Where I Feel A Little Visceral
Many thanks to all who responded yesterday to my self-imposed suffering in the name of religion. It just goes to show you that everything in the Bible is probably literally true. Just look how my heroic act of not eating drew people out in massive numbers, invoking deep, spiritual reactions thinly disguised as making fun of me.

It's like the Good Book says (no no, not Tickle His Pickle I mean the other Good Book) in the book of Geephus 34:26-41 "Lo and they shall flock unto the Word when the Kicker Of Ass doth deny himself and yea verily do also blog post about it."

Praise be unto Geephus and his prophetic words.

Today's post was going to be all about how good food tastes, but then I made the mistake of reading the newspaper this morning. I found something in there quite troubling (and not particularly funny, but I'll give it a not-completely-inappropriate shot) and feel like I must share.

I've made the decision--about 45 times now--not to be so inside-jokey on this blog as much, referencing other readers in a small circle so that the content might be more accessible to people who wander in here looking for something interesting to read and instead are sucked in by the text version of my out-of-control animal magnetism.

I am about to break that personal pledge once more.

There has been a subtle on-going dispute between MPH and myself over whose home region is more of a wasteland conducive to the home production of methamphetamines. It has been my position that Riverside County, CA has natural advantages in the ready access to materials (from the heavily populated western 1/3 of the county) paired with vast expanses of open area peopled entirely by tortoises and dirt-bikers.

After this morning however, I am entirely ready to cede meth-lab-trash mastery to MPH's home state of Indiana. Normally I use this space as a forum to advocate for the greatness that is Riverside, the home of... nothing really in particular (apart from Yours Truly, naturally), punchline of jokes, the place in SoCal where tourists come only when they get horribly, horribly lost trying to find Disneyland.

But thus far, I can't find anything meth-related in Riverside to compare with this horrible story about greasy meth tweakers deciding to branch out into the exciting growth field of child murder. In most cases I'm all for diversification of one's resumé, but this is a case when I think the person(s) involved should have stuck to what they know. Now we can all only hope that the perpetrators fill out their CVs with a long stint buried in complete darkness under several tons of concrete and steel, then being slowly eaten alive by rats.

I admit with begrudging gratitude and jubilation that we don't have anything currently to compare to that in Riverside County (at least not recently). The best we could do was the case of the guy who killed his mom and then cut her head and hands off because he saw Tony Soprano do it. Sure it's sensational and grotesque, but it just doesn't have that depraved white-trash meth-lab dirt quality to it.

Flashy as our Sopranos story is, Indiana beats it again with this story about a brother and sister who killed their mother and grandparents, then took off to Vegas. They were recently caught in Missouri when they were found to have the bloody clothes still in their trunk more than a month later after being caught speeding.

I throw up my hands in the face of such brazen, unabashed stupidity. Indiana, I bow to you... but not all the way. Just enough so I can still keep my eye on you in case you were thinking of bashing my head in when I lowered it.

Give us time, though. I have faith in Riverside County and it's white trash flash. The headlines will be ours again when someone does something reprehensible and showy. Then all the shame and ignominy that is rightfully ours will be ours again.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 5.7


Pops

- posted by Pops @ 11:54 AM