Very angry, (non) expletive and caps-lock filled blog.
"Enligt advokaten erkänner flickan dådet, men säger att hon inte vill straffas med fängelse. Istället hävdar hon att hon behöver vård.
- Hon mår så dåligt att hon egentligen borde vara någon annanstans, säger advokaten."
- Expressen, 050422
Oh, and the boyfriend didn't want to come to the initial hearings either - because even he felt 'bad'.
Now, I don't use the blog to express anger too often, but whoop, here it is. Something that never, NEVER ceases to amaze or anger me EEmensily is the fact that Swedish papers seldom print an article about a confessed murderer without adding that the perpetrator is quoted as saying that he/she'feels really bad.'
No no no - not Michael Jackson's groin-twitching 80's "Bad", and not bad like after "Bad". Nor is it the pain of getting bopped over the head with a hammer or having your gut sliced open-several times, or having been repeatedly raped and left for dead, but then got up, because, you know. You felt really bad.
Frankly, honestly, when it comes right down to it, I don't beleive in an eye for an eye, neither do I beleive in everyone being sent off to the psych-ward because they FELT BADLY about having to go to jail. It does NOT take a brain sceintist, heck not even a toothpick, to know that Killing is BAD, Killing is wrong, Killing is criminal. Grow up, wipe your nose, and off with you to a maximum security prison where you pretty much get what you deserve. Yes you know what I mean - when you turn on your private TV, the only channels that are on are PUBLIC SERVICE BROADCASTING. And, oh - dropping the soap. No, my non-friend, regretful murderer, I hope that you drop that soap many, many times. Heck, I hope you get liquid soap. How's THAT for a freaking challenge.
So Hey you who has or will commit crime and then claim that you can't go to a regular prison because you're feeling bad, but winds up under maximum security anyway - you had better pray to God, Buddha, or the great motherpatooting Gaia for the day when you get the chance to go complaining to the warden about the HAIR you found in your dinner the other day and how much this has affected you psychologically.
The HUMANITY.
How maybe if even you weren't feeling bad enough about ramming a hammer in your mother's head - then maybe this can be seen as the proverbial straw that broke the camels back and could you please be transferred to a place with MTV and anti-depressants, please.
Oh Fudge.
