Tag Archives: random

Juvenile Criminal Thoughts

shotgun

I have no idea if this is a 20 gauge. This is not a blog particularly concerned with the accurate identification of firearms. I do believe, however, it is a shotgun.

This week brought the news that a 12-year-old boy in the 8th grade took a loaded sawed-off 20 gauge pump shotgun to his school and opened fire, seriously wounding an 11-year-old boy (shot in the face) and a 13-year-old girl in the school’s gym.

cold… calculated… premeditated… random…

The New Mexico state police stated that the attack was “planned.” Part of that planning included the shooter issuing warnings to friends, advising them to stay away from school.

The 20-gauge shotgun is a type of smoothbore shotgun shell that is smaller in caliber (.615) than a 12 gauge (.729). It is often used as a beginning shooter’s practice round and is noted by its yellow hull.

A 20-gauge shotgun is sometimes considered more suitable for hunting certain types of game, because it damages less meat, which makes it suitable for most game birds.

Source: Wikipedia – 20-gauge shotgun

The firearm was obtained by the shooter from “family members,” the police said. The shooter’s Facebook page featured a picture of the shooter beside a deer he had killed during a hunting trip.
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IKEA wouldn’t want to BEYA

ikiea-st-helensOn Saturday, November 9, 2013, I visited an IKEA.

I have dubbed the trip Grouchy With A Chance Of Meatballs.

Per standard operating procedure I was lured into the midst via deception. “Let’s do brunch,” said my wife. Then, after my tummy was slaked and my attention wandered, suddenly our car was pulling into the gaping maw of Hell.

“What the Hell?” I stammered redundantly.

Yes, it was the IKEA super mega store on steroids. (I think they call them STOROIDS.) Lest there be any doubt: The “holiday season” is upon us.

Cars were flying in every direction. People were running and screaming. Their hair was on fire. Vendors were pumping out hot dogs. A dog barked. A garish clown on stilts juggled live babies. It was the peak hour of the peak day of the week and the peaking holiday season was upon us. And we were now in the epicenter where Swedish style and design meet in the supercollider of Want.

GRUNDTAL! You’re welcome.

Step one of shopping at IKEA is not navigating the labyrinth or even following your nose to the nearest deceptively aromatic meatball. No, before those phases may begin one must find a temporary storage location for one’s Volvo. I’m talking about, of course, the PARKERINGSPLATS.

But then, something unexpected happened. Call it a Hobbit’s journey, if you wish. I call it a Very Guru Christmas. It was time for a new Festivus tradition henceforth to be called the Random Act Of Kindness (To An Asshole).

For some it would be a confusing time.
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Roll them Scrapples

scrapsMy day job is negativist. In my spare time I try to earn some scrillas for survival. After that, the bulk of the remainder of my time is spent philosophizing and inventing. And pondering the ways of love. And packing lots and lots of boxes.

What I’m saying is I invented a new gambling game and I’m giving it to the world for free. In that way I’m just like the fellow that found the cure to polio and didn’t try to exploit it for big bucks.

Yeah, we need more gambling, so I hope this catches on.

Like most of my inventions, necessity turned out to be one fantastic mother. And, like most of our most harrowing tales, it all started one Christmas not too many years ago…
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The Great Intersection of 2013

036_1099_intersection_h

The Street Where I Shiv

“Grandpa, tell me the story again,” the little snot-nose whined.

The old man sighed. On the other hand, there was no one else around and he was bored. And he did love having an audience.

“It was a long, long time ago,” he said easily. By now the story was an old friend. It was like slipping his toes into a well worn pair of penny loafers with old leather comfortably broken in. Not at all like plastic, like Crocs, that all the snot-nosed sons of bitches called “shoes” these days.

“I think the year was 2013. Yeah, that was the last time it happened. The likes of which the world has never seen again.”

“Back then,” the old man continued, “I was still able to drive a car. The snot noses hadn’t taken away my license yet in the name of public safety. I think I must have been about 104.”

“So there I was, minding my business, driving through town. Yup, yup. Don’t interrupt, snot nose. This town. The very same town you and I still call home.”

“You know,” the old man paused, reminiscing, “back then it was still possible to hit a green light.” He shook his head. It was best not to think about such things.

“What’s a green light,” the kid interjected.

“I told ya, snot nose. Don’t interrupt yer elders. You want the story or not?”
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Word Association Demonstration

With righteous indignation and without provocation, I will strive to cause vexation in response to your supplication.

Damnation?

Exclamation!

I shall swallow irritation to cause infuriation, exasperation, and with any luck, a pulsation of altercation.

Thanks for witnessing this commination demonstration.
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Blankity blank blank Dixieland blank Rock

I've got too many women after me. No worries. I wrote a song about it!

In this game, your humble blog host finds himself with jack shit to post about. So he loads up iTunes, with 5,244 items contained therein, and says, “I’ll hit random and write a post about the next thing that comes up.”

Trust me. This is no matter to take lightly. I’ve got some pretty sick shit in my collection. On the other hand, there is a lot of goodness and light, too. Like most things in my life, this is a crap shoot. My collection is very, very, very eclectic.

The fun thing about this sort of self-challenge is seeing what you get. Then saying, “No, not that one” and clicking next until you find something you can live with.

Just kidding. This little nugget is what really came up. And now we all have to live with it. Hey, just like life.
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RATM – Bullet to the Head

This is a (mostly) wordless New Year’s Eve edition of Termination Tuesday.

I’ve made no bones about the fact that I find shooting guns – especially randomly and up in the air – an extremely ill-conceived method of celebrating something as inane as a number changing on a man-made calendar.
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