Black Friday Blues

I told La Sabrosona I was going to do this.  So here goes.

Black Friday Blues, 11/27/2015, Deon Mumple

In Spanish, they got pain, and their word for it’s “Dolor.”
In pretty-sounding Spanish, they say pain__ is “Dolor.”
I got a word in English, my word for it is “dollar.”
I got a wife who can squeeze my wallet, so hard, make it holler.
Today’s “Black Friday,”
And I’d say
They’re one the same.

Here’s why: Black Friday’s givin’ me the blues.

Won’t you come home soon, my sweet thang, are you comin’ back to bed?
It’s too early to be shopping, let’s do… something else instead,
I got ideas for you baby, that don’t involve a credit card,
Ideas for you baby, because life treats me so hard,
Can’t you stay?
Oh, my baby__,
Stay, stay, stay…

My wife, she’s gone and left me, left me home alone today,
The wife, she’s gone and left me, got to go to work all day
She’s spending all my cash, and leavin’ me, I got bills to pay
The bed was cold and lonely, no breakfast comin’ my way,
Today’s “Black Friday,”
But I alread(a)y__
Got bills to pay

And that’s why “Black” Friday’s givin’ me the blues.

She’s spending like it’s Christmas, I’m ’bout 20 years in debt,
She’s spending up next Christmas, I’m already worked to death,
I’m workin’ for the weekend, gonna drink and cry I bet,
The whiskey’s done run out, I’ll have to drink water instead,
On my Saturday
Because I
Got bills to pay.

And in case that’s not blues enough, here’s one of my favorites:


And one more:

The News

I commented yesterday on the Twitter that I shut off the news from Indianapolis twice because the repetition offended me.  Here’s a report of the news and my disgust at how it was reported:

THE NEWS, 11/24/2015, Deon Mumple

The body was placed in a clean plastic bag,
On a gurney, because it seemed rude to just drag,
Looking peaceful and pale as all corpses seem to,
After trauma and death that belied this calm view.
When the coroner saw her, with clinical eye,
He observed evidence, and did not even cry,
Though the signs told his eyes what had happened to her,
In the moments before the woman was murdered.

When the news got ahold of the grisly report,
It seemed like they tried hard to be grim and distort,
With an emphasis on the part where “she was raped!
Criminals are still at large and may have escaped.
You’re not safe in your homes, you’re not safe anywhere,
And we’re here to report, and insure you are scared.
Here’s the grieving family, how are you feeling?”
Are you kidding me?  Leave them alone!  They’re dealing

With an intensely personal, traumatic loss,
You’re gouging at their pain, treating blood like hot sauce,
To add spice to your news report, you sick sadists,
It’s no wonder so many need good therapists.
The news feeds on blood, broken bones, fighting, death,
Drugs, disaster, rape, robbery, it’s like their breath,
It’s only grown worse, growing up, always will. Still,
I wish far less glory were given to evil.

My “Be Thankful” Challenge

Be Thankful Challenge

Thanks and muchicitas felicitas gracitimas to my  lovely and talented friend, who is quite literally one of the greatest assets (wink) to the blogging world, La Sabrosona, for sending this challenge my way. She’s right, “anytime is a good time to be thankful.”  And I for one should know.  I spend far too much of my time being a big baby bitch.  It’s the world’s fault though.  If it wasn’t so logical I wouldn’t.  But I haven’t won the lottery yet, and my more spiritually minded people say it’s wrong for me to even buy ONE ticket.  I say unto thee, fucketh thou, for your God saith through the prophet Jonah’s writing (seriously, not kidding), that even the prophets were depressed sometimes (Jonah 4:1-9, see also I Kings 19:1-4), maybe especially them, AND that thy God controlleth the outcome of “the lots” (Jonah 1:7) so why the fuck not make ME win it?

