The United States correctional system serves a multitude of purposes. One of the most useful ones is the mutual protection of idiots and society from each other. Case in point:
SAN ANTONIO, Texas (Reuters) - A Texas man was arrested on Monday after calling police to complain about the theft of his marijuana, authorities said.
Stephen Knight, 17, said three men had broken into his apartment, hogtied him with Christmas lights and stole some marijuana, along with a plasma screen television, police said.
Police are looking for the suspects. In the meantime, they arrested Knight after finding several marijuana plants growing under heat lamps in the apartment, four grams of harvested marijuana and a tablet of ecstasy, Officer Chad Ripley said.
Knight said the men barged into his home early on Monday morning demanding, "Where's the weed?," according to San Antonio police.
Aren't you glad there's jail, so you don't have to have somebody like Mr. Knight as a neighbour or a co-worker? I mean, chances are you do anyway; but at least their gross misunderstanding of consequences sometimes results in their being locked up, thus keeping them temporarily out from underfoot.
You know how you turn on the oven, and you always look inside first to make sure you didn't hide dishes or something in there; because you know the one time you don't, you'll have forgotten something in there and it will melt or start a fire?
Yeah. Murphy's Law caught up with me, and the plastic cat food dish paid for it.
The kitchen smells like burnt plastic now, a smell I'm used to at work but prefer to avoid at home for obvious reasons. The dish, which I removed using a hot pad, has a soda can fused to one of its two compartments [don't ask, I'm just that much of a slob] and is warped in a way that makes it look a lot like the killer's mask in Scream.
I'd like to put my meatloaf in, but I'm a little afraid of how it will taste when it comes out.
I'm beginning to remember exactly why I put off going back to school for so long. There's a big difference between getting paid to do something you don't particularly like and paying to do something you don't particularly like. Working and going to school at the same time throws this contrast into high relief. Now I can look at my job and go, "Well, at least I'm getting paid to do it, instead of having to pay somebody else for the privilege of doing it." I can also look at school and say "This will eventually get me out of that goddamn job." I suppose everything has an upside if you look hard enough.
same bitch time, same bitch channel...
To everybody that wants me to create a username and password to look at the badly spelled bullshit on their website: Fuck off. Fuck directly off. Don't pass go, don't collect $200, just fuck off. And take your snotty cliquey site with you. This includes you, Washington Post. I don't want to see that "username-password" hyenaspunk unless you're protecting sensitive information like my e-mail, or I'm paying for the account. Otherwise, you're just being a dick.
I'm busy, I'm tired, and
I desperately want to make a big bloody dent in somebody's skull with a heavy blunt object I feel a smidge frustrated just now.
I fucking fucking FUCKING HATE DEADLINES. DO YOU HEAR ME???
[grabs a deadline and stabs it to gory ribbons]
What is it, week 3? Oh please, sweet merciful Athena, let me get done with this awful fucking degree ASAP so I can stop paying $275 a credit to have ulcer-inducing deadlines smeared all over my schedule like the contents of soiled diapers. I have said this before, though maybe not here, and I'll say it again, because I believe it completely. DEADLINES MAKE LIFE A PRISON. Oh, they make it possible for you to get things done. Of course, the only reason you're getting it done is that somebody's standing over you with a stick waiting to fire you or flunk you. I don't make deadlines in my personal life, such as "By age 35 I will have this and this" or "I have to lose X pounds by Christmas" because it just sucks the joy out of my life.
And that's why I'll never have a job I love. Because ALL of the fucking things have deadlines. If you were an employer, it'd be bloody pointless to give people tasks and then give them all the time in the world to do it, wouldn't it? And if you were a client hiring a freelancer, you'd want stuff done by a certain time too, and not just whenever, right? So there. If you're going to do something for money, whether you're self-employed or an employee for a company, some fuckstick somewhere is going to slap a deadline on you. And because the terror of the deadline defecates all over your enjoyment of the task, it cancels out the idea of the "do what you love and get paid for it" career. You can't do what you love and get paid for it--at least I can't--because once you sign on to get paid, some sheepfucker is going to make you do it on a deadline in order to get your money; the deadline takes most of the fun out of it; and then you don't enjoy it anymore. So by definition, if it's a job, it will never, ever be something that makes me go "Wheee! I could do this all day and night!" because I don't enjoy structured time anywhere near as much as unstructured time. It's like having to fuck to a metronome with a countdown timer.
I'm re-reading this and it's bloody terrible. What the hell, I gotta post something eventually or people will start sending out search parties.
So yeah. Deadlines, usernames, passwords, blah blah blah. Sucks.
But peach Jell-O with mandarin oranges in it is delicious. So is having working air conditioning, even if I am cold. [It's 78 degrees in here and I'm freezing. Acclimated to the heat much?]
So is this:
1/2 lb. ground turkey or hamburger, browned and crumbled
2 servings instant brown rice according to package
2 slices of American or other cheese
Throw it all together, heat it up, mix it together. Mmmm.
same bitch time, same bitch channel...
