Lest You Think That Because I'm Civil, I Don't Know Some Killer Insults

My current top ten insults: 

#1: Pudenda!  Most have to look it up, which is the reason this is the very best of insults.  It denigrates the vocabulary of the insulted at the same time you are calling them the protruding flesh hanging from my favorite place.

#2:  CUNT:  C.an't U.nderstand N.ormal T.hinking.  'Nuff said unless you are one, in which case what the fuck are you doing reading this blog?

#3 Asshat!  A relatively recent addition to my repetoire, I usually this is followed up with, "If you weren't wearing your ass for a hat, you might have heard what the fuck you needed to know to get out of your situation.  See also; Asshattery (As in: lots of cunts spreading their asshattery around.

#4 Cum-burping gutter whore!  Usually saved for the true CUNT whose worn their asshat for so long it's bonded to their brain and slowly starving them of any chance at a normal life (See five below)

 #5 Fucktard! Such a CUNT that even the basic human function of sexual intercourse has become retarded.

#6 Sorry, you need more than two teeth in your head to speak to me! Seriously.

#7 I don't understand you, perhaps if you took your head out of your ass?!  Especially good for mutterers, or those that prove they have three or more teeth after confrontation with #6, above.

#8 Your perceptions of my behavior have no bearing on my behavior.  In other words, your opinion means shit to me, and most other persons whose disorders don't include rank stupidity.

#9 Did you feel that? I usually accompany the question with a wide-eyed look around,  It was my courtesy leaving the room, riding the wake of your offensiveness.  Be civil, or we are done. .

#10 Feel better? Now that you've got the stupid out, could you put it back?  Please? It's making my eyes water, trying to look past it and see reason.

Cyanide and Happiness

Another reason speed kills:


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

My Stunned Gorilla Is Still Less Confused Than The Oblivious, Miffed & Mad

Last night was an odyssey into the stupid, the odd, and the downright irritating.  When I say irritating, I mean grain of sand stuck in the loins while hiking through rough terrain irritating...

We had a lengthy trial session, but no one was unpleasant, just long-winded.

Then, for the mandatory appearance calendar, we had far more people than could be seen in one hour, let alone seated in the courtroom.  We also had a large number of translation matters, which slows things as well.

The commisioner, always game, began the instruction.

One of the crowd, a very large mammal with a great villain's glower, decided to interrupt, "Can I say something?"

"Just wait," says the commisioner, "then when it's your turn before me, you can ask your question then."

"No, I want to say-"

My Gorilla ain't havin' it. "No, sir!" I interrupt, "Wait your turn, as instructed. Do not interrupt the court again.  You can leave, or you can wait silently, those are your options." 

He glowers, even pouts a little, but shuts his mouth.  He's still shaking his head, and because he's a large mammal standing in the back of the courtroom, his every movement is obvious to the court staff. My Gorilla starts pacing back and forth, but eventually settles down to pick at his fur.

As usual, we have a few people come into the courtroom early that are scheduled for 6:30.  I tell them the usual, and after the fifth interruption, I step out for a moment to tell the waiting crowd that we are going to be late getting to their matter.

There is a man waiting in the hall who had mistakenly come to our trial session earlier in the day. I distinctly remembered him because he wore a black velvet tux jacket, matching bow-tie and pink ruffled shirt.   He has returned, but must have considered the tux too formal for an evening engagement and is wearing a Juicy sweatsuit.  Picture Rick James with a relaxed perm and you won't be far off.

So, as I turn to re-enter the court Rick James says from behind me, "Excuse me, Officer."

I turn to him.  I catch him staring at my ass.  My Gorilla doesn't even bother to get up at this point.  I do work where I work, after all.  I am no homophobe; indeed, I have been told by many women and a few men of whose desires run that way, that I have a nice ass.  Some have even called it great.

The stare lingers longer than it ought to, though, so I say, "My eyes are up here, sir."

Rick James doesn't reply, but he does bring his gaze to meet mine.

"What was your question?"

Rick James sniffs, tosses his hair, but doesn't otherwise deign to reply.

Blinded by anger, my Gorilla howls and charges the cage, stunning himself in his eagerness to slap some little-girl squeals from Rick James' mouth. 

