Lord Jesus Christ was hit by a car this week. Makes me want to pack it up and stay inside.
Between the
taser-tottin' sport-cops gettin' all trigger-happy on the
baseball diamonds of America, and the
Inspector Clouseau wing of
Al Qaeda on the prowl, rigging
SUVs with
M-80s and fertilizer like a poor man's
Tim McVeigh, it feels as though the good guys and bad guys alike might zap me through their exuberant conformance to the rules on one hand or some nefarious incompetence stumbling over accidental "success" on the other.
Now before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, I'm in no way equating the police with terrorists. In fact, I'm all for tasing drunken or just-plain-goofy morons and the fruitcakes who break the rules should be sentenced to spend the rest of the season in the ballpark parking lot in a taser-based "dunk" tank so that tailgating fans can take turns shocking the shithead until he drops into the water (and then it's back onto the blank for you so another lucky fan can have a go). Nor I'm comparing those who would kill and maim innocents to
Peter Sellers' lovably bumbling French detective, except to note that Clouseau and the
would-be Times Square car-bomber seem to share a flair for the idiotic.
Even dumb shits get lucky every once in a while, though, so it's probably best to stay put under the bed and wait it out, listening for the galloping hoof beats of the impending Apocalypse, hoping to make the guest list. Assuming the end-of-days aren't canceled because some wing nut mowed down the son of god in their
Canyonero. Wouldn't be the same sort of party without Him. Sort of like starting a Soc/Greaser rumble without
Dallas Winston. Meanwhile, I'll try my best to stay gold ...
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