in South Africa means that you have a right to disregard human life and moral values. While you ponder on that thought, ponder also the life of Nelson Mandela, or Steve Biko, or Bishop Desmond Tutu, then tell me how wrong Judge Johan Froneman’s thinking is, exactly.

And yes, I DO get to say things like that, because when you live on a planet where there is a value attached to every little life, you are allowed to be indignant.

Because I live in a country that gives a POS like David Best a mere 21 years in prison for attempted murder, conspiring to murder, assault, possession of an unlicensed firearm and ammunition, and obstructing justice, and because by law Jenna-May’s death doesn’t even count, I’m allowed to be very, very angry indeed, as should you, dear reader.

Woops, I Almost Forgot – This Story Was Written And Submitted By Our Friend Lauren From South Africa.

Editor’s Notes: When I was Lauren’s story, I found document showing the high court’s ruling on the the State of South Africa’s appeal of the acquittal of David Best and Ludwe Mashumpa for the murder of Melissa Shelvery’s unborn fetus.

Like appeals here in the United States, it’s a great source of detailed information about how the crime happened, from the planning to the actual crime itself to the investigation and arrest. I can’t encourage you enough to read this document – It’s powerful, graphic stuff that will leave you angry, stunned and broken-hearted, all at the same time.

You can read the State of South Africa vs David Alexander Best And Ludwe Mashumpa by Clicking Here.

The day after Melissa Shelver was shot, David Best confessed to two East London pastors. According to the Reverend David Gernetsky, part of what he said was:

“God cannot forgive me. I will burn in hell for this”

Well wait now David, we haven’t even started voting yet.

She loves these items, and really has to make an emotion leap to get rid of them, but eventually, after some cajoling, she does. She knows someone else could love them and enjoy them just as much as she does.

I also understand that not all people with lots of pets are hoarders. My friend’s house was once home to not only his family, but also two flight cages of parakeets and cockatiels, a cage of finches, two parrots, several parrotlets, a pair of lovebirds, 4 cats, 3 dogs, a 50 gallon aquarium, and a lizard in the downstairs bathroom. All of these animals were well cared for and loved. Happy animals are a sign of a happy home, no matter how many critters one keeps.

Meet Frank J. Rich, of Palmer, Alaska. Mr. Rich, despite his name, is not wealthy. According to his own admission, he makes less than $25,000 a year as a maintenance worker.

Whatever possessed him to start a large-scale dog kennel is beyond me. It would perhaps make sense if Mr. Rich had intended to sell trained sled dogs, which are working dogs worth a good deal of money to mushers, but he made it part of his genius plan to sell these animals as pets. No need to train them then, right? Just let the dogs go at it and make more dogs! Easy money!

At some point, however, something went horribly, horribly wrong. When they arrested Mr. Rich earlier this week, he had 160 dogs in his possession. Most of these animals were ill and utterly emaciated. Mr. Rich was no longer running a kennel; he was running what amounted to a concentration camp for dogs.

Sixteen dead dogs were also found on his property. The anonymous tipster who called in to report his activities to Animal Control claimed that Rich had at least seventy-five dead dogs on his hands.

When they found the living dogs, according to the article in the Anchorage Daily News, they had eaten all the snow in the vicinity, and were reduced to eating their own feces for nourishment. There was no food or water in sight.

Mr. Rich admitted to authorities that he had stopped feeding the older dogs because he could not afford to, and so only fed the puppies because AT LEAST HE COULD SELL THEM. With 160 sick, starving dogs in his possession, Frank Rich still thought he could turn a profit.

He could have asked for help at any time. Palmer is farm country, with houses far apart, but he could have asked a neighbor to take some of the dogs. He could have gone to the mill and feed store and begged for kibble. He could have gone to the ASPCA.

Frank Rich may have had the OCD that most hoarders suffer from, but it was pride and denial that made him keep hurting those animals. He had dead dogs in his truck. He had dead dogs in a shipping container. He knew his animals were dying and yet he did nothing.

