You know it’s coming: an old school rant, because I’m old. And someone put an evil raccoon in my shorts. (But, Deon! You NEVER rant! What’s wrong? EVERYTHING)
First, I understand that accidents happen. “Accidents” are unforeseen events, one believes those are not preventable. They cause destruction and that’s why one buys insurance, either to protect their own assets, or to provide remuneration for other people’s assets if one is found at fault. I’m fine with that.
I’m NOT fine with the willful destruction of property and the reckless loss of life or liberty, and then the legal system having the penchant for protecting the guilty. I’m not fine with willful disrespect of appropriate boundaries.
This week the news was ripe with Cincinnati’s own little Johnny Darwin, who decided it was a good idea to leave his mother’s watchful care, climb a three foot boundary fence, cross a few feet of boundary hedge, and drop fifteen feet into the Silverback habitat. At the risk of becoming unpopular as a blogger, my first gut reaction was to think, the sniper missed. Except there’s no signage saying “trespassers will be shot.”
I hear your horror. While I’m acquainted with a three year old’s enthusiasm about getting where they want to go, I’m also aware from personal experience with child harnesses, call them leashes or whatever and I don’t care, that they exist.
We learned our kid was a runner at age 3, and bought a leash for museum and zoo trips. And we used the damned thing. Maybe it was Johnny Darwin’s first escape. We’ll never hear the truth of that from Mrs Darwin. My second one was to wonder why the fence wasn’t higher. It is NOW, too little too late for Harambe.
Sadly, the only “animals” in Harambe’s unfortunate case, were the humans. I firmly believe Johnny could have been retrieved without harm, by a zoo handler. I also firmly believe, that due to Harambe not understanding human speech, he was frightened for the boy, who the humans might have thrown in, and he was protecting his new charge. They were noisy, they were yelling, they were upset, and maybe Harambe thought they were angry with Darwin, who looked innocent, therefore the safest thing to do with the boy was to collect him and put him in the safest place available, using himself as a shield. If Harambe wanted to harm little Johnny Darwin, 400 lbs of gorilla vs 40 lbs of 3 year old, it wouldn’t have been any challenge, and the caveat-ed award would have been won.
The meme above about the leashes is right, except the leashes aren’t to protect your kids from the gorillas, rather, they’re to keep the gorillas safe from your kids.
The lesson to be learned here is, in the name of all that is good, please, teach your child appropriate boundaries. I’m a dad, I get that it’s sometimes difficult. We had our adventures when our kids were 3. We learned from it. I have very vivid memories of chasing after a quick toddler (we were only a few seconds behind him), and upon catching him, quickly correcting the behavior, in an old-school kind of way. And as soon as we knew we had a problem child, we nipped it in the bud and got a leash. Arrest me for child abuse, but a), he never got away with that kind of SHIT again, and b) he had learned by the third time he tried that we didn’t approve, and not to TRY that kind of shit. My bet is, it wasn’t little Johnny’s first offense. I bet mommy started counting before the 911 call.
Mrs Darwin: “If you don’t come back right now Johnny, I’m going to count to 10!”
Johnny: (thinking) Well, she doesn’t really get mad until she reaches seven, so… I’m still gooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD! Oh shit, what do I do now?!
Counting is not discipline. It’s stupid. Harambe did it right. He didn’t count. He grabbed the kid by the arm, and took him to safety. It’s what mom should have done.
The end of the world will not be caused by a natural disaster. It won’t be the volcano at Mount Yellowstone’s fault, like was predicted in the movie 2012. It won’t be flooding, or storms, like were predicted in The Day After Tomorrow. It won’t even be tidal waves, or global warming. It will be a disastrous chain reaction set in motion by someone taking a damned SELFIE, or driving while texting.
This statue was 126 years old. It was an irreplaceable work of art. And some fucking idiot came along and destroyed it “on accident” while trying to take a damned selfie. Humans are, recently, irresponsible, destructive fucking idiots. But it’s not just the modern selfie generation. I give you
She’s the famous Venus De Milo. I don’t give a shit who broke her arms off. Someone did it. We don’t know where the arms were, or how they were originally carved. My guess is, she was probably being modest and covering herself and some jackass wanted to cop a feel.
