Since the judges prefer to play golf and chase skirts, and since the justice system is clearly not just sick, but comatose, how about we bloggers and bloggees take charge and devise punishments to fit the crimes?
After sitting on Florida’s Life Row these past one score and three, Elmer Carroll is scheduled to be put down painlessly next month via lethal injection. Somewhere way back in the misty past, back in the last century, Carroll raped and smothered a 10-year-old child.
Meanwhile, another lovely fellow, Tom Coe, is doing a life spin on Life Row for killing his two-year-old stepson, also way back before the dawn of time, back in the last century. How did Coe kill that child? By repeatedly dunking his head in and out of a toilet stool, that’s how.
As far as Elmer, let’s do away with him in the same manner that he did away with the little girl—a large ax handle should do the job nicely, about an hour’s worth of anal rape--w/o lube—culminating not in Carroll's climax, but in his execution by slow smotheration. And as for Tom Coe. . . .
Bring in a crane, tie ropes around each ankle, then, with either a septic tank, cesspool or open sewer below, dunk this devil until nearly dead, then raise him up and dunk him some more.
Savage? You bet!
Do I care? No.
What’s the point? Revenge.
Why? Because it feels good.
How come? Because whatever we are doing now just ain’t a workin’—repeat—JUST AIN’T A WORKIN’!
Make the punishment so severe and sadistic that even the most homicidal of maniacs and even the most mentally challenged of murderers will stop and think twice before they tie someone up and toss them over the side of a boat, or bury a child alive in trash bags, or drown a two-year-old in a toilet stool. After watching the above executions on pay-per-view, think anyone else would have a hankerin' to murder that way? I don’t.
Alas, apparently not all senile seniors have left the Sunshine State. Up at Ocala the other day, Norma Joan Brennan was hoping to join the annual migration north but first she had to brush up on her driving skills. With help and “tips” from her do-gooder preacher, old Norma was in the pastor's horseless carriage outside a local store trying to remember how to turn the infernal contraption on, how to steer it, where the lantern switch was in case she wanted to drive after the chickens went to roost, where was the. . . . Well, when Norma got to the part about where that derned thing was down there by her feet that made the Stanley Steamer stop, well . . . like something ripped right out of the pages of yesterday’s World Famous Sand Sex Blog. . . .
“A 79-year-old woman who was trying to get her driver’s license restored confused the gas pedal for the brakes and crashed through the front door of an Ocala Target store. . . .”
Norma was ticketed for driving a car and crashing it through a store wall on a suspended license. Think this might stop a feisty, independent-minded never-say-never All-American gal like old Norma Joan? Ha. I don't. My bet is that this senile menace will be at it again in a week or less. And as for the “helpful” man-of-god who was himself cited for letting Norma drive his car. . . . Had he succeeded in his mis-guided and mentally-ill attempt to get Norma back on the road, should he not be charged as an accessory to murder when—not “if’—when she “confused” the wrong way on a freeway for the right way on the freeway and plowed into a van loaded with 30 illegal aliens? Either put this parson pastor preacher in prison where he might do some good for a change, or put his Almighty ass on so many thousands of hours of community service working with those whose relatives have been killed by senile drivers that he will never find time to be a brainless, bible-beating do-gooder ever again, Amen.
And as for a fit punishment for feisty old Norma Joan, I ask: Where is a serial canal when you really need one?
Sixty-nine-year-old Tom Petcher is back out on the streets of Sarasota today. Since it’s going to be a wonderous warm day in South Florida it is assumed that Tom will once more be on the beach at Siesta Key today catchin’ them rays, flashin’ those little girls and spankin’ that monkey of his.
Yesterday, Tom was at the same beach, doing what he does best—exposing himself to children. With his swim trunks pulled down to his ankles, Petcher the Letcher stood in knee-deep water and put his bat and balls in the on deck circle so that a couple of fourteen-year-olds could admire them. When the girls turned away in disgust, our bat boy simply floated around on his back with his mast sticking up at full staff. Again, the tiny-titted teeny-boppers in their teeny-weeny bikinis moved away from this loathsome, lustsome, lewd and lascivious loser.
By now, thoroughly aroused and just a bustin’ with sexual serendipity, our Lester the Molester just had to jerk his gherkin to relieve himself. Fortunately, this gherkin-jerkin’ gave the Siesta Key Perv Patrol just enough time to reach the beach and catch the wretch as he fled through the parking lot. As noted above, this lovely citizen is out today, flashing free as the wind.
Punishment for Tom? Hmmm. Let’s be creative. How about staking him out naked on several square feet of solid fire ant colonies, then let’s pour some syrup on his disgusting not-so-private parts, then let's pull up a chair and enjoy the free show. Don’t think Tom will be so eager to flash anyone or anything when those ants are finished with him. I doubt if Tom will even have anything to flash when the fire ants finish their feeding frenzy.