Rage in the UK

Photos from one of four bombings that took place in London this morning, July 7, 2005. Over 40 people are dead and 700 injured. The terrorists made sure that one of the four detonations was done above ground (they others were below to cause more death and destruction) so that the world would see thair acts of terror and rage.

The article below was written in my Coffeehouse Diary many years ago. It was before 9/11 and before Oklahoma City. But it is no less relevant today. You can just replace the various places with the new hot spots.

In other violence, 100 fuckhead idiots clashed with police in Scotland outside the G8 Summit, taking some of the real pressure off the G8 leaders from the nearly 38 million who supported LIVE 8 and the peaceful demonstrators outside of Gleneagles as the conference started.

IDIOTS. Or as Meems would say "Fucktards".
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I sat at the stop light last week at Howe 'Bout Arden and watched the usual transpire. The light turned dull green in front of us, yet three cars made the decision anyway to send their hulking monsters of rubber and steel careening into the breach under a full red sky. People honked, glared and cursed. One of the kamikaze pilots whipped his front bumper so close to mine that I doubt I could have dragged my ATM card between them. I watched his face as he passed by. He was angry, determined and offered no apologies. "To hell with you," I think was the message.

Later that day, as my 2-year-old son and I were driving out of the local mall, I saw two tough guys sizing up a kid walking ten feet in front of them who was so wired into his Walkman that he was oblivious. Then one of the thugs broke into a run toward the kid, pumping his arms in preparation for a surprise attack.

But the attack never happened, because I drove down hard on my horn as my car slashed past them into the far lane.

One minute I'm jostling my youngest son in his car seat and making jokes, the next I'm trying to figure out how to respond to his new mantra, "What happah Daddy?... What happah Daddy?..."

But that wasn't nearly the end of my day. Later, as I was driving to work, a woman in a shiny black BMW came so hard and fast into my path that I thought, for a brief moment, that her car was an advertisement. There she was--in her 4,000-pound vehicle--trying to blend into my traffic lane like a sumo wrestler at the nine-items or less checkstand.

I used the horn again--a sober medium blast to communicate that I still wished to survive until lunchtime. She responded with a cold hard glare, then saluted me with the silent single-digit sign for intimate union.

I was a bit unnerved by then, so I turned on the radio. Talk radio Wow! What charisma! What conviction! What righteous indignation! As I listened to Rush Limbaugh, and later to Jerry Brown, I couldn't help but get the mental picture of two pit bulls whose rear quarters have been surgically attached. Whether you approach from the right or left, you're confronted with a rabid foam of slashing white teeth.

It seemed to me that anger was in the air, and everyone around me was taking in full, deep breaths.

The FULL Diary entry is HERE.