The Challenge Rules:

• Share this image in your blog post
• Write about 5 people in your life you are thankful for
• Write about 5 things in 2015 that you are thankful for
• Spread the love and challenge 5 other blogs to take part


5 People in my Life I am Thankful for

  • Mrs M. – She’s my wife, my love, my life, she’s got the most beautiful eyes I’ve EVER looked into and she encourages (and nags, and annoys, and mostly loves) me back to life when I feel like death.  As distant as we sometimes feel, I’m an addict for life.  Just thinking about her makes my day better.  It’s a poem:  being in her arms is rapture, and kisses and other blessings are heaven on earth. She has given me two of the other people I’m thankful for:
  • My Daughter – She’s only a teen and already a woman.  She’s hilarious in some unique ways, has brilliant taste in music and clothes, she’s smart(-assed), thoughtful and sensitive and sarcastic and sharp(-tongued) and beautiful and so fucking smart I’m jealous.  She has the gift of saying something mean as fuck and making me laugh my head off because the way she says it is in perfect, genius, comedic timing, and she doesn’t even watch Lewis Black or Craig Ferguson.  I’m so proud of her, I could pop.  But there is the matter of the chores– the princess doesn’t want to wash dishes or dry them and put them away, and don’t ask her to cook for herself.  And the picky eating, which I suppose must be normal but it’s irritating, as is the snark-asm sometimes, especially when directed at Mrs. M. Aside from that and the chores, she’s perfect, which will someday make a young man who endures my shotgun humour and her barbed wit, the second happiest man ever to live.  And if a boy ever hurts my princess, I’ll probably kill him and have to hide the body.  And even if she doesn’t find a boy who can handle the pressure, SHE will go far and be a great woman.  I mean, look who she’s following and learning from!
  • My Son –  He’s almost a teen and he’s a man-boy.  Somewhere in between being a boy and  being a man, he balances his feelings FAR better than I did when I was his age, I’m jealous again.  He’s hilarious in a different way, artistic and creative and he’s trying to assert himself but still be somehow nice when he really wants to yell and be angry.  But there’s the matter of chores.  He’s much more compliant but I have to stand there or he’ll wander off.  The attention span of his fathe–fuck! — of a gnat. But if he sets his mind to something, NOTHING will hold him back.  He’s growing up nicely, and if he listens to me when I say the RIGHT things he’ll go far, but if he listens when I say the wrong things, the whole world is fucked.  Sorry, world, it’s up to him.
  • My friend – I’ve got this friend, she sees my potential and although she says the honest critical shit I HATE I HATE I HATE her for, she’s right and I love her for believing in me when I’ve lost faith in myself, God, and all of humanity.  She knows somehow that I can do things, reach my goals and stuff, and she knows spiritual truths about me that I haven’t fully confessed to anyone.  Fucking savant-psychic!  I love you, but stay out of my brain and my sin.  I’ve had enough women traipsing through my fantasies I don’t want more.
  • My other friend- I’ve got this other friend, we hardly ever see each other, I’m totally jealous of his faith and he encourages me too.  He sends me things I’d never think I want, but they’re perfect.  He’s gone from moderate riches to rags to moderate riches, with more faith and understanding than I will ever know.  If God allowed that to happen to me again I would be even more faithless.  What I need are riches.  Tevia from Fiddler said it best:  “If being rich is a curse, then may the Lord SMITE me with it!  And may I NEVER RECOVER!”

