|
This
Week
-
Monday,
August
15,
2005
"What
The
Hell
Were
You
Thinking???"
Week
It's
the
great
unanswerable
of
all
time,
a
question
many
of
us
have
had
to
face
in
the
wake
of
an
apparently
complete
leave
of
our
senses.
Most
of
us
hear
it
for
the
first
time
from
our
fathers,
after
we
decided
to
play
handball
against
the
house
four
feet
from
the
antique
picture
window,
or
have
run
inside
crying
and
holding
our
genitals
after
urinating
on
an
electrified
dog
fence
that
we
insisted
to
our
friends
couldn't
possibly
be
electric
and,
here,
we'll
prove
it.
It
doesn't
always
end
with
youthful
curiosity
or
overzealosness.
When
such
behaviors
are
repeated
into
adulthood,
it's
just
assumed
that
somewhere
along
the
way,
the
circuitry
has
somehow
become
compromised--living
too
close
to
interstate
power
lines,
an
unfortunate
blow
to
the
head
with
a
shovel
by
an
overexcited
sibling,
or
one
of
those
brain
tapeworms
you
heard
a
friend
of
a
friend's
uncle
got--or
maybe
we
were
damaged
from
the
word
"Go"--Mom's
daily
diet
of
Virginia
Slims
and
Tanqueray
when
we
were
in
the
womb,
or
maybe
Dad
performed
some
kind
of
deviant
sexual
act
on
her
when
she
was
in
her
3rd
trimester.
It's
too
easy
to
dismiss
these
acts
of
abhorrent
judgement
as
merely
the
backfires
of
mankind's
more
damaged
or
poorly
maintained
machines.
Each
of
these
foolish-in-retrospect
acts
has
at
its
core
an
arrogant
sense
of
indomitability;
that
smug
belief
that
we're
somehow
smarter
than
you
and
immune
to
the
laws
of
physics
or
nature.
We've
got
an
"in"
in
this
world,
because
we
know
something
you
don't.
Life
works
better
for
us,
because
we
know
how
the
gears
go
around;
"consequences"
are
not
only
for
lesser
people,
but
that
you'd
have
the
temerity
to
even
ask
us
about
them
implies
that
we
don't
know
with
complete
certainty
how
our
actions
are
going
to
turn
out.
Which
brings
us
up
to
the
moment
of
reckoning
and
immediately
after,
as
we
struggle
to
wrap
our
brain
around
what
in
our
plan
could
possibly
have
gone
wrong,
and,
if
at
all
possible,
to
pick
ourselves
up
and
dust
ourselves
off
with
some
shred
of
cool,
as
we
confront
that
inevitable
question,
"What
the
hell
were
you
thinking???"
It
would
be
natural
to
react
defensively,
but
this
is
not
the
correct
response
and
will
likely
only
invite
more
scorn
and
derision,
since
from
a
dignity
standpoint
we're
usually
at
a
significant
disadvantage.
Ideally,
we're
allowed
to
proffer
this
query
with
a
question
of
our
own,
such
as,
"Can
I
call
a
lawyer
please?"
Hopefully,
we're
alive
to
hear
the
question,
as
it
relates
to
why
we
decided
to
prop
our
car
up
on
cinder
blocks
to
work
on
the
differential,
or,
instead
of
climbing
down
into
the
gorilla
exhibit
at
the
zoo,
why
we
didn'
t
just
light
a
new
cigarette
instead.
The
good
news
is
that
if
we
do
survive,
it's
a
question
that
we'll
have
a
lifetime
to
answer,
thanks
to
the
vast
reach
and
eternal
memory
of
the
Internet.
Why
is
this
good
news?
Because
it
offers
ample
time
for
reflection;
to
not
take
the
easy
way
out
like
we
could
have
ten
or
fifteen
years
ago
just
by
moving
to
another
county.
We
may
never
know
how
they've
found
our
email
or
home
addresses
or
phone
numbers,
but
our
inquisitors
will
be
many,
and
persistent.
And
even
when
they
aren't
explcitly
asking
The
Question,
we'll
hear
them
loud
and
clear,
with
every
"DUMBASS"
spray-painted
on
our
car
or
"goat
fucker!"
shouted
from
passing
pre-teens
on
bicycles.
This
seems
like
untenable
abuse
for
what
we
could
argue
was
an
innocent
and
fleeting
lapse
in
judgement,
but
this
is
Tough
Love
for
the
soul;
we're
forced
to
climb
deep
down
within
ourselves
and
explore
just
what
it
is
in
our
wiring
that
considers
this
innocent,
and
questions
whether
this
behavior
is,
in
fact,
anomalous
and
fleeting.
If
we're
lucky,
we'll
crawl
out
of
that
abyss
as
better
men.
If,
on
the
other
hand,
we're
pictured
on
this
page,
well,
that's
good
news,
too,
in
the
best
spirit
of
eugenics:
We're
candidates
for
DeadAir
2012
and
for
removal
from
the
gene
pool
so
we
won't
ever
be
recklessly
spreading
our
seed
to
propagate
another
generation
that
will
end
up
on
these
pages.
