 Comedy, comedy, comedy
Commenter matthole asks: "Why not present you(r) case to LAPD and the media and have it closed? ."
LAPD and the media? How about media's Larry Harnisch? He 's supposed to know something about the case. He's a reporter for the only newspaper left out there. He's doesn't want hear it, he's making due lying to the loaded tourista's these days about sunburns, sideburns, and Ed Burns. As far as i can tell, nobody who lives out there much cares anymore if the case is ever closed, unless they're riding on the Black Dahlia gravy train, in which case Neverland awaits...where wet dreams come with waltzing mice and crazy hare-lipped movie heros.
As far as the cops go,it would probably be my civic duty to notify them of any hard evidence I might have developed. If I lived there, maybe? Which I don't. There's always territorial issues. I have no wish to embarrass hard working cops with information they've probably figured out years ago. I've stepped on enough toes already and I haven't even got so much as an iota of constructive critical review, just angry reaction, so-far, something the L.A. cops don't need any more of, I'm sure.
He continues: Why? Because even you know that the pathetically poetic prose you have presented makes little or no sense and that you have no documented suspect that can be tied to any tangible evidence.
Now you've gone too far. First, callous impatience has caused you to answer your own question. An almost irredeemable rhetorical blunder. Second, you have mistated to two material facts when you presumed I have no documented suspect who can be tied to anytangible evidence. I suggest that you have not read this blog with any care all, but just this once I'm going to smarten you up, Chump. I'll give you his name; Edwin Floyd Burns. His rank; Warrant Officer. And his Army serial number; 39271009. [Documentation]. Happy? I have more.
And lastly, occasional reader Pam Hazelton asks: "For a retired cop (this is what he put on his profile at the boards), he must have missed the training were they teach you when things aren't apparent, or when leads hit dead ends, you look in unusual places."(?)
Here on my own blog, accuracy requires me to be a retired emergency communications officer. As a federal employee, grandfathered into a law enforcement slot at 40 years old, (35 being the normal age limit) I can't recall ever having any training at all, except CPR and EMD certification, mutual aid, the 911 system and choppers and stuff. A lot of map reading though, I better had know where all the dead ends were, peoples lives were at stake. What did you ever do that's so hot you can sneer at my lowly profession? I digress.
But, not even the most unusual places I've ever had to visit had a thing on your ca-razy expensive laugh-a-minute quasi-pornographic dotcom, where the kool kids come to romp and play and make fun of the stupid old guys who used to fight to protect them from who knows what, and the sour old winesaps who let them play at censorship and practice character assassination on their websites without any qualms or second thoughts or control.
You'll do pretty much whatever they want anyhow, seeing as how they work so cheap. No unions fer haybailers, eh? And one night you or somebody else is gonna wake up and dial 911 for whatever reason and nobody will be there to answer the call because people like you can't afford pay pay people like me what the job's really worth in money or respect. You lose. And when all the slots finally went unfilled, most were just overqualified. They can't rate the job high enough to keep anybody. A major disaster looms in this area. You'll soon see. And all our misdirected philanthrophy, was wasted on the poor poor people when we could have hired more cops, closed some real cold cases, instead of watching CSI reruns. But who will give us Dahlia porn? When the big get-out comes, who's gonna serve somebody, you? Nope.
That makes you another degenerate parasite owner, an online enabler of internet scumbags. A taker with the gimmies. With all your bleating about personal problems you've somehow got the time sit down post and that crappy missive for me? You are a contemptable fraud, playing at the big scary webmistress. Get your lines straight and maybe your life will follow. But you don't want to soil your beautiful mind, so you pay to get the dirty work done for you. When they fail you, you must strike blindly wherever and at whatever they point or throw some pocket change.
Another stupid proto-fascist in my blog, and a probably a disgusting dirty war mongering, planet hating Republican, too. Or a backlslider on the lam from the God's Own Party types. Censors, like her. I don't know about that. Old buildings and old whores crave respectability, I guess. Big Mistress Pamela wants me to apologize to her for my having been blackballed from her personal online nazibundsite because she has decided it was my own damn fault. She never once troubled herself for my side of the story.
Now that's practical fascism! It's servility will set you free. What hubris there lies? A boot to the face in an Orwellian scene. To laugh is to provoke, to complain is to be a boatrocker, a disturber of the peace. Auf weidershane, come back, Shane! Never! I wonder what for? Because I wouldn't...I just don't know, exactly what I did wrong. Nyah. They expect that. Come on and beat me, Daddy. Eight to the bar! Go defunct.
 Jack Wilson, Shane (1953).
10:45:41 AM 
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