Friday, April 05, 2013

Fun With Dumb

Ted Bundy, Gary Ridgway, John Wayne Gacy, Jeffrey Dahmer, Danny Rolling, Dean Corll, Earle Nelson, Wayne Bonin, Andre Crawford . . . notice anything here?  No, not the serial killer part; I’m talking about the “law of diminishing name recognition” part.   

Since serial killing has become all the rage and ever so common, fact is unless you are in the big leagues and slay 50 or more you are just a silly nothing nobody.  Competition is keen; there are so many serial killers out there plying their trade—hundreds at work as I type--that they are mostly becoming just a blur, a yawn, a snooze, zzzzzzzzzzz.  Ever heard of Dick Biegenwald?  Didn't think so.  Ever hear of Herb Baumeister?  Didn’t think so. These guys killed 20 or 30 people, maybe a hundred—who’s counting?—yet they are virtually anonymous.  Why?  Because their slaughter was generic, run-of-the-mill, nothing-out-of-the-norm stuff, just one boring murder at a time.
Now, since everybody wants to be somebody, and since everybody wants to be remembered for being the best at what they do, it stands to reason serial killers are no different.  So, what am I saying?  Just this: Vanilla serial killin’ don’t cut it no more.  Quantity’s out, quality’s in.  SK's today have got to be imaginative; they must think out of the box and do something “out there” to capture the interest of the public and gain immortal infamy.  Look at "BTK"—Bind, Torture & Kill—he came up with a nifty nickname, he taunted police, he mocked the media, he ghoulishly tortured his victims in imaginative ways, and, as a result, he will be remembered for at least a year or two after his soulless vessel moves on to another port. 

The lesson is clear: Don’t  just kill people serially, kill them memorably.
I feel pretty certain just such an approach is at work now.  Since there is no other explanation, I am confident there is a canal serial killer lurking down here; some innovative psychopath who is looking for eternal fame by grabbing Florida geezers and tossing them into canals.  Only a serial canal killer at large can explain why so many of these old people end up floating dead in these otherwise unremarkable bodies of water.
I also suspicion that we have an innovative murderer loose up near Tampa who is skrewing with sky divers' parachutes.  As noted in a recent blog (“Fun With Serial Killers,” 3.29.13), three people dead of chute failure in a year at the same place is highly suspect. 
And speaking of chutes: Is some devil up yonder in the "Windy City" doing the same?  Last year a 16-year-old boy was found dead at the bottom of a high-rise trash chute in Chicago.  Just last weekend  an eighty-year-old woman was also found at the bottom of a trash chute in the same city, same building.  It appears both were pushed.  Falling 15 or 16 stories in a dark narrow shaft is a horrible way to go.  And it is making news.  Is there a serial chute killer loose? 
If serial killers are indeed branching out, the possibilities are endless.  I personally could get behind a serial killer who murdered only Elvis impersonators.  In fact, I could get behind two such SK's.
Boo-Hoo—John Mock was whining in our local paper yesterday.  Seems he had purchased some very expensive property a few years back that bordered an exclusive golf course (all Florida golf courses are--sniff, sniff--exclu$ive).  Well, turns out that the golf course in question was too exclusive.  How exclusive?  Well, it was so exclusive that it no longer accepts ANY members . . . forever.  It recently went belly-up bankrupt.  Now, laments Mock, the fairway is just “a hayfield out back.”
 “How did that make me feel after spending a considerable amount of money?” asks Mock.
Hmmmm?  Okay.  I can’t resist:  “Get off your pity potty, John.  Thousands are living in the woods within a fifteen minute drive of your devalued place and they would give an arm, a leg, and maybe both ears and a few teeth, to have such property even at 50 cents on the dollar.  Sorry your investment went south, John, and sorry your lots lost lots, but lots of folks have bought lots and have lost lots more than you on their lots.  Bear up.  Be a man.  Deal with it.”
Ironic Names Hall of Fame
John Mock, Grove City, Florida (mocked home owner)

There!  Now I feel better.
Mensa Members in the News--Scott Vansice of Port Charlotte was arrested on a sexual battery charge.  The 37-year-old man is accused of dallying with a child last year.  But heck, since there are so many more important cases in the local legal log jam—jaywalking, littering, loud TVs, etc--the sympathetic judge released poor Scott on probation so that he wouldn't need suffer any unnecessary trauma by being locked up.   

So, with so much time on his hands, what does Vansice decide to do?  He decides to get even with the detective that arrested him, that’s what he decided to do; Scott started stalking the detective. 
In addition to tailing the cop in his car and driving by his home, Vansice actually rang the detective’s doorbell early Easter morning.  Now, of all the stupid things a person can do—setting fire to a fire station, burglarizing a home security business, ratting out an Aryan Brotherhood member—stalking a police detective ranks right up there.
And so, for the second time, this public servant was forced to arrest our local nuclear physicist and, for all I know, he may need to arrest him two or three more times before our dear judge decides Vansice should see the inside of a jail, poor fellow.
Do you wonder why cops secretly despise the American legal system?  Do you wonder why inside every cop there is a “Dirty Harry” banging to get out?  And do you wonder why me, myself, I, and my, commiserate when cops feel that way?