A Prime Candidate For A Public Ass-Whipping


James Richard Verone lost his job as a Coca-Cola truck driver and found himself with a sore back and a limp, working part-time in a convenience store. Then he lost that gig and developed a mysterious "protrusion" on his chest. Jobless and with no immediate prospects for employment he was without any health insurance and reluctant to lean on his family for help, so he did what any red-blooded American would do in his situation: he robbed a bank. Not for the money to pay for his health insurance, but to instead be tossed into the pokey where he could receive free health care at public expense. Prior to his descent into a life of crime, he mailed a note to the local newspaper claiming that by the time they had received the note, he would have robbed a bank.

How noble! How grand a gesture! How wonderful that he pointed out the plight of so many Americans without access to affordable health care!

Bullshit. This guy needs a world-class ass-whipping, a good old-fashioned Singapore-style public caning for the way he punked a serious public issue. He's 59 and has a sore back and a limp? Welcome to the world of the senior citizen, asshole. That lump on his chest? What is it? Is it a cancerous tumor, or did he just accidentally swallow his dentures? He broke the fucking law! He robbed a bank! I'm 64 years old, and my back hurts every day of the week, and my knees, and my elbows and my neck and yet I go into work every day and do my job to the best of my ability and do my best to pay my bills and drive a 12 year old heap and and live in a dinky apartment with my 18 year old son and all without whining like a simpering crybaby about my lot in life.

Hey Jimmy-boy; here's a few words of wisdom for ya: life ain't fair so suck it up, bitch. You handed a hold-up note to a bank teller who got so frightened she had to be taken to the emergency room for observation. You got in front of a sympathetic judge who lowered your bail from 100k to 2k, and because you only asked for a buck in your note you were charged with larceny, not a felony, and then told the judge that if the sentence wasn't long enough for all of your real and imagined maladies to be cured that you'd go out and do it again. Then you expressed your desire to spend a few years in jail at public expense until you were old enough to collect Social Security and live off the public dime on a beach somewhere.

And to continue your affront to decency you also presented the view that if the United States had a health-care system which offered people more government support, you wouldn't have had to make the choice you did. Guys like you aren't the cure; you're the disease.

I'll give you some choices asshole: how about getting an education, to start? Maybe if you would have worked hard and gotten the ol' sheepskin you wouldn't have had to haul around Coke bottles all day. My old man worked like a sled dog his entire life, so hard that he needed a spinal disc fusion operation and never once did I hear him bitch and moan about how his condition was the government's fault or responsibility. He only knew he didn't want his children to labor the way he did to make ends meet, so both my mother and he made sure we were literate and educated. Here's another revelation for you: every illegal immigrant who sneaks into this country knows that they can sashay into an emergency room and get gold star health care at the public's expense. It's the law, stupid. Why didn't you use an emergency room, or were you just pulling a politically motivated stunt to get your name in the headlines? I say you were. And you yanked the chains of a lot of gullible people who couldn't see through your charade and clucked their  sympathetic tongues at your horrible plight.

Well you'll get no sympathy from me, but if I were your judge I'd grant you one of your requests, asshat. You expressed a desire to spend a few years in the comfort and security of jail until you became old enough to collect Social Security and live on a beach? I'd give you that: as Bubba's prison biatch, where you'd spend the rest of your sorry-ass life guarding your posterior every time you dropped the soap, you jerk.

Lenny Palmer 6/22/2011


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