It's Alright Ma (He Was Only Bleeding)
More on the Anthony Clark saga from the Sentinel's Paula McMahon. She reports today that Clark "isn't proud" that he left Norris Gaynor on the ground to die without so much as an anonymous phone call to 911.
"His attorney said Thursday that Clark did not realize the victim, Norris Gaynor, was fatally injured," McMahon writes.
The attorney, Roshawn Banks, also said that it didn't take Clark three days to call police, but only a mere 10 hours.
You know, if the Herald hadn't totally wimped out by not publishing the guy's name, I probably wouldn't be all worked up about this. But I am. I'd already looked him up on the Broward Clerk of Court system, but couldn't find anything. That's because the newspapers had errantly added an "e" to the end of his name in previous articles (I'm assuming that was a mistake made in police reports). Turns out he's a chronic bad driver, constantly running red lights and speeding without a license. But that doesn't matter -- now police are testifying on his behalf because he agreed to be a witness in the case.
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Great! Turns out Norris Gaynor's death is the best thing that ever happened to him, legally speaking. Lucky guy.
Another baseball bat beating occurred last night, this one by church members who had lain in wait for burglars. They hog-tied the sorry bastard and beat him with the bats. It all went down at the Church of the Nazarene. Way to make Jesus proud!
Sticks and Stones I've been meaning to type something pithy about those Walgreen's customers who are so emotionally shattered after finding out that employees wrote things like "psycho" and "shady" about them. But Stuck on the Palmetto already did it for me in true Pulp style.
The End of the Interview Again, for newcomers, you can check out the original Pulp here. Now please enjoy the rest of my chat with McClure.
TC: Do you change stuff after you publish it on the Internet, or is it cut in stone once it's out there?
BN: I rarely make any substantial changes. Then again there's rarely anything substantial to change. I want to keep it somewhat pure. Once it's sent, it's alive and you don't want to alter it. Feels like it's against the laws of nature, you know, like stem cell research or Michael Jackson or something. But I do change things slightly. I'll align a picture or fix a sentence or typo. Close readers, I'm sure, have noticed word changes. I killed one post that I couldn't substantiate. I once heavily altered a post I did about Bruce Springsteen.
TC: Bruce Springsteen?
BN: Yes, he's one of those "rock and roll" musicians. I took a cheap shot at The Boss and actually compared him to Rosie O'Donnell. In the middle of the night I woke up thinking, "What have I done?" I love the guy's music. So I took out the Rosie O'Donnell part. Nobody should ever have to be subjected to being compared to her.
TC: There are a lot of anonymous comments from journalists on your blog.
BN: Yes. To quote Alanis Morissette, isn't it ironic, dontcha think? She's my favorite pop star.
BN: No. I can't stand her. It was a lame and abortive attempt to curry Morissette's favor. Anyway, if it weren't for anonymity you couldn't find out a thing worth knowing about journalists. They are the most thin-skinned, sensitive, and vindictive creatures in the world.
TC: Do people call you names, too?
BN: Quite a bit. And I hate it! Oh my God! It's so unfair, Troy. It really hurts. But do you know what I'm going to do? I will DESTROY them, I tell you. Those godforsaken sons of bitches!
TC: What have they called you?
BN: One commentator called me a gutless coward and a disgrace to the profession. Another person said I had fleas. Twice, I've been called a shithead. Things like that. But apparently that's going to end, since a lot of people have commented on the old site that they'll never comment on the Pulp again because of the New Times registration process.
TC: They're afraid you and others will know who's posting their comments?
BN: I guess so. But the point is that I have no way to know. Nobody does. All they have to do is put a fake first name or display on there and they're home free. But that's another thing about journalists. They're paranoid. And they're also out to get me. I can feel it.
TC: What is the future of the Pulp? What do you want to accomplish with it?
BN: I hope it helps build a sense of place in South Sprawlida.
TC: "South Sprawlida?" That's doesn't really work, does it?
BN: How about Fort Sprawlidale?
TC: That's much worse.
TC: To conclude, anything else you'd like to do with the Pulp?
BN: Just have fun. As soon as it's not fun, I won't do it anymore. Oh, and I almost forgot -- cure Parkinson's. I think the Pulp has a good shot at curing that terrible disease.
TC: But you just came out against stem cell research, which may be the only hope for a cure.
BN: Did I? Well, strike that. I'm a blogger, Troy, so I have to roll with the changing times. Stem cell research, I hear, is actually our only hope. We need stem cells out the yang. But for the Pulp to help, we're also going to need donations. Lots of donations.
TC: I think you're walking into fraudulent territory now.
BN: Wrong, Troy. I'm still sitting right here at home pretending like nobody's watching me.
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