Twisted Children

Since entering my late twenties, I've experienced a strong impulse to spawn a legion of mini-Timmys. Basic biology is hard at work, but one of the things that has always given me pause is the fear of how my children would turn out. Take half my DNA, throw it in the blender with that of even an ordinary woman (let alone some of the misfits I'm a magnet for), and BAM! Meet the next Ted Bundy, Richard Ramirez, or disgruntled postal worker from Oklahoma. Aside from the genetics, my parenting skills would no doubt supercharge their psychosis.

But wait. There are worse parent-progeny train wrecks than I have the potential for! Two different stories have come to my attention recently and are topically related: juvenile gang rape.

The first incident involves a woman who was raped in her own home by 10 or so teenagers. Her 12 year old son was tortured for about twenty minutes, forced at gunpoint to have sex with his mother, all before being doused with flammable liquids. They, however, were not set on fire as planed because no one remembered to bring a lighter. After the gang left, the two victims walked an hour to the hospital...



In the second case we have a 15 year old girl who was raped by 4 to 7 other students after her homecoming dance. As unnerving as that is, the real kicker is that roughly a dozen other students witnessed the whole thing over a 2 1/2 hour period. Taking pictures and recording it with their cell phone cameras.



And I thought my kids would turn out to be low lives. These other kids though... damn. Rape is not an intramural tag-team sport. These kids should become familiar with the story of Alberto Pocaterra, a serial rapist who only after 5 hours in prison was himself stabbed, raped, castrated, and then decapitated by twenty other inmates.

And then they used his head as a football.