I have some sympathy for Mr. Rich, but no empathy. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he did it anyway. I understand his mental illness was partially responsible for his prolonged torturing of these animals, but it does not excuse the choices he made.

Now he has forced The Matanuska Susitna Borough Animal Shelter (Their Facebook Page) to be responsible for almost 200 animals, without the facilities or the funds to care for them properly. Most will likely be too sick to survive, or too wild from lack of human contact to be adoptable. They will only have known pain and suffering in their lives, and the sting of the needle at the end.

None will know the joy of playing fetch, or having someone ruffle their fur with affection. Frank Rich will probably live out his life in a cell with bland food and a comfortable bed, which is more than most of his animals ever had.

On January 11th, 2011, Frank J. Rich was arrested by Alaska State Troopers and charged with FIFTY counts of animal cruelty. At his arraignment he plead not guilty.

Frank Rich, I hope every day you think of those dogs, and what you did to them.

Editor’s Notes: As I worked of editing and fact checking Fantomah’s story, I discovered a lot of brand new information that was not available when she wrote her draft. Since then, The News-Tribune from Tacoma, WA, discovered that in late 2007 Frank J. Rich was fined $575 by Mat-Su Borough Animal Control for violations such as failing to register a dog kennel and having loose dogs. Rich also requested animal control officials to help kill 24 of his dogs.

Mat-Su Borough Animal Control Manager Richard Stockdale told The Tribune:

“They in fact did put down dogs out at his property to get him into compliance … to try and get his numbers down to something that was a little bit more manageable.”

And then, they granted Frank J. Rich a borough kennel permit for up to 127 dogs. Seriously, they really did.

Then came 2010:

With his kennel license scheduled to expire by the end of the year, Rich applied in April 2010 for a new one, Stockdale said.

But processing the paperwork — including records for each dog — “took forever,” Stockdale said.

While the shelter’s small staff slowly finished the paperwork in late August, someone still needed to inspect Rich’s property, checking for food and looking over the condition of the kennel, before the breeder could get his new permit.

That never happened.

Stockdale said it appears no inspection was ever scheduled. “They were, at that point, trying to get up there to do the actual inspection,” he said. “With other priorities … animal bites and things like that taking over, it just hadn’t gotten done.”

The animal control team was short-staffed, Stockdale said. There are four animal control officers serving the 88,000-person borough.

Asked if the abuse reported at Rich’s kennel could have been discovered earlier with a timely inspection, Stockdale said maybe so.

“It may have. But at the same time, it shouldn’t matter if we have an inspection,” he said. “It’s up to the owner to properly take care of these animals regardless of whether we’ve had an inspection or not.”

MAYBE so? Wouldn’t it be nice if just once one of these stuffed shirts like Mat-Su Borough Animal Control Manager Richard Stockdale would answer a question honestly. Imagine if he said, “Well, due to budget cuts we’re short handed, forcing us to focus more on animal control issues and much less on animal abuse and animal safety. Besides, they were just a bunch of dogs, right? Right?”

How refreshing!

I get the impression now that it wasn’t a mental health thing, like hoarding, that cause Frank J. Rich to end up having 200 living and 16 dead animals seized by animal control. I believe Rich was running a honest to God breeding operation and it seriously got away from him.

His crime was that, when he realized that he could no longer feed or care for his all the dogs, he chose to make a business decision instead of moral one. He decided to cut his losses and only feed the dogs that could make him money, like puppies and pregnant females, and even those didn’t get adequate nutrition.

Meanwhile, every other animal in Frank Rich’s supposed care was left to eat dirty snow and its own shit, and if it was lucky it would die quickly, like the first 16 did. Anyone who thinks Frankie doesn’t deserve hell for this needs to just skip a meal or two until he feels that intense, hollow pain in the gut, then realize that those dogs felt that pain for much, much longer and much more intensely.

I’d Like To Thank Fantomah For Writing And Submitting This Story. Very Nice First Effort, Fantomah.

