Smiling is a Disorder

The times that have changed America have often been the most crucial and painful in our nation’s short history. Times like these are often the ones that define a nation in the senses of image, perception, and production qualities. In today’s America senses of image, perception and production are simply ignored or are viewed obsolete. As the decay of these important issues broadens and accelerates, it only leaves one to think of how much longer a nation of such decadence and unraveling can exist.

America is fast becoming a despot country upon the world and refuses to gander at its current domestic issues. This obsession of foreign policy is proving detrimental to the common working man and the lower classes. The common working man is the supply, the heart, and the soul of a country. They define the image, perception and production of a country, and the upper class simply fade into obscurity while their bank accounts grow larger.

This is why many are wondering why we, the common men of America aren’t angry with the way things are going. It seems the blind hopes of tomorrow and the broken promises of yesteryear fester the meaning of today. The voices of the common man have long been silenced through a progression of altering policies that blanks them out from the political and the economic mainstream.

The policies of today’s administration and government are striking a huge blow to our stance as America’s voice. Across the world, we are no longer realized as the roll up the sleeve fighter for justice, but we are viewed as a land of overweight, ignorant creatures who will strike with a reptilian reflex. The working man of America has been replaced with a grudging white collar figure that eats oil and earned money and consumes the souls of people.

While this evil consumption continues, the government sits and laughs as they swirl eyes with false saints and true sins. All the while America sits back and relaxes as their great nation goes deeper into the pit of negativity. America needs to view the world as their mentor. For the past 5 years, we haven’t given a care to what the world thinks of us and country by country we are gaining enemies, and feeding the paranoia of ours and other nations throughout the world.

The only way back to our former glory is through honesty, integrity and hard work. It will take a renaissance for certain to turn it around, but it can be done. The first step is to bring honesty and integrity back into the offices of our land. Common sense will be able to bring a lot back to our country, and all it takes is a spark from us, the common men of America.

In the dark days, just past summer but not quite to the miserable winter, there lies a scene of our common life known as Naples, Italy. The streets that are littered with random fliers promoting strangeness and beauty become filled at random hours during the day with the permanent Librans that have walked the earth for ages.

The age in which these special people live is one that reverts to the ages of giants, as well as the ages of subtlety. In this great mix of life, history and even drama there is a fluidity of life that is certainly interesting to the keen eye. Many of the observations of an average person aren’t in perspective of their own visions, yet the allure of the city either overwhelms or infuriates the person.

The Libran is quite the character. Often times labeled a “snake in the grass” or “dicey” they certainly have colorful, yet dark lives. Librans are also known for their ability to be creative, indecisive and even peaceful diplomats. The streets of this city are filled with these vibes. The air almost carries a scent of imminent conflict, yet subtle resolve within each person, and the scams that are abound are balanced with the occasional street vendor magical make-your-day finding.

The chaotic running of the horse and chariots better known as Piazza Garibaldi is certainly the modern day competition to get nowhere. In the balance, in which the Libran is best known for, there is a grudging respect between each driver. The games of cutthroat, chicken and razor-close are simply a part of life, yet a simple turn can be as easy as flashing the lights before the person in front of you does.

As the observer walks down the street, a free play is being produced on a daily basis. Frantic hand gestures, combined with a flamboyant description process make for an entertaining show. It seems the darkness of under the city stays there while the actors of this perpetual play do what they do best: perform. As the brick-laid sidewalk passes below your feet, the smell of spray paints and unwashed hair seeps into the nostrils. Looking from the aging ground, the painting of a thick, forested hill with a waterfall touches the eye.

Librans are amazing people, but they are also at the same time dark and intellectual. They do prefer to be secretive about these traits, but it is coessential to their life forces. The common script of this city is just that. The darkness of the lonely August nights and the intellectual prowess of even the lowest on the social status go together so well they do not exist during August. It is a city filled with paradox, and one that is filled with paradigms of how life should be lived; unedited and watched by millions.

As the Librans go to sleep at night, they hang their black clothes in their closet. They return to their lover who is passionate of the ever-present artistic beauty of the person lying next to them. This society of Librans will continue to thrive in their own age of perpetual recycling because in a Libran’s life the only thing that changes the life is death.

Yet as the Librans die, their world doesn’t and it’s easy to believe it never will. In a sense, this world they have created is a wonderful place that produces a sense of disconnection from a world that is full of technicalities and facts. This world is one of thriving to further and striving to stay the same. The constant push and pull of these Libran’s lives affects them in such a profound way, an outsider often views it as a inefficiency. It is because only Librans understand Librans and that’s the way this land runs things.