Exhibit C: You remember Ecce Homo (“Behold The Man”), priceless painting, by Elias Garcia Martinez? He hung there to be “beh[e]ld,” for more than 100 years, in the Sanctuary of Mercy Church in Borja, but he was flaking out. Along comes an art enthusiast who says, “let me fix that.” Without asking her for samples of her restorative work, they apparently either gave permission or they covered her graciously by fabricating a story about giving permission later. I didn’t get the feeling we got the true story of the restoration work. But I got a feeling the woman was in way over her head. Here’s how that turned out:
I wish they had made her do a few studies before taking on the whole project. But there Jesus is, minus his ugly thorny crown and unsightly forehead blood, now wearing a more modern, stylish hairdo, a shave, and, bonus, sporting a lovely scarf!
It looks like something a kid might do. Not terrible necessarily, but not as realistic as Martinez’ original work. Anyone who has taken a recent trip to a “museum of modern art” can tell you that “art” has different definitions depending on who’s defining it. But I say, if my kids can do better (and many times they can, those talented little jewels), then YOURS isn’t ART. Young Miss M can do brilliant Romantic-styled landscapes, and more Modernistic math-inspired works, as well or better than any cubist or expressionist. Master M can do brilliant humorous post-modern work, as good as Worhol or Gaughuin.
I seriously couldn’t watch this one all the way through. I saw the end on the news this morning. I started watching the beginning and had to stop, while wondering what the staff was doing instead of monitoring guests or their cctv. And wondering why this guest couldn’t be bothered to obey the rules everyone else has to obey, and has respectfully obeyed since the doors opened. If you can stand to watch, see if it doesn’t inspire you to want to yell at this stupid fuck. “HEY! ASS HOLE! Don’t touch it!” He keeps fucking touching it, not once but SEVERAL FUCKING TIMES!!!
D- for “Duhhh!!” He keeps touching the thing until it accidentally falls off the wall accidentally allowing the power of gravity to destroy it. OH. MY. FLYINGSPAGHETTIMONSTER. The artist who designed the clock was very gracious and said he will fix it. But really. Boundaries. Boundaries. Boundaries. It’s not just that it’s destructive. It’s that it’s fucking disrespectful.
But in the modern era, it’s not little Johnny Darwin’s fault, nor his mommy’s. Oh, no. Somehow it’s the fucking zoo’s fault that a gorilla was murdered after living there about 17 years in peace, because some little shit didn’t respect his boundaries.
The jury’s still being assembled for the guy who ruined the Portuguese statue. But hey, maybe it’s not his fault either. Somehow. I guess.
It’s not Senora I-can-paint-it-just-as-good-or-better-than-a-painting-teacher’s fault she trashed the painting. Her work was solid, we are just being overly critical of her improvements.
It’s not Mr. Let-Me-Make-This-Clock-I-Don’t-Understand-Start-Ticking-OOPS!’s fault he knocked the clock off the wall either. It’s the museum’s fault for not enclosing the clock behind an acrylic shield screwed to the wall studs.
Last, and worst, an arrogant waste-of-skin had his way with a girl and then killed her. And several others. That smug little shit. Van Terry, the young lady’s father, is a hero and should be allowed not just to flip the switch but to castrate the son of a bitch and remove his fingers and toes with a cigar cutter, by quarter of an inch intervals, allowing for partial healing in between each operation.
That beautiful young lady, Shirellda Terry, did not deserve to be savagely attacked and then murdered, nor did any of his other victims. I’m not even going to dignify him by mentioning his name. He’s just a little shit who had no respect for boundaries, who deserves worse than death. The defense argued to spare his life, asking for mercy for this monster. And the smug little shit was smiling because the court and law enforcement officials were obligated to protect him. Except for the method of his dispatch, the judge chose correctly. Humanely.
I’d let the father loose with a wide cigar cutter, once a month, with the animal well-restrained, and when he was done, I’d throw a pack of gauze at the monster and tell him to figure it out or bleed to death. And then, let Mr. Terry throw the switch, or choose a more fun method, to end it after he’s heard the animal cry and beg for mercy. And it’s still not enough to be really called “justice.” All the law enforcement and court officials would publicly decry my method. They may not call my way close to “justice” out loud, but that’s what it should be. The death penalty is not enough for monsters like this.
Shirellda was a priceless, unique, irreplaceable work of art created by God and Mr. Terry and Ms. Minor. She was their beautiful baby. This arrogant, smug little shit presumptuously took her from the world. I say, let Mr. Terry dispose of this trash any way he sees fit. It’s what I would want. I’m a dad, and I love my kids, and fuck the “rights of the guilty” if anyone ever does anything to hurt them. Criminals lose their rights the instant they take their victim’s rights away from them.