Editor's
Note:
This
almost
went
differently
--until
Thursday
afternoon
we
were
actually
going
to
post
this
week
with
a
feature
on
Portland,
Oregon's
news
anchors,
and
let
the
misdeeds
of
these
three
go
entirely
unpunished.
What
the
hell
were
we
thinking???
| |
|
| |
Name:
Charles
Alfred
Dreying,
Jr.
Transgression(s):
"Sir,
you
can't
take
that
on
this
plane.
But
if
you'd
like
to
wait,
there's
a
Republican
National
Committee
charter
leaving
in
an
hour."
Evaluation:
In
a
post-9/11
environment,
the
airport
is
one
place
where
you
can't
check
your
brain
at
the
door.
They
frown
on
humor,
spontaneity,
brisk
or
furtive
movements.
Many
years
ago,
I
arrived
at
PDX
five
minutes
before
my
flight
was
to
depart
and
sprinted
through
the
airport,
like
O.J.
in
the
old
Hertz
commercials.
Times
have
changed--these
days,
that
sprint
would
have
landed
me
in
Guantanamo
Bay,
and
everyone
gets
nervous
when
they
see
O.J.
in
the
airport,
even
if
he's
walking.
Proving
once
again
that
explosives,
Oklahoma,
and
white
men
are
a
recipe
for
trouble,
Charles
Alfred
Dreying,
Jr.
was
arrested
at
Will
Rogers
World
Airport
in
Oklahoma
City
when
baggage
screeners
found
an
exposive
device
in
his
carry-on.
He
claimed
to
be
an
explosives
enthusiast
and
merely
"forgot"
that
he
packed
the
device
in
the
bag
he
intended
to
take
on
an
airplane
with
him.
An
honest
mistake?
Perhaps,
in
the
same
vein
as
the
professional
basketball
player
arrested
after
walking
through
the
metal
detector
"forgetting"
that
he
had
a
quarter-ounce
of
marijuana
on
his
person
wrapped
in
tin
foil.
Honest,
possibly,
but
no
one
is
ever
going
to
accuse
you
of
using
the
brains
that
God
gave
you.
It's
also
possible
that
he
knowingly
left
the
device
in
his
bag,
believing
that
he
could
sneak
it
past
the
baggage
screeners.
Granted,
the
news
has
been
peppered
these
last
few
years
with
stories
of
hastily-hired
baggage
screeners
who
shouldn't
be
entrusted
with
a
broom
at
a
Carl's,
Jr.
much
less
the
potential
safety
of
200+
people
aboard
an
$80
million
airplane,
but
by
and
large
they're
the
exceptions
that
prove
the
rule,
and
you'd
have
better
odds
shoplifting
cellos
than
slipping
something
dangerous
and
illegal
through
the
baggage
scan.
Again,
the
brains
thing
(a
running
theme
this
week).
Since
he
apparently
has
no
manifestoes
or
fiery
letters-to-the-editor
in
his
name
using
words
like
"cabal",
"betrayal"
and
"retalitory
strike",
he
doesn't
appear
to
be
a
farm-league
TIm
McVeigh
in
the
making.
One
possibility
that
at
least
deserves
mention
is
that
he
was
deliberately
seeking
incarceration.
It's
been
known
to
happen,
but
really
there
is
absolutely
no
sane
reason
for
purposely
trying
to
earn
a
lengthy
federal
prison
sentence,
unless
you're
under
contract
to
appear
in
the
next
"American
Pie"
sequel.
Since
this
was
more
dumb
than
dangerous--albeit
really,
really
dumb--we'll
leave
this
a
probationary
appointment
for
the
time
being.
He's
probably
going
to
be
denied
access
to
airports
for
quite
some
time,
anyway
Nominated
by
B.
Kelter,
8.12.05
Return
to
top |
| |
|
| |
Name:
Bruce
Taylor
Transgression(s):
"First
floor!
Ladies
lingerie,
ladies
lingerie,
baby
cribs,
ladies
lingerie...."
Transgression(s):
Unlike
what
you
may
have
learned
in
high
school
gym
classes
and
Amway
orientation
seminars,
persistence
is
not
always
a
virtue.
On
August
1,
Mr.
Taylor
of
Enid,
Oklahoma
broke
into
the
home
of
Carlos
and
Maria
Isordia,
entering
through
the
laundry
room
and
making
off
with
several
pairs
of
Maria
Isordia's
bras
and
panties.
On
August
2,
Mr.
Taylor
again
broke
into
the
Isordia
house,
entering
through
the
laundry
room
and
making
off
with
Maria
Isordia's
bras
and
panties.
On
August
3,
Mr.
Taylor
broke
into
the
Isordia
house,
entering
through
the
laundry
room
and
making
off
with
Mrs.
Isordia's
bras
and
panties,
as
he
did
once
again
on
August
4.
On
August
5,
Mr.
Taylor
broke
into
the
home
of
Carlos
and
Maria
Isordia,
attempting
to
enter
hrough
the
laundry
room.
