Barnes & Noble Butt-Slam

So I get a gift card from my coworkers to Barnes & Noble. I can't wait to get online and look for some much needed new reading material. I scan the newest releases, intent on getting the most bang I can for my forty bucks. I decide on three selections: "My Life Decoded," "The Portable Atheist," and "The Book of General Ignorance." The first is an autobiography of Craig Venter, the scientist who mapped the human genome. The second is a compilation of great writers and scientists making the case for atheism, the introduction written by Christopher Hitchens, one of my favorites. The last is a book of obscure facts and useless information. Something I cannot live without.

I place the order on December 4, 2007, at 8:42AM. The sky was clear on that day and I remember a refreshing cool breeze coming in from the North. Now, on the order screen, it asked me if I wanted to spend an extra $14.00 to have the items sent rush delivery. The free shipping was supposed to be from 8-11 business days. I figured I'd have the books in no more than eleven days, way before Christmas. Boy was I wrong. I can envision some cigar puffing order taker shoving my order into some cyber-backlogged void and chuckling a la Robert Deniro in "Cape Fear," where he's taunting the terrified family. "Don't want to pay the shipping, eh, boy? I'll take care of that. You won't be seeing this anytime soon."

So what happened was almost comical. The shipping, from 8-11 days, was only part of the delay. I received an order confirmation that informed me my order would be shipped sometime on or around 12-17-07. The seventeenth? You mean to tell me it takes two weeks to put my books in the mail. I can't help but believe Barnes & Noble punished me for not paying their exorbitant rush shipping fees. "We'll show him." I got my books today, though. And as mad as I am at Barnes & Noble, I'm damn happy to have something new to read.

So screw you belligerent malformed order taker. I hope whatever dungeon they have you sitting in catches fire.

Sue Happy

The following stories are just a few examples of how people hold everyone but themselves responsible for their own kids:

A pioneering elementary school district outside Chicago has been sued for installing a wireless computer network by parents worried that exposure to the network's radio waves could harm their children.
According to the complaint (PDF), filed last month in Illinois state court, parents of five children assert that a growing body of evidence outlines "serious health risks that exposure to low intensity, but high radio frequency radiation poses to human beings, particularly children."

The Wi-Fi Alliance says Wi-Fi networks are safe. The radio waves in a Wi-Fi network use the same frequency as wireless home phones, and have one-thirtieth the power of cordless phones, said Grimm, the spokesman for the group.
http://www.wired.com/science/discoveries/news/2003/10/60769




Incompetent Parents Sue MySpace
Here’s the most interesting claim in the lawsuit filed by parents against MySpace alleging its negligent failure to protect their daughters:
14. Plaintiffs allege and are prepared to show proof that, at all times relevant to the claims alleged herein, said parents were variously too busy, preoccupied, or self-absorbed to attend to their ordinary parenting duties. Alternatively and additionally, the willfullness and independence of their victim children was intimidating and exhausting, for which reason responsibility for defending and guarding the interests of said victims shifted to defendant MySpace.
http://www.techliberation.com/archives/041796.php


By MICHAEL GRABELL / The Dallas Morning News mgrabell@dallasnews.com

The parents of a California teenager who committed suicide after being sexually assaulted by a Celina man she met through MySpace are suing the popular social-networking Web site in Dallas court.
Also Online
Document: Lawsuit filed against MySpace
Link: Tips from MySpace on how users can protect themselves.
According to the lawsuit, the 14-year-old girl, identified as Julie Doe, began a "cyber-relationship" with Kiley Ryan Bowers of Celina in 2005. Their online conversations led to a face-to-face meeting and the sexual assault near her home in Southern California.
Mr. Bowers broke off the relationship several months later, and the girl fell into "a deep depression as a result of the failed, despicable relationship fostered over MySpace," the lawsuit states. She killed herself in July 2006.
Mr. Bowers, 30, pleaded guilty to traveling across state lines to have sex with a minor and was sentenced this summer to nine years in federal prison.
"MySpace knows that it is a haven for sexual predators, yet doesn't put in any security measures to protect young girls," said the family's attorney, Jason Itkin. "We think that with MySpace's right to make a profit comes a responsibility to protect its customers."
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/121207dnmetmyspace.201c77f.html

Parents sue Pi Kappa Phi fraternity
Cal State U.-ChicoThe Orion
(U-WIRE) CHICO, Calif. - The parents of an 18-year-old California State University-Chico student who died of alcohol poisoning last October are suing the fraternity he belonged to for wrongful death, negligence and unfair business practices.
First-year student and Pi Kappa Phi fraternity pledge Adrian Heideman died last fall after drinking an entire bottle of blackberry brandy during an initiation ceremony, according to the lawsuit filed in San Francisco Superior Court.
Now, almost a year after their son's death, Michael and Edith Heideman are suing the national organization Pi Kappa Phi Fraternity, the local chapter of Pi Kappa Phi, and fraternity members Brandon Bettar, Mark Yates, Daniel Santos, Richard DeLuna, Theodore Bloemendaal, Benjamin Hopfer, Sam Dobbyn and Nicholas Sutton, according to the lawsuit.
The Heidemans claim the national and local fraternal organizations are to blame for wrongful death, hazing, dangerous initiation rituals, endangerment and abandonment, improper medical care, failure to supervise initiation events, failure to provide supervision, negligence and unfair business practices.
http://www.illinimedia.com/di/aug01/aug31/news/printer/campus01-printer.shtml

Speaking for the first time since the crash, John and June Aruanno said they don't blame the school district. They have filed a lawsuit against Badke and his father, the owner of the Civic, alleging that the teen was speeding when he collided into their minivan, causing their son's death and the extreme distress of the aftermath."Steven Badke made a decision to go far in excess of the speed limit, and that's what caused him to lose control, Bob Sullivan, the family's attorney, of Mineola, said last week. Badke's family has not replied to requests for comment.The Aruannos aren't stopping there. They will be filing a suit against New York State, claiming that Jericho Turnpike's design and lack of barriers between opposing lanes through Caleb Smith State Park encourages speeding and is an undue risk. There have been four other fatal crashes along that stretch in the last seven years. Yet a 2001 state Department of Transportation study concluded installing a stop light wouldn't improve safety.http://www.newsday.com/news/printedition/longisland/ny-liarua125457526nov12,0,1724809.story


Do we begin to see a pattern here. Someone has to be held responsible in every situation. Parents sue, as if everyone else in the world has an absolute responsibility for a child's safety except the parent. The first story is a beautiful example of frivolous litigation. I'll bet if these parents had to pay for such an action, they would rationalize the venture as too expensive. I like that the entire case is based on no scientific evidence whatsoever. The second example would be comical if it wasn't a shocking display of what's clogging the court system. The parents allege, because they were too busy to watch their children, Myspace became responsible for the child's well being. People want to hold others "absolutely" responsible, especially when "others" are faceless corporations lawyers can extort. But they rationalize their own responsibility away to others. The third example, and another Myspace catastrophe, involves a young woman who meets and has a sexual relationship with an older man online. Where were the parents here? How can your fourteen-year-old have the freedom to meet an older man in the first place? Didn't they ask her who she chatted with? Or who she was meeting? Did they drive her? I don't see how the website is responsible for neglect.

