A death row inmate in Ohio feels lethal injection is unconstitutional cruel and unusual punishment.
Cry me a river, asshole.
Let me make sure I am crystal fucking clear on this; he raped and stabbed to death a 14 year old girl in cold blood and is complaining about the way he will die.

It’s cruel and unusual punishment?

Really? Come on, you disgusting cretin.

You are so low in the human decency scale that you’d have to climb a ladder to blow a snake, for God’s sake, you assclown.
You have no voice in this, as far as I’m concerned.
Shut the hell up and just die.
It frosts my stones to no end that we actually entertain the thought, all at the risk of political effin’correctness.
Please excuse my really bad French.

My wife served jury duty last week.
The case she was (almost) selected to serve on was fairly clean cut; a defendant was caught red-handed with handguns and drugs and was supposedly associated with a murder.
22 some odd State Troopers were standing nearby to give their testimony against this slimy piece of shit.
Everyone awaiting a jury appointment was asked a series of questions to rule out bias and impartiality.

“Is there anyone here that has already formed an opinion regarding this case?”

My wife {God love her} raises her hand and is called to the judge’s bench.

The conversation went something like this:

“Mrs. Murphy, you’ve already formed an opinion on this case?”

“Yeah. Guilty.”

“Mrs. Murphy? You’re excused.”

There may have been a bit more conversation but that’s all the ammo I needed to write this post.

What am I missing here?
Our judicial system is on way more drugs than Jimi Hendrix was when he was playing Woodstock.
Really, what am I missing here?
As far as Romell Broom goes, screw him.
I say fry his pussy death row ass . . .
And that’s almost too good for the likes of him.
As a taxpayer, I’m so sick and tired of paying for 3 squares a day, a bed with blankets and a roof over the head of slimebags like this guy.
I rant, therefore, I am.
Pissed? Ayup.
Can you tell stories like this bother me a bit?
Please excuse me while I go and vomit.
~m

I remember the day vividly; there were crystal blue skies, warm and ample sunshine, comfortable temperatures, a picture perfect fall day in New England.

The date was September 11, 2001 and I was just getting into work (selling pianos at the time) when the phone rang.
It was my friend Colin, a piano technician from the store where I worked calling to tell me he’d heard on the radio that a plane had just flew into the World Trade Center in NYC.
It must have been a terrible accident we both agreed, a freakish malfunction of an old turbine perhaps, a minor incident but nevertheless a tragic loss of life of strangers neither of us would probably ever know.
At the time, it seemed safer thinking of it that way.
It was a small plane, Colin said and that made me feel better.
Fewer people meant fewer casualties in a city the size of New York.

After I hung up the phone, it occurred to me that something didn’t seem quite right about the conversation. Couldn’t put my finger on it but something was wrong.
I knew it and Colin knew it, we just didn’t want to say it.

I mean, planes just don’t fly into buildings, do they?

My question was promptly answered when the phone rang 15 minutes later.
It was Colin again sounding a bit nervous.

Another plane? Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on? I asked.

He went on to tell me that both of the towers were hit and that it looked like we were at war.

War? I thought, With who?

I went outside and looked up into the sky for a sign that the world was still alright and all I saw was the endless crystal blue of the atmosphere but I noticed something else; there was an eerie stillness and silence hanging in the balance.

Word got around quickly that the US had been attacked as we began adding words to our daily lexicon: WTC, 9-11, Atta, Al Qaida, Al-Jazeera . . .

The dark truths would begin to bleed through the seemingly impenetrable fabric of our lives virtually changing all of us, forever.

The phones started ringing at the store . . . but not from customers.
The calls were from wives to husbands, sons to mothers, sisters to brothers – with one simple question; are you okay?
By noontime the phones stopped ringing and business ceased as the United States was brought to its very knees.

I can’t help but think of the same three words I thought on that horrible day: God Help Us

I still pray for all that we lost that day; the brilliant lives, our {unjustifiable} innocence and our shattered sense of {false} security.
We were too blind for far too long.

My words describing that day are still woefully inadequate but my thoughts and feelings of incomprehensibility are still so incredibly tender and raw.

I want badly to forgive but I still can’t.

God Bless all those we lost.

As Annie said, turn those headlights on . . .

~m

Found an interesting site via Raincoaster.
Loved this webcomic.

~m

I’m a real strange guy sometimes (other people may have a difference of opinion) but who do you know that listens to a song on an Ipod and thinks, “Man, that would be a great song for my funeral!”

I said that exact thing to my wife tonight and she looked at me with that ‘you are gone’ kind of look.

Now I’m not obsessed with “getting my halo” but isn’t it at least human to think about it now and then?
Maybe it’s even normal . . .