5 Things in 2015 I am Thankful for

  • WordPress readers and writers, and Celebrity crushes – I stole that first one from La Sabrosona and I’m certain she’ll forgive me. Beautiful eyes, beautiful soul.  And I’ll also remark that all six of my followers offer me periodic encouragements in my times of distress. For this, for you all, I’m very grateful.  I NEED to write, it’s therapy. Just ignore me when I’m bitchy, unless you think it’s worthwhile reading, or funny or whatever.  Or quit following (but not all six of you at once, please!  That’d be depressing.)  I’ve just felt liberated, right or wrong, to write, from the secrecy and safety of my hidden bunker, and to call things as I see them because nobody, but nobody, can find my hiding place, unless I invite them.  Hayley Atwell, you’re invited.   Ruthie Connell, you’rre invited.  Craig Ferguson, you’rre invited, and so’s yourr old friend Peter Capaldi.   Hmm.  That might be a preponderance of Scots…  What the hell, why not?  I bet you didn’t even know, a gaggle of geese, a murder of crows, a stud of mares, a preponderance of Scots.  Come on over.  (Hmm.  I think it might be fun to be a stud of mares…)  The entire cast of Dexter, you’re invited, especially Jennifer Carpenter.  You can swear here, or not, without fear of your family. (It’s a REALLY big, REALLY fun bunker, if you believe in me.  And it’s all off-camera- NO PAPARAZZI allowed.)  All of you fun, spiritually deep, beautiful writers, who’ve read my dreck and said it was OK, you’re invited.  And you interesting readers from Africa, Europe, Australia, Canada, Mexico, Central and South America, Asia, etc., you’re invited.  Oh, OK, U.S. Citizen writers, too.  It’s pot luck, so whatever’s in the pot, I’ll share. There will be more if you all bring something to the party.  No guns, sorry, I’ve got kids around and one can’t take chances.
  • Cash Flow – I’m very thankful that although things have fallen apart in some substantial (and a few trivial) ways, although I bitch about them and my lack of cash, I actually have cash FLOW.  I just wish it were more incoming, like a lake, or a biiiiigggg-asss storage container, and a little less quick on the out-go.  Still have personal things that need fixing before they get worse, I think next year after recovering from the car crisis, the home AC, twice, and the other lunacies life has thrown our way…
  • My Relationship with Wife and extended Family – I’m thankful that although I LOATHE the honey-do list and always feel incompetent but too poor to “just call the “guy’,” I’ve had a measure of success with a few this year.  And I still like to cook, and a few of my improvisations have been BIG successes with the family.  Also, I’ve been able to help my parents a little, which has been fantastic, and they in turn have helped us out, for which I am extraordinarily thankful.  These successes make me feel happier, like I am able to relate on a level that’s more than just apologetic, (sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry)  to everyone.  I still struggle with the tasks and the workload, but when I’m happier, it’s just better.
  • My Relationship with my kids – Even though they’re sometimes on my last nerve, I’m thankful that in 2015 we’ve been able to connect better than ever.  I think the key has been EVERYONE having a
  • Healthy Sense of Humour – OhmyFlyingSpaghettiMonster.  Stealing this one from La Sabrosona as well.  Some of you bloggers make me laugh my ass off.  Without you and my family I’d have nothing to inspire me but the news, and I think you all know how I feel about that.  And my shitty mood swings.  BTW, La, La, La, thanks for nominating me somewhen less down and more up, or this entry would have looked a LOT differently.

I nominate:

That Death Metal Kid




And the also lovely and talented

Ms Blah.

There’s no obligation to do the challenge. If you have time and are up to it, I’d love to read your responses.

I have to go outside again

I have to go outside again,
I’m forced to go out now and then
But that won’t mean I’ll enjoy it:
People can be as mean as spit,
I think I may be getting sick.
I’m late! My clock thinks I should tick
And tock, like everyone else does,
I don’t, despite my alarm’s buzz.

I have to go outside again,
I’m forced to go out now and then
The traffic sucks! Could they… just… drive?
I’d like to make it home alive!
I get to work and decompress,
Preparing for a different stress,
I’m on the clock and “working” now,
As much as my brain will allow,

I want to be home, all alone,
My private, quiet, silent zone,
The boss thinks I should do some work.
I’d rather have tea. What a jerk!
There’s too much work, for this low pay…
I may as well enjoy the day,
I’m here, and safe, in our bull pen,
Until I go outside again.

Love and Terror, Heroes and Villains

I had to share this despite my limited number of readers and my own personal feelings about what happened in France:

Source: Love and Terror, Heroes and Villains

Give this article a reading for a different perspective.  I for one say let’s just kill all the terrorists or hope that their suicide bombs all go off too early to kill anyone other than themselves, as Jeff Dunham’s video (linked to his article) jokes about.  But this article says something worthwhile for all the survivors, including the dead terrorist’s mom.  Ugh, I hate it when love seems like the right answer when I really, really want to just offer hatred in return. Thanks for your insight, Michael.


Who Speaks for the Snakes?

I read THIS article and I was inspired to write a (possibly allegorical, possibly sarcastic) poem.  I loved Dr. Seuss so I owe him a debt of gratitude for the loving innocence he inspires, and must apologize for my own corruption.

Who Speaks for the Snakes?  11/12/2015, Deon Mumple

Near the middle of town where the lights are broken,
When the lights are repaired, they get broken again,
And no birds ever sing but caged ones, now and then,
Is the street where there now lives a snake.

In a home that was beautiful, once, in its’ day,
When the builder’s last nail was nailed into its’ place
And the painter’s paint shined like a powder-less face,
It’s not pretty now, with an overgrown lawn
And the neighbors either love to hide, or they’ve gone
To a new neighborhood in the suburbs of town

In that home lives an innocent snake in the grass,
Who politely answers any questions one asks,
“Who the fuck are you, man? Go away, kiss my ass!”
He might have a helper, two helpers, or more,
Who help with his work on the street-corner store,
They sell marvelous things to help those who are sore,
To feel better, for a while
They might even smile,
Until their pains come to re-pain them some more.

