fromanyalley

There are one million people in the city, and one million stories….this! is one of them. Actually there are less than 800,000 human in the state at any one given time. To be honest, their stories are not that hot. The recent crime wave is, however, a slice of country livin’ that gives you, the ones who live in the macro-world, a slightly clearer view of this, the micro-world.
The news of the first act of the three part tragedy was delivered, as usual, not by an established news out-let. The local boys and girls of journalism are essentially sports writers who dabble in other areas of journalism only when forced to do so. The Daily Republican (”None of the real news we’re bribed not to print”) is essentially the propaganda arm of the state Republican Party and the Bullgoose Loony Booster Club. The true reporters are people with cell phones who call other people and tell them to spread the word.
The boozy, bloated ghost of Broderick Crawford condemned to appear in re-runs of Highway Patrol enters the room.
Calling all cars, calling all cars. This was the first, and one of the worst crimes reported for this day, which will ever be known as the Day of the Mad-dog Crooks. This private reporter was a woman who is certified in Crime Scene Investigation, has a degree in Criminal Justice, and is one scary-smart human. Even her last name is daunting: VRBSKY. Not a vowel in the bunch and do not quibble with her about the sometimes Y. To piss her off is to invite a shit-storm of retribution. (Where would we be with scatology?)
And someone has pissed her off. That low, quiet kind of pissed-off, which means a terrible justice will fall, swift, deadly, without warning. Some human vermin stole Frank. In the middle of a blue-skied afternoon, some fiend in human form, some scum with all the ethics of a crack-ho and the scruples of a pig broke into Vrbsky’s rural home and from all fifteen four-legged creatures in that house Frank was chosen to be the victim of a daring daylight dog-knapping.
This should call to mind the Lindberg kidnapping, the abduction of Patty Hearst, and all those poor souls snatched off the streets and forced to claps their hands when the “Applause” sign lit up in those horrible days when Jerry Seinfeld owned the vacuous, vapid land of sit-com. The snatching of Frank ranks right up there with the most horrible crimes of this newly minted century. For, he is Frank, dachshund extraordinaire, bon vivant of the barnyard, bright and beautiful to behold. He is a fine-tempered little fellow and only half-heartedly attempts to kill one or two of the thirty or forty farm cats slinking around the property. He DOES, however, smell like a dachshund, i.e., stinky, but he submits with a modicum of grace to the occasional bath, after which he runs outside to roll in his favorite cologne, Eau De Fishe Guttes, for THE REAL Hound. Why anyone would actually want this dog is beyond me. No! No, I mean, the atrocious scumbags who stole Frank obviously wanted to use him as a sex-slave, force-feeding him doggy viagra so he would, with wanton abandon impregnate one female dachshund after the other in an orgiastic assembly line of canine carnality and lust. Frank is, afterall, of noble lineage and the fruit of his loins can bring up to $500.00American. Now Frank will be cruelly exploited for his genetic splendor and Vrbsky will have been robbed of her loyal and trusted companion of many years.
I am confidant that I will find Vrbsky fully geared-up in a complete, hand-made Ghillie suit, with two .44 magnum handguns, a commando-knife with blood-gutters, claymore mines, and a custom-fitted Swiss.50 caliber sniper rifle with Bosch&Lomb Scope. The case is not closed and will never be closed. Vrbsky and her Frank the wiener dog have been wronged terribly. Someone will pay. More on this as the case and the chase develop.
The next act was phoned in to me shortly after Frank had been abducted. Whew! Busy day at the crime-fighting desk. A young woman standing outside the local Walmart breathlessly reported that a bomb threat had been called in to the store. A bit of back-story is needed here. A little over one year ago a bomb threat had been called into the same Walmart. The authorities responded, and after gazing around wordlessly for a few moments, the emergency management team leader, the chief of police, and the chief of the fire department dropped the decision as to whether or not evacuate the store at the feet of the Walmart manager.
