Smell That? It's Reality.

So my friend M is back in the media spotlight. (I posted a while back about how her ex was murdered by the ex's new girlfriend's psycho ex-husband, who also killed his own two children and himself, but for reasons no one else can fathom, spared M's own 4-year-old, who was also in the apartment.) Apparently the local cops just released a letter the freak wrote to someone just before he went on his little bulletfest, wherein he paints himself to be the lunatic asshole he was. And, of course, it must be a slow news week in those parts, because the reporters are all over it.

Which is what reporters do--write stories that sell papers so their paid advertisers are kept fat and happy, and they get to keep their jobs. And people love love love a good tragedy, even if it is almost five months old. Even if the survivors are trying to get beyond it and somehow move forward with their lives.

So I'm not altogether pissed at the media monkeys, because they're just doing what they do. What pisses me off are the people they quote, who ask the same ignorant ass question over and over--"why didn't anyone come forward with their concerns? Why didn't anyone go to the police?"

Are you asking that question? If so, I urge you to participate in a little social experiment, okay? Go to your local cop shop in person, or phone them if you prefer. Tell them you have some concerns about a friend, or a co-worker, or even your own former spouse. Tell them he's acting strangely. Tell them he's talking a lot of smack and you're afraid he might do something rash. And see what they do. See what they say.

Aw, fuck it--I'll save you the trouble. Because, see, I've already performed this experiment, so I know the outcome. They'll tell you to "be careful" and file an ex parte, or "temporary order of protection." Which is, for the laymen, a piece of paper signed by a judge that tells the person of interest not to bother the other person.

Because we all know how scared crazy people are of pieces of paper, don't we? Ooooooh, 8 1/2 x 11 printer stock. Creepy.

Oh, but let's change it up a little. Let's do the same thing, only this time, let's be visibly pregnant, with a recently-expired restraining order against the person of interest, and let's tell the cops--in person--that the POI just physically assaulted them.

Okay, I've done that, too. And what happened? The dispatcher gave me a bored look and asked in a monotone, "are you bleeding anywhere? Do you have any obvious injuries?" And only agreed to file a report after I started getting a little nutty myself, loudly proclaiming that nothing would be done until this person had, in fact, killed me.

Oh, and guess what? It's been almost five months since that happened. And the person of interest in that scenario is, and has been, roaming free as a fucking bird in the meantime. He's not even due back in court until May. And in that time, he's been given free reign of a 6-year-old child on Wednesday evenings and alternate weekends. He's been allowed to take that child out of town. He goes to his school, which is in my neighborhood.

So allow me to answer that question for all those asking. Why didn't anyone report their concerns about that psycho? Because it wouldn't have made a shit bit of difference, that's why. So stop blaming the fucking victims. Blame the "justice" system that made what happened--and what keeps happening--possible.