2007-02-04 - 2:29 a.m.
You see, this might just be the most delightful news item ever. No, I am not talking about the debates over the State of the Union Message, or the discussion, eloquent though it may be, about the upcoming 2008 elections. No, I am referring to this news item about the 27 year old child molester who enrolled in a junior high school to lure home little boys to be diddled by a pair of even more diabolical old trolls posing as his “Uncle” and his “granddad.” This could just be the best story ever told.
How can you not love it? I mean, it is an all but perfect storm of debauchery, initiative, ingenuity, and abject imbecility. There is this fellow, fast approaching 30, with painted-on acne and glittering eyes that show a creepy worldliness that’s anything but young – and there he is, sitting next to your little 12 year old son, his hand on the lad’s knee, slobber forming on his lower lip, his 27 year old pedophilic erection pulsing in his baby boy underoos. And no one noticed! It’s hysterical.
I mean, there are so many things that fascinate me about the tale. For one thing, isn’t it amusing that the three pedophiles all came together to form this sort of creepy “family” – though perhaps it’s more on the vulpine nature of a wolf pack than anything else. How did the there child molesters meet up? Did they hook up via some on line chatroom devoted to child molesting? Or is there an instinctive hormone particular to child molesters that made them sense each other, forming their creepy little family somewhere in the wilds of Oklahoma?
I love the photos of the three creeps, too, particularly the picture of the bug-eyed gramps who looks like he has done more evil things in his life than you’ve had chicken dinners. He bears an unusually strong resemblance to Popeye the Child Molester! I adore him.
You sort of wonder just who hatched the bizarre idea of having the youngest child molester try to pass himself off as a 12 year old at the local junior high school. I mean, if you ask me, such chutzpah should be rewarded with all the boys the three creeps can eat. But instead, the poor fellows have been dragged off to the hoosegow to rot in prison. And I suppose that is for the best – though one imagines someone will shank all three of them good, which strikes me to be a bit more than they deserve.
Because, you see, the idiots who truly deserve jail time are the doofuses who didn’t notice anything was weird about some 30-something freak sitting in a 7th grade class. I mean, what is wrong with people? Someone who’s 27 does not look like he’s 12 by any stretch of the imagination. And what about the folks who lived in the houses and apartments near the place where the monstrous trio of vicious pedophiles held forth? I mean, I would call the cops on Grampa Popeye alone.
The truth is, you cannot blame the child molesters – they are animals, like sharks, and they behave a certain way. But you can certainly blame the folks around the child molesters who do not keep a good eye on them.
I mean, do you remember that story about the stork that once asked a crocodile for a ride on his back? The crocodile readily agreed, and the stork asked, “Now, if I ride on your back, you won’t eat me will you?” The croc promised no – but as soon as the stork landed on its back, the reptile grabbed it with its vicious jaws, drooling greedily as he snapped its spine and bit and chomped up the hapless stork, who howled with his last breath, “But you promised!” The crocodile simply replied, “My dearie dear, I am a crocodile. What do you expect me to do?”
And so it is with child molesters. What on earth do you expect them to do?
Anyway, I digress. I just figured that writing about child molesters would help jump start this blog entry after a long rusty patch of not writing at all. And so it has. Yes, it has been a while, my wondrous blog-a-licious blog! It has been weeks and weeks! I don’t rightly know where I have been, if you want to know the truth, but I have been most pleased and humbled by the three or four “are you dead?” messages I have received here and there.
I have noticed that every time I take a blog-break, I get several of these messages. It’s delightful! It almost substitutes for love, as you can imagine. But, it is with some pleasure that I note I am still alive and kicking. Here I am. Woo hoo! I have not gone anywhere! I just didn’t feel like writing for a bit, that’s all.
As some of you have surmised, I was feeling rather depressed the past month or two, and I just didn’t feel like writing about it. I have always bought into the idea that one should not blog depressed, as that is the quickest way to get people to stop reading you. And I am by no means attempting to write an autobiography here, so if I cannot keep my spirits up, I really have no right to say anything at all. So I’ve just been keeping quiet for a few weeks, that’s all.
I have been rather busy, actually, if you want to know the truth. Because story analysis wasn’t cutting it, I got myself a non-movie biz-related part time job, which should help me meet my rent regardless of whether there is any traction or friction on the reading front. Have I told you about this yet? I am working at the glamorous Santa Monica Public Library.
It’s no big deal, really, I just wander about with one of those little iron carts, putting books on the shelves. The pay is fairly suck-much, and it is murder on my back and poor knees, and I totally loathe going into the children’s library where all the rich and entitled young mothers glare at me like I am the Devil out of Hell, but beyond that, I have to say I have been enjoying it.
It is enjoyable to simply sign on at a place, be able to turn off my brain, and just do this dumb-ass mechanical gig. I wander about the aisles of the non-fiction section, and then I wander about in the fiction section. There are DVDs to shelve, as well as little CDs and magazines. It is all exceedingly peaceful and surprisingly restful.
And I am also liking the fact that regardless of what happens with all the other aspects of my life, this part time gig is about as stable as they get. A library is always a library. There will always be books to shelve -- and the homeless wretches who mostly inhabit the building, sitting in the beautiful Scandanavian chairs all day, with their plastic garbage bags of filth piled up all around you, are working as hard as they can to make enough chaos to offset your attempts to put things in order.
However, most fascinating still is the contrast between the world of the library and the movie business world. For I am here to tell you, dearest Big Blue Blog-a-roo, the public library is not a place whose cup overrunneth with glamour. Indeed, it’s hard to remember a place that has less “glitter” than this gig.
Oddly enough, it is the lack of “glitter” that is the hardest thing for me to come to grips with. And this is something that no one I talk to is able to understand, for some reason. I whine to everyone that there is no more glitter in my life, and their eyes glaze. You see, almost no one has any glitter in their lives to begin with! So they don’t understand. They don’t get it. But for me, it is almost a source of grief that I am just not used to a job in which there isn’t the exciting patina of either the movie business or the newspaper business! This is just a blue collar gig with other blue collar-y people. No glitter. No Glittering Prizes. Not for me, at least not in the near future.
Anyway, dear Big Blue Blog-a-roo-ni, I shall in subsequent days tell you all more about my exciting adventures in the world of the library! You shall reel with my endless description of daily tasks that are so boringly numbing, your eyes shall glaze and you shall almost wish to take knitting needles and stick them up your nose! But what of that? You probably would look better like that, anyway.
