Dr. Ken Wilcox arrested and deported from Cambodia
Violet: If you knew anything about law, you would know that "proving a negative" isn't something people can do. In this case, the reasons have been stated by the poster above.
So far, the all that has been proven is that he studied at Nova Southeastern University in Florida.
Interestingly, he's also changed the page where he talks about qualifications on his website. Until last week he was claiming to be a graduate of at least 3 major universities, including Sussex in England. However, all that has now been removed from his site, and he's now only claiming to have graduated from Nova Southeastern (getting someone to change their story is about as close to proving a negative as you can get).
So what's the deal? What happened to all his other degrees?
So far, the all that has been proven is that he studied at Nova Southeastern University in Florida.
Interestingly, he's also changed the page where he talks about qualifications on his website. Until last week he was claiming to be a graduate of at least 3 major universities, including Sussex in England. However, all that has now been removed from his site, and he's now only claiming to have graduated from Nova Southeastern (getting someone to change their story is about as close to proving a negative as you can get).
So what's the deal? What happened to all his other degrees?
- violet
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of course I wasn't serious about proving the negative... you seem to be getting close to achieving that though.Bubble T wrote:Violet: If you knew anything about law, you would know that "proving a negative" isn't something people can do. In this case, the reasons have been stated by the poster above.
So far, the all that has been proven is that he studied at Nova Southeastern University in Florida.
Interestingly, he's also changed the page where he talks about qualifications on his website. Until last week he was claiming to be a graduate of at least 3 major universities, including Sussex in England. However, all that has now been removed from his site, and he's now only claiming to have graduated from Nova Southeastern (getting someone to change their story is about as close to proving a negative as you can get).
So what's the deal? What happened to all his other degrees?
The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled.
- Plutarch
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You're right of course.violet wrote:Yes.. hands up who turned a blind eye to Dr Gloria but who want to shout out about Dr Ken.hanky wrote:Most schools I know of don't require degrees for English teachers. Anyway, following your logic, we should get more "Dr."Glorias to run the health system and some fake engineers to build a few more skyscrapers and bridges, no worries.Uptoyou wrote:What about all these English teachers, earning very decent wages on the back of a fake degree certifcate purchased on the Khao San Road.
Though Gloria got outed and received her punishment.
Ken is being taken to task now. What's wrong with that?
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Bubble T wrote:
Interestingly, he's also changed the page where he talks about qualifications on his website. Until last week he was claiming to be a graduate of at least 3 major universities, including Sussex in England. However, all that has now been removed from his site, and he's now only claiming to have graduated from Nova Southeastern (getting someone to change their story is about as close to proving a negative as you can get).
So what's the deal? What happened to all his other degrees?
They still seem to be listed on his website to me.
http://www.wilcoxpsy.com/AboutDrKen.aspx
I think you guys are barking up the wrong tree on the degree issue. The important thing is that he's an alleged thief with a long history of running from the police, avoiding criminal trials, fleeing the country rather than defend the charges, etc. And he likes to drive drunk and crash into things. But so does Kelsey Grammer, and he played a convincing psychiatrist on TV.
Follow my lame Twitter feed: @gavin_mac
Yes, that's on his other site. I'm referring to "Thor Health Services", where he only claims to have studied at Nova Southeastern (which I don't doubt).
His boyfriend has also just removed an old facebook posting in which he accused Ken of tazing him 6 times in the neck. Have these guys never heard of Google Cache? Or do they simply not understand the concept?
His boyfriend has also just removed an old facebook posting in which he accused Ken of tazing him 6 times in the neck. Have these guys never heard of Google Cache? Or do they simply not understand the concept?
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If that last bit you added is true... doesn't anyone care about the safety of his "boyfriend"?Bubble T wrote:Yes, that's on his other site. I'm referring to "Thor Health Services", where he only claims to have studied at Nova Southeastern (which I don't doubt).
His boyfriend has also just removed an old facebook posting in which he accused Ken of tazing him 6 times in the neck. Have these guys never heard of Google Cache? Or do they simply not understand the concept?
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I was fooled by Dr. Gloria a couple of times actually, and I posted about her about 5 years ago or whatever. I haven't said much about Dr. Ken really.violet wrote:Yes.. hands up who turned a blind eye to Dr Gloria but who want to shout out about Dr Ken.hanky wrote:Most schools I know of don't require degrees for English teachers. Anyway, following your logic, we should get more "Dr."Glorias to run the health system and some fake engineers to build a few more skyscrapers and bridges, no worries.Uptoyou wrote:What about all these English teachers, earning very decent wages on the back of a fake degree certifcate purchased on the Khao San Road.
Give me proof you are not Moe out of the Three Stooges. Ok, that's sorted.give me the proof he isn't a doctor.... still waiting on that one.
