Latest news with #TheLoneRanger
News18
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- News18
Armie Hammer Says He ‘Smoked 20 Joints' A Day In Shocking Confession
Armie Hammer shared that during a certain period in his life, he "smoked close to 15-20 joints" a day. Armie Hammer is back in the spotlight, this time for his comment about his past drug use. Speaking with longtime friend Ashton Ramsey on a recent podcast, the actor revealed that there was a period in his life when he smoked nearly 15 to 20 joints a day. He admitted he enjoyed getting others high to the point where they felt lost or confused. The Call Me By Your Name star jokingly called it 'marijuana roofing." Armie Hammer's Heavy Marijuana Use On a recent episode of The Armie HammerTime Podcast, the actor said, 'I loved poisoning people. I loved smoking marijuana with people to the point where like they were like, 'I'm so stoned I can't find my feet.' I loved marijuana roofing. I think at that point in my life I was smoking upwards of like 15 to 20 joints a day." Ashton Ramsey talked about a time when Armie Hammer got into trouble because of his marijuana use. He recalled an incident where Armie gave Johnny Depp too much weed right before a press event for The Lone Ranger. Johnny ended up getting so high that he couldn't come out of his room for interviews. The team had to check on him and even tried to pull him out, but he was too high. Remembering the moment, Armie said, 'They never let me hang out with Johnny on the press after that. They would always keep us apart. They never let us press together. They were like, 'You two cannot hang out anymore.'" Armie Hammer's Past Controversy Armie Hammer has stayed out of the spotlight in recent years, following serious accusations and a sharp fall from Hollywood fame. A few years ago, some of his ex-girlfriends had accused him of 'rape and even disturbing behaviour related to cannibalism", which the actor has denied. In a 2023 interview with Air Mail, he said that what happened with his ex, Effie Angelova, was mutual. Around the same time, Hammer was also in the middle of a divorce from his wife, Elizabeth Chambers. The couple has two children together, a daughter named Harper and a son named Ford. Disclaimer: Comments reflect users' views, not News18's. Please keep discussions respectful and constructive. Abusive, defamatory, or illegal comments will be removed. News18 may disable any comment at its discretion. By posting, you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy.
Perth Now
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Perth Now
Armie Hammer 'loved marijuana roofie-ing people'
Armie Hammer "loved marijuana roofie-ing people" at the height of his acting career. The Call Me by Your Name actor enjoyed taking the drug in company, particularly if it meant other people - including Hollywood star Johnny Depp - were left "so stoned" that they could not find their "feet". Armie, 38, joked on the latest episode of his The Armie HammerTime Podcast: "I loved poisoning people. "I loved smoking marijuana with people to the point where they were like, 'I'm so stoned, I can't find my feet.' ... "I loved marijuana roofie-ing people. "I think at that point in my life, I was smoking upwards of like 15 to 20 joints a day." Armie was then reminded that he got his The Lone Ranger co-star Johnny Depp "super stoned" before a promotional appearance for the 2013 movie, prompting them to be banned from "hanging out" during the press tour. His podcast co-host Ashton Ramsey said: "And where you actually got in trouble, the most trouble that you ever got into was when you basically got Johnny super-stoned before a press junket." Armie confirmed: "And they never let me hang out with Johnny on the press tour after that. "They would always keep us apart. "They never let us do press together. They were like, 'You two cannot hang out anymore.' " Armie - who was accompanied by ex-assistant Ashton on The Lone Ranger global press tour - recalled that Disney gave him his own private jet but his 62-year-old co-star had a bigger and better plane. He recalled: "They got him the craziest jet I've ever seen. [It] had a movie theatre in it. The guy who owned the jet was a serious smoker, and Johnny smokes cigarettes constantly... "He lights one off of the other one he just finished, kind of thing, all day. And they needed to get a plane for Johnny that he was allowed to smoke in ... "I remember walking up the stairs, and as I got four feet from the door of the plane ... cigarette smoke just hit me in the face. I walked onto the plane, and it was like yellow air from everyone just sitting in there smoking." In 2021, Armie's marriage to Elizabeth Chambers, 42, and his career went into freefall after he was accused of physical and sexual abuse, including alleged cannibalistic fantasies. He subsequently checked into rehab for help with his drug, alcohol and sex addiction issues.
