The Law, for kids!

My new favorite website to distract me from studying is lawforkids.org. It features rudimentary drawings of what not to do. Examples:

The irony of this cartoon is that while future M.P. appears to become some sort of recidivist convict, Mikeeeee also ends up in his own form of figurative corporate imprisonment.

This one feels like frame 6 should show the skeletons of Marco and Kirk underneath Mr. Smith’s house. I dunno, it has a creepy Gacy/Son of Sam feeling about it.

Unfortunately, the site does not feature a discussion of mens rea. But there is a great propagandistic  “stories” section:

“Hi, my name is Cindy and I’m 15 years old. It’s my first day in jail, adult jail, and boy am I scared! I was at juvenile jail once and this isn’t anything like that place! I still can’t believe how fast all of this happened. One night I’m out dancing at an after hours club and wham, now I’m in prison for up to 22 1/2 years! I suppose you’d like to know how this happened. Well, I was leaving the after hours club when these three girls from the north side were messing with me. My friends had already left so I was alone. I pulled out my pistol which, by the way, wasn’t even loaded, and pointed it at them and told them to leave me alone. I didn’t mean anything by it. I wasn’t going to shoot them. I just wanted them to leave me alone. But I got arrested and charged with three counts of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. (How deadly is a gun with no bullets I asked, but that didn’t mater) Anyway, I guess last July a new law makes it so that kids that get charged with certain crimes have to go to adult jail instead of juvenile jail.  Well, I’m one of them, on my way to adult prison at age 15. I won’t get out of jail until I’m almost 40 years old!”

….

On 05/22/09
Mark from AZ said:
This story is bogus. First, juveniles don’t go to “adult jail.” Anyone under 18 will not be housed with people over 18, in jail or in prison. And why are you in jail if you were sentenced to 22 1/2 years. You would be in prison. Second, nobody is going to give a 15 year old 22 1/2 years for that. Second Degree Murder (if you shot and killed one of those people) will get you about 22 years max. Finally, there is no internet access in jail. How could you even post this ridiculous story from jail. If you want to give kids a message, do it, but don’t lie and make things up to do it. On 04/29/09

Jilly from MS said:
The story doesnt really sound legitimate. I’ve never once heard a 15 year old in this day and age use the phrase “boy, am I scared!” …

I’ve always wondered why the government is so ineffective at informing kids about crime and punishment. Who is the target demographic? 7-year old delinquents?

The Waters of Lake Minnetonka

When Finals Season arrives, I often find myself at home passively watching whatever happens to be in my Netflix queue (streaming Netflix is key to happiness).  I’ve been revisiting the classics of the 1980s and early 1990s. Tonight, I chose Purple Rain, starring Prince.

It is both absurd and awesome. Example:

Apollonia: Will you help me [start a singing career]?
The Kid: No.
Apollonia: Pardon me?
The Kid: Nope… Wanna know why?
Apollonia: Nope.
The Kid: Because you wouldn’t pass the initiation.
Apollonia: What initiation?
The Kid: Well, for starters, you have to purify yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.
Apollonia: What?
The Kid: You have to purify yourself in Lake Minnetonka.

[She jumps in]

Now, keep in mind this is dialogue between a  5′2″ guy with a bouffant hairdo, clad in a blouse, riding on a purple motorcycle, and a girl in a leather catsuit, set against a mid 80s synth soundtrack.

But you know what? The waters of Lake Minnetonka beat the hell out of the Texas Code of Criminal Procedure.

Halloween

October 31, 1992. I was 7-years old and my family lived in Wisconsin.

And I was The Batman.

My dad took me trick-or-treating early in the evening. In the north, the night turns pitch black by about 6:30 p.m during those eternal winter months. It was a slick, biting blackness – there was light sleet and wind to accompany the night’s activities. But my Bat-thermal underwear crammed underneath my cape and cowl kept me warm.  If only I had some sweet nightvision goggles.

I had a Bat-pillowcase and a Bat-flashlight. With the proper crime fighting and candy-collecting gear in hand, my dad and I set out to plunder the neighborhood. It was going to be a long night.

Raiding. That’s what it was. This wasn’t mere trick-or-treating.  It was an efficient and tactical raid on the neighborhood. Cloaked in the darkness, the neighbors would heed my cry: “TRICK OR TREAT.” And the candy flowed. I still remember a few people felt the need to ask me my identity: “Who might you be?”

I’m The Batman [ ...and you're the dispenser of candy].

The inquisitor was thanked, and then back I went into the shadows of the night, working my way through the squads of zombies, fairies, devils and Bart Simpsons.

And so I walked with my dad until my feet hurt, until my pillow case was about to split at the seems with tasty treats. He talked to me about how cool it would be to be Batman, except that Batman seemed pretty incapable of keeping the Joker in jail. A good point, but I was sure there were good reasons.

My cowl was starting to ice.  Our mission was complete and we still had the trek back uphill to our home on Carnwood Drive. I was exhausted, but the fruits of our labor had paid off. I had pounds of candy.  It was so luxuriant and decadent the bag should have been measured in kilos. I poured my loot out on the living room floor and stared in awe at the beauty and the bounty. So much variety, so many flavors and colors. High fructose heaven.

And I dined. That is, until my mom came along and stopped the gorging. Clearly there was a new entry into Batman’s Rogues Gallery – The Mom.  My Bat-whine was ineffective. She put my candy on top of the fridge, out of my reach. That was ok though, Batman would anticipate such setbacks, I figured. So there was at least a pound underneath my bed. There’s nothing like flattened candy to bring to school the next day.

Man. Halloween used to be awesome.

At BLS, lol is just a drowning man.

Get it? lol looks like a little man about to go under. Now you’re going to think about that every time someone writes lol to you. That’s why I am sure to provide a proportionate lol level per the amount of actual laughter I am doing. For example:

A smile: lol.

Chuckling: lolll

Laughing, out loud: lolllllz

Laughing at you or someone else: LULZ

The abdominal work out laugh: LOLLZLZLLZLZ!!111!

Which leads me to my main point. There just isn’t enough irreverent humor at BLS. Where are the lolz? When it does happen, I think we’re all very happy. Case in point.

Well played, PC students. That’s a statue of former Practice Court professor, Matt “Mad Dog” Dawson, who is, I am told, a legend around these parts. He also makes a lovely pirate.  I wonder if he taught ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRbitration on the side?  You know, if you don’t pay your child support, you’ll be in ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRReeears. All right, I’m all done. Good luck on finals everyone.