But Robert William Pickton did not act alone. He did not live and kill in a vacuum. He had help, and inconceivably, unforgivably, outrageously that “help” has yet to face any justice at all. She will never, ever be put on trial for the incalculable harm she allowed to be perpetuated by one of Canada’s worst serial killers.

Click Here to read the story of Canadian serial killer Robert William Pickton.

Lynn Ellingsen did testify against her pal Robert William Pickton at his trial. Her testimony was bought for the price of immunity. It was a pact the prosecutors made with a future resident of hell, if there is any justice at all.

Lynn Ellingsen is a cocaine addict and an alcoholic. She had to give up custody of her son because of her addictions. She prostituted herself to pay for her cocaine. She committed welfare fraud. She stole, lied, cheated, whatever it took to pay for her cocaine.

Lynn Ellingsen met Robert Pickton through a mutual friend, Gina Houston. Pickton generously offered this cocaine-riddled whore a job on his Port Coquitlam pig farm, cleaning up his trailer and such. He was unquestionably a slob. He also offered her the use of a room in his trailer. She was grateful. She lived there for several months.

While cleaning his trailer she would find $50 and $100 bills lying around. Pickton had piles of money – he was a rich serial killer (and that just totally galls me!). Lynn Ellingsen said she would show Pickton the money she found and he would just let her keep it. Pickton told others she was stealing from him. I believe him. I just can’t imagine a cocaine addict offering to hand over loose money she found. Regardless, she used this found money to buy drugs.

On March 20, 1999 Pickton was feeling “frisky” and took Lynn Ellingsen along with him to Vancouver to pick up a girl. OK, a prostitute. This is weird — how many men would take a woman along to pick up a prostitute?

Maybe Pickton wanted to make his future victim feel safe, less vulnerable as he drove her out of town. Maybe Lynn Ellingsen was there to reassure the girl that he was a good guy, that they were going to party. Prostitutes were becoming wary of creepy looking dudes at the time, what with the disappearances. Pickton was definitely creepy looking.

Lynn Ellingsen and Pickton drove to Downtown Eastside, Vancouver where the pickings were good. It was also where 13 prostitutes were last seen alive in the months and years preceding.

Pickton chose a pretty aboriginal girl with long black hair and bangs and high cheekbones. Her name was Georgina Papin, but neither Pickton or Lynn Ellingsen bothered to ask.

“She was a very pretty girl,” Lynn Ellingsen testified.

They returned to the pig farm and Lynn Ellingsen trotted off to her room to smoke crack cocaine. Pickton was left alone with his “date.”

Lynn Ellingsen testified that she heard a noise that was strange enough to bring her out of her room. She didn’t say what the noise was, but obviously it didn’t sound like the grunts and groans of a man and woman having sex.

Once out of her room, she spotted a light in the barn which was next to the trailer. This was the barn where Pickton slaughtered pigs. Lynn Ellingsen headed out to the barn and encountered an odour most foul. Curiosity made her open the door.

Lynn Ellingsen saw Pickton. She saw the women they’d brought back with them. Only the woman wasn’t standing up. She wasn’t lying down. She was hanging from a chain. By the neck. She was dead. And she was being skinned.

“I saw this body. It was hanging,” she told the court. “Willy pulled me inside, behind the door. Walked me over to the table. Made me look. Told me if I was to say anything, I’d be right beside her.”

Lynn Ellingsen continued, “This woman that we had picked up — at my eye level was where her feet, like her legs were, I seen red toenail polish. On this big shiny table, I don’t know what it was, but it was lots of blood and uh, hair, black hair.”

Asked if Pickton was doing anything to the woman she replied, “He was cutting something. There was blood everywhere. I just remember staring at her feet.”

“How was she hanging?” asked the Crown prosecutor.

“The same way he hung his pigs. There was a chain right there. That’s where she was, where he does his pigs.”

She further testified, “There were knives with blood on them. He was full of blood himself. He was cutting something that was on the table. I don’t know what it was.”