The Hill
25-06-2025
- Politics
- The Hill
Behind the mask: What are ICE agents hiding?
'Who was that masked man?' If you're of a certain age, you'll remember that line from 'The Lone Ranger' — a weekly morality play, first broadcast on the radio in the 1930s, in which the hero wore a mask to hide not from accountability, but from accolades (and from the outlaw gang that ambushed him and left him for dead). In that depiction, justice rode in on a white horse and rode off into the sunset. It was dispensed honorably — if anonymously — and always in defense of the vulnerable. Fast-forward to 2025, and we're contending with a different kind of masked man. These cowboys don't ride stallions or fire warning shots into the air. They roll up in unmarked SUVs, dressed in tactical vests and with their faces covered. In one viral video, such men appear to pummel a landscaper outside an IHOP in Santa Ana, Calif., where he worked. The man's three sons, as it happens, are all U.S. Marines. This isn't just excessive force or profiling. It's the perversion of the very idea of public safety — one that creates deeper, more insidious problems. The first is psychological and moral. The old proverb warns: The mask becomes the face. Anyone who's spent time online knows that anonymity often brings out the worst in us. But this isn't just about a loss of civility. The hyper-militarized look of these Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents isn't merely a 'mask' in the Lone Ranger sense. His was a modest black domino mask — the kind that concealed just enough to hide his identity, but not enough to make him look menacing. The masks being worn by ICE agents are, by contrast, a posture. A weapon. Kurt Vonnegut once wrote, 'We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.' Nietzsche put it more bluntly: 'Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.' The moral? When men begin to dress like soldiers and vigilantes, we shouldn't be surprised when they start acting like both. The second problem is more straightforward and potentially more dangerous: When real law enforcement abandons clearly identifiable uniforms and professional procedures, it becomes easier for imposters to step in. This isn't hypothetical. In South Carolina, a man named Sean-Michael Johnson was 'charged with kidnapping and impersonating a police officer after allegedly detaining a group of Latino men,' according to a CNN report in February. He flashed a fake badge. That was enough. In Raleigh, North Carolina, a man allegedly threatened to deport a woman he met at a Motel 6 unless she slept with him. He showed her a business card with a badge on it. In this political environment, that threat — like the depicted badge — seemed credible. Police power isn't contingent on the integrity of the individual with the badge; it relies on the appearance of authority. We obey the symbols, not the man. But what happens when the uniform becomes easy to fake or deliberately obscured — or tarnished — by the officers themselves? That's not just a glitch in the system. It's the erosion of public trust. And in a culture increasingly obsessed with 'cosplay' — from Capitol rioters in combat gear to politicians posing in body armor — is it any wonder that law enforcement has been reduced to just another costume? The lines have blurred, not just between enforcement and abuse, but between officer and imposter. Put yourself in the shoes of a detainee: If you're dragged into a van by masked men on the street, how are bystanders supposed to know whether or not you are being kidnapped? In the Santa Ana case, a woman tried to intervene. She was thrown to the ground. Most people didn't even try. The default assumption is that you deserved it. Or that you weren't supposed to be here in the first place. We know from social psychology that bystanders are already reluctant to intervene, even when a violent crime is underway. Now imagine the hesitation when the masked aggressors might actually be law enforcement agents. And while immigrants are the most vulnerable targets of this deception, it isn't limited to immigration enforcement. Even those who are unlikely to be profiled should be concerned about the broader trend — a 'warrior cop' culture that has metastasized into something darker, unmoored from accountability. Here's the bleak irony: Americans are told we have the right to defend ourselves. Indeed, this is a largely conservative insight. But if the people kicking in your door at 3 a.m. are law enforcement — perhaps on a faulty warrant — you'd better not try. The same is true if you are accosted in public. Of course, the people being tackled by masked ICE agents — or impersonators — aren't the only ones who are harmed. Images of masked men tackling and disappearing people in broad daylight chip away at public trust. The damage ripples outward, undermining the very legitimacy of the system. We used to teach kids to respect authority. If someone knocked on the door wearing a badge, you at least opened it because the badge meant something. There were rules. There was a story we told ourselves — about order, fairness and due process. That story is unraveling. So what do you do now when a bunch of masked, anonymous men — possibly claiming to be the law — try to grab you? You probably still comply. Not out of civic responsibility or reverence, but because not complying might get you killed. Matt K. Lewis is a columnist, podcaster and author of the books 'Too Dumb to Fail' and 'Filthy Rich Politicians.'
