Saturday, June 5, 2010
The pro crowd is always quick to point out that our prison system is not designed to rehabilitate America's sociopaths. Sure, if a guy does five years for grand theft auto he may, upon release, think twice before hot-wiring that Dodge Viper. But let's face it, the nut case who's doing time on death row because he raped and murdered fifteen Wesleyan University sophomores and then dined on their spleens while wearing his grandmother's underwear and singing "I'm a Lumberjack and I'm OK," well, for that guy, rehabilitation is pretty much out of the question.
On the other hand, the anti-death penalty crowd usually invokes the "two wrongs don't make a right" argument, insisting that murder is wrong even if it's a thrice-convicted unrepentant child-molesting serial killer that's getting the needle. "Killing the criminal won't bring back the victim," they say. Well, no, it won't. But it will probably make the victim's family feel better and, honestly, is the world going to be worse off because Hubert "The Carlyle Pedophile" McGibbon is dead instead of just locked away?
Personally, I'm a big fan of the death penalty, I'd go so far as to say we don't use it often enough. Obviously I'm all for taking out the rapists and murderers, but why stop there? I mean, just because the asshole standing over there on the corner hasn't killed anybody, does that make him a worthwhile human being? I say, "not necessarily."
Let me be clear on this. I'm not talking about those among us who are useless and pathetic in a quiet, harmless sort of way. I know plenty of people who contribute nothing to society, but they're not pissing anyone off either. We can safely leave those folks alone, no problem.
But I truly believe that the death penalty laws should include the following provision:
"Any person who demonstrates through his actions that he is a completely worthless piece of shit with no redeeming characteristics whatsoever shall be put to death. The manner of execution shall be determined by those who have been victimized by said person."
Meet Matthew Clemmens, a 21-year old degenerate asshole from Cherry Hill, New Jersey. On April 14, Matthew and a buddy (let's call him Douchebag) were attending a Phillies game at Citizens Bank Ballpark in Philadelphia. After taking full advantage of the stadium's "we're only supposed to serve two beers per customer but who's counting, wink, wink" alcohol policy, Douchebag began heckling, swearing at, and eventually spitting upon fans in the area. One such fan, an off-duty police officer, took exception to Douchebag and Matthew's belligerence, and asked them to please refrain from their disruptive behavior because his 11- and 15- year old daughters were bothered by it (I'm paraphrasing, the officer/dad may have phrased his request a bit differently).
Douchebag, however, did not heed the father's warning and continued his antics. Security was summoned, and Douchebag was escorted from the premises.
And that's when the fun really began.
Matthew was allowed to remain in the stadium, and instead of doing what a rational, non-shit-faced person would have done, that is, shut the fuck up and watch the game, he decided to avenge the persecution of his good friend Douchebag. Tapping into his inner Karen Carpenter, Matthew stuck his fingers down his throat and made himself vomit all over the 11-year old girl.
You read that correctly. He fucking puked on a kid. On purpose.
One can only imagine the horror that poor girl experienced. Needless to say, stadium officials and the local police immediately apprehended Matthew and from the looks of his mug shot, well, they weren't shy about using "reasonable force."
Now, to be fair about it, I'll admit that I do not know Matthew Clemmens. Perhaps he's a really nice young man who donates money to children's hospitals, volunteers for the Special Olympics, and spends his weekends making tuna fish sandwiches and delivering them to a local homeless shelter. Maybe he's a member of the Cherry Hill Episcopalian Boys Choir, and enjoys feeding the pigeons in the park every Sunday afternoon. I suppose it's possible that his actions on that April day in Philly were completely out of character and in no way represent the wonderful, caring human being that Matthew Clemmens really is.
But probably not.
I'm betting that Matthew is precisely the beer-barfing, foul-mouthed, Santa Claus-hating lowlife that he appears to be, and as such, I say we execute the fucker. According to my new law, the puked-upon child would get to determine how ol' Matthew would be put to death.
And with a police officer for a father, I'll bet she could come up with a really good one. Something like covering the bastard with A-1 Steak Sauce and tossing him into the lion habitat at the Philadelphia Zoo. Beer-basted asshole, family style.
I'll bet the lions would eat until they puked.
 For you younger folks, Karen Carpenter was a 1970's folk singer who suffered from bulimia, or maybe it was anorexia, anyway, one of those diseases where you think you're fat and make yourself vomit whenever you eat something.