I can’t imagine the absolute horror of it — the blood, the gore, the strips of flesh, the hanging body, and a maniacal killer standing right there with knives in his blood soaked hands. OMFG.

Lynn Ellingsen gave many different versions to police as to how she got out of the barn, and whichever version was the truth, she managed to extract herself alive and unharmed.

The version she told the court was he later sent her off in a taxi to go buy some drugs. She wound up at her friend Val’s house.

Now I readily admit I know nothing about how the drug-addled brains of cocaine addicts work. I do not understand for the life of me how Lynn Ellingsen’s brain works.

If I had seen the absolute horror of a killer skinning a freshly murdered woman and lived to tell about it, I WOULD TELL ABOUT IT! I would march my carcass into the nearest police station, or I would grab the nearest phone and call 911. Because HOLY FRIGGIN HELL I saw a man slaughtering a woman in a barn!

I would tell even if I promised the killer I wouldn’t and that’s the reason he let me live. Even if I had crossed my heart, I would tell. Even if I pinky swore, I would still tell. Because Jeezus H. Christ there was a murder!

Now maybe Lynn Ellingsen didn’t trust the police not to arrest her. Maybe she thought going in to the police station all coked up would be bad. She could have told the taxi driver to call 911. She could have told her friend to call 911. The very next time she found herself sober she could have called police. She could have left an anonymous tip, for pity’s sake. But she didn’t.

Maybe Lynn Ellingsen imagined she’d been hallucinating on cocaine. Maybe she thought it wasn’t real. It was, after all, like a scene out of a horror flick. I don’t know — does cocaine cause hallucinations? But Lynn Ellingsen testified in court that she does not hallucinate on cocaine, and that she bloody well knew that the horrors she saw were real.

The RCMP’s Forensic Lab Toxicology Section is of the opinion that cocaine is not a hallucinogenic drug, and at worst would cause paranoia/psychosis. I choose to believe them. So she knew it was all sickeningly real.

Now maybe Lynn Ellingsen really was threatened by Pickton. Maybe he did actually promise to kill her if she told anyone, and it was fear that made her silent.

Fear didn’t keep Lynn Ellingsen away from the pig farm. She returned a couple of times to retrieve her belongings. Imagine, she was willing to go back to the scene of a gruesome murder to get her stuff! With a killer on the property!

And fear didn’t keep her silent. She wasn’t silent. She told her friend Thomas all about it. And Thomas went to the police in July 1999 and told them all about this Lynn Ellingsen who had seen Robert William Pickton hang a woman by the neck in his barn, cut strips of flesh off her legs and murder her.

Thomas further told the police that Lynn Ellingsen assisted in bringing sex trade workers (plural) back to Pickton’s property, and she had also reported seeing personal property belonging to sex trade workers (plural) in his trailer.

So on August 4th, 1999 Lynn Ellingsen was interviewed by the Provincial Unsolved Homicide Unit. And what did she do? She denied saying any such thing to Thomas. And she walked away.

But Lynn Ellingsen had told another friend called Wood all about it. Wood went to the Burnaby RCMP on August 7th, 1999. Wood told them about the gruesome slaughter scene in the barn.

Wood further told them that Lynn Ellingsen had confided that she thought Pickton was responsible for other murders, and that Pickton had kept women’s legs in his freezer. (The police eventually did find body parts in Pickton’s freezer, so this is not beyond belief.)

On August 10th, 1999 the Burnaby RCMP interviewed her. And she denied it all. She said it was a pig she saw being slaughtered, and it had made her throw up.

At the end of August, 1999 she was re-interviewed by the Provincial Unsolved Homicide Unit and again she denied seeing any murder. She did agree to take a polygraph but backed out. Big surprise.

So Lynn Ellingsen was willing to blab all about Robert William Pickton’s murderous ways to her friends, but not to the investigators. If it were actual fear of Pickton’s wrath, she wouldn’t have told anybody at all.

Nope, it wasn’t fear that stopped Lynn Ellingsen from reporting the murder. I could understand fear. Fear can override a lot of decent impulses. Fear can narrow your scope of action down to basic self-preservation. But it wasn’t fear driving Lynn Ellingsen’s bald-faced lies to police.