"I do not appreciate your inappropriate conduct, sir.  Mind your manners."

Just as happy my Gorilla is still stunned, I return to the courtroom.

Inside, the atmosphere has changed from when I left.  And not for the better. I walk around the counter, see that Her Honor is on her feet, speaking to the crowd at large, "He is a trained law enforcement officer, his firearm is perfectly safe and he is armed merely to keep us safe.  There is no cause for concern, he's trained how to use it." 

My Gorilla is still too stunned from the headlong rush at the bars to really build a head of steam, so I manage to add, with relative good humor, "And when not to."

Things settle,but the atmosphere remains strained. Court resumes.  Suspecting Large Mammal instigated something while I was out, My Gorilla gets to his feet and starts wobbling around his cage.

I get a text from one of the clerks.  He tells me Large Mammal had been laughing when I left court, attracting Her Honor's attention.  When told to stop disrupting the court, he decided to ask if it was legal for officers to have a gun in the court, claiming he thought it dangerous.  The tail end of Her Honor's response to that being what I heard on re-entering the courtroom. 

Glad to have that confirmation of my assessment of all the elements in the equation, I settle down for a tense session, even give the Gorilla a little slack to give Large Mammal my gimlet glare.

Rick James enters the court.   Miffed he can't get a seat, he sets about attracting everyone's attention with a whine-and-pout routine.

Her Honor tells him that a seat will be opening up in a bit, provided there aren't any additional disruptions.

He doesn't get the hint. "Well, your guard or whatever was all angry 'cause I was lookin' at him," Rick James says as he leaves the courtroom.

My Gorilla snorts and huffs, sounding suspiciously like, 'Motherfucker.'

Court resumes.

Large Mammal's matter is seen to.  He's very difficult to understand.  His madness does not touch on our reality in very many places, and where it does, it does so lightly.

When he leaves, I go outside to make another announcement, asking for patience.  Rick James is in a sulk, but his lover is there to pat his hand.

I return to the courtroom.

At about 6:40, in comes Pirate with his Parrot, causing a bit of a stir.  Pirate claims the animal is a service animal. I think the Parrot is the brains of the operation, or at least translates Pirate into English while manipulating his host like a ventriliquist.

"Yes, it's a parrot.  Get over it," I tell the crowd.  I lower my voice and tell Pirate he's early, not late.  I remembered the pair from their last visit.

A group enters the courtroom, rather noisily.  "If you are here for 6:30, we aren't quite ready for you. Wait outside and I will come get you when we are.  If you are late, be seated and be silent."

"Six-thir- Ok," says the young lady in front, getting it and turning to leave.

Her Honor, growing impatient with the repeated disruptions, tells the group, "Be silent or leave."

The last man in the group ignores us both, looks at me and asks, "So you'll come get us?"

This monolithic display of stupidity draws uncomfortbale titters from the crowd.  Rarely have they been so entertained, I'm sure.

My Gorilla starts to whimper.  Where are these tormentors coming from?

 I give my best 'Really?' stare to Oblivious.

Oblivious doesn't get it, of course.

I continue.

Oblivious eventually edges out of the courtroom, his question unanswered.

At least for him.

I go get him and the rest at 7:15.

Of Long Talks and Story Sources

Had a long talk with a buddy of mine today.  We hadn't talked in far to long, and had a great conversation, covering many topics.  A highly creative person, he has recently had more time to focus his energies on writing and photography, and had a few questions about writing.  I'm no expert, but I answered as well as I could.  The conversation helped me considerably, infusing me with a new energy and drive to write. 

Then, it was off to work.

After a lengthy trial session, I checked my email on the laptop, where I saw this story.

Now, I'm not a huge Ansel Adams fan, but these negatives, if authentic, went missing so long ago, and under such odd circumstances, that their story prods my imagination down paths of arson and an angry lover's vengeance with just a first reading of the story.  Then my imagination asks, "who picked them up?  Why did they sit on 'em?  Were they a part of the (imagined) arson?  And if they are fakes, who created them and what motives beyond profit might they have had?

Lots of story ideas everywhere.  Staring into the flames, I wonder if I shall have opportunity to tell them...