Who Gives a Fuck?
The therapists are the ones who need to see a therapist.....
I hate these people with a deep passion. No let me rephrase. I do not hate the therapists, I hate what they do.
Why the hell is everybody going through therapy? What are the resources that therapists provide that we cannot either provide ourselves or work out for ourselves. ''Ah'...I hear you retort, ''it's somebody who will listen to me''. ''Someone, who will not interrupt, someone who will bend their ear and drink in every word I have to utter''. Do you know why they sit in stony silence and listen to your sorry dribble? Let me tell you - because they are paid to do it! Take the same therapist and ask if they provide this service for nothing. No of course they would not. They simply prostitute their ears. Yet we actually think they want to help us, that they somehow truly care and engage with us in a way that loved ones will not. The therapist has somehow become synonymous with this 'lost' generation.Why the hell is everybody in therapy? Somebody answer me please. Therapy! Counseling! I need to grasp this concept and understand it.
Mature, developed adults, with the gift of their own brilliant minds to explore, choose instead to sit for an hour with some gormless, clueless fuckwit, who probably possesses a City and Guilds certificate in basket making, to unravel the secrets of their mind.
It has become the national sport - visiting the therapist. We have clearly inherited this passion from our lunatic, war-mongering neighbours across the pond. The magnificent, fist clenching, pompous, self glorifying USA. The land of the free! The free? The land where everybody is so bound up with their own demons that the dear souls would appear to have a therapist for each day of the week. The land of the free? Really? Maybe if they stopped bombing the living daylights out of less fortunate nations then some of the demons might disappear without any input whatsoever from a therapist. Neuro Linguistic Programming will not facilitate a withdrawal from Iraq - but a conscience might! Eh?
So therapy! I have my well publicised pains, and I am reminded at every corner that my next port of call ought to be a counselor. Why? what can a counselor tell me that I do not aleady know. They may offer some logical thought patterns, but they do not and cannot ease feelings.
They exist as an excuse and fashion statement. Having a counselor is akin to having a hot tub or a fast car. It's just a statement, because these days it's cool to say 'I am screwed up'! You are not screwed up - it is simply the fact that you own a fridge - lost the fridge and life will be just fine.
I hate these people with a deep passion. No let me rephrase. I do not hate the therapists, I hate what they do.
Why the hell is everybody going through therapy? What are the resources that therapists provide that we cannot either provide ourselves or work out for ourselves. ''Ah'...I hear you retort, ''it's somebody who will listen to me''. ''Someone, who will not interrupt, someone who will bend their ear and drink in every word I have to utter''. Do you know why they sit in stony silence and listen to your sorry dribble? Let me tell you - because they are paid to do it! Take the same therapist and ask if they provide this service for nothing. No of course they would not. They simply prostitute their ears. Yet we actually think they want to help us, that they somehow truly care and engage with us in a way that loved ones will not. The therapist has somehow become synonymous with this 'lost' generation.Why the hell is everybody in therapy? Somebody answer me please. Therapy! Counseling! I need to grasp this concept and understand it.
Mature, developed adults, with the gift of their own brilliant minds to explore, choose instead to sit for an hour with some gormless, clueless fuckwit, who probably possesses a City and Guilds certificate in basket making, to unravel the secrets of their mind.
It has become the national sport - visiting the therapist. We have clearly inherited this passion from our lunatic, war-mongering neighbours across the pond. The magnificent, fist clenching, pompous, self glorifying USA. The land of the free! The free? The land where everybody is so bound up with their own demons that the dear souls would appear to have a therapist for each day of the week. The land of the free? Really? Maybe if they stopped bombing the living daylights out of less fortunate nations then some of the demons might disappear without any input whatsoever from a therapist. Neuro Linguistic Programming will not facilitate a withdrawal from Iraq - but a conscience might! Eh?
So therapy! I have my well publicised pains, and I am reminded at every corner that my next port of call ought to be a counselor. Why? what can a counselor tell me that I do not aleady know. They may offer some logical thought patterns, but they do not and cannot ease feelings.
They exist as an excuse and fashion statement. Having a counselor is akin to having a hot tub or a fast car. It's just a statement, because these days it's cool to say 'I am screwed up'! You are not screwed up - it is simply the fact that you own a fridge - lost the fridge and life will be just fine.
This morning I went so see a therapist.
This was not my first time - I am far from being a therapy virgin.
He was a large, balding, bespectacled chap tucked in behind a large, walnut veneer desk. There was a fashionable arrangement of books spread out across the desk. There were several copies of National Geographic, myriad psychology text books ( just to reassure me I was in the right place), three different recipe books and a copy of the Kamasutra. He requested and gestured that I be seated. He suggested that I might like a glass of water. I impolitely reminded him that I had come for mental health advice, not to quench my thirst.
