I have been prepared for quite some time for people to get wiggy on December 21, 2012. That is because the white people screwed up, in their reading of the old Mayan calendar, and so believe that on that date the world will come to some sort of end.
And, sure enough, as the dread day nears, the frenzy increasingly foams, with flocks of the apocalypse-now faithful streaming to Mount Rtanj in Serbia and Pic de Bugarach in France, sites where it is believed that Good extraterrestrials will Somehow kindly contrive to protect those assembled from Armageddon.
But until the last couple days I managed to miss that amongst some of the humans it was not possible to wait until December 21 to get Strange. Instead, there must needs be an outbreak of weirdness today—December 12, 2012. Presumably because in white-people time-counting all the numbers line up, as 12/12/12. Sorta like the slot machine coming up all cherries.
And so we have the spectacle of this man in Texas who, in honor of the day, was compelled to carve a pentagram into the back of his son.
A Richland Hills man has been arrested and charged with assaulting his son after telling a 911 operator he carved a pentagram into his 6-year-old son’s back.
Just after midnight Wednesday, officers were dispatched to a home on the 3700-block of Ruth Road after the boy’s father, identified by police as Brent Troy Bartel, called 911 and said, “I shed some innocent blood.”
When the dispatcher asked what the man meant by that, the man replied, “I inscribed a pentagram on my son.”
The dispatcher asked why and the man said, “It’s a holy day.”
Apparently the nimrod used a box cutter. The good news is that the carving is not deep enough to require stitches, and the child is expected to be alright. Physically.
Now, I have been known to now and again get wired behind numbers. But never have I felt compelled to seek out sharp objects and begin inscribing designs on those near and dear.
I have two words for ol’ Tex there. Dude: Halloween. We have a perfectly good holiday, and every year too, when one may carve to one’s heart’s content. The pumpkins won’t mind. And working out on said vegetables will not get you in the papers. Or put you in the pokey.