Things To Do If You Can't Write

Kinda been up against it on the novel front.  I know what I want to write, but consistency issues keep cropping up.  Who knows what and when they learned it is a challenge to track.  A challenge I haven't been all that up to.

So I played some computer games.  One of which is APB. 

After a weekend of entertaining play I discovered a happy fact: I suck hairy ass at it.  My mouse hand has no precision when trying to quickly blast opponents, and many of the players are the kind of dicks that use the anonymity of the internet to harangue players who suck, rather than trying to help improve their play. And this from my team-mates.

In short, I got frustrated, and the entertainment that I took up to keep me from dwelling on my novel pain grew to such a vastly greater pain that I welcomed a return to something I could control, my writing.

In short, if you are having a hard time with something you're fairly good at, do something you suck at for a while.  It's a real motivator to get back to familiar ground, even if it's painful too.

Club Foot

Always liked this song. Great song for riding, driving, fighting, or just grinding. 

Or writing about same:

My Gorilla

So... I left off last time with a teaser about my gorilla.  Here is that tale:

A youth I'll calll Jackass decided prodding my gorilla with a stick is a good idea.  He's one seriously demented fool.  The Jackass, not my gorilla.  He's a gorilla.  My gorilla.

A slight digresion into backstory, if you will allow it:

I first met Jackass picking up the pieces after he'd been shot.  He's the kind of Jackass that requires a tattoo indicating he's 100% his ethnicity on the back of his neck, like the label on a cheap shirt.  Gotta know what you think you are, right?

Seems that, while he is not hispanic, he rolls with the Nortenos of the Mission District.  Some Sureno decided to end some Nortenos, and caught Jackass instead.  Jackass took one in the ass, running from his assailant.   He's the type of jackass who can't concieve of reasons why all sorts of bad things happen to him.   

So.  By now he's been in this court a great number of times.  First because he threw some litter on the ground right in front of my old partner, who gave him a ticket.  To cut this relatively long backstory short, the Jackass gets found guilty, can't get his shit togother to pay it, so he keeps coming back to court.  Every time he gets my attention, acting the fool in court, then talking back and behaving as if he's the victim.Of course he is also racking up other tickets, and still can't pay them.

Jackass is not helped in that his name is very easy to remember, and rolls off my tongue with minimal hesitation. That and his sibling is a cab driver, and also makes appearances.  The brother isn't a jackass, however.

In comes Jackass.  My Gorilla sits up, hard and fast.  It knows Jackass is present, and starts snarling.

Jackass is with another young male of his ethnicity, though this one doesn't feel the need to label himself. I have seen Jackass' companion before, and never had any trouble out of him. I check the court calendar for Jackass.  He's not on it.  Good.  Means I can bounce him, if I have to.

A very attractive young woman comes in and takes a seat next to Jackass.

I am giving the rules of the court, and Jackass starts trying to chat Attractive Girl up. I see Attractive Girl shake her head and lean as far away from Jackass as she can.

He says something more.  She shakes her head more forcefully and points at the sign above me indicating that people should not talk in court.

He sneers and says something more. 

She gets up and moves away from him. He opens his mouth, eyes watering he's staring so hard at Attractive Girl's rear.

I feel the need for another digression, this time on the ettiquette of checking someone out and then trying to chat them up:

Look once. Store the image.  Leave off unless you get a return glance indicating mutual interest.   Be sure.

Don't fucking linger, don't stare, especially if they do not look back at you or do slook back at you and try and indicate their displeasure.  Don't fucking make the person you are appreciating feel uncomfortable, as that might preclude them from dressing as attractively or otherwise sharing their beauty with those that know how to appreciate without creeping out.

Further, don't you dare try to make small talk after the person you think attractive has already given you clear indication that they don't want to fucking talk to you.  Especially if they've said as much to you.

"Mr Jackass, be silent," I bark.

"I wasn't sayin' nothin'," Jackass says, his eyes finally leaving the young woman and settling on me before racing away.  He's seen my Gorilla before, knows it is at the door, beating his chest.

"No? Then why did the young lady get up and leave after telling you she didn't want to converse?"

"Aww man," he says, like I'm some fucking school teacher and he my student.

Gorilla settles back.  There's just no competition here.

"I see you have no matter before the court.  You may leave now," I say.