It all came down to greed.

See, Lynn Ellingsen saw not just a woman’s murdered corpse hanging in that barn. She saw an opportunity. Pickton had money (ka-ching!) and she had a habit.

Does cocaine decimate every atom of decency in a human being? Does it destroy every natural human feeling? Because Lynn Ellingsen had none left when she began to blackmail Robert William Pickton.

That’s what Georgina Papin’s gruesome death and dismemberment meant to Lynn Ellingsen — money. In $500 increments.

And what happened because of Lynn Ellingsen’s non-cooperation with investigators? This is what happened:

*Andrea Borhaven, last seen May 1999

*Julie Young, last seen July 1999

*Wendy Crawford, last seen November 1999

*Jennifer Furminger, last seen December 1999

*Yvonne Boen, last seen March 2001

*Patricia Johnson, last seen March 2001

*Heather Chinnock, last seen April 2001

*Heather Bottomley, last seen April 2001

*Angela Joesbury, last seen June 2001

*Dianne Rock, last seen October 2001

*Mona Wilson, last seen November 2001

She has their blood on her hands. And she doesn’t care.

Lynn Ellingsen sat on her horror story until February 24, 2002 – two days after Pickton’s arrest. THEN she cooperated with the police. But ONLY if they signed an agreement granting her immunity from prosecution.

Lynn Ellingsen not only extracted an immunity agreement, she also extracted $16,000 from the RCMP. They paid for her rent, her living expenses, her drug rehabilitation treatment (which didn’t work), new clothes, and a new front tooth.

I am sickened that this soulless twisted shit stain is allowed to roam free. I am horrified that this piece of inhuman trash will never face justice in this life. I wish her a speedy voyage to the warmer climes of hell. And Pickton can join her too.

I have so many memories of the things we used to do, like going to the playground and feeding the ducks at the pond. I loved to run errands with my grandmother in her 1968 mint condition Chevy Monte Carlo (garaged, of course). This woman had one heck of a lead foot – I swear to God the woman couldn’t cruise a parking going less than 40 mph.

Now you may say that grandmothers are for little kids. Not my grandmother. She had three kids that lived in three different states; my mother who lives in New York, my aunt who lives in Pennsylvania, and my uncle who lives in North Carolina, and it would be nothing for her to just up and go see one of them, for no reason at all.

She was so energetic that one month before she died she was up in a cherry tree, fell out of it and broke a rib. Now just think about that a 68-year-old woman climbing a cherry tree. Those memories of her are forever locked in my heart.

Now let me tell you about my nightmare, the one that takes over the good memories of grandma every time I think about her.

My grandmother was living off my grandfathers railroad pension, which wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for her at that time. Grandma didn’t believe in banks – instead, she had a strong box.

The last thing I know she did was talk to her friend at around 10pm. Then Grandma probably went through her normal routine – pulling the shades to half mast, locking the doors – before heading off to bed.

On the 3rd of October of 1980 at around 11 pm, two bastards, 18-year-old Steven Parker and 22-year-old Tony Bernas, entered my grandmothers home with the intention of robbing her. But they didn’t stop there. Not only did they rob this poor woman, they also murdered her.

They had to murder Beatrice Holecek because grandma put up a fight and because she knew Steven Parker. One week prior to her murder Steven Parker had gone to her house asking for money. Grandma, of course, couldn’t give him any because she had to live off this money for the rest of the month.

Apparently Steven Parker wasn’t satisfied with the word no. Without the knowledge of my grandma he went to a side door which was never used and removed the hinges from the door, then put the door back in place so no one would notice. With this done, he put his plan in motion.

He was to much of a coward to pull this robbery off by himself, so he enlisted a friend, Tony Bernas, to go along with him. They first ransacked her home, which probably woke my grandmother up.

