historical hoodies

Fascinating accounts of Victorian criminality, rescued from the oblivion of the humble dumpster. From the Daily Mail, via Fark.Wee Georgie Sayers

Little George Sayers was scarcely a hardened criminal. Just 13 years old, small for his age due to malnourishment, his little face screwed up in an expression of bewilderment, he faced the police camera in May 1900 fearing, quite rightly, that he would be beaten for his crimes.

George was accused of stealing handkerchiefs, rugs, skirts and shirts worth three pounds and ten shillings from the Newcastle shop where he was employed as an errand boy.

When he heard the charge, he burst into tears. One of some 14 children, whose father had deserted his 52-year-old mother Emma, leaving her to feed and clothe her huge brood alone. He was accused along with his mother, who admitted she had put him up to his petty thieving. ‘I told him to take them. Don’t blame the boy,’ she gallantly told the police.

Another of the pair’s methods was to steal clothes off the neighbours’ washing lines, whereupon Emma would whisk the loot around to the local pawnbroker where they were hocked to get money for the family. It was the pawnbroker who tipped off the police when he became suspicious.

These stories, and some 300 others, all equally poignant, have just been uncovered by retired North Shields policeman Ken Banks.

Every now and again a new study comes out, saying exactly the same thing as every study ever commissioned on the same damn subject: the majority of crime is committed by young men.

And every now and again, someone says “Well, now that we know who’s responsible, we can take action.” And they go on to say exactly how, in minute detail and at great length, particularly if they’re paid by the word. No actual progress in reducing the crime rate so far, even by those who are looking to lay a Putin on the skulking minors.

The problem transcends culture, race, and even time itself; look at the historic documents and legends of any culture on the planet. It’s always the damn hoodies!

The solution is not to ban rap music. The solution is not to blast ultrasonic waves or Wagner into the park at night, annoying the neighbors and turning the usually peaceful squirrels into raging Clockwork Orange Lodge Members in good standing.

The solution, my friends, is to ban young men.

Simple, elegant, and utterly effective. Rather than wait several years until they’re eligible for trial as adults and real (and really expensive) prison time, I suggest that we just pre-emptively lock them up from the ages of 12 to, say, 21.

I know what you’re thinking.

Half of my readers are thinking, “Well dammit, isn’t that what we’ve got tv and meaningless after-school activities for?

While the other half are thinking “Well dammit, isn’t that what we have boarding school and University for?

And quite right you both are. With the half-life of a hoodie at only five years, containment IS solution.

Today in Crazy US Weekly Guy News: the demon drink

Crazy US Weekly Guy 

Don’t know if you’ve been following the internet drama over at Gawker, but it’s reached DefCon 3 and is heating up faster than John Hinckley at a Freaky Friday matinee. I referred to Crazy Us Weekly Guy once before, with fervent hopes this wasn’t a short, but would turn out more like the LOTR of the Internet, with Jessica in the part of Arwen and C.U.W.G. as Aragorn. I think Janice Min is Denethor, but it’s hard to tell.

In any case, the whole saga has bypassed Middle Earth entirely, and has quickly washed up on the seamy shores of Trees Lounge. No three hour tour, this. Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

A dainty slice from the 200-page potroast  of a document which he sent Gawker:

in us weekly, issue 5/15/06, on page 38 is an ad for absolut vodka. on the next page (page 39), is jessica alba.

the first message is:

jessica alba sol = jessica alba soulmate.

the second message is in the word vodka. MIT (a school famous for science, which i will explain the significance of later) makes their “u’s” look like “v’s.” because of this, “u” and “v” are interchangeable.

“k” is short for “okay.”

“a” is the 1st letter of the alphabet

therefore, the word vodka, becomes the message:

do, ok?, u 1 =

“i do. you’re the one, okay?”

look at the word ABSOLUT [vodka]:Absolut bullshit, really

Tee is what you hit a golf ball off of, jessica golfs
U = you
ABS = absolute

so the message becomes “you and t (=jessica) absolute soulmates”
the ad for the absolut vodka, is on page 38. this is no accident. this is kind of a joke between me and god, that it is going to take 3.8 seconds for jessica to say yes “i want to marry you.”

this is an aside, i’ve been working on my proposal for a while, and first i had the idea of being married to jessica after several years of dating. then years became months, months became days, then days became hours. then hours became one hour. then i thought to myself “why can’t i make it instantaneously?” god told me then “1 minute.” then one minute became a few seconds, then finally god said “3.8 seconds.” this number comes up frequently, and it refers to winning over a person (in this case jessica, my soulmate) at the speed of light.

the fact that a bottle of vodka is on page 38 (=3.8 seconds) is a clear sign to me, that my affect on jessica alba will be intoxicating – a bottle of vodka!

and now, i’m planning on making it instantaneously, “yes!” even less than 3.8 seconds.

lastly, and this is cute, on the ad for the vodka bottle is the word “proof.” as in god is offering some proof to the world.