Or maybe I’m just in love with all the wonderfully and mortally-challenged euphemisms associated with “sleeping with the quiches”. (so much for the overuse of adverbs, right?)

I’ll admit that thinking about caskets and what to wear for that “eternal suit” is out a bit there (Wake me in my favorite “Jazz” shirt with Ornette Coleman on it, please) and may actually signal a need for serious professional help but I’m thinking about this from an entertainment angle.

Alright, many “earth baths” are dreadfully sad.
With all the nasty diseases that plague this planet there are arguably more “sad” deaths than “happy” ones, if you know what I mean.

Maybe I feel the way I do because of the way my mother died; which unfortunately is the same way my father will die.
That really sucks and there’s nothing remotely funny there.
But some of the memories are funny; and we need desperately to remember some of those. We have to.

I want people to walk out of the church after my service and say, “Man, what an awesome funeral! Great tunes and I never laughed so much in my life!”

I sell Lenny Clarke cigars; maybe he’d do my eulogy for a box of Arturo Fuente Chateau’s.
I can only hope.

Death is just way too serious a thing for me, I guess.

I honestly think that when you “mail in your final warranty card” you also put an end to all of the never-ending bullshit you could never deal with when you were actually breathing.

Obviously, breathing was something you immensely enjoyed doing but hey, that’s all over now, buddy.

Maybe you get gills in the afterlife.

It’s all just a big maybe because no one really knows (except for maybe Smith, a closet theologian at heart)

I don’t mean to make light of taking part in singing with the angels but it is part of the overall human experience.

All I ask is that my family sees me off with a few laughs, as long as I go somewhat naturally.

Is that so wrong?

Once again, another big maybe . . .

If you’re curious about what song inspired this post
(and you like a cappella religious/gospel music ala Take Six) check out Eventide.

There are a few copies selling for pretty cheap and I have to say the singing/arranging is quite impressive.
Amazing actually . . .
Check out “For All the Saints”, a song you’ve heard many times before but never like this.
I thank my buddy Eliud for the CD.
Made my ride home easy tonight . . .

(Talk about scraping the bottom of the blogging barrel
for a post, huh?)

~m

Vick.
Isn’t it ironic that his last name rhymes with dick?
Here’s to hoping someone throws the whole God damned book at this smug bastard . . .

~m

ps. a shout out to my bud Will for sending the awesome pic 

Some nasty problems with my computer.
Be back shortly.
I hope . . .
~m

Just to let you know I’m alive and well.
There just hasn’t been enough time to put together anything worthwhile
for you to read.
I spent all last night trying (unsuccessfully) to install Norton Systemworks on Sarah’s laptop.
I “chatted” online with several analysts in India before finally reaching someone named Arun who solved my problem.
I found that chatting is a hell of a lot easier than trying to talk with these guys on the phone.
The ‘puter problem is now solved and I’m going to try and get back to normal soon.
This post is a confession of sorts (yes, I know, another one)
The warm summer nights mean two basic things to me: cigars and beer.
Sorry to say blogging has taken a back seat.
In a few short months the weather will change and I’ll find myself back inside looking for a pen and my journal.
I changed my header so that you’d know I was still alive.
But I’m still something of a suckbag because I’ve replied to no comments and visited virtually no one.
I do apologize. If only there were 36 hours in a day . . .
One last note, my left thumb was infected.
I went to Urgent Care Sunday night after getting back from Boston.
The doc got out a scalpel and went to town on my digit before squeezing out
a bunch of disgusting spooge.
I’m currently on antibiotics and I think I’m going to make it.
Don’t give up on me just yet.
I may even surprise you all with a comment or two tonight. Maybe. :0)
Oh, and a bit on the picture above?
I thought it was strange.
Just like me . . .
~m

Sending this one out with a special dedication to my sister. :0)
(just back from Jamaica)
Out straight this past weekend folks with work and a short trip to Urgent Care
to take care of my left thumb which went over to the dark side (literally)
I’ll try to catch up on your comments sometime this evening.
peace, out

~m

[youtube=http://youtube.com/watch?v=LTlyhki6pwc]

Had a nice post for tonight but I never got around to writing it.
Maybe tomorrow.
I have some funky stuff going on with my left thumb.
It hurts like hell.
I think I have a sliver in it or something.
I would never put up an asshat post like this without at least giving you a cool link for your time.
I hate people that have no frickin’ clue about how to park in a big city, don’t you?
Click the pic above for one radical solution.
Nighty-night, folks.
Check back sometime tomorow . . . please?

~m

I’ve worked in Boston for over three years and have yet to go see these guys.
Actually, one of them is a customer of mine.
And yeah, he’s bald too.
Cool, short video.
Have a great weekend, peoples . . .

~m

[youtube=http://youtube.com/watch?v=snPdEl0Duoo]