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Feed To Dogs And/Or Elephants
I fell hard on my ass on Saturday night and now I feel like even more shit than I usually do. Here’s the brief story. We were on stage playing the second song of the second set (of four sets). I’m on my stool, as usual, playing well when suddenly my stool explodes beneath me. It looked like the stool called Hulk’s mother a cunt. I fell straight down, still playing the bass, right onto my L4/5. You know; that part of my spine that has been cut opened and stabbed with needles all my life? Yeah. That spot. I popped up and finished the set before getting another chair at the break. Now my spine is fuct up and it hurts when I raise my arms. I’m thinking I should go to the doctor. I think instead I’m going to go to the couch and finish the Assassin’s Creed games I haven’t beaten yet before the new one comes out. Being crippled is awesome.
You know what else is awesome? Being the biggest fucking idiot on the planet, nay, on any planet. Of course, I haven’t been to many planets. I’ve only been to one actually. And Canada. Three times. So who is this awesome person? Stephanie Irene Santana of Houston, Texas. I have never met Stephanie Irene Santana, but I will tell you why she is a waste of life and therefore must be removed from society and maybe fed to dogs. Or elephants, but I don’t think they eat people.
Stephanie Irene Santana is twenty years old. She is also a mother of a one year old, and seven months pregnant with what I assume is another person baby. She was arrested recently in Houston. Now, simply being arrested doesn’t put you on my ‘feed to dogs and/or elephants’ list. I have some very good friends who have been arrested. What does put you on my ‘feed to dogs and/or elephants’ list is being seven months pregnant stumbling drunk into a piercing shop while leaving your one year old in the car surrounded by empty booze bottles and Xanax pills. Here’s the story.
Stephanie Irene Santana meanders into Dagos Tattoo Shop in Houston wearing sweat pants and a tank top and slippers. She’s shitfaced and very pregnant. She asks the cats there how long a piercing would take. They seem confused about the question since there were no clients in the waiting room. They ask her why, and she says that her baby is in the car. When they ask who’s watching the kid, she says no one is. They tell her to get out and then they call the fuzz. We’ll get back to the shop cats in a second.
She goes back to the car, does Stephanie Irene Santana, and meets the finest of Huston’s force. Or the shittiest, I don’t know if the cops who showed up were good ones. I assume they are. She fails a sobriety test, gets cuffed and escorted to the police car for a little tour of the precinct. The flatfoots search the car. Bottles everywhere, Xanax pills spilled about, and a baby of one year sitting among the contraband. Not in a baby seat, not even in a seatbelt. Just there. In the car with the drugs and booze. Some of the bottles of sauce and tabs of junk were even in her diaper bag. Turns out Stephanie Irene Santana was on probation for theft. Oh, and did I mention all of this was at three o’clock in the morning?
Back to the shop guys. If there’s a silver lining on this awful, waste of biological material cloud it is that the guys at the shop did exactly what they ought to have done. They don’t need my pride, but I am proud of them for showing that the community has morals and ethics, and piercing a pregnant, drunk piece of shit at three am is way outside of what we in the modification community stand for. Bravo to them, and they should be an example for all of us in the community to act responsibly and with respect to the perceptions of our great culture.
Back to the awful person thing. I hope she rots in Hell while Kenny G plays interpretations of popular music as Satan, Bin Laden and Hitler all fingerbang her with razor blade mittens. This is the problem with this country. We have young, irresponsible parents who think that life doesn’t change after a human comes gooing out of their crotch. I’m not a parent, and I don’t want to hear shit about how I don’t have appropriate perspective. Wrong is wrong, and being fuct up on Xanax and beer while seven months pregnant is grounds for deportation and execution. Never mind the one year old who is now in the custody of child services whose life is destined for misery and motherless woe because the woman that made her is a disaster and failure to the human race.
Is this the future of humans? I finished reading a book recently about primates and pair bonding and natural selection and breeding. How is it that a macaque is a better mother than someone like Stephanie Irene Santana? How is it that little creatures, away from whom humans evolved and presumably gotten more intelligent and socially aware, parent their tiny monkey babies in a more responsible and loving way than degenerate human beings who think that motherhood is just a thing they’re doing from which they can take time off to service themselves? It’s horrendous.
I know so many fantastic parents. I know fathers who are separated from their children’s mothers who treat the children as if they are the last wonderful things on earth. These guys can’t get full custody away from the scumbag mothers, but this Stephanie Irene Santana waste of life is driving around with a one year old at three am on probation and Xanax and booze, and that’s perfectly OK? What the fuck is going on in the world, kids? We’re breeding a society of fuct up and neglected children, and what we really care about is that socialist dictator Mayor Bloomberg banning large sized sodas in New York City. This society is fuct, man.
But how, without a nanny state, do we govern this type of behavior? How do we arrest the behaviors that are demanufacturing our abilities to create a great society? These things only come to light after the fact. Only after a kid or wife has been beaten or raped do we decide, ‘Well gee; that was pretty naughty behavior.’ I am a big fan of less regulation for dumb shit. I don’t need the state to tell me how much soda to drink, how many cigarettes to smoke, how much booze to drink, or when to wear my seatbelt. But shit, stories like this make me think that at twenty years old, or maybe twenty-five when you can supposedly think like an adult, there should be a standardized test. The Basile Fucking Moron Test. You take the BFMT at the DMV, and if you don’t pass you are required to get licenses for dumb shit like having babies. Clearly we can’t make any decisions anymore without the government telling us what is a good idea and what’s not, so let’s make sure that someone is watching over absolute imbeciles so that they’re not poisoning the gene pool with their awful DNA.
I think I got off topic. The point was that Stephanie Irene Santana should die and the guys at the tattoo shop should be lauded by all of us in the community. We have a presence to maintain and we have some convincing to do to unmodified people (the ones who think there is something wrong with us modded folks) that we behave properly, morally and ethically not just in terms of our own community, but the larger society of which we are a part, modded and unmodded people alike. It’s not very hard, is it. Just act right. And don’t fucking drink when you’re seven months pregnant. What kind of fucking idiot do you have to be to… Sorry. Getting a little excited there. Stay beautiful, kids.
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