When Bill Cosby's alleged rape victims started coming forward a few months ago, I couldn't believe the stories were true. I mean, I REALLY wanted to believe these stories were not true. Cosby was one of my heroes throughout childhood. I was about 7 when I found my brother's copy of Bill Cosby Himself on vinyl and I loved every track. From there it went on to Fat Albert, Picture Pages, and of course the Cosby Show. Bill's comedy was always so wholesome. His role as a TV dad seemed to be a reflection of him as a person...not just a "character".
Well, about 30 women later, I've hit my breaking point. The latest is Cindra Ladd, wife of a successful Hollywood producer. She has made it clear that she is not coming forward for money (she has plenty), interviews, or the like. She is simply sharing her story of being drugged and raped by Cosby back in '69 (when "date rape" was pretty much legal).
I'm already a paranoid father of a young girl. I officially trust (almost) no one.