Bob Geldof and Johnny Fingers, "I Don't Like Mondays"

A lot of talk this week about how the real issue we need to be discussing re: the Newtown murders is the mental health crisis in America.  Or maybe our cultural decadence and degradation, all our video games and movies and the kids with their rap music.  Or something.  Because, you know, nothing else would have anything to do with anything, least of all crazy people having easy access to firearms instead of having to use sticks and stones.

But I said I wasn't going to argue anymore, and I'm not going to.

I just had to post the Boomtown Rats song here after leaving a link at Brother Steve's blog because it seemed important to remind everybody that we're now having the same fucking conversation people were having when somebody shot up an elementary school in 1979.  Not the one about why somebody with obvious mental problems gets a gun and five hundred rounds of ammo for Christmas, or why some paranoiac stocks up for an improbable apocalypse with a troubled young man under her roof; no, we'll have the conversation about motive, when the truth is that Daddy can't understand it, he always said she was good as gold; when the truth is that you can see no reasons because there are no reasons, what reasons do you need to be shown?

What motive could possibly make sense even if it was as straightforward as it "livens up the day"?

They say that doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, is a hallmark of insanity.  What does it say about a country that asks the same inane fucking questions every time someone else goes on a spree with a machine designed for the express purpose of killing things, and the questions don't even matter?  I'll answer my own question: we've all lost our fucking minds and I don't know why I should see any hope of us ever coming to our senses.

But this is how I tackle with the problems of the hows and whys.