I'm just really, really, REALLY, REALLY freakin' busy.
Okay, back to work!
Sign seen on a grocery store window recently:
Ho-made? Brats? I have some pretty harsh opinions of loud children, and of people who refuse to practice birth control, when I'm in one of my more uncharitable moods, but...man. It's not like I'm putting a sign on my front door advertising it.
I'm also not selling them for $2.99/lb.
[Moron disclaimer: Before I get any e-mails about this, YES, I know it's referring to bratwurst.]
Also, I was at my folks' house today and I saw a crutch in their basement. It gave me a Halloween costume idea that you can steal: Get a crutch, put on a fake beard [and a wig if you have short hair], a white robe and a red sash, and go around as Christ on a crutch. Alternatively, if you have a scooter, you can go as Christ on a Segway. Christ on a pogo stick is not recommended if you're going to a Halloween party in a place that has low ceilings or ceiling decorations such as streamers or coloured lights. Same thing with Christ on stilts. However, if you're going to a party with somebody who's dressed as a biker, you can be Christ in a sidecar.
I don't really have much to say, at least not much that's coherent. I mainly just wanted to a] assure you, gentle reader, that I haven't died yet, and b] get that damn cat-raping post further down the page.
~First week of online classes is almost over. I still have a few short writing assignments to turn in; but they're not due til Sunday night, and two of them are mostly just rambling. In one class, we had to post to the class discussion board by midweek--or so I thought. By the time my post was almost finished and ready to send, the prof had posted a change [which I can't find now! gahhh] saying that it wouldn't be due til the end of the week, since the class started midweek. What worries me is that according to the syllabus, we're supposed to have our second post--a response to another student's post, discussing the points they brought up--posted by noon on Saturday. Um, it's 9.44 am, and I'm still the only person who's posted to the forum. I e-mailed the prof to find out if I'm even supposed to be DOING this assignment, or if she posted another due date change in an area that I didn't see it. I haven't gotten an answer yet. Gahhh.
~Went swimming this morning, and I think it's just about time for a smaller suit. There's a lot of water coming in the top of this one when I swim, and it keeps feeling as though I'm going to fall out of the top, though I never do. Also, I'm going to go back to wearing satin panties under my suit when I'm in the water. There's too much water getting into places where I don't want it. [Gals, you know what I'm talking about.]
~What does it mean when you turn on your air conditioner and it smells like Band-Aids or formalin or something? I'm thinking it means it's broken, which is just fucktastic, considering it's supposed to get up to 89 today and it generally ends up feeling about 5-10 degrees hotter inside this brownstone. Why does this shit always happen on weekends?
~The online resources section for one of my courses, which has sections on self-assessment [it's a course on how to be successful in school and work, and gods know I wouldn't be taking it if it weren't required], lists several self-assessment quizzes and inventories. I went and took them, and learned virtually nothing about myself that I haven't already learned from counseling, soul-searching, and the bajillion other online tests I've taken over the years. It did, though, garner me THIRTEEN SPAM on the Yahoo mail account I gave as my e-mail address on some of the sites. My average on that account is about 2 spam per day. I reactivated one of my unused Yahoo accounts and will start using that one for these inventories that the prof thinks is so important for us to take. Jeez.
It's a good thing spam is pretty much lies, too. Can you imagine if the claims were actually true? You wouldn't be able to go outside without running into 20 people with 47-inch penises, C1al15-induced boners, shitloads of discount software on their computers and incredibly low mortgage rates. They'd all be filthy rich, too, from the money that's been transferred into their bank accounts by desperate Nigerian ambassadorial widows.
~Spraying yourself with water from a little spray bottle, and then sitting in front of a fan or fanning yourself with something [say, a 5 1/2" floppy that just happens to be sitting on your computer desk] really cools you off after a few minutes. [Hey, my air conditioner is kicking out formaldehyde or some shit. Whaddaya want?]
~The landlords finally sent me a realio trulio lease to sign. It doesn't list any rights of the renter, but it also doesn't specify that I have to keep the place clean, either. I hope they used PCAttorney or something to draft that lease and didn't pay somebody to draft it for them. It really doesn't say a whole lot.
~My new ti plant still has not died. In fact, it looks happy and seems to be continuing to grow slowly. The philodendron is still carrying out its plantishly slow, but inexorable, takeover of the living room.
~It's getting really freaking hot in here.
~Next time somebody asks me why I don't have children, I have several new reasons to give them, in addition to the standard "I can't take the screaming" reason and the "I can barely afford to feed myself" reason.
From the Physician's Desk Reference Guide to Prescription Drugs:
"Tenormin [my blood pressure medicine] may cause harm to a developing baby when taken during pregnancy."
"In animal studies, Topamax [the medication I'm taking to regulate my moods] has caused harm to the developing fetus, and its safety has not been verified in pregnant humans."