Mint
02-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Mint
'King of the Hill' voice actor Jonathan Joss shot dead by neighbour after argument in Texas
Actor Jonathan Joss, widely recognised for voicing John Redcorn in the animated series 'King of the Hill', has died after being shot multiple times by a neighbour in San Antonio, Texas. The incident took place on Sunday night at a home on the city's south side. According to the San Antonio Police Department and witnesses, Joss and his neighbour became involved in a heated argument that quickly turned violent. Eyewitnesses say the dispute escalated, and the neighbour pulled out a gun and fired several shots at the actor before fleeing the scene in a vehicle. Emergency services were called shortly after, with officers responding to a report of a shooting in progress. Based on witness descriptions, police located the suspect's vehicle just a block away and arrested the man without further incident. His identity has not yet been made public. Joss was pronounced dead at the scene. Police are continuing their investigation and have not released details about what sparked the argument. The suspect is currently in custody and facing charges related to the shooting. Jonathan Joss was known for his work in both television and film, often portraying Native American characters with dignity and depth. In addition to 'King of the Hill', he appeared in films such as 'The Lone Ranger' and 'Casino Jack'. He also landed a big part in 'Parks and Recreation' as Chief Ken Hotate. And he had small roles in TV shows such as 'Tulsa King,' 'Ray Donovan,' and films like 'True Grit' and 'The Magnificent Seven.'
Calgary Herald
16-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Calgary Herald
Talk radio: Rose Scollard revisits radio plays with new book, Love and War Western Style
Article content When Calgary playwright Rose Scollard and her family moved from Ireland to rural Ontario in 1948, their first family home was less than luxurious. Article content It was the upper floor of a house outside of River Canard, a small hamlet south of Windsor, Ont. There was no running water. A pot-bellied coal stove was used to cook all the meals and was the only source of heat. Scollard's father thought he had landed an office job in Ontario working as a clerk for the Ford plant. But upon the family's arrival, he discovered it had fallen through. It was October, and it was already cold and snowy that year. So Scollard's parents dipped into what was left of their savings to buy warm clothing for the kids and a few pots and pans. Article content Article content Article content Scollard, who was born in a small town in Northern Ireland in 1939, had spent her early childhood listening to British radio programs during the war years. The family would gather around the 'wireless', as it was then known, in her grandparents' house. Being without a radio seemed unimaginable. Article content '(My father) couldn't get a job and there wasn't much housing available, either, so we had to go live out in the country,' says Scollard, in an interview from her home in Calgary. 'We lived on this lonely road at the top of this old house with no plumbing. But there was electricity. They bought a few bits of furniture and a radio. That's what got us through the winter.' Article content Scollard's father eventually found a job on the railroad, and the family built a new home. It was still in the country, and the family suffered through a few weeks with no electricity and no radio. One day, when trudging home from school, Scollard and her sister saw the porch light alit at their home. Radio was back in their lives, as was the melodramatic radio programs from Detroit such as Lux Radio Theatre, The Philip Morris Playhouse, The Shadow, The Lone Ranger and Boston Blackie. Article content Article content In 1953, Scollard's family followed some of their neighbours' lead and purchased a television. Radio offered access to a new world for Scollard, a lifeline and way to connect to a new country. For her, television was less miraculous. Article content 'I found it very flat and uninteresting because you weren't doing that imaginative work,' she says. Article content It's hardly surprising that radio drama became a part of Scollard's creative DNA, even if opportunities to write them weren't abundant. For a brief period in the 1990s, Scollard wrote radio plays for CBC. Her first was an adaptation of a sci-fi/horror play, The Chosen, that CBC producer and writer Mark Schoenberg had seen at the Edmonton Fringe Festival and commissioned for Vanishing Point, a drama series. Article content Scollard says writing radio plays was the most fun she has ever had in her professional career, which has included a long run in the theatre, founding the women-centred theatre company Maenad Productions, and co-founding literary press Frontenac House with her husband, David. Unlike with live theatre, most of the production headaches were taken care of by CBC's technicians and director Martie Fishman at the studios on Westmount Boulevard. There were no opening-night jitters because, for the most part, it was all pre-recorded.