The fourth example is again ridiculous. If your kid makes bad decisions and overdoses on alcohol, why blame the fraternity? Did they force the kid to drink?

The last story reminds me of a case here in Raleigh. This family was struck by speeding teens resulting in their son's fatality. But, for some reason, they want to sue the state, alleging the road needs more barriers and obstructions to slow speeders down. Here in Raleigh, four teens died crossing a bridge at nearly 120 mph. I heard callers on a local radio show actually blaming the bridge, rather than the behavior. It's not the state's fault these people were driving like madmen. The responsibility lies with the person.

Poor Little Thief

Selma — A grand jury could decide Monday if a Selma man should face charges in a case that ended with the death of a suspected intruder. John Reid said he was trying to block two men from leaving his property on Nov. 8 when he says he accidentally hit the gas pedal. Reid's pickup hit Cornelius Brown, pinning him between the truck and a fence. Brown died the next day at the hospital. Another man, Mark Ray McNair, 46, of Dudley, was charged with trespassing and larceny in connection with the incident.

Reid said his property had been burglarized several times in recent months. Investigators found a piece of machinery belonging to Reid into the back of the suspects' car.
Johnston County District Attorney Susan Doyle sent the case to the grand jury because of the unusual facts and complex legal issues.

http://www.wral.com/news/local/story/2148635/

Poor thief. I mean, all he did was break into this guy's home and steal equipment the man uses to make a living. And it looks like this guy has been victimized several times in the past. I think when you take risks to commit a crime and things don't work out, the courts should chalk it up to an occupational hazard. This thief died and the world is better off for it.

I don't believe for one second Mr. Reid intended to kill the crook. I think he over-reacted and the man died as a result. Too bad for Mr. thief. Give Mr. Reid back his auger, stick the other thief in prison, and lets all get on with life!

Monkey see

NEW DELHI (AFP) — The mayor of the Indian capital said Monday that authorities could not deal with the scourge of violent monkeys, blamed for the death of a top city official over the weekend.
The danger posed by the estimated 10,000 monkeys that roam the city was brought home sharply on Sunday when deputy mayor S.S. Bajwa, 52, died after falling from his apartment while fighting a horde of wild simians.
"We have neither the expertise nor the infrastructure to deal with the situation," said Delhi's mayor Aarti Mehra, amid a barrage of criticism.
If the animals are caught, "we are under pressure to release them due to pressure from animal activists and from people due to religious reasons," Mehra said.
Culling is unacceptable to Hindus who revere the monkeys as a living link to the deity Hanuman, a monkey god who symbolises strength.
The animals routinely invade parliament, ministries, courts and government offices.
In May, federal lawmakers demanded protection from the marauding simians, which have even broken into the complex that houses Prime Minister Manmohan Singh's office.
Several city residential districts petitioned local courts in 2001 to initiate steps to make New Delhi "monkey-free."
But primatologist Iqbal Malik said local authorities have failed to take action.
"I was first approached by the authorities in 1987 when I drew up a plan to relocate the monkeys," she told AFP. "But all that the authorities have done is listen."
Activist Kartick Satyanarayanan, who heads Wildlife SOS, said the problem was due to the "constant erosion" of the animal's natural habitat.

http://afp.google.com/article/ALeqM5jSKXsBakPuU2p8-0pTjeizOBFgjg

I had to post this story. The mayor attacked and thrown to his death by marauding monkeys? Unbelievable. But even more so are the activists and religious nuts who rally against any form of controlling monkey populations. The credulous churchies obviously believe the monkeys are a sign from God, rather than a band of pests rifled with disease. The activists most likely live elsewhere, in suburbia, and don't have the fear of being viciously attacked, or contracting some horrible virus. So the citizens of New Delhi will just have to suck it up.

The Great Score Keeper

As I've hypothesized before, it is understandable that, as beings in which every cell is programmed for survival, it only makes sense that we humans have devised a scenario in which we survive eternally. Religion gives us this comfort. As sentient beings we are cursed with a tacit knowledge of mortality. A deity or deities release us from an imminent end, promoting a myopic view of the world. "God cares about me." Few ponder a world without themselves.

But, from an evolutionary viewpoint, a cultural pattern is apparent. God as the great score keeper. Our brains evolved so efficiently in response to reciprocal altruism, the key ingredient to every culture on Earth. You do for me and I for you. Alas, the brain had to keep a running tally, and, as populations grew, devise tracking systems and elaborate language to keep up.

A byproduct of altruism is the need to be rewarded for participating. This is where God steps in. It comforts people to know a supreme being is keeping score. Reward is eternal. It makes current injustices more palatable knowing the culprit will only benefit temporarily, as God will no doubt judge the offender in the end.

Benjamin Franklin once remarked religion is a wonderful tool for controlling people. Through the ages we've had thousands of Gods, all sworn to pass judgment on those who cheat the system. And who knows, maybe it is a necessary component of society, as fear of eternal damnation seems to work.

Homeless School

Shivering for a Cause
By RACHEL STOKES Next Correspondent Updated: 12/06/07 11:26 AM


Staying warm in temperature that were in the teens, are, Matt Webb, Andrea Barajas, Jessie Lea Appenheimer, Donovan Block, Liza Fiorello and Sarah Brooks. It was 11 p.m. Friday, the last day of November, with a wind advisory issued for all the counties in Western New York. Instead of being dark, empty and quiet, Cheektowaga Central High School’s front lawn was filled with cardboard boxes, news trucks and dozens of overly excited students. This could only mean one thing: It was time for the Sleepout for the Homeless.
This was Cheektowaga Central’s 10th sleepout, something that school social worker Joan Conti is always very excited about. The sleepout is organized and sponsored by the school’s “Challenge” team, a group that promotes healthy lifestyles, leadership development and social justice. Conti runs the group.

