Two hapless, homeless-sapiens got in a bit of
a tiff this week down at Key South . . . or Key East . . . or Key Wherever. Seems these two gents living in a camp among
the watery mangroves were fighting over a sack of something.
No mention what was in the sack but I think it’s
a safe bet that it was not diamonds, rubies or pearls. Anywho, whatever was actually in that sack,
be it porn, poop or pills—it’s all the same--was apparently pretty important to
both individuals concerned. Grabbing a
filet knife the 59-year-old stabbed the 53-year-old plumb straight square
through the heart. The latter, with an unearthly
scream, flopped face down into the water.
Surprise. The cool salt must have
revived the victim for no sooner did he fall flat than he leaped to his feet
and promptly pedaled away on his bicycle.
He did not get far. Swamp Cops found him lying across the bike a short
distance from the camp, dead as dead can be.
Living in a homeless swamp camp among the
mangroves? In a purely survival sort of sense,
I’m not sure how anyone could “live” in a mangrove swamp ANYWHERE in Florida. American crocodiles, twelve-foot alligators, Burmese
Pythons, poisonous water moccasins, rats as big as coons, coons as big as wild
hogs, wild hogs as big as . . . well, you get the point. And imagine the fire ants, and imagine some
more the swarms of starving mosquitoes, and imagine even more the plentiferous
Florida sand burrs that are so needle-like that they will penetrate shoe
leather, flatten bike tires and would certainly play holy hell with sleep a
hundred times a night. Then, suppose you
take a bath once a month even if you didn’t need it? How about washing up, and watching at the
same time, for a hundred varieties of man-eating sharks, barracudas aplenty,
invisible stinging jelly-fish, and a dozen species of sand rays that will stick
a poison spear in your calf as quick as the invasive Lion Fish will stick his
poison quills two inches deep into your butt and other unnamed body parts. Add to all this the mornings, noons and nights
spent among delirious drug addicts, bat shit crazy mental patients and criminal
cutthroats, then throw in the furious heat and tropical rain, and the picture
is pretty much complete. Like playing on
the computer? Enjoy TV? Forget
it! Can’t sleep without an a/c or a
fan? Forget
it! Need a little peace, quiet and
sanity to hold onto your marbles? FORGET IT!
Truly, it is the grossest of understatements to
say that the dead man above has gone to a far, far better world than this morass
of misery on Key Hell. Perhaps his blessing
was simply “suicide by argument.”
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“Naked One-Legged Man Dies After Tossing
Bricks”—Oh, yeah, that’s the startling headline yesterday in our local fish wrap. As if it ain’t bad enough that someone was running
loose throwing bricks through windows up at Pensacola, and as if it ain’t bad
enough that he’s naked and stark raving nutz, but for god’s sake it’s a man
hopping around on ONE FRIGGEN LEG! Somehow,
him managing to die on someone’s lawn during the entire crazed episode seems
just plain anticlimactic.
“Neighbors saw 55-year-old Norbert Chabannes crawling
across a yard,” ran the report. “They
told deputies he cut his arm while unsuccessfully trying to break into his next
door neighbor’s house. That’s when he
crawled across the street and threw a cinder block at a home. . . . [A] deputy
found him delirious in the front yard.
The deputy says Chabannes collapsed while he was trying to reason with
him.”
“Reason with him?” “Delirious?”
“Crawled across the street?” Unbelievable. Who could make this crap up? And do tell how a one-legged man could balance
and hop long enough to toss anything, much less a concrete block? Lord!
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Times is Tuff—Apparently, even thieves are
down and out in these hard economic times.
In addition to burglarizing churches and distracting kids selling girl
scout cookies while a cohort pilfers the till, addicts have recently taken to
stealing our local newspaper racks. Not
only is there a few bucks in quarters in these cumbersome things but they can
scrap the machine itself for metal.
Also—and this is a first to my knowledge—some idiot broke into our local
library last week and stole the tackle box that contained about ten bucks from the sale of old and used
books (not surprisingly, no books were taken). Next stop for these cretins, I
suppose, is grave robbing and fishing out the coins tossed into fountains
outside restaurants devoted to crippled kids.