I knew this day was bound to happen. Seasonal Affective Disorder has once again conquered my Omaha Beach and is taking every bit of happiness I had away little by little. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the condition, it is actually a deficiency of Melatonin (yeah the stuff in your skin.) Apparently this stuff is released during the daytime by your brain and if you are short of it it will depress the hell out of you. So put 2 and 2 together, and you have shorter days+less light=Depressed Eddy.

Oh well, I need to write more, and what better inspiration than that of a deep dark depression that grips you so hard your ribs break. I think this is why I like fall, it gives me a reason to be the other me.

Aside from the sudden in-law esque visit of my SAD, I've been doing decent. Ruffa and I had a little misunderstanding the other day, but we cleared that up over Monday and Tuesday.

I leave for home on the 25th (yay). It will be a frantic attempt to gather as much money, support and fun as I can in 10 action packed days. Vance,James,John and Kyle are all coming in for leave at the same time, so that distant hum that you are hearing is actually Thin Lizzie's "The Boys Are Back In Town". We always get into trouble when we get together.

Speaking of trouble, jesus christ!!!! These apes at work are trying to mast people for not putting in a couple numbers into the computer. Fuck it, if they wanna be Nazis about everything let them. Seig Heil NEMOF.

I'm convinced. Just Take the makeup off.

The mind is a wonderful thing. As ages and age progress, it seems our minds become just a little more mysterious and unreadable. I have been contemplating my childhood and teenage years here on the fastly approaching milestone of twenty-one years old. My memory is great, I still can remember my past very vividly. I cherish this ability, because it allows me to regress to a time when things were better, simpler and just more fun.

The earliest of these hazy visions is about Larry. I remember Larry so well because he was one of my father's good friends back in the late 80's and early 90's. Larry was strung out on every drug that existed. The man made Keith Richards look like a chump when it came to consumption. Still, Larry had a big influence in my life because he was where my father wasn't. My father drove a truck, which was a hard life for a family man. This meant he would be gone a week at a time with only weekends off, and those weekends he was en route back home. My father simply wasn't around when I was young.

Larry would used to take my sister and I out to the Buffalo River bridge because there was sand there and we could play in the sand, but he refused to let us get in the water. At an older age, we realized Larry had a mental condition that contributed to his thinking that the river consisted of pure gasoline. The sand was good enough though. I certainly enjoyed it. My four year old mind could run amuck in the vast depression of sand in the ground. I would take my toy dumptruck, backhoe, etc. and literally spend hours digging to no avail, but there was still a sense of accomplishment. It was that four year old mentality that something as small as a hole in the ground has made a difference in the world.

At the end of the days, Larry would take us back home and mother would be waiting at the door for us. Mom always waited for us. She would greet us with towels and thank Larry with an empty grin. Larry would then speed off in his Firebird to his home across the interstate. Mom would then have soup and a grilled cheese waiting on the stove for us. She never failed. My sister and I would have one last fight before we went to shower and sleep.

As the years past, I would spend a lot of time alone. We didn't live around many people, but we did have a lot of animals on the farm. I developed a great relationship with our dog Ebenezer. He was a giant and would help me dig holes in the yard, much to mom's dismay. Ebenezer and I were each other's friend. It is hilarious thumbing through the pictures seeing me riding him like a horse, or him licking me mercilessly. He was the kind of dog that always smiled, no matter what. Ebenezer was killed by a hunter one day who mistaked him for a fawn. When the man brought the dog back to our home, I felt my first form of anguish. That empty feeling, that everything you loved and enjoyed perished into the unknown.

I didn't have much time to frown upon Ebenezer's death, because my first days of school were approaching. At the age of six, I began to develop traits that would stick with me for the rest of my life. The joy of life came in stride, even as a child. I have always felt a form of sadness, but I was too young and primative to realize it. Looking back, it's evident I was a very somber child. I did look forward to school. It was a release for me. By the turning point of becoming a student, my homelife had deteriorated in a rapid fashion. Mother and Father were constantly sparring due to my father quitting his job as a truck driver to be with the family. He took a chance and started a gas station down the road from our house.

Taking a huge risk with his own money, he started Rochelle's BP during my third grade year. It wasn't until then I had truly had a father in my life. He had missed some key points in my life, but he tried, and continues to try to play catch up. Rochelle's BP was a fun place to be. Unlimited pinball games combined with the choice of Tom's peanuts or Little Debbie's cakes with the daily Coke were certain tickets to my presence there. Not only that, there were lots of things that a young boy could do that other boys didn't. At the tender age of 9 I was pumping gas and cussing with Stacy.