"But I didn't doo nothin'" he says, sounding less mature than my six year old.

"And you've been here often enough you should know better.  Leave."

He does as ordered, but can't resist giving Attractive Girl a wink as he passes her.  She shakes her head again, clearly discomfited.

My Gorilla flies at the cage, arms extended, fingers grasping for Jackass' neck.  Jackass leaves the courtroom proper. 

My Gorilla snorts, goes to start picking his ass. Several minutes pass in relative quiet.  Court starts.

BAM!  Something is hit in the hallway, followed by a great deal of mouth-noises.  I walk out, knowing it's Jackass.  He's gone. 

"Was that a little guy with a shaved head?" I ask of a gentlman waiting for his later court session.

"The one that came out cursing the police and shouting?" the man says, mildly interested.

I smile. This is my kind of guy, "Indeed, yes."

"Yes, that would be the fellow.  He went downstairs."

"Thank you," I reply.  I return to the courtroom.

The 5:30 court session runs over into the 6:30.  I go out to make an announcement for those that are being made to wait.  Jackass is there among them.

The announcement goes like this, "Those of you here for six thirty, we are not quite ready for you, as we are dealing with the 5:30 matters.  I will be making an announcement to bring everyone scheduled for 6:30 in at the same time when we are ready.  Historically, this is a few minutes past 6:30."

Another gentleman asks me, quite politely, what time he could expect to be done. I replied that I didn't know, exactly, but I had never been in court past nine.

Jackass surges forward, "So when will the five-thirty people be done?"

The monumental stupidity of the question made some who didn't know the court system, me, or presumably, Mr Jackass, chuckle and snort.

I blinked, "Clearly, when they are done, Mr Jackass.  Further: Mr Jackass, don't hit the walls or make disruptive noises in the hall, or I will remove you from the building."

"My bad," he replies, completely unrepentant.

"Indeed it is. No one else out here is acting like a child but you." There are children present who, presumably, were behaving as children do, but their presense only served to impress on everyone else the breadth and depth of Jackass' asshattery.

"Man, why you always so annoying me?"

"I don't know how to respond to that, Mr Jackass. That having been said, you have no matter before the court, and you are doing your friend no favors by repeatedly disrupting the processes of the court. Feel free to be annoying somewhere else."

More titters.

My Gorilla huffed, disappointed.  Sometimes the Jackass gets himself in a mess, and my Gorilla needn't do a damn thing:

My Inner Gorrilla Returns

Talking long-distance to a friend last night while on my lunch break. I'm in the tiny office where I do much of my writing. There's a knock at my door. The commissioner and the clerk are standing in the courtroom, looking a bit wild-eyed.

"Officer, could you help? There is some man insisting on seeing the commissioner and he has no court date," the clerk says.

"Of course," I say to the clerk, reaching for my gunbelt, "Tom, I have to go: work."

"No problem. Bye," he replies before hanging up.

I pocket the phone, hitch the belt up, and ask the other clerk, "Who am I looking for?"

"Black guy. Right outside the door."

"Thanks."

I exit, and there before me is the man who set my gorilla hammering against the cage the last time. He has been in court several times over the intervening months, but kept his peace with me by simply behaving.

"I need to see the judge," he says to me. He's wearing one converse and one flip-flop. Quite the fashion statement.

"Not without a court date," I reply. Firmly, without disrespect.

"Man, I need to see the judge," he says riding over the tail of my answer.

"I heard you the first time, sir. Without a court date, it is not happening," I answer. The gorilla stirs in his cage.

He holds out a folded piece of paper, "Man, I just just want to give her this paper."

"Then go to room one forty-five and set a court date."

"What time does the court open?"

"At five thirty, for those that have a court date. You do not, therefore you will not be heard," my patience is wearing thin, the gorilla wakes, starts to snuffle.

"I'll just show up then."

"No, you will not," I reply right on the heels of his words. The gorilla rises, starts to beat his chest.

"Man, you can't tell me that."

"Yes, I can. What's more, I will bounce you out if you show up," I reply. The gorilla is yanking on the cage doors.

"Man, fuck that, I just need to see the judge," he answers, again failing to look me in the eye.

