Let me start off by saying that this entry will not earn me friends or help my popularity at school, but I don’t care.
I come from the Spider Jerusalem school of writing, which is that bullshit must be withheld. Writing without belief in what you say is just jerking off your readers, and while I’m friendly, I don’t want to masturbate any of you. Well, one or two of you I’d diddle. But know that I don’t care about your criticism or disagreement with what I have to say, because, well, I’m right. And when you really think about why I’m right – and not just with this piece, but many of my other commentaries - you’ll get on board and start looking at things with eyes and mind wide open, which is more delicious and perky than a morning’s cup of coffee.
Back in mid-August, 17 year old Michael Pena was killed outside his family's apartment complex. The gunman who emerged from a car and began shooting, caught up with a fallen Pena, stood on the victim’s legs, and fired several bullets into his back. The little shit died a few hours later.
Los Angeles police still have no suspect or motive in his death, but that goes to show either they are completely incompetent (which sometimes fits the bill), or they may be thinking along the same lines as me.
Family and friends say Pena had been living a dual life.
The story from the LA Times tries to paint a typical picture of a good kid gone bad, caught between two worlds, and if you like your pathos served up so predictably, then you’ll lament his passing. But not me.
Pena had been a drum major and lead trumpeter in the city's best high school marching band, as well as a acolyte in the Mormon Church's Aaronic priesthood for young men. But he was also a high school dropout with a long career as a dedicated tagger His nickname, "Once", was spray painted on walls, buses and freeway underpasses all over Los Angeles.
I hate taggers, with all my passion.
If there is one group of people I have zero regard for it’s the vandals who tag their garbage on any surface they can get their Krylon on. Crime with a purpose is at least understandable, but boastful actions in the name of vanity and bravado, well, that’s a waste of crime. People sell drugs to make money and buy them to feel good. People rob and steal for the money, and operate organizations for the power and control. But defacing property out of the narcissistic need to try and have the biggest dick on the block, that’s just an ugly and stupid thing.
I’ve heard people defend taggers as being troubled kids who are looking to find some way to express themselves and claim something when they have nothing, but that’s the biggest, lamestexcuse apology for the behavior. Boo fucking hoo. For all the underprivileged, disadvantaged people, not one of them made their life better by putting their tag on a wall. Last I heard there was no box on a job application for “most property ruined” or an opportunistic program asking for spray paint skills as a prerequisite. Tagging is pretty much the most useless and unhelpful action anyone can perform with their time.
The side of the building is not yours. The freeway onramp is not yours. The drainage basin is not yours. The Metrolink railcar is not yours. This is not “your” turf. It’s “our” turf – we, the public, and nobody elected you its defender. Your scrawl looks like you stuck a paint pen in your ass and had a seizure, which makes sense because only a retarded person just barely beyond machine assisted breathing could scribble out such indecipherable crap.
If there was a fund I could give to to buy bullets so that more taggers could be shot and killed, I’d take money out of every paycheck.
I pray that I get jury duty where the defendant shot and killed a tagger, because they are getting an automatic not guilty outta me. Or that a tagger is on trial, because I’m pushing for the maximum sentence, and I don’t care what the facts are. I am quite rationally irrational with my loathing of these punks, and want nothing more than the worst for all of them. Bullet wounds from bad encounters, crippling injuries from falling off an overpass – anything as long as they’re hurt, maimed, and (hopefully) killed.
Although living in a utopia where taggers were shot like clockwork is not happening yet (the same one where pedophiles, molesters, and rapists are castrated with a rusty saw), know that I’m not alone. Once, Pena’s father caught him with spray-paint cans and a razor blade, often used to tag bus windows. "He said, 'I don't do it on the walls or the houses.' I didn't believe him," said Felipe Pena. "I said if I see someone doing that to my house, I shoot the son-of-a-gun." Well sir, somebody did, and while you may regret it, I hope more idiot vandals get what’s coming to them.
Every day I read about another tagger dying is like Christmas morning, and I hope that I wake up and find another present.
I come from the Spider Jerusalem school of writing, which is that bullshit must be withheld. Writing without belief in what you say is just jerking off your readers, and while I’m friendly, I don’t want to masturbate any of you. Well, one or two of you I’d diddle. But know that I don’t care about your criticism or disagreement with what I have to say, because, well, I’m right. And when you really think about why I’m right – and not just with this piece, but many of my other commentaries - you’ll get on board and start looking at things with eyes and mind wide open, which is more delicious and perky than a morning’s cup of coffee.
Back in mid-August, 17 year old Michael Pena was killed outside his family's apartment complex. The gunman who emerged from a car and began shooting, caught up with a fallen Pena, stood on the victim’s legs, and fired several bullets into his back. The little shit died a few hours later.
Los Angeles police still have no suspect or motive in his death, but that goes to show either they are completely incompetent (which sometimes fits the bill), or they may be thinking along the same lines as me.Family and friends say Pena had been living a dual life.
The story from the LA Times tries to paint a typical picture of a good kid gone bad, caught between two worlds, and if you like your pathos served up so predictably, then you’ll lament his passing. But not me.
Pena had been a drum major and lead trumpeter in the city's best high school marching band, as well as a acolyte in the Mormon Church's Aaronic priesthood for young men. But he was also a high school dropout with a long career as a dedicated tagger His nickname, "Once", was spray painted on walls, buses and freeway underpasses all over Los Angeles.
I hate taggers, with all my passion.
If there is one group of people I have zero regard for it’s the vandals who tag their garbage on any surface they can get their Krylon on. Crime with a purpose is at least understandable, but boastful actions in the name of vanity and bravado, well, that’s a waste of crime. People sell drugs to make money and buy them to feel good. People rob and steal for the money, and operate organizations for the power and control. But defacing property out of the narcissistic need to try and have the biggest dick on the block, that’s just an ugly and stupid thing.
I’ve heard people defend taggers as being troubled kids who are looking to find some way to express themselves and claim something when they have nothing, but that’s the biggest, lamest
The side of the building is not yours. The freeway onramp is not yours. The drainage basin is not yours. The Metrolink railcar is not yours. This is not “your” turf. It’s “our” turf – we, the public, and nobody elected you its defender. Your scrawl looks like you stuck a paint pen in your ass and had a seizure, which makes sense because only a retarded person just barely beyond machine assisted breathing could scribble out such indecipherable crap.
If there was a fund I could give to to buy bullets so that more taggers could be shot and killed, I’d take money out of every paycheck.
I pray that I get jury duty where the defendant shot and killed a tagger, because they are getting an automatic not guilty outta me. Or that a tagger is on trial, because I’m pushing for the maximum sentence, and I don’t care what the facts are. I am quite rationally irrational with my loathing of these punks, and want nothing more than the worst for all of them. Bullet wounds from bad encounters, crippling injuries from falling off an overpass – anything as long as they’re hurt, maimed, and (hopefully) killed.
Although living in a utopia where taggers were shot like clockwork is not happening yet (the same one where pedophiles, molesters, and rapists are castrated with a rusty saw), know that I’m not alone. Once, Pena’s father caught him with spray-paint cans and a razor blade, often used to tag bus windows. "He said, 'I don't do it on the walls or the houses.' I didn't believe him," said Felipe Pena. "I said if I see someone doing that to my house, I shoot the son-of-a-gun." Well sir, somebody did, and while you may regret it, I hope more idiot vandals get what’s coming to them.
Every day I read about another tagger dying is like Christmas morning, and I hope that I wake up and find another present.
Famous M, '08
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