Most presiding judges are intelligent and humane and fair. Almost all judges, probably. Which is why the tiny minority of judges who are mother-wanking toss-baskets stand out so egregiously. It shocks the sensibility of every decent, thinking citizen when these neanderthal arse-waggers render a decision plumbed from the depths of some hideous stinking cesspool of maggot vomit.
In such instances, there are formal routes and methods of complaint. Letters outlining complaints can be sent to the various authorities asking for investigation. Ensuing wheels of bureaucracy can then grind slowly towards a letter of reply and much, much later, if the planets are in conjunction and pigs actually fucking fly, to some action of remediation.
Protests can be held: those aggrieved can gather in a public place, listen to speeches, engage in chanting and then march (perhaps on a freezing fucking frigid afternoon of an early March cold snap) to some edifice related to the injustice.
Some citizens will be left with a deep sadness and feeling of helplessness. Some will be left wanting to stab themselves in the leg. Some, perhaps saddled with a paucity of vocabulary, will pace back and forth in their shitty hovels, gnashing their teeth while muttering insensible strings of “fuck fuck fuck; fuck this fucking one-pump town; no fucking wonder this place is called the Alabama of Canada; fuck that fucking prick and the fucking horse he rode in on.” And so forth.
Some citizens will report, fairly and circumspectly, the facts of these dickweed matters, noting without emotion or editorial comment any disarranged clothing, presence of DNA, state of surroundings, alcohol levels and such. These reports may spark mental clusterfucks just by stating the facts. Online forums will be filled with outrage, disbelief, fired up emoji and swears. Many of these will be abbreviated: WTF; WTAF; FTW. And so on.
It will be rare that some citizen will feel free to spew forth, in print, without censorship or concern for vulgarity, a reaction to these shit bags, expressing a hope that there may be eternal cock punching in hell for such fuck-brained trash heaps.
Such decisions destroy spirit and life. Such decisions discourage others, who are assaulted by no fucking fault of their own, to not ever come forward. To not ever seek justice. To suck it up and leave it to fester inside for a lifetime.
Section 271(a) of the Criminal Code says, “Everyone who commits a sexual assault is guilty of an indictable offence and is liable to imprisonment for a term of not more than 10 years or, if the complainant is under the age of 16 years, to imprisonment for a term of not more than 14 years and to a minimum punishment of imprisonment for a term of one year.”
Except, not always.
The law, as Charles Dickens wrote in 1838, is an ass. But 179 years later, in our own tiny dimwitted way, it can also be a total fucking asswipe.
Opinionated is a rotating column by Halifax writers featured regularly in The Coast. The views published in these opinion pieces are those of the author.
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This article appears in Mar 9-15, 2017.
This debate is like a catfight without claws.
Self indulgent drivel. Should have been posted on LTWWB, or scribbled on the side of a toilet stall.
…at no one in particular is it? I don’t know what to say about this story other than the fact that it causes me to have even more sympathy for that “no one in particular” you’re trying to talk about and far less for the people who seem angry about it.
Why? Because you (and all those who would follow you down the rabbit hole of public hysteria and SJW douchbaggery) can’t seem to come up with a logical reason about why you’re angry…nor will you discuss the situation with anyone…nor will you accept any facts related to the topic.
The point is, you’re not helping the situation. This is nothing but a trigger for people suffering from acute cognitive dissonance frankly.
I disagree with the people commenting (probably) from lonely, dank basements. I’m with ya Jane, thanks for sharing your opinions.
Helen, until you add something constructive to the conversation, you are the one commenting from a dank basement. And Helen, basements are inanimated things which cannot experience feelings, let alone that of being lonely.