My family was told later by the coroner that my grandmother was beaten on for twenty minutes straight. That’s right, two young punks beat on a 68-year-old woman for twenty minutes. Cause of death was a broken larynx. We had to have a closed casket for my grandma because her whole face was covered in bruises because of what these two animals did to her.

You may think the story stops here but it doesn’t. On the 4th of October, 1980, Steven Parker and Tony Bernas decided that they were going to have a keg party for their other friends with the money that they had stolen from my grandmother.

The party went on and everyone got quite drunk and high. It wasn’t long before Steven Parker And Tony Bernas started telling everyone what they had done. Master criminals they were not.

As the party was coming to an end Steven Parker And Tony Bernas went back to my grandmothers house looking for more money. They took her purse and her 1968 Monte Carlo and drove from Elmira, New York to Montour Falls, New York. They pulled into a used car dealership, turned on the dome light on in the car and started rummaging through grandma’s purse.

A patrol car was passing and saw the dome light on in the car and pulled into the lot. When Steven Parker And Tony Bernas saw the police they took off like a bat out of hell, with the police in hot pursuit. Because they were drunk and high they didn’t make it very far up the road.

They totaled my grandmothers car and took off on foot. The police lost track of them and returned to my grandmothers car, where they found her purse and its contents all over the back seat.

In the early morning of the 5th of October of 1980 my mother got a phone call from the Watkins Glen police department. The police told my mom that grandma’s car had been stolen, and they had impounded it. They also told her that they had found my mom’s phone number in the back seat of the car along with the rest of the contents of grandma’s purse.

When my mother couldn’t get a hold of my grandmother by phoning several times she went to my grandmother’s home and nothing looked right. The window shades were pulled all the way down, and when my mother entered the house she saw the house in disarray. She asked my stepfather to go upstairs to check for my grandmother.

He found her body at the foot of the bed, lying in a pool of blood. My stepfather couldn’t keep my mom away from the scene – she ended up having a nervous breakdown over it. Which is understandable, seeing her mother in such a condition. When I was told about what had happened I was in a state of shock…..

In the evening of the 5th of October of 1980 Steven Parker was caught at my father’s home. He was sleeping in the boat next to the house. The police were called after he admitted to my older brother what he had done to my grandmother.

I haven’t mentioned until now Steven Parker was (and i stress was) my brother. That’s right, my brother killed my grandma.

The ironic thing in all this is that my grandmothers favorite grandchildren were Steven Parker and myself, because we were the youngest. I can’t imagine what went through my mom’s mind after she saw my grandmother and then found out that her son was the one who killed her.

Steven Parker was arrested and charged with 2nd degree murder, 1st degree robbery and 1st degree burglary. When he was taken into custody, the police asked Steven Parker to remove his class ring, because it was embedded with my grandmother’s blood and skin. Parker was convicted of all charges and is now serving 25 years to life at the Clinton Correctional Facility, Dannemora, New York. His next parole hearing is in June of 2011.

Click Here To View New York Department Of Corrections Inmate Information For Steven Parker

Anthony Bernas was arrested on the morning of October 6th, 1980, and charged with 2nd degree murder, 1st degree robbery and 1st degree burglary. Bernas was also tried and convicted on all counts, and is serving 25 years to life at the Elmira Correctional Facility, Elmira, New York. His next parole hearing is also in June of 2011.

Click Here To View New York Department Of Corrections Inmate Information For Anthony Bernas

And the sad part is, Steven Parker and Anthony Bernas never did get that strong box.

Now I don’t know how many more years my grandmother would have lived but these two punks have put my memories of grandma on the dark side because of what they did to her. Please do me a favor if you have someone special in your life, call them, hug them, tell them you love them because you never know.

For the longest time I felt so guilty for what my brother did to her until someone told me that it wasn’t my fault just because he was my brother doesn’t place me at the scene of the crime.

I want everyone to know writing this story was exceptionally hard for me. You may ask if I would have any problem flicking the switch on these two and I will tell you no, brother or no brother, he stole from me some precious time.

