Gotta make this quick. It’s Tuesday night, and I have a garbage bag full of bead necklaces and my shirt’s already half unbuttoned. Wait, scratch that. If I go out tonight, Police Chief Deb Linden will send me tarred and feathered down Higuera Street on a horse-drawn cart with a sign around my neck that says, “This one forgot the rules.”
Maybe if I stay away from big groups and only show a teensy bit of cleavage it’ll be OK.
Was that enough words? No? Bollocks! (Thanks to the letter writer who suggested I tone down the potty mouth and replace my sometimes salty language with English or Latin alternatives.)
What now? Well, there was a plethora of angry letters clogging my inbox last week. The merda really hit the fan (look it up) after I shredded Supervisor Adam Hill and Animal Services Director Eric Anderson. There was a tinge of bitterness about my mention of Supervisor Jim Patterson, too.
“Hmmm, I wonder whom The Shredder has been talking to,” Tom Murray wrote.
“As far as the roosters go, try using your paper to find good homes for at least 10 percent of them, if you can,” Larry Kahn wrote.
We can’t, Larry, but more on that later.
My personal favorite came from one D. Sapriel: “The Shredder may not need to live up to the same journalistic standards as a traditional news reporter, but not one shred of evidence supported the ad hominem attack on Third District Supervisor Adam Hill, which positively reeked of second-hand malice and sour grapes.”
First off, great pun D. As for the rest of it, I don’t have journalistic standards.
Hoobidy hoo blah blee bloo blah.
See? That was just to fill some space and buy some time to brainstorm a response.
The Hill stuff is pertinent because a batch of his previous supporters aren’t just miffed at him, they’re all together against him. That’s a big deal. Like Abel Maldonado calling Arnold Schwarzenegger a girlie man.
Is this divisive? Absolutely. But since when does everyone have to glad hand all the time? Some will say partisanship isn’t an issue here because our politicians have the luxury of not having party affiliations. Really? Besides, political bickering is good when it’s over a politician who says one thing to get into office and then flips once he’s secured a seat, even if only some of the people would call it a flip. You may want to see your representatives sink into banality and placate everyone. I want them clawing over every issue and fighting for what they supposedly believed in as a candidate. Granted, eventually they will have to budge a little, but at least put up a fight in the meantime.
Now about that Anderson guy and those chickens that were killed: Here’s what Anderson said in an e-mail after New Times offered to run an ad in a failed attempt to find homes for the 100 or so roosters recently seized in a cock-fighting-ring bust:
“… the court order directing the euthanasia of the birds was carried out a short time prior to the receipt of your message.”
Believe me, I get it. There’s no easy way to find homes for animals bred and trained for murder. And I’m not blaming Anderson, per se, and certainly not the volunteers. The point that seemed to wash over was the irony of rescuing animals from one horror and shipping them over to another: namely, death. But there was no apparent attempt by Animal Services to find people willing to take in a rooster or two. There are other non-kill shelters in the county, too. Harp on me if you will—I’m sure you will.
Then I saw this e-mail from someone else at the shelter: “We follow the policy of the Humane Society of the U.S. which recommends all fighting animals to be euthanized. The roosters were not available for adoption due to their fighting history AND the court order. Had you guys contacted me sooner I could have explained that.”
Maybe I blamed the wrong people. Sorry, shelter folk. Screw you, Humane Society! You now get the ironic-sadists-of-the-week award. But anyone who can argue with a straight face that these roosters or the Christmas kittens were truly rescued or that this was a humane act gets a necklace. But you still have to show me your boobs. Sorry, I mean bosom.
As for things I can say that no one will get mad at me about: David Weyrich is back in the news again and as broke as ever. I take that back; Weyrich might get mad. According to the Pacific Coast Business Times, the guy is facing at least three multi-million dollar foreclosures on his failed wineries and two disgustingly large homes. Meanwhile, what’s this I hear about him running around writing bad checks to his employees?
You might think, “How does this happen? Surely someone will step in.” You’re right—theoretically speaking.
To nail Weyrich on anything beyond public shame—to which he is now mostly immune thanks to a case of overexposure—the bad check portion of the county Economic Crime Unit has to file with the District Attorney’s Office. So far there’s been no such filing—not even an inkling, I’m told. Even people in the District Attorney’s Office are surprised. Maybe it’s a tie for the sadist award.
Blee bloo blah. ∆
I’m tired. Don’t write this week to firstname.lastname@example.org.