And so on…

I’m easily pleased

Peppermint Patty 

I’m pleased, for example, by the fact that the gay couple who just walked by me at the Chinatown Night Market mistook…

Hang on, perhaps we need some background.

Okay, so this hasn’t been the easiest two or three years of my life. I turned 43, not much cause for celebration under any circumstances. Undiagnosed illnesses are highly inconvenient, not just because it is, under the circumstances, just as impossible to get on disability as it is to hold down a full-time job. The fact that Investor’s Group gave my father’s life savings to someone who is not a legal heir, and that I am on the hook for the whole amount if I can’t get it from them, is another energy drain. Let us not speak of the Orwellian Nightmare that is the Ministry, nor the box o’ delights that the foodbank has been known to provide from time to time (their beef stew “helps build healthy coats” according to the label).

And I got fat.

All very annoying, and not designed to have me looking my best, particularly tonight, as last night I put in a wad of deep conditioner and didn’t bother to rinse it out, thinking instead that if it worked well in five minutes it’ll totally kick ass if I leave it in for 24 hours. As well, I have finally tired of packing a caboose of this magnitude around everywhere I go and so tonight, hair frozen in greasy curls and all, I went out and got some good, old-fashioned exercise. Hey, it’s Vancouver, I figured. Everybody looks like an extra on Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

So I was not looking my very best.

And as I passed the gay couple on my way to get the $1.50 hotdog at the Market, one of them, apparently mistaking me for a junkie because of my loopily exhausted walk and personal fashion sense (still wearing the fragrant and ratty T and pants I’d gone skating in), turned to his partner and whispered, “That poor girl.”

I practically skipped home.

He called me a “girl!” I still qualify!

 

Letter o’ the Day: Dear Gawker, The Voices Say You Wanna Ride Shotgun

Hell, I’d say yes. At this point, it would be a step up.

Go to the Gawker site for the, uh, 50+ comments (did I mention I’m a Gawker commenter now? Well, guess what? I’m a GAWKER FUCKING COMMENTER NOW, bytches but I’m all, like, cool about it and shit) but I will repost the whole letter here. Hell, I’d even include the real name if I knew it.

Bonnie Fuller“?

John, meet Mark

From the mailbox, presented without comment:

Gawker,

• I’m trying to be #2 at US weekly, and have a paradigm shift for achieving this; my intuition is that if you could be on the staff of US, you would take it

• My soulmate is a hollywood actress, and I’ve been waiting patiently for her, for almost 5 years; I can demonstrate that we’re soulmates and I’m infinitely confident she would say yes

• I receive concrete signs from GOD, and can offer proof to ANY reporter in REAL TIME; I’ve been getting signs for over 4 years – I can assure you I’m not crazy or delusional

No, really. I'm not insane

My goal is to reach the editor of US weekly, Janice Min, and present her with my signs as well as my new paradigm for the success of her magazine. In exchange for your help, I promise you that if I get on the staff of US weekly, so will you. I have a bold new idea that I believe will be extremely popular and very invigorating to implement. It will be very rewarding and life-affirming working for US.

I have an intuition about youI feel good about this. No, really., as well as your website, that’s why I’m proposing this arrangement (US) to you.

Can we have an e-mail dialogue? Can I send you some of the signs?

Sincerely,
[xxx]

Is it so wrong of me to hope they say “yes”?

Crazy Sunday

Forget the Narnia Raps. Reverend Alecia here is the one true Internet insanity. Judging by the effects, the fact that rotating computer chairs were available, and that the Tootie hairstyle was still au courant, I’m pegging this at about 1983, and off the crazy scale.

Give Thanks! that you’re not as whack as Reverend Alecia

From Perez Hilton, who knows a crazy, chairdancin’ bitch when he sees one.