Unfortunately,
on
this
night,
Taylor
didn't
make
it
into
the
laundry
room,
instead
tripping
a
coffee
cup/string/2
x
4
"alarm"
that
Carlos
had
constructed
so
that
he'd
know
when
his
wife's
undergarments
were
being
pilfered,
waking
Carlos
from
a
shallow
slumber
and
sending
him
around
the
back
of
the
house,
where
he
proceeded
to
beat
Mr.
Taylor
with
the
first
object
at
his
disposal
when
he
heard
his
makeshift
alarm
go
off--the
leg
from
his
child's
crib.
He
found
Bruce
reaching
through
a
hole
he'd
cut
in
the
back
door
earlier
in
the
week
to
facilitate
his
entry,
and
grabbing
at
Maria,
who
had
come
into
the
laundry
room
to
see
if
there
was
indeed
an
intruder.
By
this
time,
Carlos
had
reached
the
back
of
the
house,
and
found
Mr.
Taylor
groping
for
his
wife.
He
beat
him
several
times
about
the
back
with
the
crib
leg,
sending
him
falling
backwards
down
the
concrete
steps
of
the
home.
Maria
rushed
out
to
be
with
her
husband,
but
Mr.
Taylor,
as
we've
already
proven
conclusively,
is
very
persistent
and
again
began
lunging
for
Maria,
forcing
Carlos
to
kick
Mr.
Taylor
in
the
face--judging
from
the
above
photograph,
likely
more
than
once.
The
police
arrived
shortly
thereafter
and
took
him
to
the
hospital
where,
after
first
claiming
that
he
was
being
chased
by
parties
unknown
and
was
looking
for
somewhere
to
hide,
'fessed
that
he
had
indeed
taken
liberties
with
Mrs.
Isidro's
unmentionables,
and
was
keeping
them
"in
a
lunch
box
next
to
his
bed".
It
must
have
been
a
large
lunch
box,
as
police
found
55
pounds
of
pilfered
lingerie
in
his
possession.
It's
probably
the
right
thing
to
put
Mr.
Taylor
on
DA2K12,
because
he
well
exceeds
our
definition
of
"poorly
wired",
and
there
aren't
many
places
for
a
highly-motivated
if
judgementally-impaired
secret
panty
fetishist
in
2004's
America,
except
possibly
on
Senator
Santorum's
staff.
Nominated
by
B.
Kelter,
8.12.05
Return
to
top |
| |
|
| |
Name:
Scott
Harper
Transgression(s):
R.
Kelly
believed
he
could
fly.
He
also
believed
he
could
videotape
himself
urinating
on
nude
teenage
girls
and
it
would
never
see
daylight.
You
see
where
we're
going
with
this?
Evaluation:
Authorities
aren't
sure
if
he
was
intoxicated
or
not.
His
outfit
notwithstanding,
he
apparently
isn't
mentally
challenged
(though
his
apparent
childlike
curiosity
is
somewhat
charming).
Still,
something
went
awry
inside
the
tender
young
mind
of
Scott
Harper
at
a
Yankees-White
Sox
game
at
Yankee
Stadium
last
week,
causing
him
to
walk
his
talk
("I
wonder
if
that
net
can
hold
me?")
and
leap
over
a
railing
on
the
upper
deck
and
plummet
40
feet
to
a
wire
mesh
net
over
the
crowd
behind
home
plate.
His
friends
and
neighbors
from
his
hometown
of
Armonk,
New
York--a
tony
enclave
of
tony
Westchester,
where
he
lives
with
his
parents
in
a
million-dollar
home--were
ready
with
some
very
plausible
explanations.
"He
certainly
has
a
zest
for
life!",
said
Celeste
Aberman.
"He
just
loves
life
and
wants
to
have
fun",
said
another.
His
close
friend,
Michael
Spadafino,
insists
Harper
fell.
"I
know
he's
smart
enough
not
to
jump."
Michael
gets
points
for
loyalty,
but
his
account
doesn't
square
with
surrounding
fans
saying
Harper
was
crowing
beforehand
about
jumping,
wondering
if
the
net
would
hold
him;
not
to
mention
some
of
his
fellow
students
who
claimed
he
had
ambitions
to
appear
on
an
ESPN
highlight
show
someday.
He
got
his
wish,
being
enthusiastically
lambasted
all
the
next
day
on
"SportsCenter",
"PTI"
and
"Around
the
Horn".
He
also
got
to
experience
the
charms
of
New
York's
municipal
penal
system,
waiting
all
of
the
next
day
in
a
jail
cell
before
his
Wednesday
evening
arraignment.
Consider
this,
young
Scott,
your
baptism
as
a
man.
You've
shaken
loose
the
yoke
of
boyhood.
Now,
just
as
you're
old
enough
to
vote,
and
old
enough
to
be
drafted,
you're
old
enough
to
be
called
an
idiot
for
doing
something
dangerous
and
moronic
on
national
television.
Nominated
by
B.
Kelter,
8.11.05
Return
to
top
|
| |
Virtually
condemn
your
most-loathed
celebrity,
relative,
or
backstabbing
weasel
ex-friend!
Try
it--it's
a
scream,
and
very
cathartic! |
|
|
|
