Clareified

SMOKING KILLS

Apparently, so does the smoking ban.

IT’S NOT MINE, OFFICER, IT’S THE DOG’S

Matthew Porter and two friends were playing Frisbee golf in a park Monday when a police officer who thought he smelled burning marijuana began questioning them.
As the officer was checking for outstanding warrants, J.D. waded into a nearby creek and emerged with a plastic bag containing the drug.
Porter, 25, was charged with possessing drug paraphernalia. Micah Hays, 24, was charged with marijuana possession. J.D. was turned over to the third person at the park, who faces no charges.

I swear!

A NIGHTMARE, ON MY STREET

I usually don’t watch horror movies.
It’s not because the movies themselves scare me — with the exception of the freakishly frightening ‘28 Days,’ most horror flick fare is way tamer than your average episode of CSI.
No, I try not to watch horror movies because I have an peculiar ability to take the premise of a horror flick and turn it over in my head, expanding the storyline and intensifying the depravity, until I have scared myself to death. (I do it with all movies actually, I have this whole extended plot line for ‘When Harry Met Sally’ that involves one of their children getting addicted to heroine that’d make you weep.)
Call it, Imagination Fanfic before there was such a thing.
I mean, Jason’s hockey mask killings aren’t so scary, but if you imagine that the evil isn’t in Jason, but in the mask and that one of the “Jasons” finally figures that out and begins mass producing them and anyone whose face gets fitted with the mask becomes a killer — well, then a five-year long aversion to Halloween and hockey suddenly doesn’t seem so irrational.
So, not surprisingly, a few days after I saw ‘Pet Sematary’ I was lying in bed thinking about the movie.
Why was the cemetary name misspelled? Someone had to help the kids make the sign, right? I mean kids aren’t cutting wood all by themselves and climbing ladders to hang the signs…or were they?
Whether I fell asleep before I started imagining the whole town of these dead child carpenters or if they were the last conscious thoughts I had before drifting off, I can’t say with certainity.
But sure enough, moments later I was suddenly in that stupid town investigating the disappearance of Dr. Creed.
Evidently, we had a meeting scheduled and when he didn’t show I took a flight out to see what had happened. Finding his house deserted, I went across the street and discovered the rotting corpse of Fred Gywnne’s character.
I stumble backwards out of the room (as all good horror movie soon-to-be-next-victims do) and end up running downstairs into his basement. The room is filled with old leather journals. I open one up and find that all the pages have the same message scrawled desperately across the pages “Dead is better. Dead is better. Dead is better.”
I scream and run back upstairs. But the basement door is locked.
I go back to the basement and smash one of the windows.
“Not fair. Not fair,” says a voice from the top of the stairs.
“Who’s there? ”
Now, I’m panicking.
I know who it is.
That freaking creepy demon baby –Gage.
But I can’t see him anywhere.
Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my ankle. I look down and see a syringe sticking out of my leg and demon baby cackling at my feet.
The next thing I know, I’m lying on a table — presumably built by the zombie child carpenters because my arms and legs are strapped in.
I am completely paralyzed by whatever was in the syringe. But I can, for some reason, telepathically communicate with the demon baby.
“Where’s Dr. Creed?” I think demandingly.
“Oh, you’ll see him sooooon,” demon baby hisses.
“Why is dead better?”
“Oh, I don’t think it isssssssss,”
This is no good. I want out. I try to wake up. Gage is crawling toward me with the knife.
I start to pray.
“God, doesn’t live here. HAHAHHAHAHAAHHHAA” Demon baby was getting closer.
I tried to shake myself awake, but I couldn’t move. Damn those zombie kids and their superior carpentry skills.
Finally I screamed as loud as I could and heard a weak murmur.
I’m doing it! I’m waking up.
I screamed again and turned from side to side.
My voice was getting a little louder. Demon baby raised the knife above his head.
I screamed. That did it. I bolted upright in my bed.
Surrounded by the darkness of my room, I could make out the figures of my dresser, my bookcase, my stereo. The radiator pipes were clanging, the TV had a weird glow about it.
I am not safe here.
I got out of bed and creeped into the hallway.
“Mommy?”
“Mommy!”
“Hmm”
“Are you sleeping?”
“What happened?”
“Umm…a demon is trying to kill me.”
“What kind of demon?”
“A baby demon. I mean a demon baby. It died and now it’s a zombie baby and it wants to kill me because I know.”
“Ok.”
“Can I sleep in here? I think it’s coming up through the radiator in my room.”
“Ok.”
“Mommy, can I sleep on that side? This side’s too close to my room.”
“Nothing is going to happen to you. What does the demon baby look like?”
“Umm…he’s like a baby size. But he walks. He’s a white baby and has a knife.”
“Ok. See, Dawn no white baby is coming to this neighborhood at 2 in the morning.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s scared.”
“Ok, go to sleep. I’ll watch for the baby.”
“OK. But he stuck me with a needle and then they tied me to a table. So…I don’t know…be careful. He looks like a baby, but he’s not. He’s evil.”
I couldn’t see my mother’s face in the darkness, but she was smiling now and I knew if I said another word of caution about the demon baby, she would start laughing.
“OK, say your prayers and go to sleep.”
I guess she doesn’t know that God doesn’t live in the demon baby town.
“Goodnight, Dawn.”
“Night, mom. ”
I feel asleep easily knowing my mom was just a few inches away ready to take out Gage and his little zombie carpenter army.
My mom’s pretty awesome.
Sadly, considering all of this happened yesterday, I, on the other hand, am probably in need of some considerable pyschiatric assistance.