The clerk comes out of the room behind me, adding their weight to my presence. I appreciate the thought, but wish they wouldn't. I don't want to have to be concerned about them if the gorilla is released by the man's actions. 

Sometimes the antics of such people can  put the gorilla in charge, and that can be a bad thing.

"Go downstairs to room one forty-five and set a court date to be heard."

"Man, I know where room one-forty five is."

"Good, then there's no more need for us to talk."

"Man, I just want to see the judge."

I just stare at him, my gorilla subsiding a bit, or maybe just poised to tear the door off.

He holds up the paper again, this time to the clerk.

I move slightly, preventing him approaching the clerk, "No sir, downstairs in room one forty-five."

He looks at me, getting angry, "Man, I know where room one forty-five is."

"Then go there. You may now leave. You have no business with the court," I say, the gorilla's snarl creeping across my lips.

"You can't make me leave," he mutters, edging backwards.

"Yes. Yes, I can," I answer. I am actually hoping he will. The gorilla's been a bit flabby of late, from lack of exercise.

He retreats after a few moments, turns away and mutters what a racist I am. He has been given no basis to know my prejudices, really, but I am beginning to suspect that is his go-to insult, rather than one tailored to me or a specific instance.

My gorilla snorts, scratches, and settles down for a nice nap.

Until an hour later. But that's another post...

Head Pain...

Occasionally I laugh so hard and so long I get major head pain. Saturday night, one of my players was on it so much that I lost it laughing. I laughed till I was out of breath, then laughed some more.

The world is Warhammer, a decidedly grim and ruthless place. The players have taken on the roles of a group of thieves, thugs, and ne'er-do-wells recently come to seek refuge in The City of Middenheim. Their hometown was sacked and razed to the ground, so there is no returning home.

If this sounds like the criminal portion of some immigrant groups, it's bloody well meant to. They have been commiting many crimes, but killed very few (that weren't deservin' of a blade 'tween the ribs, anyway). The name of the overarching story, Greedy Little Bastards, is appropo, I think.

At any rate, two of the characters woke up in custody after a lengthy heist. Several things went wrong on the job, not least of which was the drugs administered to knock a few prostitutes out killing one of them. One of the group also knocked himself out. Getting the dosing right on this kind of thing is so difficult, don't you know. At any rate, much of the proceeds from the heist ended up having to go for bribes of the magistrate and such to secure the release of the two men taken into custody.

The halfling, the group's second-story man, and halfling with a plan for the heist, asked the rat-catcher he'd employed as a scout, "What were you thinking?"

The rat-catcher replied, "If you're going to be this upset every time a whore dies, I don't know what we're gonna do."

Now, I am not sure what killed in that statement, but God I had a laugh. Laughed till my head hurt.

Magic Mix of Modern Technology And The Ancient

Forward Looking Infra-Red systems are amazing, and our department has a few handheld ones. Our department's helicopter crashed in 1999, killing our air crew, and we currently have no air asset. This is unlikely to change, as the voters in San Francisco do not like the idea of 'big brother' looking down on their grow-houses (The heat of the grow lights shows up like the sun on FLIR).

The technology allowing us to penetrate the darkness is astounding on its own, but to think that they are seeing through the darkness while hovering in the air, summoning officers to the scene without line of sight, and it becomes almost magical...

Adding the dog, one of our most ancient technologies, to the mix, makes it magical. A well-trained meat-missile of teeth and fur bent on doing it's master's bidding is thrilling to watch.

Then add the teamwork of the humans involved and it becomes almost transcendant and somewhat beautiful to watch...





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For God's sake, don't run! You'll only get caught tired tired!

Lack O' Polite and Other Shit Issuing From Mouths

Some recent quotes and activities and why they annoy me:

"Huh?"

Were you not listening, or do you like to sound fucking ignorant?

"Naw."

No, I didn't tell you to gnaw your arm off, but I might just to get the hell away from you. If you are from the Southeastern US, you get one pass using this, and only when among friends.

"I know it's ten. I was supposed to be here at nine."

It's 1o:oo and you are broadcasting to everyone that you were late? Is there some reason why the world should stop for you? Is our business so unimportant you can't drag your ass to meet us at the designated time? When and where does this make sense? Backwards world?