He’s helping the snakes, all the innocent ones,
He is hard-working, out of the light of the sun,
And he offers the innocent snakes something fun
And they all slither up and offer him their mon-
-ey they all worked to earn, oh the things that they’ve done!
They’ve done things, and then, to the corner they run.

I speak for the snakes, who slither in the grass,
You know they’re all innocent, let them just pass
Some time in your neighborhood, breaking your glass
And painting artwork on your neighborhood walls,
And helping themselves to your things,
And learning “why the caged bird sings,”
And running away when the lighted car calls,
To the darkness of night, to their own little halls.

The innocent snakes! Oh, listen to their song,
Singing, no one can prove they’ve done anything wrong
While they’ve played in the dark
On swingsets in the park
Or they’ve stayed safely resting at home all along.

Snakes are fathered by other snakes, of course,
Who leave mothers lonely with housework and chores,
Who raise children, struggling themselves, for resource,
The fathers will innocently smile at new snakes,
To charm them right out of their skin, for fuck’s sakes,
And leave another viper brood, those old rakes!
Mom and kids do what they have to
The innocent kids… well, what would you do?
Growing up they all make their fair share of mistakes.

There once was a man who lived on the same street,
Who smiled fearfully, but was friendly, to meet,
As he walked from his job to get something to eat,
You won’t see him there, he’s not there any more,
Though he lives a few feet from view, under the floor
Of well-kept meadow grounds in Stonemark, still adored.

A snake asked him kindly to give up some cash,
But he had none, he kept walking, then, hit in a flash,
As, just at random, a bullet rudely smashed
From somewhere in the darkness out there somewhere
And fearing for his life, the snake ran out of there
After checking to see what the nice man might share.

He stays quiet now, living deep in his rut,
With a heart that’s not beating, and eyes that are shut,
And embalmed skin that still shows the coroner’s cut,
And the hole that ended this sweet, sad, nice man’s life,
And stole him away from his now widowed wife,
Who moved to a hiding place, far from the strife.

But the snakes are still there, laying eggs in their nests,
When they poison another, watch them thump their chests.
And police only visit with bullet-proof vests.
In a neighborhood street where the lights are broken
And when they are repaired, they’re broken again,
Because snakes love the darkness to cover their sin.

Apologizing and Accepting Responsibility

In the United States, social groups are quick to be offended and quick to name-call and quick to point fingers.  These tactics are intended to give the offended, name calling, finger pointers an indefensible advantage over others.  And what happens?  The “offenders” are quick to apologize for whatever perceived offense has been pointed out.  And the apology is tantamount to accepting the validity of the claim, and responsibility for the offense, real or not.  It’s a selfish, hateful behavior the same as taking something tangible from someone else that you haven’t earned, and that’s why

I call bullshit.  And this is bullshit.

I’m a horrible, hateful person when it comes to finger-pointers and name-callers.  Fuck all of you who do this.  In these United States of America, you can say one group is socially privileged over another group.  That’s because you have the right to speak your mind freely, whether your shit is logical or not.  But not because it’s “truth.”

I could point to my own favorite example of racial profiling, when I was passed by a driver of another race and I was the one who got a ticket instead of the other driver, whose offense to society was greater.  The cop was the same race as the person who didn’t get the ticket.  But we were both breaking the speed limit, and I just happened to get caught.  I paid the fine, and the increased insurance penalty.  And I didn’t go to court to protest, because I had no photographic evidence of the white Cadillac that had passed me, going far faster.  And because I was breaking the speed limit.  I submitted to the authority that was over me, and was right about me.

Or I can say there are counter examples through our history showing that it’s not just about your racial identity or another person’s privilege, it’s about what you do.  I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m not saying there’s not a bit of luck involved, or perhaps providential intervention if you believe in such a thing.  But I’m saying, in the United States, there are opportunities for people who work hard.

It used to be the truth.  The past is full of examples of racism in America- Chinese immigrants were hated, Italian immigrants were hated, Irish immigrants were hated, Polish immigrants were hated, Jewish people were hated, Africans were sold into slavery and forced to come to America by other Africans, and hated by non-Africans.  All these groups were mistreated, hated and treated as suspect.  All these groups were denied employment, called names, joked about.  In Germany in World War II, the Jewish people were treated with such hatred they were forced into death camps.  And if you were Oriental in 1940s America, you could have been rounded up and migrated to your own camp in terror of Japanese attacks from inside the United States.