All three of these well trained public servants who had been feeding quite happily at the public trough for a number of years huddled together, exchanged worried looks, and abandoned their moral responsibilities and legal duties to the manager of a Walmart store located in the middle of nowhere who was, and is, essentially a jumped-up clerk. The manager had worked for Walmart for many years. He was not trained in emergency management, bomb disposal, crowd control or any aspect of law enforcement what-so-ever. He had been whipped and cowed and pressured and petted to make more money on that very day than the store had made a year prior. He looked at the people buying, buying, buying. He looked at his employees, all of whom nauseated him. He held those lives in his Walmartian hands. Let’s see, innocent lives vs the bottom line…..innocent lives, bottom line…..Fuck it, keep the place open, and don’t breath a word about a nasty old bomb said the well-trained and obedient manager as he quickly slid out the back door to assess the situation from a distance of approximately eight miles. The public officials, hardened by years of service and prepared to make the hard calls packed it up, bought some Walmart doughnuts and diet soda and called it a job well done. Buck neatly passed. Not so much as one one uniform sullied.
One year later the same thing happens. The public officials remember that even though their wives, sons, and daughters may work for Walmart, They work for the citizens of their fair town and county. Walmart was evacuated.
Now comes the good part. While our intrepid, courageous, dedicated defenders of law and order were emptying Walmart of its customers and employees, an unmasked man calmly walked into a local bank, and robbed the place.
And got away. On foot. He did not even wave a gun around. He robbed the bank with a hand-written note. There is some question as to whether or not the two crimes, bomb-threat and bank-robbery, could possibly be connected. Jeepers Scooby, there’s a mystery for ya old pal.
When I heard the whole scoop from a fifteen year old girl named Taylor who always carries a cell phone just like Hannah Montana’s I confess that I had to take two, no, three huge swigs of the decent little port wine I refresh myself with occasionally and not because it is the cheapest crap in Kenny’s Liquor, but solely because of its rich, mellow flavor, its intriguing high notes, finely fashioned legs, and bass notes to die for. I am a connoisseur. Ask Kenny, he’ll tell you. I’m in there all the time. It is also quite easily puked up and has an aftertaste which carries a certain je ne ce quois.
I am not encouraging any type of criminal behavior. However, a Walmart and a bank being hit simultaneously does not mean one one-millionth as much as Frank, a good and loyal dog, being plucked out of his home by a spineless person or persons unknown. Frank has been a friend to man-kind for all of his seven years as a dog. Walmart has become the Son of Sam’s club, degrades, humiliates and terrorizes its own employees, especially if they are women or of color, and will do anything in its power to engulf and devour any and all business opportunities in the towns, large or small, it invades. The Son of Sam’s club shows us the true, banal face of evil. Satan is a corporate entity that buys venal, grasping politicians and destroys all competition in a planned, coordinated assault upon the free market capitalism it so loudly and mendaciously insists it not only supports, but defends. The Son of Sam’s club is a corporate pirate, a traitor to the people who shop there, the poor bastard employees who have to work there, and the government which blindly allows it to feed and feed and feed off the economic life’s blood of the nation in which it was allowed to flourish, prosper, and then metastasize as a business and social cancer. The Son of Sam’s club is given carte blanche by bought and paid for politicians to not only write laws which affect its own corporate operations, but to also define and set limits on the penalties a judge may levy against it. Walmart is so far beyond any legal control or constraints that it constitutes a hostile, sovereign nation which exists and exerts enormous power within the borders of the United States of America.
Here is the worst part. None of this information is from some secret source buried in the hide of Walmart or the U.S. government. It has all been published and exists for those who have eyes to read and tongues to tell.