This one isn't really spoken word, instead it's coughing your lungs up or sneezing and refusing to cover your disease-ridden mouth-hole.

This isn't just rude, it's dangerous. Tuberculosis, swine flu, pneumonic plague, and the common cold (which is common, unlike courtesy) are easily transmitted via that hacking miserable wheeze. Like driving a car without using your turn signals, you're just begging to off someone with this shit.

Another non-verbal rudeness: You are in a meeting with many other adults, and you don't turn your cell phone off. To top it off, your ring tone is some 'bitches and ho's' tune with numerous expletives.

When did it become acceptable to inflict your shitty taste in music on others?

Now, I can be rude. I can even do some of the things I list as annoying...but I usually feel bad about it. Unless you have already exhibited that you are a disrespectful little shit on whom courtesy is wasted. Then I might just do all the above and then some.

The Freak Show, Or OMFG!?

Fuck Me, But I Am Tired

Been tired and a bit angry lately, especially at work, which has slowed to an abusive crawl the last few days. I decided to do something about it and asked for a day off next week. The resulting conversation was less than optimal, and frustrating in the extreme. I got the time off, but I'm sick of having to fight for it each time, it only aggravates me further.

While home life is going well, I have a lot of work to do on the novel and need to finish the scenarios I am writing for 93 Games Studio. The scenarios are keeping me busy, and it is rewarding work, but I am feeling hung up on the novel. Most frustrating is the fact I am not sure why I am hung up.

Concern for the future has me anxious, but then I suppose everyone feels that at one time or another.

God, This Woman Has The Kind of Smoked-velvet Voice That Gives Me Urges In My Areas!

Good song

Me likey:

Grab an arm, sit down, and I'll tell you a tale to make you squirm!'

Chasing dope, this time in one of the two projects in my district, and much earlier in my career.

In full uniform in the squad car, waiting to go, wanting to do a good job. Don't remember who I was working with, but I was the passenger, and therefore expected to get out and on the subjects as quick as possible.

I remember smoking a cigarette while the undercover officer waited to make the buy, close cover officer calling the dealer/buyer description of the transaction before our undercover's turn (Yes, the undercover had to wait for his turn to buy!) for our benefit.

Close cover gives a great description of a buyer and the sergeant (the same dick, though this was before he had thoroughly demonstrated his capacity for being one.) orders us to pick the buyer from the transaction before off.

It's always a good idea to get as much as you can on the dealer on operations like this, because something always goes sideways in the case.

Anyway, we're told to pick the buyer up in the alley and out of view of the dealer. The close cover supplies a tighter description, telling us the buyer has the dope in her right hand.

We enter the far end of the alley, and I can see, even from the other end of the block, how tight she has her fist clenched around the prize. She makes her latest mistake in the long list of life-errors; she stagger-trots across the alley, ending on the passenger side of the car. Closer to me.

Details emerge as we come closer: She's wearing a long-sleeved sweater, knobby knees poking through ripped gray leggings that sag, resembling nothing so much as dead skin peeling from her bones. She's super-model thin with no airbrush to touch her up, make her human again.

Hand on the door, I am ready to bound out on her. Dope here is packaged in balloons, and they have no hesitation when it comes to swallowing it.

She is studiously not looking at us, so I tamp down on the urge to get out in front of her. I wait, heart thumping. The car creeeps past her and I'm out and a step behind her. I reach out, grab her arm at the elbow, the one with the dope.

She shrieks like an animal in life-ending pain. The sound is so loud it startles me, and I clamp down the harder. The arm shrinks, feeling like a rigid garden hose in my hand, almost no flesh on it.

Her shriek gets even louder, something I hadn't imagined possible.

Then I feel it: A syrupy wetness, slowly spreading between the fingers of my hand.

We both look down. Horror. An almost-clear, reddish fluid is dripping down my hand.

She draws her first breath as I let go to stare at my hand, her other hand flying up to grab her injured limb.

"What the hell was that?", Dick Sergeant asks over the radio as I fling goo from my hand.

"Griffin grabbed the buyer," comes the response from the close cover officer, who is now with the undercover at the far end of the block, having made their purchase.

"Only Grabbed her? What happened?" the sergeant asked, not believing I only grabbed her. Like I said, he's a dick.

