Earlier this week I shared a news article on Facebook about a man who got high on bath salts and killed his neighbours’ pygmy goat. The article was the most unintentionally funny thing I’ve read in a long time.
What’s funny about an apparently crazy young man killing his neighbours’ pet? Let me quickly summarise for those of you who, like me, usually refuse to Read The Frakkin’ Article. This news story is two pages long and opens by telling us about how a neighbour walked into the man’s (boy? He’s 19 and obviously deranged) room to see the fellow dressed in a bra and panties, covered in blood. Next to him is the poor goat, mortally wounded and seemingly sexually violated.* The high fellow then takes off running into the woods, either ashamed or in some sort of bath-product induced paranoia. Then the reporter interviewed the people in the neighbourhood who all talk about this crazy kid and his growing weirdnesses. It apparently started with babbling to himself and stealing the communion wine–clearly gateway crimes to cross-dressing, bestiality and animal sacrifice.
*They’re doing a necropsy to determine the extent of damage done to the poor innocent creature.
Anyway, here’s the part that cracked me up (and John Hutchenson too, because he was the first to mention it.) The police arrive at the scene. They enter the crazy boy’s bedroom, see the entire scene minus the boy and then find the boy in the woods. Apparently he was still in the bra and panties because that looks to be what he’s wearing in the mugshot.
So the police dust the neighbour’s goat chain for fingerprints.
I swear I laughed about that for five minutes. Because dirty magazine pictures, violently violated animal corpses, blood, and a crazed cross-dresser aren’t convincing enough evidence.
We still have to check for fingerprints.
Yes, I realise that law enforcement requires a level of slavish attention to detail which often alludes me in my quest to do as much as I can in each short day. But it got me to thinking this morning about how often I (and others) spend time convincing ourselves to remain unconvinced of one thing or another. How many times I’ve been convinced that I can’t write because I haven’t had fiction published–never mind that writing is about all I do all day, I’ve been paid to do it under various circumstances for more than 10 years and several people tell me that I am pretty good. I’m STILL dusting the chain for fingerprints. The chain that keeps me from running free.
I’d give other examples of fingerprint dusting I see around me but I don’t think it’s appropriate to pick on people without their consent.** Just trust me when I say that I’m betting I’m not alone.
**Yes, this makes April Fool’s Day a bit harder to pull off.