Suburban Smash and Grab: a case study for how criminals in Plano are (a) incompetent, and (b) obtuse morons.

This morning was a bitter, chilling cold one, and a Monday. It was the type where the sheets that surround you upon waking are as dear as your first born, and pulling them off is emotionally traumatizing. (The scene is set.) After eating breakfast, I walked out the door to find my car windows buried beneath thick ice . . . except for the one that was lying in fragments across my back seat.

For context, allow me to point out that I live on the sleepiest, and possibly most boring street in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. To get to my house requires navigating a convoluted maze of deep suburbia which would drive the average man to marry the first woman he sees and raise their three children on a healthy diet of bland mediocrity. That is where I live. It is a street where nothing interesting ever happens, and so the last thing I expected was an authentic "urban style" smash and grab.

. . . on second inspection though, it didn't even amount to that. It would appear that the would-be gangsta's didn't have the balls to break the window outright, but rather attempted to pry in open with a screwdriver. Soon they realized that they were too damn stupid to pull off such a feat; I imagine that moment came when the glass cracked, and they had to bust it all out with the aforementioned screwdriver anyway. So upon busting out the window they got what they were obviously after . . . . a messenger bag, with a neuroscience textbook, a philosophy book complete with highlighting and notes, and my journal of philosophical musings. Clever bastards had sharp eyes to spot so unassuming a bag and yet know the value of its true contents. For such astuteness I threw in a brand new Ipod which amounted to 60% of my Christmas gain. That is, if the morons happen to be bright enough to check all the pockets . . . I have some doubts.

Perhaps they wouldn't enjoy such a bonus anyway, as they left a perfectly good Ipod with three times the storage capacity sitting out in plain sight! They didn't even bother to try and plunder the other consoles, picky assholes that they were. No, no. They went straight for the heart and the heart alone. Ice in their veins, and certainly on their clumsy retarded hands! (it was really damn cold) they stole my books.

So, if you work at Half Price, and see some motherfucker trying to sell you a book by John Searle or a fairly new Behavior Psychology text book, please punch them in the crotch to confirm that their balls are missing. Then, kick them in the head repeatedly, telling them to go to the ghetto and take some damn lessons: leave the books, take the technology, and NO! you won't be able to pry open the window, you idiot, so use a blunt object and get on with it!


Ok, fine. Don't kick them in the head. All encouragement to violence was insincere, except for punching them in the crotch since obviously that wouldn't really hurt them now would it?