"Popped a hype's big, juicy abcess, I think," the cover officer says as he and his charge continue on their way.

Still fucks with me to this day, this memory.

The photo below doesn't do the crater in her arm justice, being, as it is, in a different location from that on my suspect.

Spain Wins, and Other Good News

Went to a friend's place to watch the World Cup Final.

We almost didn't go, as I figured finding parking would be a nightmare and I would be on guard the whole time, given that the neighborhood my friend lives in is my old foot beat. I was whining about it this morning, and Isabelle said, "Could we take BART?"

I shut my mouth. Such a perfect solution, and from my little girl.

We went, we watched, we enjoyed. Spain won it in the second half of overtime. Wonderful result, hard fought for.

Isabelle continues to impress me with her solution-oriented thinking...

Now, to write.

Diet Time

The recent decision by a Southern California jury to convict Messehrle, a BART police officer, of involuntary manslaughter has been used by anarchists and others who rage against the machine as a reason to run riot.

Most people seek to avoid jury duty, standing around the water cooler trying to figure a way to get out of it. Most that have done their civic duty are never been called upon to make a decision as weighty as that facing the jury on this case.

The jury's decision was proper, I think. The man made a grevious mistake in judgement. With the arrestee prone on the floor and in handcuffs, there appeared little cause for going to a tazer. Certainly the man didn't get up in the morning and say, "I'm going head-hunting today."

So, the decision of the jury was rendered just after 1600 yesterday. The family wasn't happy with it, but how can they be expected to? They lost a son, and a young one at that. The news played, repeatedly, the recording of the mother's pain.

The riots didn't get underway until the news media managed to build a head of steam, to serve up their bullshit as 'concern' and 'fears'.

The public has their ignorance fed.

So it grows.

Bread and Circuses are now one, a seemless whole that drowns the peacemakers, the moderates, in two second sound bytes and lack of ratings.

The news media loves to feed your ignorance: They give you directions where to go, where the police are, where lawlessness and disorder dominate, provide loudspeakers for fools & demagogues, and repeat images so often they burn behind the eyes.

Turn it off.

Diet.

Feed your own.

More Shit You Can't Make Up

This is too fucking rich. Remember when dirty dancing actually left something to the imagination?



This guy's got some sick hips.

You Can't Make This Shit Up (Or maybe you could, but no one would believe you)

One of my readers (That's right, I have readers!) told me he'd like to read more posts regarding my day job.

I've given it some thought, and decided I can tell a tale or two without getting the principals involved a bad name.

Here is the first installment:

Some freinds and colleagues were doing a spotting operation on drug dealing in a nefarious intersection not far from my favorite book store.

Spotting can be fun, rewarding work, especially for the spotter, who gets to call the dealer's activities for the waiting arrest teams, and then direct those teams into and onto the unsuspecting dealer. The arrest teasm get to have fun running the suspects to ground and recovering contraband... Real cop shit.

On the day in question, one of the guys was spotting while the rest of the beat guys waited the wings, mounted on our bicycles.

I feel the need for a slight digression here: The bicycle is a great law enforcement tool, it's fast (especially in traffic or relative to a suspect running on foot) quiet, and completely unexpected by the average puke, who can watch for cars, and officers on foot, but often just don't see the bikes until we are on them.

Now, I said spotting can be fun. Other times it's just drudgery. Today was shaping that way; Too few dealers, too paranoid and jumpy.

Then the radio perks up, the spotter's voice is light, "Got some action."

A few moments pass in checking gloves, helmets, etc, before the next transmission, "OK. The target is purple monkey."

That startled a nervous laugh from my arrest team. The spotter had to know that shit sounded racist, and all transmissions were recorded.

"Purple Monkey?" the sergeant, whom we hadn't known was monitoring the channel, and therefore us, said.

"Yes, Sergeant. Purple Monkey."

"Sounds a bit off-color," replies the sergeant, avoiding calling the spotter a racist by the slimmest of margins. He was, and still is, a fucking dick. The sergeant, not the spotter.

"Nope. The teams'll know immediately what I mean, Sergeant."

"Very well. I'll expect an explanation."