I had an elementary school sweetheart named Mandy back in the third grade. She hurt my little boy feelings on the playground one October day. I remember it was October because I had bought a pink-ice ring for her on my birthday with my birthday money. I had 20 dollars to spend on myself, but I bought my first of what would be a long line of heartaches. As I approached Mandy with the ring slipping in between my nervous little fingers, I began to feel confident. I walked up to her and gave her the ring. She snarled her nose at me and her friends began to laugh. In a very angry fashion, I threw the ring across the playground and walked off. I didn't have any friends, come to think of it, I was an elementary loner.

That all changed when I entered Junior High School. I began to loose interest in my studies, and develop more an interest in trying to grow up too fast. My newly found friends and I were the epitome of trouble. I can still remember Roy,Jake,Nick and I out on the playground thumping beehives and running from the bees. I was fat, so I was stung a couple of times due to my lethargic run speed. It was fun, and funny at the same time, because the bees would scare the piss out of the rest of the kids. Countless hours were spent propped against the gym wall writing the preamble to the constitution. To this day the words "We the people" still strike fear into me.

As the year rolled on, I passed the fourth grade. I went from an honor roll student to a get-byer with more focus on my social life. The fifth grade held even more adventures for the four of us. This year, though we had a hot headed black lady named Yovan for our teacher. The slightest caught mistake, and she would snap like a green bean. I did very well through that year, but trouble was still down the pipes. This was the year I figured my crucial ability to take advantage of people. I began to pick on a kid named Brandon. Brandon had some kind of disorder, but to this day we do not know what it is. It must be a family secret. Regardless, Brandon was the constant laughing stock of our class, but it was out of childish cruelty that we played with him.

The sixth grade rolled around with a lot of changes in my life. My sixth grade year was spent honing my computer skills, and chasing Rachel Dougherty. I do not know how I remember her name, but I do. She looked just like Raggedy Anne, but I found it appealing. I was also becoming quite a thief and lier. I do not know why I developed this trait, because the household I came from did not advocate, nor teach it. I just found it compulsive and rather fun. Cheating and lieing became a fact of my life. One day I stole 20 dollars from my father's mantle and took it to school. Jake and I were in English class when he found Nathan Little's bottle of Stetson Cologne. Jake stole it from his desk and we went to the bathroom after class. In what would be one of the funniest times of my Junior High life, Jake Damesworth did the unthinkable.

Upon my offer of giving Jake the 20 dollars, he quickly agreed and drank the bottle of cologne. About three quarters through the bottle, he spewed it out. He downed at least 5 ozs of Stetson cologne. This was incredibly sickening to him. By 6th period, he had turned to the color of chalk. In the middle of the Social Studies Lecture, the door opened wide, and the voice of our principal was emanating through the class. Our presence was requested outside. This was the first time I had been caught doing bad things and I was scared. I lied to try and wiggle my way out of it. I forget exactly what I said, but I do remember Jake looking at me like I was crazy. Regardless, my first paddling and the genesis of my burden on the Humphreys County School System was born.

That summer, I smoked Marijuana for the first time, drank my first drink of alcohol,and that certainly prepared me for the seventh grade. The seventh grade, I met David and Josh. Due to legal problems, I will not mention their last names. I spent my time with these guys, and learned my first true lessons of life. They were 1:Not everyone lives in a pleasant home. 2:Poverty Sucks and 3:Learn who you can stick with, and if you can't,don't. It's simple, they took an innocent church going guy and turned him into a threat to society. I was only 13 or 14 at the time, but we were beating the town up. I lived the rough life, and for some reason I prefered it over my semi-sheltered life back home.

During school, we would shake things up a bit by throwing down a quick swig of alcohol in the locker room. We would almost always enter Health class in an altered state of mind. One day I remember fondly, Mr.Harrison had us outside giving us a lecture on how big of losers we were going to be, and he smelt the liquor on my breath. My mind suddenly felt dizzy, because the penalty of having alcohol at school was a year's expulsion and you wouldn't get to pass the year. This frightened me, but luckily Mr. Harrison thought I was a lost cause and let me go.