[In the section on Lexapro, the antidepressant I'm on] "If you are pregnant or plan to become pregnant, inform your doctor immediately. Lexapro should be taken during pregnancy only if its benefits outweigh potential risk."
Then, of course, there's the fact that the Depo, which keeps me from having psychotic PMS, is a contraceptive. So basically, in order to get pregnant and not end up with a retarded mutant [like we don't have enough of those already--watch MTV Spring Break sometime if you want to see what I mean] I'd have to go off of everything that's keeping me together mentally, plus my blood pressure medication. That's a great way to go into motherhood.
"Oh, but you could adopt!"
Really. And what do you think the chances are, exactly, of a single witch with an annual income of $20K being granted adoption rights? People have gotten their kids taken away by the government for being pagan or Wiccan. I don't think I'm at the top of their list of adoptive-parent candidates.
~Am reading Bill Clinton's autobiography. It meanders, but it's fun reading. Cheater or no cheater, I have deemed him officially cool after reading that he likes spending time in cemeteries. How many Presidents have you heard say that?
Okay, I'm gonna go finish making Crystal Light so I have something to drink besides water. Ta.
same bitch time, same bitch channel...
Don't read it if you like cats, either, unless you're prepared to be filled with hatred, revulsion, and a sudden desire to obtain a baseball bat and drive to Maryland. [I'm not advocating anything here, but I will point out that the article below publishes his full name, age, and street address.]
Via the incomparable Rori:
Last year, Steven Richard Schatz, 38, of 9701 Longview Dr., Ellicott City, was charged with felony cruelty to animals stemming from his alleged systematic April 2004 beatings and sodomy of his then-girlfriend’s cat, Clyde. According to court records, Clyde was found suffering from blunt-force traumas on numerous occasions that month, including severe ocular hemorrhages, liver trauma, and seven broken ribs. Clyde’s rectal muscles were also found to be flaccid, consistent with his having been sodomized. A digital recorder placed in his guardian’s home later reportedly captured Clyde rhythmically screaming in obvious agony and Schatz yelling at the animal. Three months later, Clyde had to be euthanized because of his injuries.
On May 27, The Baltimore Sun reported that Schatz had been convicted of the charges and faced three years in prison.
Despite prosecutors’ reported request that Schatz be given 18 months in jail, Judge Neil Axel instead apparently sent the felonious animal abuser to jail for just 90 days. Handcuffed and being led out of the courtroom, Schatz allegedly told the cat’s guardian, “This is going to come back to you, in some way or form.”
Please let Judge Axel hear from you. Inform him that further crimes are the rule rather than the exception among animal abusers and that this is especially true among so-called “zoophiles”. Politely suggest that His Honor’s decision may well have jeopardized the safety of the community at large and its animals.
It is imperative that all correspondence be dignified and polite, or our campaign will suffer:
The Honorable Neil Edward Axel
Associate Judge of District Court, Howard County
3451 Courthouse Dr.
Ellicott City, MD 21043
Steven Richard Schatz was sentenced to 90 days in jail and 3 years probation - a period in which he is not to have a pet or live in a home that has a pet - and to pay $1,889 in veterinary bills to the owner of the cat, which was euthanized because of its injuries.
Excuse me while I go puke. There are not a lot of things that will make me physically nauseated, but this was one of them.
I hope that dude is fatally attacked by mountain lions the moment he gets out of jail. What is this shit with 3 years' probation in which he's not to have a pet or live in a house with pets? Do they think he's going to be magically cured in that time just by staying away from animals? Also, notice how he addressed his ex as though it was HER fault, that this would "come back to" her, which could be interpreted as a threat. Um, can we say "abusive personality"? Yeah, I raped the cat, but it's all your fault! And you better watch out!
Rori and some of her commenters mentioned that he belongs in a mental hospital. I fully agree. He should be put in a mental hospital and receive therapy in the form of daily intimidation and beatings by people in realistic animal costumes, while under the influence of heavy doses of LSD. A month of that and he'll never want to come near a cat again. I don't know that it'll make him a less violent person, but it sounds like that horse left the barn a long time ago. [Three guesses why it left, too.] Then, when they let him out, they should garnish his wages for the hospital bill. Assuming, of course, that he can find a job with a record like that. My fear, of course, is that he'll get a job in an animal shelter under a fake name.
You know, I'm not saying that we should go back to the Wild West or the Victorian era, or anything; but 100 or 200 years ago, they would have just dragged this assbag out to the edge of town and pumped him full of lead.
"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress, can be judged by the way its animals are treated."--Gandhi
90 days and probation for raping and beating an animal to the point where it had to be put to sleep.
Yeah. Go USA.
[I didn't see a link anywhere on the entry where I found this; if anybody finds one, let me know and I'll post it when I'm done dry-heaving.]
same bitch time, same bitch channel...