He handed me his business card - his named in raised, golden letters with a plethora of meaningless letters at the end. I believe they represented an advanced qualification in breeding ravens but I cannot be sure. I did not study it for long enough. It might as well have said Harold Shipman, Sleep Therapist for all I care. I have an aversion to business cards. They tend to be an extension of the ego, and serve little purpose other than filling up waste paper baskets around the world. Oh, they can be also used in pubs where they can be dropped into the 'drop your business card in this jar for a chance to win a bottle of champagne' jar. I have only ever been handed two business cards of significance - the donors know exactly who they are.
His started the clock and launched into some diatribe and about not accepting personal responsibility should I choose to voluntarily enter into the 'big sleep' as a result of his wise counsel! I was bored already. What kind of therapist would distance himself from responsibilty?
He asked me why I was in his room? What did I want to talk about? What was up? I noticed he had big, sausage like fingers. Truly extraordinary digits. His voice piped up once more, throwing up what I assumed were probing, ice breaking type questions. I started to laugh at him. He was puzzled then. He had several chins that gave his neck a bizarre concertina effect when he looked down. I was not laughing, however, at his physical apearance. I was laughing at life itself. I asked him if he needed any therapy. He answered quite categorically in the negative. So why was he a therapist then, I meekly asked. He was quizzical about my enquiry. Was I suggesting that to be a therapist, you need to be in therapy? I looked at him and complimented him on his profound intelligence that he had understood my theory and had been able to make this connection.
He started to cry, his bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. I felt sad for him, and for all of humanity. Unquestionably his career was a cathartically driven experience, that was not working out really well (thus far).
I told him it was time for me to leave, and he looked genuinely disappointed. I think he just wanted someone to talk to. I rolled up a copy of the National Geographic and smashed it down across his skull. I did not intend to kill him - it was just a wake up call.
This was not my first time - I am far from being a therapy virgin.
He was a large, balding, bespectacled chap tucked in behind a large, walnut veneer desk. There was a fashionable arrangement of books spread out across the desk. There were several copies of National Geographic, myriad psychology text books ( just to reassure me I was in the right place), three different recipe books and a copy of the Kamasutra. He requested and gestured that I be seated. He suggested that I might like a glass of water. I impolitely reminded him that I had come for mental health advice, not to quench my thirst.
He handed me his business card - his named in raised, golden letters with a plethora of meaningless letters at the end. I believe they represented an advanced qualification in breeding ravens but I cannot be sure. I did not study it for long enough. It might as well have said Harold Shipman, Sleep Therapist for all I care. I have an aversion to business cards. They tend to be an extension of the ego, and serve little purpose other than filling up waste paper baskets around the world. Oh, they can be also used in pubs where they can be dropped into the 'drop your business card in this jar for a chance to win a bottle of champagne' jar. I have only ever been handed two business cards of significance - the donors know exactly who they are.
His started the clock and launched into some diatribe and about not accepting personal responsibility should I choose to voluntarily enter into the 'big sleep' as a result of his wise counsel! I was bored already. What kind of therapist would distance himself from responsibilty?
He asked me why I was in his room? What did I want to talk about? What was up? I noticed he had big, sausage like fingers. Truly extraordinary digits. His voice piped up once more, throwing up what I assumed were probing, ice breaking type questions. I started to laugh at him. He was puzzled then. He had several chins that gave his neck a bizarre concertina effect when he looked down. I was not laughing, however, at his physical apearance. I was laughing at life itself. I asked him if he needed any therapy. He answered quite categorically in the negative. So why was he a therapist then, I meekly asked. He was quizzical about my enquiry. Was I suggesting that to be a therapist, you need to be in therapy? I looked at him and complimented him on his profound intelligence that he had understood my theory and had been able to make this connection.
He started to cry, his bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. I felt sad for him, and for all of humanity. Unquestionably his career was a cathartically driven experience, that was not working out really well (thus far).
I told him it was time for me to leave, and he looked genuinely disappointed. I think he just wanted someone to talk to. I rolled up a copy of the National Geographic and smashed it down across his skull. I did not intend to kill him - it was just a wake up call.
- violet
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Up to you.... hello. I can agree with what you say about therapists, with one exception. I know a psychologist who treated a person for 8 months at no charge, because the individual could not afford to pay, and they needed someone to listen and help unscramble their head.
They aren't all money grabbers. Some just care about people.
Anyway.... nice writing. Do carry on.
They aren't all money grabbers. Some just care about people.
Anyway.... nice writing. Do carry on.
The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled.
- Plutarch
- Plutarch
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