As my mentor, Mark Twain, once
said: “Good readin’ is hard writin’.”
And, Mark might have added, “Bad proofin’ is ridiculous readin’.”
Bad Readin’ #1--A 69-year-old motorcyclist
hit and killed a pedestrian here Saturday.
Now, since 99% of the eight zillion motorcycles hereabouts are extremely
loud Harleys, this means that the victim was either a) stone deaf, or b) stone
drunk, or c) stoned period, or d) old as dirt and too slow on the giddy-up, or, as
appears more likely the case, the geezer biker e) “confused” the throttle for
the brake and instead of screeching to a halt the bike instead rocketed right
straight away ahead forward. The biker,
of course, also did some rocketing himself, namely, right straight away ahead
forward off his machine. Although there
was no mention of a seat-belt (don’t laugh), for some reason, though there was zero
mention of trauma to the coconut, the twitty reporter just had to add that the
biker was not wearing a helmet. The
reporter did state that the biker was treated for “serious” injuries but then
added in the same breath that he was released right away, as in five-minutes-after-entering right away. Don’t sound too serious
to this un. See? Totally brainless writing
Note #1--It ain’t every day when one
hears of a motorcycle hitting and smiting a pedestrian. Wonder if a walker has ever been smote by a
cyclist?
Note #2: Your blogger would be
derelict in his duty if he failed to note that a 61-year-old cyclist was run
over and killed by a car yesterday in virtually the same spot as the
above.
Note #3--Wild squirrels. . . . We human
beans don’t know nuttin’. . . .We just like wild squirrels, trying to cross
road.
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Bad Readin’ #2--After a tip from a
concerned citizen, North Port police responded to a local motel where they
arrived just in time to see a suicidal sixty-year-old cross the line from
theory to practice. An ugly mess. When someone uses a .45 to kill themselves it
is . . . it is just so . . . well, I have seen the JFK autopsy photos and you
have heard that old saying about someone “having their brains blown out” . . . well, it is true . . . when someone is
shot in the head with a high-powered something-or-other the brains are often
blown clean from the head, leaving only a fractured shell of skull. That’s what I mean by “ugly.”
I always find suicide stories sad/happy,
bitter/sweet; sad/bitter in that living has become so unbearable for the
suicider that even a painful death and a step off into the unknown is
preferable to a painful life; happy/sweet in that the poor sufferer is finally at
peace . . . or so we hope.
What makes the above story noteworthy,
however, is the shoddy writing of the reporter, or rather, the shoddy proofing
of the editor.
“Authorities responding to a
welfare check early Monday morning at a local motel. . . ,” the story
begins. Huh? For a second, I honestly did think the article
was something about welfare fraud. But
the piece goes on. . . .
“The welfare check request led
authorities to the Budget Inn, located in. . . ,” redunderates the reporter.
Hmmmm? “Welfare check”? Surely, “safety check” would have worked better
here, no? Or, just perish the “welfare”
and strike the “check” altogether and replace with “safety concern,” as in
“Authorities responding to a safety concern Monday morning at a local motel. .
. .”
Jeez. Rereading the above and my monomania on a
two-word phrase appearing in a Blivitsburg newspaper makes me wonder: Have I finally
gone nutz? Have I been blogging about senile
seniors so long and their demented “letters to the editor” and their loon rants
about such weighty subjects as women being called “guys” (“Guys, Geckos &
Geezers,” 7.12.11) and their cracked thoughts on “smells” (“Nothing But News,”
2.3.12) and their nut sack worries about using phrases such as “passing away”
in lieu of “dying” in the obits (“Spring Sprung or, Reptile Rapture,” 3.26.13),
well, after rereading the above maybe it’s me, myself, I, that have gone
batz.
Geezer? Geezer?
Am I are one?
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Spring Break, Spring Broken—Daytona
has thrown in the beach towel. Hoteliers
and merchants figure that the spring breakers just ain’t worth the annual hassle
and fol de rol. These so-called college students
and the millions they shell out in parental play dough each spring still don’t
add up to all the crap Daytona Beach has to deal with, figuratively and quite
literally.
“Three [Daytona] hotels were shut
down amid reports of urine, vomit and feces in the halls and stairways,” ran
one report.
Drunken fools who drink not only
as much as they want, but drink as much as they can, moronic brawls, riots, broken windows, destroyed furniture, idiots
falling off balconies, major fights, stupidity, drownings, vandalism, rape—no
Texas cowboys ever tore up Dodge City more thoroughly than these drunken
simpletons tore up Daytona Beach per annum.
And so, while one welcome mat is withdrawn many tens of thousands of
these vomit birds flock now to the Florida Panhandle. Unfortunately, and as reported in this blog
before, thousands of others have also “discovered” the secret of these Gulf keys,
Siesta, Long Boat and Manasota. Lucky us!