Times is tuff. When the goin’ gets tuff . . . hmmmmm? When the goin’ gets tuff the addicts get more
desperater and more stupider. “A man’s
gotta eat” has been replaced by “A man’s gotta getta hit.”
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Darwin Award—A young lady in Michigan decided
to buy a monkey recently from some nice gentleman who said he was calling from
the West African armpit sinkhole nation of Cameroon. The price was $50. Since fifty smackos for an honest-to-goodness
simian seemed like a pretty sweet deal to the 25-year-old rocket scientist, she
eagerly sent the cash then settled in to await her monkey in the mail.
When the seller contacted the American again
and said that, so sorry, but before he could send the ape he needed a bit more cash—say,
about $300 more--for shots, taxes, food, etc.
The young woman agreed. But alas,
still no monk in the mail box.
When the seller called again and demanded
even more dough before he sent the primate, the really dim light bulb finally
began to flicker feebly. Sensing that
just maybe she was being hosed, the woman decided to report her concern to the
local police.
I suppose that anyone who believes they can
buy a $50 monkey through the mail from Africa might also imagine that the cops in
Mudville, Michigan have nothing better to do with their time and budget than
spend weeks and weeks and thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to
retrieve the lost $350 of an absolutely perfect moron.
Items like this back up my belief that before
one can be an “old fool” one must first be a card-carrying young fool.
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Flasher-Pervert Outbreak. Like aids, herpes, clap, and crabs, seems that
right now on the Gulf there is an outbreak of that most pernicious and disgusting
sex disease of all, viz., sexual perversion.
I mentioned in the last post that one William Waldman was run down and cornered
like a cockroach after he exposed himself to kids at a local beach. Well, believe it or not, seems there are now copy-cat flashers at large.
Several of these steaming dog piles are
running around in this area, exposing their naked ugliness to women and
kids. Truly, these are some pretty broken
animal crackers. Just yesterday, Lust
Control nabbed Albert Hickerson. This
old degenerate, age 76—say again—old
degenerate, age 76, was seen sitting on a picnic table chokin’ his chicken. And yet, as quick as these moral meatballs
are taken away to predator prison for one day or less and treated to a few free
hots and a cot, like sown dragon’s teeth, it seems two more arise to take their
filthy place.
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A thought while biking today. . . .
Pretty much every day I run through the local
online mug shots just to see who’s on there and make sure I’m not one of
them. If a body wants to know what we
are dealing with in this country with regards to crime and drugs then I suggest
they too take a daily spin through these rogue galleries.
“Such faces!” I tell myself. “The cold, dead eyes of this one are
certainly those of a murderer. . . ,” I muse.
“The disheveled hair and strung-out filth of that one clearly belongs to
a drug addict. . . ,” I surmise. “That
iron grimace frozen on that loser’s face and his blitzed eyes, looking neither
quite awake, nor quite asleep, are definitely those of a stone drunk alcoholic. . . ," I wager.
"This creepy looking old reptile is no doubt a pedophile. . . ," I vouch. "All these others look like
career criminals steeped in crime . . . all, All, ALL look like they truly
belong where they are at,” I smugly tell myself.
And then, when I read a few of the arrest
records, I am startled. Some of these
people seem pretty normal. One old duster
my age—who I had wrongly guessed as one of our local sex steamers--had been
arrested simply because of driving with a revoked license; another was a store
manager jugged on a minor warrant; yet another was a preacher’s wife who had
failed to pay a traffic ticket.
So much, then, for mug shots. I mean, have you ever seen a good one? I
certainly have not. The Pope would look
like an axe murderer if he were in a mug shot.
Jesus would look a drug dealer in a mug shot. Your wife would look like a homeless meth-addict
in a mug shot.
Check out these two mug shots. If you had to pick one, which would you most likely
let baby-sit your kids? If you picked
the one below, sorry . . . that’s Albert Hickerson, the log flogger and
kiddie flasher mentioned above. Wanna
try again?