N.H.L. Commissioner Cancels Season!!!!

And still, no one gives a crap.

The Trial Of My Utter Lack of Desire to Do a Damn Thing

Dawn Summers: So. We meet again?
MULODTDADT: (Shrug)
DS: Can I call you Mulo?
MULODTDADT: (Yawn)
DS: I’m sorry. Are you tired? Well, if you had made any effort at all to find the remote, which is likely under the bed, we wouldn’t have had to sleep with the television on all night. Or you could have shut it off on the way to the bathroom like I suggested after we were woken up by a Bowflex commercial for the fifth time.
MULODTDADT: (Nods)
DS: Now, Mulo, is there any possibility that you could actually become something more trendy like AHDD or Seasonal Affective Disorder? I think you get some time off to treat those. Generalized laziness, like yourself, on the other hand just elicits reproaching stares.
MULODTDADT: (inaudible)
DS: Well, do you think you could try to be more European and pretentious? Like ‘ennui’ or something?
MULODTDADT: (indistinct)
DS: True. I could add the word ’syndrome’ to my utter lack of desire to do a damn thing’ and try to get the disease named after me.
MULODTDADT: (Scratches.)
DS: Mulo, I am going to need you to answer my questions verbally. These proceedings are being transcribed and every time the reporter types a colon with your parenthetical non-responses, an unhappy smiley face appears in the record. That is not your intention is it, Sir?
MULODTDADT: (frowning)
DS: Sir, you stand accused of slowly draining the lifeforce from a once vibrant young woman, intentional infliction of subpar posting an unsuspecting blog-reading public, negligence, assault, fraud and piracy. I admonish you to take this seriously. Do you understand? Mulo? MULO! WAKE UP!
MULODTDADT: (blinks)
DS: Damn you. No further questions.

EXPERIMENTING WITH INSANITY

Calling Mulder and Scully…Paul thinks somethings afoot with “The Gates.”

NO COMMENT

Actually, I take that back. What the hell?

Aura dropped her 5-month-old daughter, Nataly, during the explosion of violence in Brentwood that left the baby’s young mother dead and father charged with murder.

The slaughter ended a twisted love triangle in which Urbina, 29, began a sexual relationship with the girl after her mother, Maria Cardona, 43, dumped him for being abusive.
The slaying came just two months after Urbina was deported to his native Honduras after being convicted of statutory rape, prosecutors said.

She was 14 when he got her pregnant, but both Aura and Cardona pleaded with a judge not to sentence him to jail, according to court records.

ISN’T HE LOVELY

Let me get this straight: I get Scrubs, then Clay Aiken guest starring, then a Scrubs within a Scrubs and then Clay Aiken singing??? Could this day be any better?

Don’t think so.

B.Y.O.L.T.

(Or Bring Your Own Lit Torch for those of you not up on the IM lingo.)

While many are calling for a renewed commitment to prevention efforts and free condoms, some veterans of the war on AIDS are advocating an entirely new approach to the spread of unsafe sex, much of which is fueled by a surge in methamphetamine abuse. They want to track down those who knowingly engage in risky behavior and try to stop them before they can infect others.

Maybe they’ll find the “real killers” along the way. Ooh and Jimmy Hoffa.

SIGH

Fifteen-year-old may get life for murders committed when he was twelve.

Defense attorneys urged the jury to send a message to the nation by blaming Zoloft for the killings. They said the negative effects of Zoloft are more pronounced in youngsters, and the drug affected Pittman so he did not know right from wrong.
“We do not convict children for murder when they have been ambushed by chemicals that destroy their ability to reason,” attorney Paul Waldner said.
But prosecutors called the Zoloft defense a smokescreen, saying the then-12-year-old Pittman knew exactly what he was doing three years ago when he shot his grandparents, torched their house and then drove off in their car.

So how young is too young to be put on trial for your life?