Very tuff sledding when you are biking into a twenty MPH head gale, as per today on this narrow sand island.
A pure groove, however, when you are coming back with a 20 MPH jet-like tailwind. Feels fun. Nobody passing me; I’m passing them. I am not breaking the sound barrier but I am actually breaking the speed barrier. Doing 30 in a 25. Flying under one jungle canopy of palms, banyans, and oaks--just as I passed, a huge limb of the latter landed two seconds behind me onto the road. Had I been going 1 MPH less, I would not now be here typing this blog.
Moral: Sometimes speed kills, sometimes speed saves.
Booze Bag # 839—The other day I mentioned that what makes crime news here in the Sunshine State so stupid, outrageous and ludicrous is that Floridians are generally a lot older, generally a lot crazier and generally a lot drunker than those in the Upper 49. Case in point:
Sitting in his Port Charlotte home the other day, stewing over the recent slaughter of children up in Sandy Hook, worried over the safety of his own grand kids in a nearby school, 61-year-old drunk, Steve Miller, decided he was fed up and he weren’t a gonna take it no more. Steve was a gonna enter the hero business.
So, this addled sot, all bleary-eyed and acting stupid, goes stumbling into an already nervous grade school, yelling about guns and protection and shootings and dead kids and . . . and then this booze bozo asked if he could bring a gun into the building to make a point! This is why we lock up so many doofus fools who are drinking and driving—not because they are seeing pink elephants, not because their reaction time is greatly diminished, it’s mostly because the rock between their ears in out to lunch; it's because their thinking, their judgment, is so damn crappy poor.
Somewhere in his scrambled thought process, Miller imagined that his act was of the undercover detective/heroic variety; he was going into the school and see for himself how well they were prepared. The total disconnect in his foggy mind was that his drunken, unpredictable actions and his blather about guns and his stupid, stern looks and slurred speech were just exactly the type of stuff that set people off in the after wash of such dreadful events as just occurred in Connecticut.
Any who, after Miller had sobered up in the local drunk tank, he was cut loose by the cops. Ha. Jim had to hoof it back to the Miller ranch on his own since his indignant and embarrassed wife refused to come pick the fool up. For his part, the hammer-headed “hero” had no regrets.
“I was satisfied with the response and I was treated very well at the jail,” Jim announced grandly to a bored reporter on a slow news day. Jim was satisfied. Well, that’s a great relief. I’m sure the community would like to honor and bestow a medal to Citizen Jim for his self-less efforts at securing the school and for scaring the holy living hell out of several hundred students, parents, teachers, and staff.
At least the cops were satisfied. Jim had actually been arrested at the school by an officer placed there to prevent just such unwanted idiots as Miller marching into the school unannounced.
That's what I mean by older, crazier, drunker.
What’s wrong with this picture? Instead of giving him an award, a boat, a home, and freeing him, the State of Florida put to death Manuel Pardo. Senor Pardo, as you might remember, was convicted of killing execution style nine drug dealers while he was serving as a Miami-area cop. Pardo, a New Yorker of Spanish descent, viewed these low-lifes as the “scum of the earth” and saw it as his mission, “my war,” to rid the world of black and brown drug gangs in South Florida.
"l wish I could have been up here for [killing] ninety-nine of them instead of nine," Pardo said at his trial. "l enjoyed what I was doing. I enjoyed shooting them. They're parasites and they're leeches, and they have no right to be alive. Somebody had to kill these people."
Anyone got a problem with that? Well, the State of Florida did and . . . . Pardo was put to death this week. Here is his last statement:
I want to apologize to my family for the pain and grief I have caused all of you, having to undergo this ordeal. You are all so loving and wonderful, not deserving of this nightmare. I wish to set the record straight as to my victims. I accept full responsibility for killing the 6 men, but I never harmed those three women or any female. I took the blame as I knew I was doomed and it made no difference to me, at the time, having 6 or 9 death sentences. I don’t want this hanging over my head, especially these last few minutes of life, because my war was against men who were trafficking in narcotics, and no one else!
On a lighter note, as a New Yorker and loyal fan, I was happy to see my Yankees and Giants win so many championships during my lifetime. The Jets, on the other hand, did what they do best: choke, crash and burn . . . they stink! I was ecstatic seeing Spain finally win the World Cup. It was a lifelong dream that became reality. I hope the Spanish government never votes to stop bullfights as they are part of our culture and heritage, and if they do, I’m glad I won’t be alive to see such a travesty!
In closing I ask my family to please not suffer and to be strong. I’ve made my peace with God and now accept the consequences of my actions. Remember Michi [daughter] you are Airborne and hardcore . . . no tears! I will always be a part of you, and will live in your heart, mind and soul. May God bless, and protect you and everyone affected by this. I am now ready to ride the midnight train to Georgia.
I adore you Michi girl . . . eternally!