The Trouble With Guns: a Memoir
by Steed Dropout
Dec. 19, 2012
Berkeley, ca
SCOOP! KILLER MURDERED AN OVER CONTROLLING MOM BY KILLING HER TO REGAIN CONTROL, ACCORDING TO FREUD
“I read you. [in the Planet} You have good ideas about crime” — Michael K. Meehan, Chief of Police, Berkeley, ca
News from Newtown: Killer’s barber tells all. “I shoulda killed him in my barber’s chair,” CNN.
As periferal as this barber-talk is, it may give us a clue to the killer’s motives. The barber has “known” the killer since he was twelve. The kid never said a word. “She spoke for him,” the barber said.
Either the murdered mother was over-controlling or the kid was a moron (he was decidedly not). If we are right, this is a SCOOP; it’s in the headline.
A neighbor, who was close to the mother, reportedly says she was petitioning the court
for rights of conservatorship, which would have given the mother the ultimate control over her son.
That’s when he started dreaming of killing his mom with her own gun, using the skills she taught him at the shooting range. Sparked to action when he learned of his mom’s bid to take legal control of him, he couldn’t resist making the dream a reality.
The Trouble With Guns. Photo by Ted Friedman.
Was she claiming as her reason to take control that her son was a threat to himself or others, or just nuts enough to need supervision?
I had an over controlling mom, but instead of being a gun nut, she was afraid of them, and got her kicks from crime comics books, and Tales from the Crypt (my favorite.) I was ten.
“Maybe I shouldn’t do this,” she’d wink, “maybe you’re too young for this.”
The comics were erotic, if not porn. Instead of becoming a killer to take control of my mom, I became a chronic masturbating child, and I started in the seventh grade.
Remember, this is a memoir, interrupted by a news exclusive.
So the closest I came to violence was furious, repetitive masturbating, and I regret not one moment of it.
WILE E. COYOTE SYMPATHIZER
My next brush with violence was when my high school girlfriend would cry during Road Runner cartoons. She felt sorry for Wiyie E. Coyote, and I felt so sorry for her feeling sorry for Wilye that I fell deeply, and fatally, in love with her.
I was already a reporter, and couldn’t afford to feel sorry for anyone, especially a cartoon character. But Porky Pig, that lug, was piteous.
This has something to do with guns and violence: I was proving something when I stood on the bridge of a Landing Dock Ship, Vietnam war era, in the Western Pacific, in 1963, as one of our big guns went off only a few feet from me, shooting at not much of anything — just working out, and sternly admonishing the California-cool crew that this was after all a ship of war. We transported 300 marines and their landing vehicles.
There was a stabbing of a Marine on our mess-decks (dining), and in Subic Bay, many stabbings, and brawls — vomit sinking slowly into dusty streets.
On Guam, the crews of seven ships rioted after choppy seas made it difficult for the tiny boats (Liberty Boats) to get into the harbor, and take them back to their ships. The rioters didn’t seem to mind, but the Shore Patrol minded quite a bit.
The rioters were really tanked up. Liberty was only good for three hours. Three hours to get stinking drunk. The Navy was up to the task. They hoisted the first Shore Patrol Jeep on the scene and upended a second.
Then they started beating up each other. Blood and skin.
I was almost strangled to death by an angry participant in an encounter group I led in New York.
I violently destroyed an encroaching encampment when I was homeless in Berkeley’s Live Oak Park.
Now I’m killing off Berkeley’s celebrity radicals, in a work-in-progress-novel called, the People’s Park Murders: a Tale to Die For.
I am here obliged to notice how this fits in with Newtown, controlling moms, guns, violence, crime comics, and masturbation.
The thread: The Newtown massacre killer was living out his fantasies of killing off his controlling mom with her own gun, while I just masturbate and kill people in my crime book.
Huh?
Sorry about that navy gun story, mom; I wasn’t aiming it at you. The gun story really gets me off. Wouldn’t Freud agree?
Steed Dropout shows how to tell a story, to three different audiences, a balancing act.
