May 3, 2007

Oh, ferchristsakes....

Last year, my youngest son was mad at his older brother. Little brother sputtering mad, where nobody, NOBODY gets how mad he is. Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Big brother Marc takes off with his friends, leaving little brother Jackson to stew in his own juices and get over it.

Or not.

When Marc returned home a couple of hours later, there, for all the world to see (and more importantly, girls) was a pair of his boxer shorts flying from our flagpole.

I hadn't noticed the sneaky little bugger doing it, and I didn't know he even knew how to work the flagpole ropes. Never underestimate the power of a peeved little brother. I'm sure Marc got even, though I can't remember how. The teeter totter balance sheet of evil brotherhood is still flipping away madly as we speak.

There's an article in a Texas paper about a bunch of high schoolers who basically did the same thing. School prank. But they got busted for it. The school called in the cops.

Are we there yet? This was a senior prank (they also toilet papered the halls, moved a cabinet, put fish bait in a case, and broke a door). By the school's admission, there was little damage. The judge dismissed the case. Ya think? Haul the little buggers in there by their ears, call their parents, pay for the fixing, and ground 'em. Calling the cops? What are you going to do when someone brings a gun or a bomb to school? You know, a real problem?

Kids have adults so spooked now they are fully aware of who is running the show. Our laws are such that they can literally get away with murder, but get jail time for running their underwear up a flagpole.

Who's running the asylum?


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