What is it about petty criminals that when they get desperate they always seem to dream up a plan that involves something about which they know absolutely nothing--so the plan inevitably goes wrong, and ends up in murder...?
Why does it always seem to involve a yacht and a girl--and an escape plan that depends wholly on an Automobile Club map of Mexico...?
That was the one in Los Angeles a couple of years ago--3 bored punks (one bizzarely named John Fitzgerald Kennedy) pretended to want to buy a boat from a nice couple. So they all went for a test drive and killed the retired pair without a thought. And for what? They didn't know enough about boats to even point it the right way...had to call the Coast Guard to be rescued!
Same kind of story just happened in Miami this year aboard the Joe Cool. It's always the amateurs who think all they have to do is go to sea and the world will reward them with coconuts and the policia will forget them. These guys killed a young couple and the captain, then, yup, had to call the Coast Guard when they ran out of gas near Cuba.
Something in our psyche makes us stupid around great waters... Or maybe makes the stupid lethal...
Not the whole story, just some fragments of the days–-literary, political, sporting, and personal. Why call it “A Salty Blog”? Fond memories of the Players cigarette pack, which was also the cover and title of a Procol Harum album called "A Salty Dog," that showed a wild-eyed Jack Tar, wreathed in a tatty beard, leering gap-toothed–-just the kind of guy I’ve always run into in pubs who, when not telling stories of the ouroboros would threaten to “bite yer ****ing nose off!”
Showing posts with label coast guard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coast guard. Show all posts
Friday, January 18, 2008
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