Splendid Isolation

Category: Psychos

Overreaction?

Psychos

From Reader Mike L. comes this little tale from (where else?) Floriduh:

Police responded to a home in reference to a shooting Thursday morning.  When officers arrived, they found a man with a gunshot wound. He was taken to a hospital where he was pronounced dead.

Investigators determined that the suspect, Patricia Whitehead, and the victim shared a residence.  She became angry with the man, saying he “did not clean up after himself,” police said.

Authorities said the victim was leaving the home when Whitehead heard him slam the door. She then went and grabbed her gun from her bedroom, left out of the door, and shot the man multiple times, according to police.

I guess that was just one slam too many.

I’m not taking this loony old tart’s side, but I bet there’s more to this story than is being reported.

Or she’s just a loony old tart.

…Then We’ll Ban These, Too

Psychos

Fresh on the heels of the outrage above, we have this horror:

A group of yobs allegedly tortured and killed a duck with a catapult in the latest incident in a disturbing spate of attacks.
Concerned locals saw the youngsters – believed to be aged between 11 and 15 — firing off at a duck before kicking it and throwing it against a wall.

With the inevitable response (because Britishland):

Disgusted locals are now calling for a ban on the catapults after a spate of incidents targeting animals across the county.

There’s a better idea — catch the amoral little scrotes and give them a vicious public flogging in the town square (pour encourager les autres, so to speak) — but no doubt some people will have a problem with this solution because Krool & Hartless.

The unfortunate duck was unavailable for comment.

Another Lone Asshole

Psychos

From a while back, this bitter meme:

“If Guns Are Outlawed, Can We Use Swords?”

…and of course, privately-owned guns being banned in formerly-Great Britain, some scrote did exactly that.

Sadly, he was only Tasered and arrested as opposed to being summarily shot by the Britcops:

…they being the only  ones allowed to have guns, begging the question:  “What’s the point of giving the cops guns when they’re not going to use them appropriately?”

Oh, wait:  the rozzers who showed up didn’t have guns, nor even the proper gear to deal with said asshole.

Next up:  a sword ban, followed by large kitchen knives, followed by any pointy- or bladed objects, then cricket/baseball bats… and following the thing to its logical absurdity, a ban on clenching a hand into a fist.

You saw it here first.

Strong Medicine

Perverts, Psychos

Here’s a story which got my teeth on edge:

A Dublin singer has allegedly been sexually assaulted for the second time while on tour with her band.

Karla Chubb, the lead singer of Dublin-based grunge band Sprints, was allegedly groped and harassed while performing at one of the band’s recent gigs.

Sprints posted a statement revealing that Karla had been assaulted for the second time on Saturday.

The statement said: “Yesterday, Karla was sexually assaulted for the second time while on the Letter To Self tour. The fact that this has occurred twice is abhorrent, the fact it still happens at all is disgusting. We will not stand for it and we will not stay silent about it. Female performers should be able to engage with their audience, step off the stage or perform without fear of groping, unwanted touching, cat-calling and harassment. The fact that this is still an every day occurrence for most women is beyond reprehensible. To those who noticed and called out the behaviour yesterday, thank you. To those of you responsible for the behaviour, shame on you. Do better.”

Actually, the last bit is what got me reaching for another gin.

You see, this is a common thing, and I don’t know why some assholes think that just because the girl looks sexy or whatever, that they can cop a quick feel or worse.

I have spoken before of Gilly, our band’s vocalist, and her skirts:

Needless to say, she got a lot of attention, but we looked after her and made sure that there was always one of us with her at all times before, during and after a gig.

Here’s a little story about that.

We once played a 6-month gig as the house band at a seedy nightclub in Johannesburg, and such was our popularity that the room always exceeded the Fire Department’s maximum occupancy limit.

One example of this popularity was that we became favorites of a motorcycle band (can’t remember the name, but it was something like The Devils).  Even though they were a rough-‘n-tough crowd, they always behaved themselves in the club during their weekly visit, dancing with their ladies and drinking up a storm (which is why the management allowed them in — their bar bill was the equivalent of the GDP of a small country).  We sometimes invited someone in the gang to perform a song with us, and Long John — a tall, skinny guy with long, greasy black hair and the worst teeth in the Western Hemisphere — would enthrall the audience with his version of Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall  (“We don’t need no sex education!” delivered in a hoarse bellow) which always brought the house down.  It became a weekly fixture.

