Scream Randy Quotes

I could feel the baby being torn from my insides. It was really painful....Three-quarters of the way through the operation I sat up....In the cylinder I saw the bits and pieces of my little child floating in a pool of blood. I screamed and jumped up off the table....I just couldn't stop throwing up....

Randy screamed. He screamed. And then, for variety, he screamed some more.

I wanted to sit still for a moment, to escape my job as a traveling, screaming, black-t-shirt salesman and just read and write for a bit. For quite some time, I had been longing to erect a barrier between myself and that noisy, hectic life; just long enough to catch my breath and relax without being “Randy from lamb of god.” I never imagined that that barrier would unexpectedly arrive in the shape of prison walls.

I live in a valley at 9,700 feet in the High Sierra. I won't tell you where it is, for what I have to say about it may entice some of you to come, and there are enough already. Fortunately many of you prefer your screaming, blackened sulfur dioxide cities. Splendid! Let not I be the one to draw you out. The more of you who remain, the more lonely will be my mountains, which is just the way I prefer them. Nor would I tell those of you who are seeking this country where I live. Find it yourselves, and it will be all the sweeter. - Randy Morgenson

So are you going to tell me why you're running around my home at midnight and yelling my name? Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered it's my name you're screaming, it's just now how I imagined you doing it" Asher

I told them that more than half of teen relationships were domestically violent. “It’s just in a different way. Boyfriends control who girls talk to or who they text and they think that’s okay. Girls think it’s okay to punch a guy, scream in his face, or scratch him. It’s normal to call each other names that are degrading or hang up on each other in the middle of a conversation. Teen dating is a breeding ground for adult relationships and if they don’t realize that what they’re doing now is wrong, they’ll carry that over into their relationships as adults. It only escalates from there.

IN THE NINE YEARS since the standoff at Ruby Ridge and in the six years since this book first appeared, much has happened. Yet little has changed. Tens of millions of dollars have been spent on hearings and investigations that failed to resolve the most basic questions about the standoff. Almost $3.5 million was paid out in settlements that settled nothing. Nine years later, the courts are still flip-flopping over whether a federal agent should be tried for his actions at Ruby Ridge. Investigators, lawyers, and federal officers are still debating who shot first. Top FBI officials are still denying that they approved the bureau’s unprecedented and illegal orders to shoot civilians without provocation. Nine years later, the sniper who killed Vicki Weaver still works for the FBI. The case continues to hum on Internet Web sites and scream from right-wing newspapers. The words Ruby Ridge are fixed at the bottom of every news story about the ten-year crisis of confidence and competence in the FBI. And every time a person holes up in a ramshackle house, every time a suspect refuses to come out, every time a person accuses the government of going too far, someone is likely to say, “We don’t want this to become another Ruby Ridge.” The Weaver case gave a name to that sometimes dangerous space between people and their government. It brought paranoia into the mainstream. For how can you convince people that their government isn’t out to get them when, on Ruby Ridge, the FBI gave itself permission to shoot its own citizens? How can you tell people to trust a government that covered up details of the case and assigned agents to investigate themselves?

Every night at 2:37 a.m., I walk outside my apartment complex, naked, and I stand in the middle of the road and scream. I scream loud enough to wake up my neighbors, long enough that my voice goes hoarse. One time, I almost got hit by