Posted on 12/05/2007 4:57:59 AM PST by Pikamax
Make my day, sir, shoot a hoodie Jeremy Clarkson
Almost every day a politician comes onto the news and tells us all that Britains town centres are being overrun by teenage gangs who drink vast quantities of cider and then run about all night stabbing passers-by. While the event is videoed on mobile phones for the edification of YouTube viewers.
It all sounds frightful, but frankly they could be talking about events on the moons of Jupiter because, happily, I live in Chipping Norton, where a lost kitten is front page news. Of course there are teenagers here, and some of them have hoodies, but mostly they are called Araminta and Harry, and Ive never once got the feeling they want to plunge a kitchen knife into my heart.
Its the same story in Notting Hill, where I spend the working week. While dining in restaurants such as E & O, I have no real sense that outside the window, gangs of 14-year-olds are lurking in the shadows, eager to punch me in the face for a moments glory on the internet.
Last week, however, I had to go to Milton Keynes. It was my youngest daughters birthday and she wanted to spend the afternoon at the towns snow dome. Directions were sent, and then more, with even greater detail about how this indoor Alp might be found. But none of this was really necessary, because you just head for the largest building ever created by man.
Its a brilliant place, all full of snow and vending machines offering energy drinks. But sadly, because of Mr Blairs smoking ban, you have to go outside for a cigarette, which puts you slap-bang in one of the happy-slapping town centres the politicians keep talking about.
I wasnt even remotely bothered when the swarm of children first approached. I figured they were fans of Top Gear and wanted to know about Richard Hammonds head. But no. What they wanted to know most of all was if I had any security.
I asked them politely to leave me alone. I walked away. I even walked away a bit more. But they kept coming. And so, figuring that attack was probably the best form of defence, I grabbed the ringleader by his hoodie, lifted him off the ground and explained, firmly, that itd be best if he went back to his tenement.
He declined. They all did. In fact they all reached for their mobile phones and began to take pictures of the altercation. And that put me in a tricky spot . . .
I have reached the age where I am no longer able to tell how old a child is. The boy I was holding could have been 18. Or he could have been eight. And if he did turn out to be eight, I figured the photographs could look a bit like bullying.
So, weirdly, I was standing there holding this boy by the scruff of his neck, and instead of worrying about being stabbed I was actually thinking: Jesus, Im going to get done for assault if Im not careful.
I therefore put him down, and in a flurry of swearing and hand gestures involving various fingers he was gone. Leaving the entire nation with a very serious problem.
Its this. Plainly this boys parents are useless, allowing him to be out and about on the streets, harassing passers-by at will. Think about it. Every single time one of these children is found stabbed or shot, his mum and stepdad always tell the papers he was a good lad. And that he didnt deserve to die.
And nobody ever says: Well, if he was such a frigging angel, what was he doing on a derelict building site at four in the morning, you halfwits? He didnt deserve to die, for sure, but you do, for having the parenting skills of a Welsh dresser.
Theres an equally big problem at school. Children, as far as I can see, are at liberty to do just about anything to one another at school because there is absolutely nothing the teacher can do. Not without being hauled out of the classroom by some frizzy-haired human rights lawyer, sacked and sent to prison.
The police? Oh come on. They are far too busy filling in health and safety forms and processing speeding tickets to be bothered with every single gang of teenage ruffians. Which means that every single gang of teenage ruffians is completely free to go out and do whatever it pleases.
And we the normal people who see town centres as somewhere to go to buy takeaway food or organise a loan for a new house cant do anything either because a) the politicians keep telling us all these kids are tooled up like special forces hitmen, and b) if we stand up for ourselves we will spend the next 40 years in the Scrubs fighting off the unwelcome advances of Pinkski, the Albanian nonce.
Happily I think I have a solution. Nothing can be done about the parents because they are too thick. Itd be like trying to train a hedgehog to smoke a pipe. We cant rely on the police either not without unpicking every single thing done by new Labour in the past 10 years.
And, Im sorry, but even if the law is changed so that adults are allowed to defend themselves, youd think twice about poking a boy in the eye or slamming his head in a car door if you thought his friends had machetes down their trouser legs.
The only place where this issue can be tackled, then, is at school. So you fit airport-style metal detectors at the doors to ensure no pupil is packing heat, you put all the troublemakers in one class and you give the teacher in charge immunity from criminal charges. And a sub-machinegun.
About time.
"No thugs in our house, are there dear?" /XTC
The unspoken rule around here is that if you jump somebody, you just may get the bejazus kicked out of you . . . or you may even catch a bad case of acute lead poisoning.
So it's the thugs doing the worrying, not the honest citizen worrying that he may get prosecuted for slapping one of them upside the head.
His position was that they didn't need to get the crap beaten out of them, they needed to meet The Lord.
So, he quit the bobby force and moved to Tulsa to attend Rhema Bible College.
Last I heard of the guy he was running a Prison Ministry in Oklahoma.
This article just reminded me of the guy.
Until you mentioned the Bible College, I assumed you meant he was going to facilitate a visit sooner rather than later, in a manner that did not involve evangelism.
I predict that a return to vigilante justice is just around the corner.
The courts won't solve the problem.
The cops won;t solve the problem.
The schools won't solve the problem.
The parents won't solve the problem.
Perhaps the public will decide to solve the problem.
Vigilante justice is no longer possible in the United States. We are so socially balkanized the closest thing possible is tribalism.
Johnny was bad, even as a child everybody could tell
Everyone said if you don't get straight
You'll surely go to hell
But Johnny didn't care
He was an outlaw by the time that he was
Ten years old
He didn't wanna do what he was told
Just a prankster, juvenile gangster
His teachers didn't understand
They kicked him out of school
At a tender early age
Just because he didn't want to learn things
(Had other interests)
He liked to burn things
The lady down the block
She had a radio that Johnny wanted oh so bad
So he took it the first chance he had
Then he shot her in the leg
And this is what she said
Only a lad
You really can't blame him
Only a lad
Society made him
Only a lad
He's our responsibility
Only a lad
He really couldn't help it
Only a lad
He didn't want to do it
Only a lad
He's underprivileged and abused
Perhaps a little bit confused...
You weren’t the only one.
Well, he went down to dinner in his Sunday best
Excitable boy, they all said
And he rubbed the pot roast all over his chest
Excitable boy, they all said
Well, he’s just an excitable boy
He took in the four a.m. show at the Clark
Excitable boy, they all said
And he bit the usherette’s leg in the dark
Excitable boy, they all said
Well, he’s just an excitable boy
He took little Susie to the Junior Prom
Excitable boy, they all said
and he raped her and killed her, then he took her home
Excitable boy, they all said
Well, he’s just an excitable boy
After ten long years they let him out of the Home
Excitable boy, they all said
And he dug up her grave and built a cage with her bones
Excitable boy, they all said
Well, he’s just an excitable boy
Lovin it myself.
Leave my wife alone!
Were they at the Milk bar prior?
Perhaps they wanted a bit of the ole in out.
You know, often, the simplest solutions are the most elegant!
No happyslapping for you!
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.