Just back after a few days on Malta (above). Water warm, wine sweet, food weird, memories . . . priceless. Other than that, seems news has picked up in our absence. And so. . . .
Several years ago Florida figured prominently in the oh-so-popular TV series called “To Catch a Predator.” This, of course, was the internet set-up stings in which men were stung in the butt while trying to meet children for sex. One episode took place on the other side of the state at Flagler Beach, I believe, but by far the most memorable and entertaining episode of all happened just across Charlotte Harbor from us down at Fort Myers. The fantastic parade of over-sexed steamers hunting under-aged bodies was incredible, and seemingly endless. Nothing, it appeared, could deter these sex-crazed individuals from their quest. As the cameras rolled many of these characters walked right into the bait house in broad daylight. One actually sauntered in naked. Another brought his little kid with him. Many of these men were, on the outside at least, responsible members of their communities.
Now, a normal person might imagine that something of this nature, broadcast to the world dozens of times since then, would be so damning, so shameful, so execrable, that it would be more than enough to insure that Florida degenerates never ever crept from under their rocks again. Normally-speaking, this would be true. But there is nothing normal about these perverts. Simply put, they do not see the world as normal people do. If they did, something like what occurred down here the other day would never have happened.
Last week, right here on the Charlotte/Sarasota County line, cops busted 30 individuals (and counting) in an internet sting in which the culprits were trying to set up sex with underagers, some as young as eight. One of those arrested was a judge-advocate in the military. Another was a graphic artist. Another perv was, of course, a preacher (this profession seems to always head the list).
Either the above culprits did not watch the TV reruns of “To Catch A Predator” or their overwhelming mania completely shorts out their better judgment. Whatever, I am pretty much convinced that the only way to protect children from these predators is to either 1) lock the miscreants away forever, 2) whack off their wing-wangs or 3) simply put them to death and be done with it.
Ugh!--On the same subject, when Orlando cops showed up at 21-year-old Kamil Mezalka’s crib to execute a search warrant for kiddie porn, Kamil raced upstairs with a samurai sword—a what?—a samurai sword and attempted to destroy the incriminating computer by stabbing, whacking and slashing it to pieces. Nice try, Kamil, but you might have better luck trying to destroy a jet’s black box. The miscreant was taken away, as was the intact evidence.
Biking Bummer--Over at Pompano Beach, James Marine somehow managed to get his bike tire stuck on a railroad track. Must have been a great bike. Perhaps it was a well-cared for and much-loved relic from childhood. Perhaps it was a birthday gift from the wife and kids. Perhaps Jim had lost his driver’s license and, as is so common here in Florida, the bike was his only mode of transportation. Whatever, although the train tried to slow. . . . Jim was 45.
More "Man" Rage--Some TPOC (total piece of crap) put on a little road rage performance the other day over at nearby Punta Gorda. What set this “gentleman” off was a slight fender bender at a stop light. The object of his rage was a fifty-four-year-old woman. When the lady pulled over to the curb, as any normal law-abiding person would do, the rager charged from his car screaming and cussing. The maniac then proceeded to beat the woman about the head and face with a bottle. Even after an ambulance arrived on the scene and a paramedic attempted to aid the woman, the attacker continued to rant and rage at the lady.
Finally, Paddy O’Malley appeared and took control. Finding zero damage to either car the cop then asked who did what to who and why. When the assailant denied it was his fault, denied hitting the woman with a bottle, the cop pointed out that no one—until now—had even mentioned a bottle in the attack. O'Malley, take that boy straight to jail and do not pass go. And Paddy, set his bond at $20K so that he has some quality jail time to cool down and reflect on his manliness and his madness.
The rager’s name? Doug Hasselman. And yes, I realize that the spelling is not the same but it is pronounced the same and besides, it’s close enough to suit me. Seems dear Doug is yet another character trying hard to live down to a last name. I’m sure Doug would describe himself as a proud man, a man who comes from a long line of hasslers and he ain’t a gonna take nuttin' from nobody no way no how. This brave woman-stomping cavalier might have been better named Doug Hasselwoman or Doug Womanbeater..
It’s Raining Men—In the past I have mentioned my picks for bad ways to go and worse ways to stay. Under the umbrella of “Horrible Middle World” is the desperate fellow who tried to commit suicide this past Monday by jumping off Niagara Falls. Now, despite the nearly 20-story plunge, despite the crags and boulders below, despite enough swirling water and whirlpools to suck under even a herd of hippo, this man not only survived but he walked up on shore under his own power. This man is only the third person known to survive the falls in such a manner.
“Another stroke of luck,” added a wide-eyed official on the scene, “was that if he had been in the main current, he would have been swept down river.”
Sorry, Chief, but for a man trying to commit suicide, surviving is not a "stroke" of good luck, but just the opposite. From what I have read, only a very small percentage of suicide survivors have a miraculous transformation and vote for life after the experience. For most of these people, the same problems, like man-eating crocodiles, are right there waiting to devour them once the cameras stop rolling and once their 15 minutes of fame is up.
My guess is that the next move for this guy will either be a tall building in a single leap or a bike tire "stuck" on a train track.
Thought--Every so often I read of a lottery winner somewhere. Let’s face it: Lottery is just another word for Stupid Tax. If ever there was a way to gamble with absolutely no hope of ever winning, a lottery is it. A loaded slot machine or a back street thimblerig are fair and up-and-up by comparison. Oh yes, someone always manages to win the lottery, ‘tis true, and the lottery hustlers are quick to trot out those still stunned mugs before the cameras and remind Bobby Joe Six-Pack and Ashley Lee Meth that, “This could be YOU! But hey, we can't pay unless you play.” But really? Safe to say, I stand a better chance of becoming the Chancellor of Germany or of taming and riding a Tyrannosaurus Rex than I do of winning the lottery. One thing the lottery does give to people, I admit, is hope. “Ya jus never know,” the dull and dim repeat to themselves each time they slap down their last sawbuck on tickets instead of baby food. “Ya jus never know.”
Whatever. Welfare giveth and the lottery taketh and ‘tis no concern of mine. I suppose that a Stupid Tax, in one form or another, has been fastened on our gullible brethren and sisterns since the dawn of time.
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