The rest of Junior High School was spent on edge about the outcome of tomorrow. A constant game of cat and mouse, and apparently the mouse prevailed. Entering High School, I was full of ambition and blind hope. I had started to really deteriorate in the face of adversity. I literally hadn't been home in months, and I lived with the two people I had modeled myself after. I decided to get stronger ties with my family. When I was integrated back in, I realized how good I had it on that side of the "tracks". My father's business had begun going under, however and he was forced to begin working the farm.

The summer of '99 was spent feeding cows, learning how to operate a tractor, and finding new ties with a totally different group of people. I began to run around with the rednecks, still troublemakers, but we were good o' boys. After a long day in the field we would go down by the same river that I played at as a little boy and we would swing off ropes and drink beer until it was time to go to work. These guys were great crowds to be around, simple men that realized the frailty, and the vibrance of the human being.

I began to calm down by my Junior year in high school and developed into a great Tuba player with a flair for humor. I would still hang out with the boys during the weekend. I put my past behind me and paid more attention to family and life, rather than ruining them. I do not regret the past happenings, but I cherish them, because they have molded me into who I am.

I think it's the realization that the most important journey in one's life is that of their childhood. Something that starts off so simple such as a fight in the house, or a fire set in the yard, or even a sister pinching your cheeks can cause effects felt in adulthood. You cannot let go of your childhood because it is programmed into you, much like the education you recieved during these years. It is an amazing thing when you just sit down and reflect. Sometimes a tear will come to your eye, and sometimes you will erupt in laughter. It's all a part of this beautiful thing that never ends, even when we do.

When I look at my little cousin, I see this empty vessel that can be filled with riches, or with sludge. The riches of life come from the sludge of life. It is this grim observation that keeps my smile permanent and my life fueled. I look forward to filling my child's life full of riches, but I do understand it will take some things that I don't neccessarily agree with to get those riches, but I lived the life that many haven't, and expect nothing different.

Ok, this is the final straw. This fucking filter on the government computers is really pissing me off. It's not logical to have these, because in some cases they actually hamper the job, and slow you down by trying to find shortcuts around them. Every standard the Navy, and the government has at this point is on par with their Christian Conservative ass raping lords. I get so fucking pissed when I want to do something as simple as look up a band's review, or in today's case update my journal and I get a "Dan's Guardian:You are too young to see the word shit" message. We are grown fucking adults sitting here. Why is this babysitting still going on. I want to rip my scalp off and burn it in the middle of the floor when I get this shit. It's tools like these that Navy uses to make their ass kissers a little more uneducated so they can control them a little more. I guess this frusteration grows out of the fact that I believe in a non-censored society, and that the government has NO role in restricting what a person can and can't see. They can make all the rules they want, but they cannot censor what the public sees.
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I'M THE ONLY ONE THAT FUCKING SEES THIS!!!! - And that pisses me off worse.
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Another thing that is really getting on my nerves is the relentless media coverage of the Hurricanes. I decided I would give network news one last chance, but once again it shows it does 3 things to me 1:/Proves it can't be trusted 2:/Irritates the PISS out of me by broadcasting the same shit every 5 minutes. 3:/Doesn't report things that matter (i.e. "Fat Housewives who complain about the smell of gas, and how it affects their children's Mitochondria" vice "2 Troops Die in an Illegal war by ingesting oil fumes". Who are these fuckers and when will they be hanged? I'm not one for the death penalty but these people really need a L.D. 50 dosage of death. I fucking despise the misinformation mongers in this country, and in others. They cannot possibly believe that smart people aren't on to their tricks!

It seems this life becomes more and more stressful over the stupidest shit every single day, not because of the desire to escape it, but by being forced into it. The military is an inferno of pointless, black bags under your eyes, scream out loud, pain inflicting, head splitting horseshit, but yet I am masochistically drawn to it's allure. It must be the cat and mouse that I play. I love fucking with these sheltered pieces of shit. Only a certain slice of my friends I do not consider the scum of the earth, because they too are human beings.I hate people who think that everyone grew up on their side of the tracks. They don't realize that not everyone had a t.v. esque breakfast and a kiss before they went to school/work. No, some people weren't sheltered to the point of blind arrogance, some grew up seeing the true side of human beings, and it seems that the ones who have are the ones who want better for the human race. Not some suburbia douchebag who's most traumatic life event was falling off his bicycle at the age 5. I despise these lame,tame bowers to anyone. They do not have any self respect for themselves, nor do they for others.These are the same assholes who use rogaine,progaine, anything with "aine" that will make you look just a little bit more plastic. But then again, that's the route America as a whole is taking. Other than a rugged few to refuse to let man control man, and do not let the melted plastic stench of society drown them. These are the people that will be truly saddened at the downfall of humanity as we know it.