The use of the Son of Sam’s club to distract the geniuses at work in our Department of Public Safety from a successful bank robber is , to say the least, ironically apropos. One little criminal using a gigantic, multinational criminal to successfully rob yet another massive criminal has an elegant symmetry to it. The bank, of course, being the third crook in this merry little caper. Banks are built to be master thieves, con-artists, and suave pick-pockets. A bank will steal from you, me, and some joker who’s been dead for ten fucking years. Banks will seduce the uneducated, the uniformed, the unsuspecting, and the lazy. Banks will build a scaffold of loans just high enough to hang the unwary citizen by the rope of usurious interest rates. Because by definition banks have the money, they also, by definition, have the politicians most finely placed to effect the economic oversight committees. They also control those who are bound by law to stop trading of public stocks and bonds when that activity is clearly based on inflated stock prices, insider trading, and junk-bond bonfires. The unlovable rogues of the banking scams are allowed to charge an unconscionable amount of interest, say 12.5% and then increase it to 23.5% without prior notification. This is robbery, chicanery of the lowest kind, and it is treason of the highest sort. The general public is under attack in the form of economic warfare. Bribed and bartered and betrayed, the thirty pieces of silver is multiplied by the millions and those who have worked and struggled and sacrificed are again sacrificed to the rapacious greed of the economic ruling class. When questioned before Congress and the nation the bankers linked arms and stated, “This is what we do. We will not stop. You cannot force us to stop.” And Bush’s Justice Department busied itself with politically motivated purges of blameless employees. It was like a dog chewing on its own intestines.
Again, I am not and never would promote or condone illegal behavior. That is the specialty of Karl Rove and Dick Cheney. In no way do I want to be linked with those smug fascists. I may be poor. I am certainly not that poor.
I firmly believe that the little crook who made the bank heist deserves to be apprehended and tried before an open court of law before a jury of his peers. The dumbass made several serious mistakes, however, thereby guaranteeing himself double helpings of daily suffering. He has severely pissed-off the Son of Sam’s club. He took the purchasing power of their patrons away from the Son of Sam’s club and it lost MONEY. Even now the Son of Sam’s Club ninjas and paramilitary ex-CIA dogs of war are scouring the entire planet for that one little guy who had the nerve to STOP the WHEELS of COMMERCE for one corporate micro-second thereby costing the Son of Sam’s club a nanoparticle of multinational profit. His phony bomb-threat gag will now bring out all the goose-stepping storm-trooping Ministry of Homeland Security shadow-warriors and their 22nd century gizmos and gadgets. Yes, 22nd century. That is how the space aliens pay us for parking in our grain fields and terrifying our fellow earthlings by dive-bombing them in the sportier models of their well-lighted and easily seen space craft. Why the hell else would they have their craft lit up like sleazy carnival rides? Lights are absolutely worthless in space and only serve to draw attention. The reason they have them is to scare the bejezus out of us, and they do that because it is fun.
The little crook guy pissed off two very nasty, very ugly, and very big crooks. He has also given the Ministry of Homeland Security a reason to see if the space toys left behind by the aliens really are as fun as they look. The little criminal in the plaid shirt has condemned himself to being poked, prodded, sexually experimented upon, and water-boarded by space aliens in the shipping and receiving room of a Walmart in Orlando, Fl. He will never even catch a glimpse of the inside of a courtroom. The neocon lawyers have arrived at the same conclusion their direct forebears, Nazis lawyers, arrived at in the mid-nineteen-thirties. It goes like this. We, being the state and therefore infallible say that you, the lowest crawling from of life in this society, are guilty. It is clear that the expenses of a trial, an incompetent public defender, and the heating and lighting bills would be better spent on a war which was started by a lie, serves no purpose, and is costing our nation every nickel it has, or will have, until kingdom come, amen. Therefore, you little criminal will merely vanish, as if you had never existed. This will result in a net cost savings of about $.0.11, if we do not subtract the social security tax and why should we the whole program is tits up to the wind anyway.
Poor dumb little bastard. Steal a little, you are a criminal. Steal a lot, your child is automatically a member of Skull-and-Bones, no matter how young.
The third and final portion of this crime wave which is plaguing the good citizens of our great state, or, at least those sober enough to notice that something out of the ordinary is happening, deserves a page of its own. The crime is so incredibly repugnant on so many different levels that it deserves room and attention.
As a little teaser, the third act includes hospitals, dying/dead/pesky poor people, immoral, illegal, dirty deals forged in a public forum in front of God and everybody and justified by the deal makers in the most crass and unfeeling way possible. And the miserable fuckers expect to get away with it.
Stay tuned.

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