"Yes Sergeant. Break: Teams, purple monkey's at the south end of the block. Move in. Buyer is northbound on the west side of the block. Buyer is white male, black pants, black tank top. Go. Go."

We rolled out, rounded the corner even as the spotter completed the last 'go'. I am behind the broad back of the Silverback of Mission, pedaling hard, so I don't immediately see what causes him to slam his brakes on and chortle like a madman.

I get the bike stopped and dismount, only to trip over my own feet, stunned at what is making a weak effort to wobble away from us.

There in front of us is a very heavy white female with a purple monkey on her back. A big, hairy, purple monkey backpack.

The Silverback grabs her, as do I, nearly falling on my face I am laughing so hard.

"She had a monkey on her back," drew smiles from many a face over the next few weeks, and even now, thinking about it, I can't help but grin from ear to ear.

The Fourth

Karen and I took Isabelle to the Singing Flag and Fireworks celebration here in Concord. We have been doing that for the last three years, and I think it will remain a staple of the Fourth for us.

The organizers spend a great deal of time thanking our soldiers, past and present, which is as it should be! Were it not for citizen-soldiers, we would not be celebrating our independence at all, and would never be celebrating more than one hundred and fifty years of unparalleled freedom.

So thank you, men and women of the US armed forces and our allies that have kept us safe through your sacrifice. Thank you very much.

Isabelle was terribly excited for the fireworks and enjoyed it immensely. There is little in the world to compare with a child's delight in things, especially when that child is yours!

UFC 116

As I haven't been a long-time fan of the UFC, I didn't make predictions on all of the card. My ignorance is bliss, in many ways. I had a couple friends over and we were incredibly entertained by the matches. The last three were some of the best fights I have seen.

For the main event I had picked Carwin to win. It was interesting to watch him break. Having pounded Leznar with everything, including the kitchen sink, he couldn't get the Swede to quit or knock him out. Carwin even looked to his corner desperately for guidance. None was forthcoming, and Leznar ended the fight early in the second round by submitting Carwin, which I had claimed Carwin would do to Leznar before the fight.

Very exciting, all around.

Modern Protection Rackets

The insurance trade is a racket a Sicilian Mafioso would be proud of; extortionists given legal status while runnning a numbers game. I'm not trying to say they aren't necessary, but things are a bit out of whack. Their prices have been driven to new hieghts by people who make excessive claims for every damn thing. Then there's the fact that while competition appears fierce, which should lower prices, it costs a ton of money to advertise like most companies do.

All that having been said, I have been paying protection money to my insurer for more than ten years. They are a great outfit; inexpensive, professional, and have consistently provided me with great customer service during this, my first claim with them. The only negative experience I had from them was the rudeness of the subcontractor they sent to deterimine whether the bike was a total loss or not. And he was just the type of guy to come off rude on the phone. His total value of the bike was accurate and fair, so it was a moot point.

Today the protection racket that represents the interests of the driver of the car that hit me called me directly. I was at work, so I didn't get to pick it up. The representative of the young lady's extortionists left a message stating that I should call her back, as they were not accepting any responsibility beyond 50% for the incident. She added a few more 'facts' and told me to call her back again, as she knew it was approaching the holiday weekend, and 'we' needed to wrap the claim up in under forty-five days.

I am not a hothead. Or rather, while my internal monologue could be characterized as that of a hothead, I rarely let the anger sharks swim free at the surface for everyone to see. Upon hearing the message, my blood started to boil. I took some deep breaths, tried to ignore the morons in court, and thought it through.

My thought process went something like, 'I ain't calling them back. They just want me to engage by calling me direct. Want to record me saying something contrary to my earlier statements or just get me uncomfortable and ready to settle for this bullshit. Fuck that.'

At the next break I called my extortionists, who were most kind, and told me, "Your thoughts are precisely correct, I do not see how they think they will gain anything from going to arbitration, which we will go to, as we stand behind all the evidence pointing to her 100% responsibility for the incident. And no, you do not have to call them back. Not at all."

Having the Godfather tell me they were gonna take 'em to the mattresses was a great relief me. I see now why the rackets have always flourished: When caught between powers, it is good to have someone looking out for your interests, even if they only do so when they see advantage in it.

For now, I'll fagettaboutit...