He also stole something more precious than time from me. At the time of my Grandma’s murder, I was four months pregnant. I wasn’t able to carry that child to full term – I miscarried soon after the murder.

There are so many people who helped me write this story that I can’t possible thank them all, but I do need to express my appreciation to one person, without whom I would not have followed through with this promise to myself. Jason was able to convince me that it was OK to take a chance and share painful memories. His comments about his experiences with the Michael Gagnon case, and his gentle encouragement made all the difference. I couldn’t have done this without him.

I will keep everyone updated on the parole hearing and I am putting my faith in the justice system and the parole board that he sits there and rots.

Ashley Kirilow said that beginning on April 29, 2010, her 23rd birthday, she would walk from Burlington to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, to personally deliver the money to the university. Change for a Cure volunteers say they raised $20,000 for the charity, but the proposed walk to Edmonton never occurred and the University of Alberta never received the money.

See, there was a big problem with this whole thing: Ashley Kirilow never had cancer. She made the whole thing up and pocketed the money for herself.

That’s right, everyone. Ashley Kirilow LIED about having cancer. She got this bright idea at the end of 2008, when she had a benign lump removed from one of her breasts. After that, she decided to start telling people she had cancer. she starved herself, shaved her head, waxed her eyebrows, and plucked her eyelashes so she looked like she was undergoing chemotherapy.

Ashley Kirilow befriended members of the Toronto music and skateboarding scenes, and manipulated them with her lies. She said she was battling brain, liver, stomach, and ovarian cancer simultaneously. She said she had been abandoned by drug addicted parents and only had months to live. They took her in and helped her raise money for her “charity” by organizing fundraisers.

Ashley Kirilow set up a Facebook page for her made up organization, which at one time had over 4,500 fans, many of whom set up change jars to collect money for Ashley. She even got a legitimate charity, Skate4Cancer, to fly her to Disney World, supposedly as a dying wish for a terminally ill woman.

While Ashley Kirilow was conning people out of thousands of dollars, she was racking up credit card debt at an alarming rate. She went on a spending spree so large that the money she was stealing from people couldn’t even cover it.

In January 2010, Ashley Kirilow declared bankruptcy after accumulating over $30,000 in credit card debt. She obviously didn’t mention the money she’d been swiping from her fake charity in her filing.

By the first half of 2010, Ashley Kirilow’s charade was unraveling. In April, she admitted the hoax to her father (who isn’t actually a drug addict and never abandoned her. Surprise, surprise!). At the end of May, he gave her an ultimatum: come clean or he would expose the hoax himself. Eventually, he went to police, and Ashley turned herself in in early August, not before giving a lengthy interview to the Toronto Star.

Why, exactly, did Ashley Kirilow do all this? “I was trying to be noticed,” she said in the intervew. “I was trying to get my family back together. I didn’t want to feel like I’m nothing anymore. It went wrong. It spread like crazy, and then it seemed like the whole world knew.”

So it seems that Ashley Kirilow just wanted a little love, ya’ll! Well, Ashley should know that there are easier ways to get attention, ones that don’t involve the deliberate defrauding of her supposed friends. Ones that don’t have the victims of the fraud questioning the validity of every charity they encounter from now on. Ones that don’t disgrace the memory of the men and women who have legitimately fought cancer over the years.

Ashley obviously has no knowledge of the heartbreak that occurs when watching a loved one deal with such a terrible disease, or she would not have tried to exploit it for her own selfish benefit. Even her parents want nothing to do with her at this point. “We would love to support her,” her father said. “However, we cannot due to past experiences, the amount of lies, and basically the hell she’s put us through.”

On November 2, Ashley Kirilow pleaded guilty to one count of fraud over $5,000, which carries a maximum jail sentence of 14 years. She is scheduled to be sentenced on January 27, and still faces six counts of fraud under $5,000, which each carry a maximum sentence of two years.

Editor’s Notes: Ashley Kirilow’s Dad has no illusions about his daughter:

I haven’t been approved as a member yet, but I’m sure it’ll be an interesting experience.