Post by sacbeesting on Mar 13, 2017 1:32:09 GMT
Ha-ha, been following your Forensic Science 101 practical seminars for quite a while, folks. No clue where it fits. It's amazing to see emotions creep in the way of so many people's jonesing to crack the moldy puzzle. Damn, must be daunting, right? Must be hurting. You empathize with the survivors and all that stuff, that's fine, but hey -- your inordinate emotional investment pushes you way off-course. 'Oneself' needs to put reason above emotion, to uncouple emotion from behavior even to solve your daily LA Times crossword puzzle, let alone a yawn-inducingly long-cold spree of rather original and daredevilish antics, wouldn't you say. Of course, you wouldn't. You'd rather shut me up. I get it. I'm half-English, half-Scandinavian, and I admit perhaps the latter part of this uncanny genome helps me keep cool even when the chips are down and the weasels are closing in. And it's exactly your emotion-clouded judgment that makes you:
a) even consider *-scared victims' accounts as reliable evidence,
b) overestimate the fundamentally flawed, psychologically schlocky, downright dumb questioning of the vics done by the p*gs at the time,
c) put ridiculously much faith in and pathetically overanalyze some torn out scrapbook pages with lightweight-mocking-red-herring pseudoessays and hastily rustled-up off-the-cuff poems
d) take some folklore '75 encounter-with-the-ear yarns seriously etc. etc.
As long as you let your emotion and empathy prevail, you'll keep barking up the wrong tree and p*ssing in the wind.
And then, ear-shmear, golden state-shmolden state (pff, those unoriginal media epithets), construction-obstruction, old paint chips-yummy Nabisco crackers-reeky Vantage cigs-urinary Coors-SL 72 impressions-lonely turkey carcass-three-pawed Alsatian-orange BMW-bulldog tat-belt buckle-watch on the right wrist - Fairbairn-Sykes dagger -thermostat off -> too nipply in the house (why not, sweltering Cali, spoiled people)-baby penis (that one's cheap and too ad hominem, come on!), medical-shmedical, military-shmilitary-McClellan-McShmellan aaaa, geez, I'm losing it... tossing the same old bunch of vapid ideas around and around for donkey's years. You keep trying to twist the facts to suit theories, instead of twisting your theories to suit the facts. Come on, you grossly underestimate your Man. Only Drifter seems to be thinking in the right vein, but you don't listen to him cause what he says is rational. But listen, listen up, listen closely ... To succeed in anything, be it committing some fun or unraveling that epic fun, you don't want to operate in anything, but cold blood. After all, the Man politely suggested that you make a movie of his life, not some jejune message board back-and-forth and lurid Crime Watch bores worth half a point on rottentomatoes. The unamused guy is out of popcorn, and you're still firing blanks. He-he.
Don't try and find jewels amid the stale dumpster refuse, which has been stinking precisely since day one of the original naively faulty investigation. Take my word for it. Which reminds me (some more poetry for you):
...and now when some local bat drops off the twig,
and new folk take the house and pull up floors
and knock down walls and hire some big
container (say, a skip) for their old doors,
I'll watch it like a hawk and every day
I'll make at least -- ooh -- half a dozen trips.
I've furnished an existence in this way.
You'd not believe the things you find on skips.
Good luck finding. See y'all. Discover your mojo.
a) even consider *-scared victims' accounts as reliable evidence,
b) overestimate the fundamentally flawed, psychologically schlocky, downright dumb questioning of the vics done by the p*gs at the time,
c) put ridiculously much faith in and pathetically overanalyze some torn out scrapbook pages with lightweight-mocking-red-herring pseudoessays and hastily rustled-up off-the-cuff poems
d) take some folklore '75 encounter-with-the-ear yarns seriously etc. etc.
As long as you let your emotion and empathy prevail, you'll keep barking up the wrong tree and p*ssing in the wind.
And then, ear-shmear, golden state-shmolden state (pff, those unoriginal media epithets), construction-obstruction, old paint chips-yummy Nabisco crackers-reeky Vantage cigs-urinary Coors-SL 72 impressions-lonely turkey carcass-three-pawed Alsatian-orange BMW-bulldog tat-belt buckle-watch on the right wrist - Fairbairn-Sykes dagger -thermostat off -> too nipply in the house (why not, sweltering Cali, spoiled people)-baby penis (that one's cheap and too ad hominem, come on!), medical-shmedical, military-shmilitary-McClellan-McShmellan aaaa, geez, I'm losing it... tossing the same old bunch of vapid ideas around and around for donkey's years. You keep trying to twist the facts to suit theories, instead of twisting your theories to suit the facts. Come on, you grossly underestimate your Man. Only Drifter seems to be thinking in the right vein, but you don't listen to him cause what he says is rational. But listen, listen up, listen closely ... To succeed in anything, be it committing some fun or unraveling that epic fun, you don't want to operate in anything, but cold blood. After all, the Man politely suggested that you make a movie of his life, not some jejune message board back-and-forth and lurid Crime Watch bores worth half a point on rottentomatoes. The unamused guy is out of popcorn, and you're still firing blanks. He-he.
Don't try and find jewels amid the stale dumpster refuse, which has been stinking precisely since day one of the original naively faulty investigation. Take my word for it. Which reminds me (some more poetry for you):
...and now when some local bat drops off the twig,
and new folk take the house and pull up floors
and knock down walls and hire some big
container (say, a skip) for their old doors,
I'll watch it like a hawk and every day
I'll make at least -- ooh -- half a dozen trips.
I've furnished an existence in this way.
You'd not believe the things you find on skips.
Good luck finding. See y'all. Discover your mojo.