01-28-2006, 01:08 PM
Well, while we are campaining to mollycoddle these murderers, how about we campaign for the victims too.
Getting shot HURTS LIKE HELL. Having a hole blown through your liver or your lungs is no friggin picnic. Getting shot in the face hurts like a meatball forker. So I demand that murderers kill their victims in the most humane way possible. Real gentle and cuddly like. Like... With cutesy little teddy bears and butterflies and rainbows and crap.
Of course, the other solution is not so gentle or humane. Bring back prison islands. Have prisoners grow their own food and manufacture all their own goods. No work = no eat. By the sweat of their brow they can earn their own bread.
Death row is a pretty sweet gig compared to previous life standards some of these sorts of guys lived in. Air conditioning, several meals a day, hot, and brought right to them. Room service. TV. Cable or even dish TV now. Snacks. All these things to coddle them and keep them from being "stressed." A lot of folk on the row even have a computer with high speed net access in their cells now. To keep them from being "stressed." Why, I was just reading about right here where I live how some prisoners are getting that Sirius or XM or whatever it is radio. Because it keeps them pacified, and there is some talk about letting prisoners have "rec time" with an xbox or some kind of game system for a couple of hours a day to keep them from being "stressed."
Sorry... But people in this situation being stressed is the least of their concerns. There is being dead. Which is the end of the line. Put them in their cell with a few books and that's it. Let them think about what they did and get themselves right with whomever they call God. Don't distract them. Let them sweat over their coming date with Thanatos.
Or, like I said, get rid of the death penalty and bring back prison islands. Not for everybody, only for the unrepentant and the incurable.
Getting shot HURTS LIKE HELL. Having a hole blown through your liver or your lungs is no friggin picnic. Getting shot in the face hurts like a meatball forker. So I demand that murderers kill their victims in the most humane way possible. Real gentle and cuddly like. Like... With cutesy little teddy bears and butterflies and rainbows and crap.
Of course, the other solution is not so gentle or humane. Bring back prison islands. Have prisoners grow their own food and manufacture all their own goods. No work = no eat. By the sweat of their brow they can earn their own bread.
Death row is a pretty sweet gig compared to previous life standards some of these sorts of guys lived in. Air conditioning, several meals a day, hot, and brought right to them. Room service. TV. Cable or even dish TV now. Snacks. All these things to coddle them and keep them from being "stressed." A lot of folk on the row even have a computer with high speed net access in their cells now. To keep them from being "stressed." Why, I was just reading about right here where I live how some prisoners are getting that Sirius or XM or whatever it is radio. Because it keeps them pacified, and there is some talk about letting prisoners have "rec time" with an xbox or some kind of game system for a couple of hours a day to keep them from being "stressed."
Sorry... But people in this situation being stressed is the least of their concerns. There is being dead. Which is the end of the line. Put them in their cell with a few books and that's it. Let them think about what they did and get themselves right with whomever they call God. Don't distract them. Let them sweat over their coming date with Thanatos.
Or, like I said, get rid of the death penalty and bring back prison islands. Not for everybody, only for the unrepentant and the incurable.
All alone, or in twos,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."