Baboon Pirates

Scribbles and Scrawls from an unrepentant swashbuckling primate.

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Location: Texas, United States

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Two Reasons To Support The Death Penalty

It's A Scumbag Two-fer!

Suggested musical accompaniment: Johnny Cash's version of Nick Lowe's 'The Beast In Me'.

Shitbag #1 - Reynaldo E. Rapalo, 34, charged with raping seven people, ages 11 to 79, and attempting to attack four others, escapes from jail.

Shitbag #2 - Evandro Doirado, 28, kidnapped and viciously raped a Framingham woman in front of her toddler son over nearly 48 hours.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Some creatures ('cause I will not call them men and lump them in with humanity) show by their very actions that they are not worthy of sharing the same oxygen supply as the rest of the world. I can only hope that Rapalo "resists arrest" so he can get the 9mm sendoff he so truly deserves courtesy of Florida Law Enforcement, and spares us the necessity of a trial and the subsequent care and feeding for the next 40-50 years.

I'm not one of those yay-hoos you see on TV, waving a "Burn in Hell" sign outside the Death Row unit, blathering on about "You oughta hire me, 'cause I'll throw that switch on Old Sparky!!" OTOH, if I was forced to put my money where my mouth was, I feel pretty certain I could step up to the plate if it was required of me.

Let's say in some alternate reality you must check a tickmark on your voter's reg. card saying "I do/do not support Capital Punishment". If you do, that throws your name in a hopper and everytime some skell comes up for execution, a random name gets drawn, and BINGO! You're the designated headsman. Can you do it? Makes you take a closer look at your values and commitments, doesn't it?

Over the past few years, I've given quite a bit of thought to where my mindset and overall personality would end up if I ever had to kill someone. That's a pretty big leap to take. It's not quite in the same class as your first kiss, or first legal beer. To quote Eastwood's film 'Unforgiven', "Hell of a thing, killin' a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have." All the dead man's future laughs, smiles, questions, answers, loves, hopes, fears, regrets, all gone. Taken by you. Rather sobering thought, that.

No doubt it's traumatic, but to tell you the truth, the first deer I ever shot wasn't an especially pleasant experience. Made a shot through thick brush, caught the spike buck across the hips, breaking the pelvis. By the time I caught up to it, the deer was struggling to get away by dragging itself on its front legs. Damned pitiful sight that I can still see in Technicolor. Taught me two valuable lessons. A) Never take brush shots, and B) shoot spike bucks and does in the head so they drop on the spot.

I got over it. Deer tasted damned good, too. Didn't keep me from killing many deer in future seasons. FWIW, my buddy Chip, fresh from Gulf War One, said about killing men that "the only thing you feel is the kick of the rifle butt against your shoulder". So, I dunno what to think about that. Mostly, when I think about having to shoot an intruder in my house, I first think about getting a towel underneath his head so the blood won't ruin the marble tile. This prioritization concerns me more than a little bit.

Taking an objective look at Rapalo and Doraido, I have no doubt we'd find both were likely products of broken homes, were probably abused/molested as youths, and had they had the loving supportive household like I grew up in, they'd be upstanding members of society.

Knowing this, I worry sometimes about the lack of compassion I feel towards them. All I can think about though, is the fear and terror of the victims. For Chrissakes! Raping an 11 year old! Raping a 79 year old! Raping a woman in front of her toddler! Fucking animals! The only thing that lessens my rage is the thought of kneeling these pusbags down and shooting them in the throat with a .32, so they slowly strangle on their own leaking blood. Hell, it's almost worth taking up chewing tobacco just so you could jet some Red Man juice in the shitbag's faces just before they expire.

Sometimes I worry about what's really inside me.

The beast in me
Is caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
God help the beast in me

The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
And how to shelter from the rain
And in the twinkling of an eye
Might have to be restrained
God help the beast in me

Sometimes it tries to kid me
That it's just a teddy bear
And even somehow manage to vanish in the air
And that is when I must beware
Of the beast in me that everybody knows
They've seen him out dressed in my clothes
Patently unclear
It it's New York or New Year
God help the beast in me

The beast in me

Shitbag #2 story courtesy of Wizbang