Anyway, one night I became aware of a guy wearing a red shirt who was intent on reaching up to the stage and getting his hand up Gilly’s skirt while she was singing.  I growled at him once and he went away, but came back after a while and tried again.  Gilly managed to avoid his groping, and unfortunately for him, he chose the last song of the set to play his little game.

During our break, I went over to the Devils’ tables and sat down next to the gang leader, a guy named Pete.

“Pete,” I said, “do you see that guy over there in the red shirt?”
“Yeah.”
“Man, that bastard’s been trying to finger Gilly, right there on the stage while we’re playing.  I can’t deal with it because we’re employees here and I don’t want us to get fired.  Can you do something to help her out?”

Pete scowled, beckoned to two of his guys and whispered something to them.  They stood up, pulled on their gang colors, walked over to Mr. Redshirt Groper and dragged him out of the club.

I have no idea what they said (or did) to him, but I never saw him again.  when I asked Pete what had happened — I mean, these were serious biker tough guys, and they might have killed him — he just grinned and muttered something about “teaching him a lesson”.

And that is the kind of thing that needs to happen to these assholes, not some mealy-mouthed statement like begging the assholes to “Do better”  — don’t beg them to behave themselves, just fuck them up.

It’s all they deserve.

See Ya

Crime, Psychos

I don’t really have a big dog in this fight, but I do like this news:

A pro-abortion extremist has been sentenced to 7.5 years in prison for firebombing the Wisconsin Family Action pro-life clinic on Mother’s Day in 2022.

Biochemist Hridindu Sankar Roychowdhury, 29, was caught by police using DNA from a half-eaten burrito that they left at the scene of the crime. Roychowdhury had thrown two Molotov cocktails through a window he broke, set a bookcase on fire, and spraypainted “If abortions aren’t safe then you aren’t either” on the front of the building.

The arsonist was facing up to 20 years in prison but has accepted a plea agreement to reduce his sentence.

I wish the sentence was longer, but that’s the legal system for ya.

Just remember my words, though, when some asshole gets arrested for firebombing an abortion clinic.  Because I’m going to feel exactly the same way, and most likely use the same words.

Bombing is bombing, regardless of who throws the bomb at whom.

Lone Asshole

Crime, Psychos

If we’ve learned nothing else from history, it’s that it will be almost impossible to stop one lone asshole (e.g. ex-Marines Lee Harvey Oswald and Charles Whitman) from doing bad things to people in a public place.

As happened in gun-free Sydney AUS over the weekend:

Authorities received calls around 3:30 p.m. local time that a knife-wielding man was attacking people at Westfield Bondi Junction, NSW Police Assistant Commissioner Anthony Cooke said during a press conference.

Footage obtained by 9News Sydney showed the suspect, wearing a gold and green rugby jersey and shorts, brandishing a long knife and approaching several horrified shoppers.

Point of interest:  the “gold and green jersey” is in fact the team jersey of the Oz national rugby team Wallabies — no doubt, the OzGov should ban sale of said jerseys to prevent future events like this from happening.

Or, as Reader Mike L. suggests, the OzGov should institute commonsense knife control laws, like:

  • No one needs a knife longer than 18 inches
  • No one needs a knife with more than 10 serrations
  • No one should be able to buy a knife more easily than borrowing a library book
  • etc.

Much praise is being heaped on the “hero” Oz coppette who ventilated said stabby asshole and reduced his body temperature to the “room” setting.  Doing her job, in other words, and not going all Uvalde, running away and hiding.  And yes, good for her.

Of course, had a situation like this occurred in, say, Arizona, Florida or Texas, there is an equally-good chance that a Concerned Citizen would have applied the same solution as the hero Oz coppette did, perhaps even before he had a chance to stab anyone.  (We call that “pre-emptive goblin disposal” — okay, “fear for one’s life”, see next post — but cops usually have to wait until the stabbing actually begins before applying the appropriate trigger pressure.)

As I write this, we don’t know why our Wallaby supporter went all Apache in the mall, but frankly it doesn’t matter because in matters of this nature, he may have had what he thought was a good reason (Oswald), or else because his head was all fucked up (Whitman).

Sic semper dementis.