You know the world’s all wrong when Howard Stern is talking sense into a female. Even Courtney Love. Hell, especially Courtney Love. Sad thing is, the single off the new album is great…
More reasons one loves NYC: “While sad her for family, straphangers at the station were not sympathetic about the actions that led to the accident.” Common sense, thy name is straphanger.
So I’m pondering what the justice system ought to do with the guy who killed Carlie Brucia, the little girl in Florida. Other than fry him, I mean. I’m done apologizing to folk for believing that even though vengeance is the Lord’s. There’s something important to be said for doing the biggest thing we puny humans can manage on these occasions. If you trust that the Lord has a lock on vengeance, you need to trust that He’s got better tricks up His sleeve than we do. (RS, AT, I’m looking at you.)
And I’ve come to the conclusion that not only do we owe it to ourselves as a culture to kill this guy — for the catharsis, for the closure, for the sheer fact that it’s a crowded planet and he’s a waste of resources, for the relief we’ll feel knowing that he’s not going to spend X number of years as a guest of the state whacking off to the memory of what he’s done — but that we have to televise it like we do State of the Union.
Hear me out.
If you know me well, you know that I am a big fan of beef and that I tend to prefer it on the raw side of rare. You also know that I grew up on farms and have close acquaintance with the workings of slaughterhouses. And that’s why I can eat beef without wringing my hands over the killing of cattle: I know where it comes from and I understand what has to occur to get it onto my plate. I accept what has been done in my name and for my benefit, and I consume it in a fashion that respects the fact that the thing on my plate is a creature’s actual flesh.
Same goes for public executions. Like any right-thinking person, I want this guy dead. I’ll bet no one within the reach of my keyboard can get the image out of their head this morning of Carlie’s last moments of ordinary life. For the good of the culture, I demand that the State do its duty; for the relief and edification of the culture and to make it clear that we-the-people are serious about planning and carrying out the death of the man who did this — to own the demand, to accept its reality and finality — we are owed the sight of the execution. Vengeance may be the Lord’s, but we want video.
And so the General Slocum disaster passes into history.
Primary night and neither Yahoo nor the NY Times has results for North Dakota. (Hell, one of the big dailies doesn’t even LIST North Dakota as having primaries tonight, which ought to lead to mass spankings in their fifth- and sixth-floor offices. If their offices were on the fifth and sixth floors in their shiny suburban office-park building, I mean. I’m just saying. Who the heck knows which paper and where they might be located?) Only the Washington Post has their shit together tonight.
UPDATE: I’m told that it’s AP’s fault for not automating the results for that daily’s convenience, and as a sop to me a link to ND results will be linked from somewhere on the aforementioned daily’s page. It shouldn’t have taken me fussing about it, though. And which is lamer, Associated Press for not bothering or the various dailies for hiding behind AP’s skirts? Speaking of AP, by the way, with 0% of the vote recorded in Arizona just before 10pm, they’ve declared Kerry the winner. Fucking wire-service retards are the bane of American journalism.
Oh. My. God. Whoever wrote the script for the Super Bowl opener needs to be doused in kerosene. “A Cajun out of nowhere?” Hey dipdong! CAJUNS COME FROM LOUISIANA! Too many announcers, only one Cosell. And even he’s keeping it a lot more concise these days.