Nurse Goodbody (right) and I spent an hour or so yesterday loafing on one of our local beaches. The folks from the steamy-hot-sticky mainland were indeed out in full force to beat the heat and even before Michelle and Mike locked their bikes they knew the place would be packed. T’was. People, people, people . . . sprawled on the sand, bobbing in the water, boozing on the boats, even floating above in parasails—humanity was out in full force yestertag on the Blue Gulf. Whatever, M and me rolled out our quilt, pealed off our shirts, flipped off our flip-flops, then got right down to working on our melanoma. Funny. After a bit, both of us couldn’t help but notice that unlike 99.9% of America, this beach was literally bodulated by bouncing, beautiful bodies. Bikinis, boobed and bootied, fully filled out by lasses, young and not-so-young; swim trunks hunked and bulging by tanned men who obviously did give-a-damn about their looks; t’was indeed pleasant to note. I wondered where all the others were; the ones who were populating that other ninety-nine percent of America.
Alas, most were at Wal-Mart, I think. Late that afternoon, we two had to pick up some stuff. Not sure I have ever seen a more “entertaining” Wal-Mart anywhere on the globe than this one yesterday in Englewood, Florida. Quite honestly, and in all seriousness, I think Wal-Mart is missing the boat here; they could and should make a mint annually if they built a large theater with a one-way mirror near the entrance of the store, and charged admission so that spectators could just sit, eat popcorn and watch the freak show enter and exit below. On nine days out of ten such a show would be a better performance than anything that could possibly be playing at any movie theater. Of course, as much might be said of virtually any Wal-Mart in America. When I whispered to Michelle in the store that it “looks like all the carnival workers in Florida are out today stocking up on sudafed,” she busted up. Maybe a crack addict convention or a dirt bike rally would have been closer to the mark. Whatever, they’uns wuz out in force yesterday and it wuz sumpin’ ta see, sho nuf.
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Last night Chelly and I watched a program called, “I Survived.” This particular episode was about a young California woman, girl really, who was kidnapped and raped. When the rapist had finished his torment, the sobbing victim asked if she could then go.
“You want to go? You want to go? Okay, I’ll let you go,” laughed the man as he pulled out a hatchet and proceeded to chop off the girl’s arms. After that, he threw the bloody victim off a thirty foot cliff. Somehow, this slight young woman managed to survive it all and the bastard who did it was caught. My horror of the entire event soon turned to utter outrage when the court, in its wisdom, gave this individual a virtual slap on the wrist--a sixteen or so year sentence. With good behavior I suppose this creature was out that night in time to buy another hatchet before Wal-Mart closed. As he passed out of the court room following this outrageous sentence, he hissed to his victim.
“I’ll finish this job if it's the last thing I ever do.”
Well, the good news: Even though the frail young victim no doubt lived a non-stop nightmare during those next few years, when this piece of excrement was released from the California penal system (yes, that’s right, released) he did not hunt down and chop the legs and remaining life out of his victim. No, he did not. What this devil DID do was take his show on the road to Florida where he, of course, soon killed another woman. By freeing this beast California killed that woman as surely as if they had sent a paid hit man to do it, and that leftist, liberal piss-poor-excuse-of-a-state should be held 100% responsible.
But anyway, I am totally ashamed of this backward, primitive country and its judicial system. The law in this democratic paradise clearly DOES favor the monsters in our midst over the victims. In a young, healthy society, that individual who chopped off the arms of this defenseless child (fifteen-years-old at the time) would not have lived a single day after the gavel came down finding him guilty. In a strong, fearless society (which we clearly are not), that man would have been dragged outside by a mob seconds after the verdict was passed and his arms and legs would have been hacked off by hatchets on the courthouse lawn. When that grim work was done he would then have been hung up by his balls until he bled out.
There was a time not so long ago when I would have thought of torture as a terrible and inexcusable punishment for any crime. But after hearing of this case, after listening to this young woman’s words and watching her tears, I am not so sure. Would not punishments that fit the crime have a sobering effect on potential fiends in our midst? Of course, with such a swift form of justice, mistakes will be made and once in a while an innocent will be punished. In my opinion, however, that likelihood is a very, very small price to pay for the lawful regaining control of their society and stopping such terrible outrages as noted above.
As the woman told her story last night, wiping away tears with a tissue clutched in her new steel hooks, I became so indignant and angry that I do believe I could have tortured and killed the perpetrator myself at that moment . . . and enjoyed it!
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Sand Sculpture of the Day