“It takes weeks to prepare,” said senior Liza Fiorello, who has participated in the sleepout three times and is also a member of Challenge. “We call many places to sponsor us, and they each donate $150 for us. And then we ask Dunkin Donuts and even Pizza Hut to donate food and coffee.” Patricia Carter, StudentCouncil adviser, was also excited about the event. “Student Council donated $150,” she said.

Students who sleep out also add to the donation tally. Conti said students must collect sponsorships of “at least $25 to participate, but some pay more.” There are also prizes for a few students who personally raise the most money. Over the years the sleepout has raised more than $20,000, bringing in at least $2,000 this year alone. Half of the money donated goes to Friends of the Night People and the other half to Compass House; both are organizations that give aid to the homeless.

Most students were very excited about the occasion. “I think it’s really cool, this is my fourth year doing this,” said senior Angel Barajas. “It’s also a privilege.”
Freshmen Margaret Drzewiecki, Allyson Maguda and Brenda Soukaseum had always heard good things about the event, and couldn’t wait for 9 p.m. to come so they could experience their first sleepout. All three said that it definitely would not be their last. “It was a learning experience,” said Margaret, and the trio is already planning for the next sleepout. Allyson said what everyone at the event was thinking when she added: “Hopefully [next year] it’ll be warmer.” (The National Weather Service reported a low of 18 degrees overnight.)

The wintry weather definitely made the students realize the conditions that the homeless face. Most participants found out that wearing lots of layers and huddling by the fire was the best way to stay somewhat warm. Sophomore Nicole Scherrer dressed like a pro, despite the fact that it was her first time sleeping out. “I’m wearing two pairs of leggings, a few shirts, and a coat and a hat.” Students are allowed into the school building to warm up and grab some pizza or hot chocolate, while some even chose to bring their boxes inside for the night. Cardboard boxes are an essential part of the sleepout. Friends often combine their boxes to create a larger area, or help each other decorate. Liza’s box featured hearts, stars, and the words “Liza’s Home.” There is a box-decorating contest, with the winner receiving a gift card, but the things inside the box are more important to those participating. “Some people have air mattresses, some people have sleeping bags and pillows and blankets, I have a broken Frisbee in mine. I think one girl has a portable DVD player to watch ‘Happy Feet,’” said Nicole.

Along with helping out those who are less fortunate, the sleepout provides an eye-opening experience for students as well as giving participants the chance to have a whole night of good times with friends. Since the event lasts from 9 p.m. to 7 a.m., the 75 students participating on Friday came up with some interesting ways to keep themselves amused. During sleepouts the gym is always open, with participating teachers playing basketball with the students. Games of Truth or Dare, Manhunt, and hideand- seek are often seen taking place. Seniors Dan Stachewicz and Angel Barajas even played Twister in the hallway with a group of friends. Earlier that night the same group was having a good time pulling each other around the school in their sleeping bags.

As the night wears on, some students get groggy and quiet, but the goal for most participants is to make it through the night without falling asleep. According to Liza, “some people get crazy and they smash their boxes.” She also added that there are always “diehards” who stay up for the entire time, and stay outdoors.

http://www.buffalonews.com/185/story/221811.html

This is supposed to be a realistic experience simulating being homeless. The last time I went down to the Boylan Street Bridge, where a group of homeless day laborers sleep, I don't recall seeing pizza, donuts, and coffee. And I certainly don't remember them playing Truth or Dare, Manhunt, or Hide-and-Seek. There was no gymnasium for these guys to shoot basketball to warm up. In fact, if these guys went inside the local gym, the neighbors would call 911 and they'd be immediately arrested for trespassing.

And where were the liquor and drugs? Most homeless are homeless because they struggle with substance abuse problems. Lets get the kids ridiculously drunk and toss them out in a field somewhere to replicate the experience. It would probably end in a Lord of the Flies scenario, most of the kids either freezing to death or being murdered. Then they could really see what it's like to be homeless.

Shame

Despite Attacks and Escape, Cooper Freed After 12 Years


Posted: Nov. 30, 2007 Updated: Dec. 2, 2007

Raleigh — Many people are asking questions about a man accused of being a serial killer and his previous prison sentence.
Did Samuel Cooper serve enough time for his earlier crimes before he was released? Did the system fail? Sentenced to 20 years for armed robbery, Samuel Cooper served eight years of that sentence. He also served four more years before being released because, while serving the robbery sentence, he escaped, attacked four law-enforcement officers, stole a Department of Correction van, and attacked an elderly man and stole his car. Wake County Sheriff’s Deputy Yalanda Moore was just a few months out of the police academy when she came face to face with Samuel Cooper in the county courthouse.“I do recall one of my first emotions being that I had to survive,” Moore said Friday.It was eight years ago when Moore was bringing Cooper back to his holding cell.“I unlocked his handcuff. The swivel came around, and he came up and he punched me in the jaw,” Moore said. “I was thinking I cannot let this individual take my weapon from my holster.”“He was yanking it up,” trying to get the gun free, she said.For that attack and attempting to escape, Samuel Cooper served an additional 14 months.“It was surprising to me that the assault on an officer in the courthouse was a misdemeanor,” said Department of Correction spokesman Keith Acree. Cooper attacked a total of four officers while in custody, Acree said. “One of these is an officer that got attacked in the prison library. One of these is a sergeant who was head-butted in a case manager’s office,” Acree said.Cooper also attacked another correction officer when he escaped from a work crew and stole the officer's van. Before his capture, Cooper attacked an elderly man and stole his car as well. Why was he released?“He served what the law required him to serve,” Acree said, explaining that the prison system had no choice but to release Cooper.Cooper walked out of prison last year after serving eight of the 20 years for the initial armed robbery and a total of four more years for his attacks on officers and the elderly man and for the escape.“Is this system working? When you look at a case like this, it's hard to say it does. You would certainly think for behavior like this, you should serve more time in prison,” Acree said.“We enforce the sentences handed down by the courts based on the laws the Legislature writes,” Acree said.
Earlier this year, lawmakers failed to pass a bill that would have upgraded the charge for assaulting a law enforcement officer.
The bill would have made any inflicted injury, not only "serious assaults," a felony. That could add a year in prison to the sentence of anyone convicted of an assault similar to Cooper's.

http://www.wral.com/news/local/story/2109367/

In summary, Cooper was sentenced to prison for a string of armed robberies. He attacked and tried to kill a deputy at the time of his trial. He assaulted correctional staff while in prison, and at some point, violently attacked a staff member and escaped. He then car-jacked an old man, injuring him in the process. He's now committed at least five felonies after escaping prison, which is a felony also. His actions demonstrate an imminent danger to society, and yet he only served eight years. He should have had to serve at least the whole twenty year sentence once he was caught after the escape.

