Kabuki justice and pathetic trolls.

If I wanted to write a Kabuki play I might well choose the murders of a week ago tonight as its theme. More and more keeps coming to light.

First off it winds up the OR Technicians at the hospital who were on call wound up being unreachable on the night of the murders. I have this from a good freind who'd just gotten off a nine hour shift and got called back in an hour later because of it. Not that it would have done much good, they'd lost so much blood by the time they got to the hospital. One of 'em sustained five bullet wounds to the chest. From a Webly six-shooter. The killer must have been one insanely good shot, to be able to do that kind of damage with that antiquated handgun to a professional, veteran officer.

Secondly the other officer murdered (i.e., not the one I remembered from Frontier) was one of those who gave the arrested bartenders their harrowing four-hour ride around town before taking them in to the station for booking the last time they tried to shut down all the gay bars. So there's some sort of tragic justice to it all. I know that must sound cruel. But what can I say, the guy did die honourably and that's about the only way he could ever have redeemed himself in my eyes after what he did to my freinds.

What a town.

Had last night off so went out galavanting. Wound up at Foxes, of course. Karaoke Wednesday. I'd brought something to Sid's attention -- nothing big really, but a little technicality in the Liquor Control Act that I thought he ought to know about in case he didn't. He came up to me while I was there as a customer and told me that in all his years working there no one else has ever read through all the rules and regulations. I can't imagine why. It's only 82 pages, and there are lots of times when nothing else is happening.

Little Mr. Churchy troll who was all over me a couple of nights ago has taken to badmouthing me behind my back to people who talk to me at the bar. Big surprise. He must be painfully jealous. It *has* to be humiliating to be not just turned down but verbally put in your place by the lowly doorman. I'm not terribly worried about it. He was flipping between telling the Northern Ute gentleman I was talking to what a horrible person I am and literally begging for beer. It was sort of interesting, actually, a nice little inversion of the ugly stereotype: the white guy begging the native to buy him a beer.

Free advice to would-be trolls: if you're going to try to undercut someone else's chances, try not to undermine your own credibility by being laughably pathetic at the same time. Duh.

Almost eight, I'd better head in. I hear the Dunkin' Doughnuts on San Mateo has wireless internet late at night. That's good -- finally a place I won't have to drive thirty miles to if I want to go online any time after eleven, and can probably get off pretty cheap with coffee and doughnuts being my only real choices. Later.