Fuck, the rage inside of me is absolutely disheartening. I want to start throwing bricks at people on site, especially people at the NEX. Fucking fat bitches. You can hear them breathing heavily inside before you even enter the store. I do not shop their due to these slimeball lazy self righteous outragously overweight bred-for-breeding whores. Their Husbands are on the same level, and I do not discriminate genders, I call it like I see it. These women are a grim reminder that America is coming to, A overweight cess pool of consumerism slavery. The only workout these people get is 1/childbirth and 2/reaching in their pockets and 3/arguing. Let me tell you what is fueling this. Some slob was behind me when I had my family in the store. I was shopping for my family!!! We had a lot of stuff to pay for, but I was patient with the son of a bitches behind me staring me down and huffing and puffing. I was about to fucking go off when Ruffa touched my arm and shook her head. This red headed gingerbread eating bitch was whispering something. I thought of her face being smashed with a brick and it soothed my nerves. Regardless, I consumed for the betterment of the family. Not for the betterment of the tumor of calories growing around my waist

Fuck the world. That's what I say. I'm going to return to Tennessee and fence my property in and rig that fucker up with a bomb/gun setup that TK would be jealous of. Don't try to stop it, either. Some bearded beast from the wilderness who writes books and eats deer and berries will be fucking your world up. Just as long as I get away from this shit that is making me ever so paranoid and nervous.

The End
Whew
FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

That's exactly what I've had the past couple of weeks. It seems as though my mind is missing something, or it is wanting something it once had. I know this feeling because I used to have it when I'd be on vacation. I think it comes from that subliminal feeling of wanting to go home just for a little while, to see those you always knew but no longer do so. It all started a couple of weeks ago when I was sitting on the bus stop bench downtown waiting on my ride home.

It was a cool night, with the smell of rain arousing the senses. I had just got finished spending the weekend with Ruffa, so I was emotionally,financially and physically drained. We had been in Rome for the weekend and stayed inside with each other throughout the rainy weekend that plagued us. Sitting on the bench, something strange happened. It seemed as if all of the noise around me drained away to the lonesome bullfrog that always sat on the rocks beside the pond. The cityscape was sucked away and replaced with the green fields with the big willow tree that I always climbed and fell off of. One last thing was missing, the clean air. I just couldn't seem to find it.

The roar of the bus came by the stop about thirty minutes later, and I got on. I was the solitaire rider, and it had the same lonesome feeling that it always does. The low moan of the engine sent me back into this weird daze. It seemed these memories were striking me as some from my childhood. They always come and taunt you with the better, carefree days of yesteryear. The hard plastic seat I was sitting in was making me think of the churt pit that Jerry and I would break beer bottles that the high schoolers would throw out. Jerry and I would always have fun together.

Jerry was the son of a drunk lumberjack and a crazy gas station clerk. His brothers Jonathon and Brandon were shipped off to some juvenile detention center in southern Tennessee. I befriended Jerry when his mother was fired from the gas station and began working at the motel that was across the street from my house. Since he was still young, he would tag along with his mother while she worked. There was a small creek out beside my house and I would often times go to it in the search of rocks and crystals to collect. There was never anything in the creek bed, but it was a great activity to get me out and active. This creek is where we met and forged a friendship.

Soon we were a year older and in that creek bed we were still practicing being kids. We had developed a small shanty that was erected with spare wood from my grandfather's wood shop. It was a good escape where we could look at porn and smoke cigarettes, which is exactly what we did. The summer months were spent killing snakes who dared to impede in our operation. The shanty was built at the foot of a drought that had stricken the family farm, but the creekbed remained dry and we didn't have any.........Out to lunch

site:whitehouse.gov pussy

Mynews Agency-Only one week after the landfall of Hurricane Katrina, George W. Bush returned to his Crawford Ranch. Arriving in Waco Texas aboard Airforce One, he was swiftly taken off in a motorcade to the ranch. Political Strategist Karl Rove says it is the beginning of his third vacation, and that "The past week has been especially stressful on the president."

When asked about the Katrina situation outside of a drugstore, the President was adament that help is on the way. "We have nothing to fear, nature can not destroy us, but the terroist can. That's what this is all about, the terroists!" Completing 4 years worth of rhetorical speeches, the president has now said the word terroist more often than the entire population of Israel over a span of a decade.

President Bush's return to the ranch has angered the transplanted residents of New Orleans, saying the President has other things on his mind rather than helping the public. "That's just what they think, they never work, they aren't the president" Bush said. The president then turned to a shrub the width of a pencil and chained it down with his chainsaw.

