Hang Em High

 For three days after death hair & fingernails continue to grow but phone calls taper off.

                                                                                                  Johnny Carson

I’m not afraid to die , I just don’t want to be there when it happens.

                                                                                                   Woody Allen

 

 Dear Reaman:

  Boy did my stomach bounce over my bangers & beans the other morning when I caught your Killing Time editorial. Of all the namby pampy, milk-toasted, bleeding heart liberal, limp wristed, sniveling mush about what a shame it is that we’re putting to death one of Gods sensitive creatures in Canyon City on Monday. Let me get this straight. This guy Davis kidnapped, tied & raped, then shot , a dozen times , a young mother of two for no other reason than he had a little drinking problem, & you think this may weigh heavily on our spirits to put this scumbag down? I think not my friend.

 Now I enjoy a little nip now & again but up until now it hasn’t made me want to abuse & slaughter the first person I come across. There’s something wrong with this sick twit & I for one think he oughta be drug out & shot.

 Just say this ‘fellow human being’ did this to your wife, or daughter, & you think it’s inhuman that we now put him to death.  You actually would want your tax dollar to going into supporting this remorseless vile bottom feeder to the tune of 38 grand a year so he can kick back, lift weights, watch TV & get out in 12 years to do it again?

 I for one think the death penalty is a darn good deterrent to murder. Certainly better than free room & board for the rest of your life.

 I for one want to gag when I read day after day how we have to consider very carefully the social impact of the death penalty. How we must pride ourselves on Gary Davis being the first in thirty years to die in Colorado when 30 have been executed in Texas this year alone. How we must provide the lest painful most humane way to put a human to death....like he did with Ginny Mae?

 Personally, for sheer deterrent, I favor the antiquated system they have down Fla. way. Perhaps you read of ‘Ol Sparky’, the somewhat untrustworthy electric chair that has been brought into use as of late with mixed result. Perhaps you’ll recall back to March 25 when they strapped convicted killer Pedro Medina into said chair, threw the switch, & Mr. Medinas head caught on fire.  Even though the governor himself Mr. Lawton Chiles, came forward & assured us that according to two pathologists reports Pedro did not suffer at all from his cranium combusting. According to the experts Pedro died instantly with no pain, claimed the Gov.

 Well I’m no expert, but you can’t tell me, or thousands of other potential criminals that having your head catch fire is painless. I for one have witnessed two cases of human head combustion & can vouch that both parties we’re extremely distressed & yes, in considerable discomfort.

 Now I’m not sure your genteel readers care to hear about this, nor am I sure this diluted politically correct rag will even print my ravings but here goes....

 

We were young once & stupid. We, my few friends, & I had not really developed the finer things in life that come with age...like control. So after a specially nice home prepared dinner of stolen pork chops & tater tots...hot tots & chops, the table was cleared for a small after dinner aperitif....in this case a large warm bottle of Jose Cuervo Tequila. Well, after a few shots of this lively little liquor. My buddy Millage Middleton III, a young southern gentleman with an incredibly bushy Afro do of golden locks, suggested we turn out all the lights, put a match to this Jose Cuervo & slam down a couple of flaming shots in the darkness. He assured us he had seen it done & would present no problem what-so-ever. We all thought it sounded like a very good idea.

 Down went the lights, up went a dancing blue flame on Millage Middletons shot glass as he raised it to his lips...then with considerable haste he threw the flaming liquid at his mouth.

 Unfortunately for Millage a good portion of the flaming liquor missed his mouth, & instead embarked for the Afro.

 And there in that pitch dark room, Millage Middleton The III’s head exploded.

 For perhaps two seconds he looked like the towering inferno, with two huge, startled eyeballs staring out from the center. Then it was over. Up went the lights & there stood Millage, smoldering like Wily Coyote after the exploding cigar trick.

I for one, & I know Millage hasn’t, ever tried the flaming shot of liquor trick again....see Reaman...deterrent.

 

 The second case occurred in a very fine restaurant called the Summit, perched atop Harrah’s casino on the shores of South Lake Tahoe. A buddy of mine by the name of Kenny Logan happened to be head waiter at the time & had invited us in for dinner that evening. He said it should be a good time as Sammy Davis Jr. was coming in to dine also.

 We agreed, put on our best, & were seated by a huge plate glass wall over looking the shimmering lake when Sammy & his entourage arrived.

 As the evening progressed, out from kitchen in a flourish of flame & brass Kenny Logan came pushing the Flambee’ cart. As the rest of us watched he placed the cart by Sammys table & proceed to prepare Bananas Fosters, a flaming house desert specialty.

 Now at this point let me interject something. Kenny, as with most of the help in the Summit was wearing a wig. He along with his fellow waiters were simply young long-haired ski bums by day & were forced to stuff their shaggy tresses under these synthetic Wanye Newton looking wigs to wait tables by night.

 So there’s a wigged Kenny Logan inches from Sammy Davis, perhaps a tad nervous, when the Bananas Fosters explodes in his face setting afire the Wayne Newton wig.

At first Logan wasn’t aware his head was on fire assuming the heat from the desert cart was the cause of his extreme warmth.

 Only when a member of Sammys group yelled..”HIS HEADS ON FIRE!!” did Kenny comprehend what was happening.

 Cool as a cucumber he snatched the flaming hairpiece from his head slammed it to the floor & sprayed it down with soda water. Then without hesitation again swooped up the smoldering, stinking toupee’ & placing back on his head went about the desert preparation without missing a beat. The Wayne Newton Wig smoldered on his head for the rest of the evening considerably changing the atmosphere of the restaurant.

 Sammy tipped him 500.oo.

 

 So there you have it Reaman. No one in their right mind wants their head on fire. This is darn good deterrent. So I’m sure you’ll see it my way & detract that whiny liver-lipped spineless whitewashed bit of putrid nauseating rubbish you wrote last week.

 

PS. Lets do lunch.