Then he gets out and murders five people. I, and I think the majority of concerned citizens, don't understand how someone like this gets out of prison. He should have never had this opportunity. There should be no second and third chances for violent felons. Leave them in prison where they belong.

Environmental Castes

Raleigh introduced a tiered system of water resource management this week. Due to severe draught conditions, the city has scaled back watering lawns and washing cars. Mayor Meeker has asked citizens to drastically cut the amount of water used for showers, waste removal, and even asked people to eat meals on paper plates to conserve. But at the same time the city has decided to tier the system. What this means is those who consume the most water will pay higher rates. I understand the shrewd leaders of Raleigh recognize a revenue potential when they see it, but this gives us two messages. Those on the bottom rung of the ladder, the poor, are encouraged to conserve water. Don't flush the toilet unless you've had a bowel movement. Let your lawn die. But those at the top, the rich, can use as much water as they need, at a higher rate. You can't have it both ways. If we are truly having a water crisis, everyone should be encouraged to conserve. You can't tell one segment of society to conserve while encouraging another to consume. It sends the message: If you are rich, you can do whatever you want.

Along the same line of reasoning is Al Gore's Kyoto Protocol logic. This is another tiered system in which the very rich can by "carbon credits" to off-set their own carbon footprint on the environment. Another logical fallacy. If we truly have an environmental crisis of epic proportions, why are the rich allowed to pollute at will while the rest of us are lectured about our destructive lifestyles. If Al Gore buys carbon credits, does this somehow negate the gases emitted from flying his private jet back and forth across the country.

I am in no way slighting the efforts to help the environment, only pointing out you can't have it both ways. Besides, convincing people to change their habits is next to impossible. People don't want to be inconvenienced by having to wait ten minutes for the bus. They want instant gratification. They want green grass, no matter the cost. They want freedom of movement, even if gas prices are five dollars a gallon.

But the answer is not to allow a few to buy their way out of conservation. We all conserve or we don't.

Too Much For a Hooker

A young white guy came to the station to report he'd been robbed. He claimed meeting a black man on Saunders Street, at a convenience store, and giving the guy a ride. At some point the man demanded he take money out of his ATM. He said the man intimated harming him if he failed to do so. His story was "iffy" at best, but due to the serious allegations, detectives had to treat the case like he was truly a robbery victim.

The man's car was printed by a CCBI technician. Detectives went to every store the man visited throughout the day. This took quite a bit of time. Two days later detectives had collected all evidence and reviewed the tapes. The video painted a different story. The white guy was visible in every shot, and he didn't look like a victim. He looked like someone hanging around with a friend. This led detectives to believe he had some unspoken motive for reporting the crime in the first place.

He was given a polygraph test and failed miserably. It was at this point, three days into an investigation and no less than forty man hours, that he decided to come clean. The real story is as follows:

He was at a convenience store on Saunders Street when he suddenly had an epiphany. He'd never had sex with a prostitute before. Some sort of "Pretty Woman" scenario played out in his head. How wonderful would that be? Then came the conundrum every potential "John" is faced with, "How does someone broker such a deal?" That's when he noticed a black guy hanging around the pay phone next to the store. This street ruffian must know how to go about such things, he thought.

"Hell yeah I can get you some ass, boy!"

He was as happy as a pig in mud. The man said all he had to do was come up with five hundred bucks and they could do business. At this point the black man got inside dummy's car and the two of them drove to the bank teller, where dummy withdrew five hundred bucks and gave it to the guy. The black man then had the white guy chauffeur him around town for several hours, running numerous personal errands, before hopping out of the car at a stop light, leaving the white guy in the middle of downtown Raleigh, much poorer.

He figured he could get even with the trickster by reporting it to the police. I guess he envisioned us rushing out to retrieve his hard earned money and then locking up the bad guy. Instead, the white guy went to jail for filing a false police report and had to call his mommy to get bailed out.

Christmas Party

We had the squad's annual Christmas get-together at Rio Churrascaria last night. Our former Sergeant and new Sergeant were both in attendance. The restaurant is a Brazilian Steak-House and has quite an atmosphere. If you've never been to one of these, there is no menu. Everyone has "all you can eat." I don't think humans are supposed to eat all they can eat, but that's beside the point. The food is excellent. Gaucho's come out with giant skewers of meat, the tips resting in circular panels to avoid dripping grease on the customer. You flip your table card to green, indicating you're ready to make a gluttonous ass of yourself, and they stream, one by one, to cut off slices of fourteen different kinds of meat. Perfect venue for a carnivore. Not so great for a vegetarian.

But, alas, today I feel nauseous. No, that's not really a good description of how I feel. I feel like a hot water bottle stuffed full of ground meat. That's more like it.

Starbucks Nutjob

I'm leaving the District when the call goes out. A woman is reporting she's been burned by coffee at the local Starbucks. As I drive to my private nirvana, another officer tries to swap the call from me. I tell him I would not be able to live with myself if I didn't handle the call, as I can hardly wait to hear the complainant describe how Starbucks is responsible for the burn.

I arrive and find the woman waiting in the parking lot. She's short, squat, and looks completely insane, her eyes slightly crossed and focused on my chest rather than my eyes. Her horn rimmed glasses are hanging low on her nose and she pushes them up as she talks.

"Officer!" She yells.

"How can I help you?" I reply.

"I got burned in Starbucks and they refused to get me medical attention."

I had carefully read the call notes on the way. The dispatcher asked her three times if she wanted an ambulance dispatched for immediate medical attention and each time she said, "no."

"Do you need an ambulance?" I ask.

"I'm not sure, yet. But they wouldn't help me in Starbucks."

"What happened?" I ask.

"The coffee got on me and burned my wrist. It was swollen and blistered so I asked for medical attention, but they refused."
"Can I see you wrist?" I ask.

She pulls back the sleeve of her shirt to expose the area. There is no redness, swelling, or blistering.

"Can I see your other wrist?" I ask. The two appendages are identical, both lily white and splotched with scattered freckles. "I don'[t see anything, mam."

She looked as if her feelings are hurt by my comment. "Well, I put ice on it."

"Where did you get ice?" I ask.

"Starbucks."

"I thought they refused to give you medical attention."

"They gave me ice." She says, uncomfortably.

"How long ago?" I ask.

"Five minutes."

" Mam, if your arm was blistering five minutes ago, I would be able to see some sort of injury."

"Well it was," she says, twisting her mouth into a scowl, as if I'm the idiot instead of herself. "I see what you are doing here. It isn't your job to determine who's right or wrong."

"You are right," I say. "I'm here to investigate what happened, and that is exactly what I'm trying to do." "She fidgets and looks around the parking lot, as if suddenly embarrassed to be speaking with a police officer.

"Lets get back to what happened, mam. Did the Barista pour the coffee on your arm?"

"No. I was putting cream into it and the coffee came out on my arm."

"Came out on your arm?" I ask.

"Yeah, I popped the top and the coffee came out on my arm."

"So you spilled the coffee?"

"Well, it was an accident. It just came out."

"So they gave you the coffee and you took it to the condiment table. Then, you removed the lid and spilled the coffee on your own arm. Is that about right?"

"Well, I don't like how you make it sound. They should've taken some money out and given it to me so I could go to the Urgent Care."I'm sorry I even called you here, Officer. I''m going to leave now."

"Okay," I say. She gets into a dilapidated Honda Accord full of shoe boxes, magazines, and clothing. "Goodbye, crazy lady," I mumble to myself.

Starbucks is packed. I can smell the pleasing aroma of the coffee beans and hear the Barista foaming someones latte. The manager, who I've seen most every day for a couple of years, has an expression of concern as he approaches. "Did that lady call the police?"

"Oh yeah," I reply. "She wanted to complain that she burned herself and you refused to give her money from the cash register. Don't you guys normally take cash from the till undocumented?"

"Never," he says, smiling. "You want a cup of coffee?" He asks.

"Damn right I do."

Raving Lunatic

I'm driving on NewBern Avenue, minding my own business, intent on stopping to check a work schedule at Wake Mental health before heading back to District 21. I can't help but notice a white pickup truck run the stop sign on Pettigrew Street, crossing all three lanes in front of my police car. I had to brake suddenly to avoid a wreck.

As the truck passes I notice there is no license plate attached. I immediately follow. The truck is all over the road...obviously an impaired driver. The truck takes a right on State Street, crosses into the wrong lane, and parks, slamming both left tires into the curb. I engage my blue lights.

The driver is a middle-aged black man wearing jeans and a black sport jacket. He is immediately belligerent. "Fucking cop! I hate all you white-bread motherfuckers!"

He's drunk. I give him several sobriety tests, all of which he fails miserably. I arrest him and, straight out of the tough-guy play book, he waits until he's handcuffed to run his mouth.

"I hope you get your head blown off! I hope all white people die! I hope your children die! I'm gonna call the NAACP! You gone lose yo job, cracker!"

His hostile tirade continues for two solid hours, testing my patience. He refuses to cooperate with any part of the booking process, a sure way to have your bail denied.

The first court setting comes and he immediately pleads guilty. This is unheard of. Most DWI cases take anywhere from eight months to a year to adjudicate. And this guy pleads guilty?

He tells the judge he's an alcoholic. He tells her he knows the law and the state's case is weak, even though he's pleading guilty to it. Six misdemeanor charges, three of which carry potential four month sentences. Two prior DWI's. The judge gives him time served and probation. Eleven days in jail and a year of probation. The system at its finest.

"The Black"

I had to appear in court yesterday, a humorous lesson in futility. After four hours of sitting, watching case after case get dismissed or continued, I decide to take my lunch break in the gym. Maybe work off a little aggression. So I'm driving to the Police Academy, minding my own business, when suddenly a red Honda Accord swerves head-on into my lane. I slam on brakes and veer right, my front right tire striking the curb.

The driver of the Honda is a large Hispanic woman. The top half of her body is hanging out the window, her left arm waiving furiously at me. She's screaming, "The black! The black!" I ask her, "The black what?" Her answer: "The black. The black."

She waives for me to follow and spins around in the roadway, nearly striking a parked car. For some reason I follow, even though I think the appropriate action would be to ignore her. She leads me into an apartment complex and pulls alongside a young black male. He has dreads, a red hat (tilted left for dramatic-or idiotic-effect), jeans, and a white t-shirt. He casually smokes a cigarette as I approach.

The Hispanic woman leaps from her car and yells, "The black," pointing her index finger at the young man. He looks at me and says, "That bitch is crazy!" While pointing she frantically dials a number on her cell phone. Moments later she hands me the phone and I speak with her translator, the fourteen-year-old daughter of the Hispanic woman's employer.

"Hey, Officer, I don't know why she's so upset. She says there were two black guys that wanted to fight her boyfriend."

"Is this one of the guys?" I ask, assuming she knows we're parked in front of a potential suspect.

"Uh, no. She said he knows the guys. She wants you to take him to the police station and interrogate him to find out who the other two were."

"Don't think I'm going to do that," I say, handing the phone back to her.

The woman talks on the phone several more minutes and again approaches me, extending the phone. The fourteen-year-old asks, "She wants to leave now. Can she go?"

I tell her she can go. She squeals tires and spins around in the parking lot, the whole time pointing her index finger at the black guy.

"That bitch is crazy," he says. "I wasn't even with them guys. Her boyfriend wanted to fight one of them cause he threw a cigarette butt down in their yard."

I leave and get my workout, satisfied that everyone involved got the best possible service I could provide.

Kinoki

I saw an ad this morning for Kinoki Foot Pads. The ad claims the pads draw toxins out of your body through the bottoms of your feet. People were shown peeling off the soiled pads, the dirt and grime allegedly life-threatening toxins. My feet would produce the same amount of debris after a quick stroll through the back yard without shoes. Evidently, according to the decorated scientists that created Kinoki, matter falls from the sky and slowly works its way through the body into your midsection, before metastasizing in the intestines. Kinoki pulls the debris down through the soles of the feet. The manufacturer promises better health and improved energy levels after one treatment. They even provide a lifetime supply of pads. All you have to do is pay ten dollars to ship a two ounce box full of materials that couldn't have cost ten cents to make.

Quackery, buffoonery, junk science... whatever you want to call it. How does the old adage go?
"A fool and his money are soon parted." It seems a more plausible concept might be an anal suppository to suck toxins out of your body. It could be called "The Magic Cucumber." Just stick it up your ass every night before bed and you'll feel twenty years younger. Idiots would line up for miles outside Walgreens and Eckerd Drugs. These ideas rank right up there with magnet therapy, energy crystals, dowsing rods, rabbit feet, and organized religion.

Internet Ads

Internet ads are weird. There is no simpler way to put it. Even conventional, legitimate business sites have strange ads. I was reading an ad for toilets (Don't ask me why) and ran across the words, "Use a toilet seat riser for less pain/stress." Less pain and stress? If you are having that much trouble during bowel movements, you might want to consider changing your diet. Maybe eat something with actual nutritional content instead of liquor and pie. A bowel movement shouldn't be this problematic.

While I'm on Internet ads, have you happened to peruse the personal ads on CraigsList? Some of the most outrageous paragraphs ever written are on this site. And if the post is preempted with the words, "Nothing weird, but..." you know what follows will be ridiculous. "Nothing weird, but I'm a gay man who would love to watch a straight couple have sex." Nothing weird, but I'm looking for a good used sex Hamster. No imitation fur, please!" I love it when these ads become deviant specific, as if the person posting the ad would be offended if your strange behavior is confused with his/hers.

I get the "Nothing weird" alert on the job. When I'm interviewing suspects or dealing with victims, the statement almost always comes up. I remember a case in Walmart several years back. The victim, an older black woman, was shopping for shoes at a bargain table. While holding a shoe, she felt something touching her foot. She looked down, and, to her horror, a man was lying under the table, stroking her foot with his left hand. He told her it was part of his religion to caress women's feet. He asked if she would take off her shoe. I believe his exact words were, "Nothing weird, but will you take off your shoes so I can touch your skin?" I guess the "Nothing weird" disclaimer made everything okay, so she removed her shoes. He touched her feet for several moments.. Then, as anyone would expect, he began licking her toes. It was at this moment she said to me, "At this point things seemed a little strange." A little strange? I guess some guy, lying under a table and stroking a stranger's foot, is not strange. Only when he licked her it became weird. The entire incident was weird. The instant he touched her she should have ran away screaming.

Ironic Prom

Police work is sometimes fraught with irony. Not today's misconceived definition of the word like, "Rain on your wedding day," but true irony where an act produces an outcome in direct opposition to the intended result. I had the misfortune of responding to an assault call in a bridal shop in downtown Raleigh. A young black woman and her mother entered the shop with a dress. The mother asked an attendant to measure her daughter and alter the garment, as the prom was a mere week away. The girl's father, recently paroled from prison, gave the dress to his daughter as a peace offering, wanting, after so many years as an outsider, to start a relationship with his daughter.

But this wasn't to be the happy reunion he expected. He stole the dress from the bridal shop, assuming it would fit perfectly and his crime would never be uncovered. But as the great "Murphy" once said, "Whatever can go wrong will." The bridal shop clerk recognized the stolen dress and notified the owner, who confronted mother and daughter. He tried to take the dress from the daughter and she struck him twice in the face, splitting his lip. The shop clerk called the police and I arrived.

Ultimately, the young woman was arrested and charged with assault. The stolen dress was confiscated. Mom flipped out and threw a vase at us during the arrest, earning a spot next to her daughter in the back seat of my police car. Finally, I filed a warrant on the father. All he wanted was to get back into his daughter's life. Instead, he bought her a criminal record and ruined her prom. Way to go dad

Good Service

I remember a time when good service meant something in retail. A time when shop clerks actually smiled at patrons, asked if they could "help," even inconvenienced themselves to ensure good service. But now, with the advent of the massive bargain retail establishment, quality service is dying. Enter Walmart and Ross Dress for Less. Outfits that buy sweatshop t-shirts by the million so they can sell to you at "rock bottom" prices and put mom and pop stores out of business in droves. Bottom dollar, that's all we seem to care about anymore.

I had an excursion at the Ross Dress for Less store last week. It just happened to be the only place open where I might buy gloves at 10:00PM on a Thursday night, and I suddenly realized the job would have me outdoors for several hours in the freezing cold. I was working, which always makes me feel like a gigantic spectacle, as my uniform is Carolina blue and adorned with a badge, name-tag, and collar insignia. People are immediately focused on my gun and Taser, especially small children, who constantly have to fight the urge to touch or be jerked suddenly by mom, followed by a terse warning.

I found gloves that matched my uniform and moved to the cash register. The line was at least twenty customers long and I had the fear I'd be called by dispatch before purchasing the gloves, leaving me standing in the cold for four hours with no gloves, my hands a frost-bite experiment. Only one register was open, and, of course, there was some sort of problem involving a mislabeled item that an elderly woman was arguing about the price. The rest of us were impatiently waiting for service. I couldn't' help but notice a morbidly obese black woman wearing a name tag labeled Manager. She shuffled up to the register and began a conversation with another woman waiting in line. "Hey Auntie, how'd you like them mashed taters Marie made after church last Sunday?" They chattered away, oblivious to those of us waiting in the line from Hell. Another employee straightened a t-shirt rack not ten feet from the registers. Her name-tag read Cashier, but she ignored the lines and folded t-shirts, very slowly I might add.

This went on for about ten minutes. The old lady continued ranting about the price. I guess $3.99 was too much for a sweater. She insisted it was marked for $3.49, the argument building to a crescendo, but the cashier never called anyone for a price check, opting to bicker with the old woman until finally agreeing to lower the price to $3.79. Finally, the manager seemed to realize the line was almost touching the rear wall of the store. She called for the second clerk to assist on the register. She even opened up the register herself, but she never helped. She stood between the registers, laughing and carrying on, while the two cashiers rang up patrons. Two additional registers were less than ten feet from her, but she never moved to help in any way. She didn't even bag the clothing. She just stood there, laughing, ignoring the line

Surviving a Zombie Attack

I watched the original "Night of the Living Dead" for the zillionth time during the Halloween Film Festival. It spawned no less than a hundred spin-off movies like "Resident Evil," "Dawn of the Dead," and "28 Days Later," some of which are not technically zombie movies, but techno-zombie movies. Any movie in which zombies pursue and eat the living is okay in my book, though, at this point, movies have created a pattern in which rules are established. So I've attached a list of things to avoid if you are pursued by zombies from a cliche' movie:

#1. Don't get bitten. Zombies love to bite you, thus turning you into one of them. It doesn't make good sense if you're a zombie, though. Zombies like to eat living people. If they turn you into one of them, they can't eat you! So why do they do it? This question has led hundreds of bad movie scientists to rule #2.

#2. Don't allow bad movie scientists to study the zombies. There is no cure for the walking undead, so quit trying to save your staggering, blood sucking relatives. You wouldn't want them back anyway! If we've learned anything about scientists, we know they are all crazy men looking for the newest biological weapon they can sell to the highest bidder. Don't be fooled by their good intentions, you know they are lying. C'mon, they're scientists!

#3. Never hide in a house. Zombies have a heightened sense of smell. After several hours in a house, the front lawn will look like the day after Christmas at a shopping mall. You'll be stuck inside, most likely with minimal food. You have to eat. The zombies can merely wait outside for all eternity. Only they won't. Eventually, they'll find a way into your home and trap you inside the basement, until ultimately knocking down the door and feasting on your brain.

#4. Zombies are slow, except when you get real close to them. Then, for some reason-I'm guessing some sort of blood-lust trigger in the olfactory glands (that isn't lost in decomposition)- they spring at you with new-found agility. They smell your entrails. And like every zombie movie you've ever seen, they can't wait to pull out your intestines and twirl them around their fingers like spaghetti.

#5. Beware of old people. Old people are close to death. If you allow them into your group, it is only a matter of time before one dies in his sleep and becomes a reanimated flesh eating legion of the dead. Ostracize the old. Besides, old people are annoying anyway. All they do is complain about aches and pains, and they run slow! You don't need slow runners when you're being pursued by zombies.


I think the best scenario for handling the zombie crisis is to find a houseboat, stock it with canned food, and shove off for a deserted island never inhabited by people. Zombies are poor swimmers and would just get eaten by the sharks anyway. Now, zombie sharks might be a problem I haven't considered, but they haven't made that movie yet. Or have they?

Fat Guy With a Tight Tuck

Everywhere I go I see this oddity. A fat man with his shirt tucked tightly into his pants, as if he's exhausted a significant effort in making sure his shirt is secured flawlessly. This guy is usually wearing a belt adorned with a Nextel, key-chain, and possibly a Leatherman's tool. His clothing is meticulously neat, in sharp comical contrast to his otherwise sloven physical appearance.
Let's analyze this. Why is a morbidly obese guy, someone who takes absolutely no care in his physical appearance, so fastidious about his attire. It could be compared to buying high priced after-market wheels for a Ford Pinto. And it is guaranteed you will hear his Nextel chirp within thirty seconds of seeing him. I even suspect he chirps himself to let you know how important he is.
Most likely he'll be a monumental freak of nature. Not your run of the mill fifty pounds overweight, but 150 pounds or more overweight, his bloated pannus hanging over his belt, obscuring the shiny buckle. For those less familiar with fat lingo, a pannus is a hanging flap of tissue present on severely obese people that resembles an elephant's trunk. They've become so fat they grew an appendage that doesn't come standard on Homo Sapiens. An adaption with absolutely no evolutionary benefit.
Please, Mr. fat man with a pannus and tightly tucked shirt, buy looser clothing and don't tuck. Nobody wants to see the outline of your saucer-sized navel through your Izod. I hope that Nextel chirp is your cardiologist calling to schedule an immediate Gastroplasty. Please don't draw attention to yourself by talking loudly on your Nextel in the grocery line. Believe me, everyone's looking at you anyway.

Mr. Brooks, A Lesson in Cliche'

For no apparent reason, I decided to watch Kevin Costner's new video release, "Mr. Brooks." I know what you are thinking. Another serial killer movie? C'mon! And you would be right. I'm fairly certain I love self mutilation (No other reason would compel one to watch this movie), but I assure you I would rather skewer myself on a spear than sit through this one again.
Like all serial killers, Mr. Brooks is almost super human in his ability to enter locked homes, murder people, and leave without depositing a trace of evidence for the forensic team to find. What's great about this one is he's a loving husband and father who is ashamed of his "affliction," and even attends Alcoholics Anonymous meetings to be around other "addicts." They drink... he kills. He has a split personality and his alter ego is William Hurt, who isn't unbearable in an otherwise unbearable movie. Every time Mr. Brooks is with his family the director chose to play endearing mood music, as if to make the viewer feel sorry for him. "Poor Mr. Brooks. He can't control himself. He's really a good guy. He just has a mental problem." Give me a break. During all this drama, Mr. Brooks' daughter gets pregnant and is being investigated for a murder happening at a local university. Mr. Brooks has a tearful discussion with his alter ego, where he acknowledges, "She's got what I got," in a failed attempt to build sympathy for both their characters. It doesn't work.
Stalking Mr. Brooks is Demi Moore, the stereotypical homicide detective. She's independently wealthy and going through a high profile divorce, her ex-husband seeking a five million dollar settlement because he's afraid, due to her skill of putting murderers behind bars, one of the criminals she's incarcerated might hurt him. Poor guy. She's a lone wolf that makes all of her arrests alone. She's also being stalked by a serial killer, who, after she'd arrested him, escaped and makes it his mission in life to avenge himself by killing her. The whole premise is stupid. Demi's boss wants to put her on "desk duty" (You know, the thing all cliche' detectives hate since the Dirty Harry seventies) until her divorce is settled. But her only concern is finding Mr. Brooks, the Thumb Print Killer.
Mr. Brooks realizes Demi is on his tail, so he patches into the police computer network and brings up her information, in mere seconds. The web page has her picture, license, and everybody she's ever arrested. It also has detailed personal information about her life and work history, all at the touch of a button, and accessed in about three seconds. How convenient for Mr. Brooks.
Dane Cook is the nosey neighbor who films his neighbors having sex from his apartment window. He is filming when Mr. Brooks commits the murder. He blackmails Mr. Brooks into taking him on a "kill" and teaching him the "ropes." This is even more bogus than the other bogus parts of the movie, where Mr. Brooks is a condescending snob. "No, Mr. Smith (Cook), you can't do it like that. You have to do it like this. Did you get that license plate. You have to pay attention to detail."
Mr. Brooks eventually kills Demi Moore's ex as some sort of fond gesture to her. He respects her commitment to arrest murderers even though she doesn't need the money. Then he frames Dane Cook for the murders and murders him, forever marking him as the "Thumb Print Killer." He goes to his daughter's school and commits a murder with the exact same M.O. as the one she's being investigated for, thereby clearing her name. Demi winds up killing the "Hangman Killer," the escapee that vowed to kill her. Mr. Brooks retires from killing and decides to concentrate on his family life.
This movie contains everything wrong with every serial killer movie ever made. It is redundant and filled with cliche' scenes and terms, so much so I came close to turning it off. I'm tired of every one of Costner's characters being portrayed as somehow noble, and this one doesn't even come close to pulling it off.

Stop Treating the Symptoms, Fatty

Having lost more than a hundred pounds and gotten myself into good shape, my view of physical fitness has changed considerably. I'm kind of like that reformed smoker that castigates other smokers. But people need to hear the truth:

Stop asking the doctor to treat the symptoms of your obesity!

I'm sitting in the waiting area of Garner Family Practice, waiting to give blood for my annual physical. Several seats down, a portly octogenarian complains to his wife, "Doc's gotta do something about my back. It was killing me when we watched 'Wheel of Fortune' the other night."
This guy was easily fifty pounds overweight. By the look of him I'd guess he hasn't done any form of exercise in twenty years. And I'm sure he lives on a diet of pork sausage, potato chips, and Coca Cola. Maybe throw in some peach cobbler once in a while. How can anyone who eats like shit and never exercises expect a doctor to cure him? What's funny about this is the doctor will prescribe medications and physical therapy rather than telling him to lose weight and exercise.

Real Conversation:

Fatty: "Hey, doc, my back hurts and sometimes I get heartburn. And, oh yeah, I got a family history of heart problems and Diabetes."

Doctor: "I think I'll prescribe Lipitor, Oxycodone, and Mylanta."

This way, not only the physician makes money, but so does his or her sponsor, the pharmaceutical industry. If only they could devise a way to incorporate money for politicians into the equation, they would have all the bases covered. If the doctor really cared about the patient the conversation would go more like this:

Fatty: "Hey, doc, my back hurts and sometimes I get heartburn. And, oh yeah, I got a family history of heart problems and Diabetes."

Doctor: "Lose some weight, fatty. And, oh yeah, how about exercising more than once a decade."

Ultimately, people want instant gratification. They would rather take a pill than actually make effort. How about taking hold of your fitness? Before medicating yourself or demanding the doctor cure you, get yourself into reasonable shape. Your quality of life will improve exponentially. Or you could just sit on your fat ass and complain until your heart explodes.

Paranormal Stoogefest

I sat through another episode of "A Haunting," Discovery Channel's answer to the widely popular "Ghost Hunters." My wife enjoys these shows. Don't ask me why. From watching this garbage repetitively I've extrapolated a pattern that seems consistent with each episode.

1. The actors hired to reenact paranormal events look nothing like the real people, who are shown commenting after each scene.
The real people all look completely insane, the kind of people you would avoid making eye contact with if you happened to
encounter one on a city street.

2. Everyone is haunted by a ghost that hasn't "passed on," whatever that means. Evidently one has to employ the skills of a priest
(For some reason priests are authorities on ghosts), a spirit medium, a Wicca skank (They all seem to be morbidly obese and hideous),
or a paranormal investigator (Who knew a thermometer could be used as scientific proof of the existence of ghosts?).

3. During the reenactment segments, you have to play eerie music and disturbing sounds to represent "negative energy."

4. The homeowner has to participate in a seance to get rid of the spirits. For some reason you can't do one without candles, nonsensical
chanting, or a big fat lady with red hair and clown make-up.

5. A priest must rebuke the house in the name of the Lord. Couldn't the priest merely refer the homeowner to a qualified psychiatrist?

6. All spirits show themselves as glowing orbs?

Tonight's shows were real jaw-droppers. In the first, a crazy looking woman with a lazy eye and an obvious detachment from reality recounted horrifying events from moving into a home occupied by the victims of a stagecoach serial killer. The second involved the torment a family experienced after converting a funeral home into a private residence and making the old embalming room a bedroom for their two sons. Are you catching this? Even better, their father was so cheap he pulled all but one bulb out of the overhead lights in the room, I assume to terrify the young boys even more.
Obviously these people are seeking attention when contacting Discovery Channel with their stories, kind of like the hundreds of trailer park dwellers who insist they have been abducted by aliens. We owe it to them, and ourselves, to ignore this boobery. And anyone who claims psychic power, the ability to shape-shift, talk with the dead, see the future, cross into another dimension, converse personally with God, or levitate, should be immediately forced to take the James Randi challenge and prove it. Either that or be set on fire and thrown down an elevator shaft.

Blockbuster Sucks

Blockbuster Sucks:

Today I went to Blockbuster with high hopes of renting a couple of crappy movies to occupy our (myself and my wife) attention tonight before bed. I made the selections "Mr. Brooks" (Another serial killer idea, as if we haven't seen enough) and Spiderman 3 (I'm masochistic). I stand in line and wait with my two mail-in movies in hand. We left Netflix six months ago because Blockbuster offered the same service at the same price, with one benefit; we can take our mail-in movies to the store and trade them in on new ones, rather than having to wait several days for new ones. Very convenient, right?

Well, Blockbuster decided to kick me in the groin today. The skinny, pimply-faced kid told me- without smiling, I might add- Blockbuster had changed my account. Let me clear this up for you. Blockbuster amended our contract without my consent. Evidently Blockbuster changed all of their accounts and emailed customersa notice of change. I guess it doesn't really matter if you agreed with the change... it happened. Now, they've created a "Premium" account that costs seven dollars more, and only this account can exchange movies at the store all the time. So, effectively, they lured customers in with commercials about how convenient their service is, and then, changed the contract so it is no more convenient than Netflix. Could this be more transparent? They lured customers away from the competition by advertising this service then discontinued the service. I'll bet you won't see a commercial about that.

What's next? Is Blockbuster going to change your contract without telling you again? Am I going to return movies to the store and be ordered to deliver said movies to the next person in the cue?

"We're sorry, sir. But you have to deliver those movies to Tom Mc... and Sarah De... in Cary, NC. Didn't you get the email? We changed the contract. You now have to make deliveries or we debit your card five hundred dollars."

So long Blockbuster! I cancelled my account immediately. By looking at the way you played this game with me, I can only assume it was your intention to make me discontinue your service. If that was your desired intention, then good job. So long constant running television advertisements for crappy movies and even crappier services. So long underpaid teenagers in blue shirts and tan pants, metronomic waiving, and, "Welcome to Blockbuster." So long check-out aisles lined with rows of overpriced candy. I'll be giving my money to someone else.