Mynews Photograph-President Bush Returns to Crawford, pictured here outside of a drugstore.

America, the land of compassion, wealth, and generosity...except when a hurricane strikes, especially a Category 5 such as Katrina.

In case some of you are smart enough not to watch the news repeatedly Katrina is the first Cat 5 storm to hit in almost 40 years (The last being Camille in 1968). Hurricanes of this magnitude are destructive, no matter the setting, location, or situation. Now, putting those 3 things into perspective it is my great fear that this will be an eye opener to just how fragile and disposable we are.
( Read Further )

Entry has been deleted out of respect to the dead/ravaged.

Good Luck Everyone.

Today's Back-in-Timer is me in the form of Humphrey Bogart.

I stepped outside today to go to work, and noticed the refreshing tint of Autumn teasing me. If anyone knows me well enough, they know that Autumn is my absolute favorite season. To me, it has the scent of sweet decay and the feeling of smooth velvet wrapping the naked body. It doesn't really become Autumn here in Italy until about the beginning of November, and in 2 or 3 weeks it is Winter. It's apparent that Naples has only two seasons. I enjoy the time I do get of this marvelous season.
( Read On! )

I do not believe I have any immortality. The greatest evil in the world today is the Christian religion.
-Herbert George Wells

One century ago, H.G. Wells wrote that quote. It's leading me to believe that ever since Christianity's conception whenever ago, it and all other organized religions have been the edge of the blade in the demise of the human race. Even though their mission is large, and impossible they are on a relentless mind capturing campaign. It is currently the Crusades without the swords, and it's going to take a larger collective effort to defeat these evil bastards.

My discourse for Christianity branches off from the belief that one man has his own self. Even if an organization takes everything he owns as far as material and monetary means, he still has himself. He has a brain,heart, and intuition. Why would one subject him or herself to a totalitarian way of thinking? One that limits the usage of everything the beauty of the human body has to offer. Humans are animals, and animals are meant to roam free on this planet that has taken millions and millions of years to create, but inquiring minds intend on enslaving only one species in order to dominate for a purposeless cause.

I feel ashamed, and betrayed that I am a part of the human race. In a sense the lowest slug has more dignity than someone that follows a set religion. I have always said that individualism is the foundation of a mans life. If he is not induvidualistic, then his foundation will become weak and frail, because so many stones on top of your own will cause a slow crack and crumble.

I've become solid in my cause. I have renounced not only Christianity, but all other religions. Though I see Buddhism as a great philosophy and way of life, I will not follow it as a religion. Is my self rightous path one that is bound with peril and tragedy? It very well could be, but there are things that disgust me, and I refuse to be a part of something that makes my lip snarl.

A Bengal Tiger was killed yesterday in Kansas when a couple had placed their little daughter beside it in the hopes of obtaining a picture with the animal. On a whim, apparently the tiger attacked the little girl and killed her, and in return it was slaughtered.

Lets break this down. Why kill this tiger? I know it's an argument that has been plagueing man since forever ago, but it's redundant to kill an animal for simply doing it's job, hunting and procreating. Let's put this into a human perspective. A plumber has a specialized job. He fixes pipes,shitters and sinks, and for the benefit of our luxuries he gets a very small share of money. Regardless of monetary value, his place in society, and inevitably nature is "the plumber". Let's say a plumber just finishes fixing your sink. Would you fill him with lead? NO!

Humans are becoming more and more reptillian, it's a regression that has starting hindering us after our stint of Animal Kingdom domination. Everything is done as a reaction it seems. A tiger kills a little girl, kill the tiger in return. Think and ponder the tiger's predicament before you murder the poor animal you fucking redneck pieces of shit. Look at his/her plight.

*The tiger was taken from it's natural habitat, and put into some run down highway attraction, where children and toothless trash can get their picture taken beside a rare, and almost extinct animal.

*The tiger was probaly malnourished, as the vast plains of Kansas cannot keep this animal in peak sustainable condition.

*The owners were probaly undertrained on the management and care of tigers, and possibly even abusive.

*The tiger could have been placed in unorthodox holding facilities, where it's feces and filth added up.

There are so many things that can go wrong with wildlife, I don't see why we always have to risk it.

One positive thing about this, I know the tiger was fed up, and even possibly knew what it had to do to escape it's depression. I do not feel bad for this family. They underestimated nature, and this is their punishment.

At least the tiger died a martyr

Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.