Speeding and hitting a boy: $185.
Leaving him permanently brain-damaged and quadriplegic, and then getting off with a ticket: Priceless.
And no, you don't have a need to know if further discipline was applied. And "Authorized Journalist" Hayley Peterson apparently doesn't think the name of the Montgomery County District Court judge who rendered the wrist slap needs to be public information, either.
Amazing, who the law is really designed to protect and serve.
There are some things money can't buy. If you're an "Only One," this child is apparently not one of them.
Nice to know that, per pound, your kid is probably priced cheaper than chicken.
[Via lots of you]
Friday, November 19, 2010
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3 comments:
The managing editor plays golf with the police chief and the county supervisors. You'll see photos of them together at some holiday charity function, beloved leaders of the community. It would be foolish to think they'd chance jeopardizing their special relationship over a peasant boy.
I think it's in "Unintended Consequences" that Mexican elites gather to shoot live birds tossed in the air by local boys. They use release triggers, meaning the gun fires when the trigger stops being pressed. One of the boys smiles at a shooter, who unthinkingly takes his finger off, and the boy dies. His brother and another boy lug his body a tasteful distance away and continue the game.
I've heard a very similar story before, David. It didn't end well for the chap in the conveyance...
With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashed through streets and swept round corners, with women screaming before it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its way. At last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of its wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices, and the horses reared and plunged.
But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their wounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry, and there were twenty hands at the horses' bridles.
"What has gone wrong?" said Monsieur, calmly looking out.
A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was down in the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal.
"Pardon, Monsieur the Marquis!" said a ragged and submissive man, "it is a child."
"Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?"
"Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis--it is a pity--yes."
The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was, into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall man suddenly got up from the ground, and came running at the carriage, Monsieur the Marquis clapped his hand for an instant on his sword-hilt.
"Killed!" shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending both arms at their length above his head, and staring at him. "Dead!"
The people closed round, and looked at Monsieur the Marquis. There was nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at him but watchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger. Neither did the people say anything; after the first cry, they had been silent, and they remained so. The voice of the submissive man who had spoken, was flat and tame in its extreme submission. Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all, as if they had been mere rats come out of their holes.
He took out his purse.
"It is extraordinary to me," said he, "that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in the, way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses. See! Give him that."
"Sorry, page not found." Down the memory hole.
No, wait; there it is.
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