Commentary
Tuesday, February 14, 1995 Page 5
Kill a criminal, earn $5,000
Thank heavens for Darrell
Frank. Thanks to the 35-year-old
Texan, my financial problems
could be over. Frank, a rock
musician and ex-con, is the founder
and president of Dead Serious Inc.,
a Fort Worth, Texas, company on
the cutting edge of law enforce
ment.
Dead Serious, which was
founded last fall, offers members a
$5,000 cash award if they kill
someone who is in the process of
committing a crime against them.
In Texas, moreover, people are
allowed to use deadly force to
protect their property, even if their
life or health is not directly
threatened. The principle behind
Dead Serious is a cross between
good of down-home vigilantism
and post-industrial something-for
nothing American capitalism.
For $10, members receive a
newsletter and two bumper stick
ers, which warn would-be assail
ants that they are the big game in a
high-stakes urban safari. The
trophy hunters are lining up, and
Frank’s desk is piled high with new
applications. Like the 800 recently
inducted members, