"I have no money to give you." -- bluntly
I have my state in error in the Darren Wilson case mentioned in my most recent post, and in my own peculiar way of back drafting an old newspaper man like Kurtis, I need to do some research, but what pisses me off, capital case aside, is that defense lawyers behave as if they're ordained, and on a crusade to prevent extermination, refusing to look reality in the eye, and see dissembling manipulation for what it is.
This was an old case, early nineties, no new juice in it unless I find something, but the whole episode seems to predicate the true moral erosion of progressive justification: taking responsibility. It angers me. The attorney on one end of the sea saw battling mission creep, and an overgrown blunderbuss of a prisoner on the other, his demeanor oozing with "pity the poor home boy masking his own shame for being odious." It makes my skin crawl, not that my own errors in judgment are any more salient.
Karina telephoned, surprising me. Spastic presupposed she blocked my number. Spastic presupposed Karina read the blog, and took offense, even if the stereotypical hair net of the dim witted blonde fits. She is a stupid woman-girl, fishing for money I no longer have, hardly able to keep her own schedule, characteristic of the detritus hired by public welfare.
My own Cameron Diaz? Karina lacks the mastery of the actress for timing and cues, but I offered the woman the consumer model position, again. "I'm out in the country, looking for a place to live." She must be desperate, soliciting me after all these months. In a chastened civility, I asked after the mother, whose terminal cancer is now, evidently, "cured". Uh huh.
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