Outside the United States, we’ve watched the Hutus and the Tutsis in conflict in a Rwandan genocide.  We’ve watched the Palestinian pisants biting and baiting Israel, with random rockets, and then they complain of persecution when Israel says, “no more.”  And we’ve watched ISIL shooting and beheading resistance, and the Nigerian kidnappers who claim to be in league with ISIL, but they’re all just bullies who are demanding an unfair, illegitimate advantage.  We need to see selfish bullies for who they are.  Shame on them.

I could accept that there are examples of one race exerting power over another, in law enforcement, but could also cite Chris Rock that submission is the best tactic when dealing with law enforcement.  Don’t break the law, and you’ll be fine.

I could accept that there is wage discrimination, and well there may be.  But I could also city my own Masters Degree education, that I worked very hard to complete, and my own being passed over for promotions in favor of a less-qualified, less-informed person who didn’t know shit about my company and came in to be my boss, and asked me to train them, not just once, but several times.

I could also confess that after the first two times that happened, I quit trying for the promotions because I didn’t have the energy in my frequently depressed state.  Perhaps it wasn’t about me personally, but more my lack of stamina to put myself in the race more than twice.  Perhaps if I listened to Jimmy Valvano and applied what he said, to my life.  I’m accepting personal responsibility for myself.  But I won’t accept responsibility for you, especially if you’re pushing it onto me and off of yourself.

I’m saying that I’m not accepting responsibility for your perceived slight.  I won’t.  I won’t apologize for something I didn’t participate in.  You can say I’m the beneficiary and I don’t believe it.  I don’t care, because I’m not “advantaged” over your feeling “disadvantaged.”  I’m saying that I’m not apologizing for your perceived lack of opportunity.  I won’t.  I’m saying that I’m not accepting your citation of a historical disadvantage, even though it may have been “truth,” it was stamped with an expiration date.  When the person who was actually disadvantaged died, it expired with them.

And finally, I’m saying before you take offense, point fingers, call names or whatever bullshit, look inside to see if your heart resonates with what you’re about to say or do, whether you really believe it’s truth or whether you have doubts about the actual situation.  Ask yourself, and be honest in your answer, whether you’re doing it for your own personal gain, or your own social groups’ gain, or for everyone’s gain, because we only win when we all win.  And look outside, do the research to see what’s truth and what’s rumor and what’s just lies.  And then, don’t.  Just don’t, because it’s bullshit.  Don’t take offense.  Don’t point fingers.  Don’t call names.  Do something productive to contribute to society. My complaints are bullshit, and so are yours.  They’re worthless, in fact, they detract from society while someone is giving me a handout I don’t deserve because I didn’t work for it, I just presumed I deserved it and made noise until someone gave it up to me.

In the grand scheme of things, we only have what we have and not what we don’t have.  If you take what doesn’t belong to you by force, whether resource or unjustified advantage, you’re a worthless bully and your barbaric advantage will be wasted.  If you (and I) work hard and share what does belong to you (and I)- opportunity, time, money, education, and especially, love, you (and I) will feel great and be better for it, whether recognized for it or not.  And trust me:  Someone will notice.


OK so I read this article about a person who went for 200 whole days “without buying anything new*) (*except groceries, toilet paper, car parts, medical necessities, and a fucking pair of hiking boots) What the fuck does that leave behind?  Clothes, linens, um, shoes, tools, gifts for people, furniture, cars, …  “Well la-di-freakin-dah!” Aren’t YOU fucking special?

Um, no.  And, FUCK YOU.

I don’t shop.  Because I can’t.  There’s no budget for it.  I put on my 10 year old jeans today, and my year old shoes, and my 3 or four year old socks, and my 10 year old shirt, and drove to work in my 10 year old car, which is almost out of gas, but thank God I made it to Friday.  My car, btw, “needs” $700 of repair work done on it, after we put the other $700 in it to get it back on the road.  And new tires.  We scrimp already.  We save as much as we can, and we live in a modest home we can afford.  When big things fall apart, like cars and water heaters and sinks, we have to get even tighter.  I’m waiting for the other $700 to become necessary, which the mechanic says is inevitable.  We even try to grow some of our own produce, not easy in a tiny yard in a neighborhood with rules against that shit.

