Ok, I was going to start out by telling y'all about the boner Kaffy's cat pops everytime he gets on his groove, but I'm going to save it for later, because first, I have to tell you about the dream I just had before I got up, plus I can't NOT comment on the headline with which I was greeted upon logging on.
First, the headline (see
here). Mmm-hmmmmm, because ordering your girlfriend to
take off her clothes and having a dude
she just met go down on her, then SHOOTING THEM BOTH, isn't cruel and unusual. Riiiiiiight. (Background info courtesy of
here.)
My thoughts? I think that if you do something you're not supposed to, the punishment should fit the crime, hot-poker-up-the-ass for hot-poker-up-the-ass. So, if you murder someone, especially more than once like this idiot did, I don't think it's right that he should be allowed to choose the way he gets to die. All he's doing is wasting our money, getting too much press time, and, I suspect, trying to get some poor schmuck to write his life story. Maybe it's just me, but I don't think he's entitled to that.
Now, my dream: It starts off with me covering an afternoon event at a gi-normous church (not sure the denomination), and there's a small, rectangular hole not unlike a grave filled with water out to the left in front of the church's yard. Not sure what that's about, but there are benches around it, and people are sitting around enjoying the day. So I'm talking to someone, and I notice a guy in a suit and tie is sitting at the edge of the hole and pushing himself in. Once he's submerged, I realize he's trying to drown himself and start running back toward the church, screaming for people to call 911. About 10 minutes later (at least, in dream time), EMS shows up, and he's dead.
So fast forward to that evening -- I've now covered a Gary Airport meeting, and I'm all fucked up because I just watched a guy kill himself that afternoon, but I follow the people at the meeting to a bar. We get there, and I'm talking to the people, hysterical at trying to explain what's been going on, and I find out that the person was a former friend of mine whom I haven't spoken to in several years because of some retarded falling-out. Well, now I'm all kinds of insane, because I didn't recognize that it was my friend. So, his wife is at the bar, and she and I start talking, and we're trying to figure out what made him want to kill himself; she never saw it coming, and I wouldn't have known anything, either, because we hadn't spoken in awhile. As we're leaving, we get caught in a traffic jam trying to get out of the parking lot, but we end up back at his parents' house when they lived in the area, which just so conveniently had the funeral home attatched to it as well as the house he, his wife and son were living in. She shows me stuff he may have left as clues to his imminent demise (like leaving his savings book on a desk) plus these bags of candy that he would cut the bags into strips, but the candy wouldn't fall out for some reason (!). He didn't cut the bag of long, grape Jolly Ranchers, because I supposedly gave them to him and therefore they were not worthy of his cutting them (!). Well, as we go to the end of the candy-bag line, I see that the house is at the foot of an airport landing (!!), and all of a sudden I'm back at the office trying to look for the story I wrote about my friend's death and comparing it to the competition's account. They, of course, had his name spelled wrong, which thrilled me to no end. At that point or shortly after, the alarm went off.
More on Kaffy's cat boner later. Did I mention that when I woke up from having fallen asleep on the couch, the episode of "A Different World" where Tisha Campbell give a speech about her having AIDS was on?
Oh, whatEVER.