Now that
the eighty- and ninety-year-old Yankee geez in their ten-ton tan sedans have
returned to the streets round Old Lemon Bay, on my frail bike I feel as nervous
as . . . as nervous as . . . as nervous as a roach in a flash light factory . .
. as nervous as a crack whore at Sunday School . . . as nervous as a hungry
buzzard trying to cop a meal on I-75 . . . as nervous as a comb-over in Chicago
. . . as nervous as a pregnant nun at Mass. . . .
Magic Number—Last year about this
time, I reported on the report that thirty pedos were reportedly netted in an
internet sex sting (“Pervert Central,” 5.23.12). Yep, 30 pervs were
nabbed back then when they showed up at the bait house looking, lurking and
lusting for little kids. Well, I guess the big Three-O
is the official magic number; guess that is when the cops calculate that it’s
time to close the case, throw the book, and lock 'em up, since that’s the exact
number that law dogs nailed yesterday here in the Internet Sex Sting Capital of
the World. Sigh. One must just shake one’s head. Despite the
widespread notoriety and high-profile nature of such crimes, despite the obvious
attempts by public and private groups to stamp out this beastly behavior, it
still persists. Nay, not merely persists, but increases, even
flourishes. It is almost as if these characters are a distinct
sub-species from the rest of us, a sub-species without caution, conscience or
remorse, or perhaps even aliens from other planets who have just arrived on
earth last week and know nothing of what is current here or what the do's and
don'ts are.
Some of these “gentlemen”—the oldest
was sixty-four—obviously had some serious sex in mind when they were
caught. One steamer showed up for work with not one or two, but fifty condoms.
Another devil brought along a “sex kit” which had instruments solely designed
for torture. Sex toys, sex lotions, sex vids, crack, coke, meth, booze .
. . these lizards had it all.
Although generally much lower, some
of the sentences facing this crew ranged as high as twenty years in prison.
“We’ve got to get the message out
there that we’re not going to tolerate adults having sex with our children,”
said one state prosecutor.
Well, those are some very reassuring
words but the fact is that the message has gotten out there, and been
out there, a long time now but it ain’t having no impact. Fact is,
like dragon’s teeth, for every leering Lester taken off the streets, two
Chesters pop up. Twenty years sounds like a looong stretch to normals,
but it must not be all that forbidding to these lust-crazed molesters, Lester and Chester.
How about some real punishment, for
a change? How about castration for the first offense? Then, how
about death for the second? Or how about stopping one or more of these
foreign adventures (wars) that this great flag-waving home of the brave, land
of the free is currently engaged in and using that trillion dollars saved to
fund a program of reprogramming the brains of these miscreants?
Surely, whatever the internet giveth, the internet can taketh away,
no? Surely, we can bring all of our “intelligence assets” home from all
those CIA torture pens we are operating around the globe and set them to work
forcing these creatures to watch 24/7 internet vids that will alter their
thought patterns from deviant sexual behavior to normal sexual behavior, or,
preferably, to no sexual behavior at all.
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Human Pit Bull—Seems Paul Peter Roskowski of Pitbullville (Englewood) was pretty po’ed at his neighbor’s Jack Russell (small, short-hair dog now in vogue). Perplexingly, just exactly why the 76-year-old Paul Peter was irate is not mentioned in the longish report. Since the little dog was kept inside the lanai (screened porch) I surmise the poor porch pooch was bored as hell and, since a canine can’t read a book, play video games, surf the internet, or watch TV, this little canine exercised one of the few freedoms left to him, i.e., he barked. Perhaps he barked at anything and everything--barked at the mailman, barked at silly-looking-power-walking-fat-women who waddled by, barked at laughing teens on skateboards, barked at grumpy old Peter Paul every time he came outside to water his palms . . . bark, bark, bark.
Whatever, one day po’ed Peter Paul
snapped--picking up a brick, walking over to his neighbor’s lanai, entering
said neighbor's lanai, the furious fossil flattened the dog’s skull as flat as
that day-old dead possum up there on I-75 that that buzzard was trying to get
at.
Poor man. Roskowski was
charged with whatever these courts charge someone who murders animals—a dollar
and a day (of probation) probably--then admonished by His Honor to go and sin
no more. I dislike barking dogs too but hey, the owner of the dog should
have been fined or put in jail or forced to stand in his lanai 24/7 until he
too begins to bark at fat women walking and mailmen mailing.
This gets me thinking. . . .
An asteroid? A
meteorite? The solar system’s smallest planet? Whatever it was that
rocked Russia last week, well, we can all be grateful that it occurred when it
did and not back on say, 12.12.12. Back then, at the height of the Mayan Calendar
World-Enders’ Hysteria Fest, had it happened back then, and had there then been
a follow up the following day—12.13.12--I seriously doubt I would even be here
typing this or that you would even be here reading this that I type. Like
a cattle herd spooked by lightning, the human herd would have stampeded in
panic right off the planet.
Believe it or not, except for booze
and some gourmet food items, I doubt seriously if there would have been much
theft occurring back then; after all, what good are stolen items--new shoes,
Armani suits, Rolexs, gold, money--when the world will end in a week? Bars
would not be full because what bartender would show for work? Liquor
stores will be cleaned out in a blink.
Since everyone—and I mean
everyone—will abandon their work stations, there will be no electricity, no
water, no gas, no sewage, no heat, no trains, no planes, no firemen, and . . .
no cops.
With the end of the world nigh, with
fear of punishment nil, anyone who wants to correct a barking dog problem next
door, ala Peter Paul Almond Joy above, will. Anyone who has also dreamed
of dealing with that dog’s owner, will. Anyone who has always wanted to
torture and kill someone just for kicks, will. Anyone who has a hankering
to rape that beautiful woman down the street, will. Anyone who has always
wanted to bugger little boys or fiddle little girls, will.
For those who think humans--once the
world-end hand-writing is on the wall--will simply meet peacefully somewhere to
pray in a circle with heads bowed for deliverance is living in a very different
world than most of us and they certainly ain’t been to Charlotte County,
Florida, lately.
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Sardonic
Smile of the Day