I don’t shop, not because I want to experiment, but because I AM the fucking experiment.  I CAN’T.  And we still make gifts by hand for friends and family, because going out and buying isn’t always an option.  We date, maybe once a quarter.  Maybe.  I’d love to go out once every two weeks, or at least once a month.  But we can’t.  I’d love to have pets, like a cat and a medium sized dog, but we can’t afford them, their food, and veterinary bills.  Both of the kids’ little $8 rodents died last year and we didn’t replace them.  They ate a lot of vegetables and kibble.

I buy a new pair of shoes about every year, and try to stretch that to two if they’re sturdy, because they wear out.  That’s what happens when a person works.  I’ve carefully kept my old clothes, and gone to resale stores when I can, for years.  I even found a pair of hiking boots at the resale store, and they’re fine.  A little dog-chewed, but fine.

This whole thing reminds me of the people in the New Testament who were considered “important” “respected” members of the Jewish culture who would parade with loud noises and fucking TRUMPETS into the temple to make their huge offerings.  Jesus said, (I paraphrase) “don’t pay attention to those ass holes.  Fuck them.  They love attention and they’re getting it, and that’s their only reward.  They give out of their excess, they don’t need what they’re giving.  Look over here at Mrs. Widow.  She has earned two coins to live off of them, and she’s giving them to sustain the temple, as an act of worship, as a demonstration of trusting in God, really quietly.  She gets a blessing from God’s hand.” (see Mark 12, or Luke 21)

God, if I have a “widow’s mite,” it’s all Yours.  Because I need the blessing.  On second thought, give my blessing to Mrs. M.  Because she should have it, not me.  I’m just a fuck up, and if I have anything nice it’s her and the kids, and I want them to be taken care of better than I’m able to provide.  I guess, since it’s not in the budget, I’ll have to trust You to take care of me, which was that widow’s lesson anyway.  It’s not about me, or us, or Ms Moneybags.  It’s not about the tiny offering, or the big one, it’s about You taking care of us.

Oh, and Moneybags McTightwad, you didn’t go to a store to buy new stuff for a whole 200 days, so sure, be proud of that achievement.  It IS better to recycle, and be green.  It’s fine to get stuff from the Goodwill.  I’ve been doing that for a whole 10 years, out of necessity, and when I was a kid I learned how to do it from my parents who did it out of necessity.  Did you give the savings to charity, or pad your accounts?  If I had savings instead of bills that’d be nice.  Did you get attention for your achievement?  That’s nice.  Good job.  Now fuck off, that’s all you’re getting from me today too.

Masks (Halloween Fiction) Part II

It all worked according to plan. In fact, the killer fell backward into the house on hearing the word “Ex-Ter-Min-Ate!” I had recorded it and amplified it just enough to surprise him and catch him off guard. The electrical shock had worked perfectly, rendering him unconscious but not dead, and didn’t leave any marks on the skin. In his slack-jawed mouth, I tucked the candy bar, coated with the contact poison, with a careful gloved hand. I shut off the porch light, locked the door and closed it behind me.  The porch light is the sign for neighborhood kids, letting them know there’s candy waiting to be had at the house.  There would be no more candy from that house this year.  There would be no more toxic seepage into the world from this bad apple.

The remains of the costume were destroyed in a very quick, but relaxing campfire in the woods, the s’mores were delicious and no one came by to share.  The remains of the murderer remain undiscovered behind his front door. I dismantled and disposed of the electrical device and trash day followed, each piece to a different dump thanks to several providers working the same neighborhoods.  And Édon Pleumm returned to his lovely wife and his normal life, treasuring the average, ordinary routines.

I’m glad another problem has been dealt with. I find myself satisfied, my soul at peace. I know there are other problems in the world, problems I can solve assuming no one beats me to them.  But am I excited about the next solution? Not really. There’s nothing good about my side projects except when they’re over.  I confess I’m a bit sad for his family, sad because of his loss, sadder still for them that his past, dark activities may be discovered.  That will be awkward for them.  If the investigation proceeds to former addresses and aliases they may eventually find all his closeted, very literal skeletons.

I’ll just wait until the next problem captures my attention, and I hope it takes a long time.  Just maybe, I’ve made things a little bit better because I cared enough to do something.  No more children will be kidnapped and abused by THIS one.  The parents of the child will have closure, assuming an autopsy is performed and shows the toxin.    And just maybe, the world is a little more balanced.  It was a very happy Halloween.