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.
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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?
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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.
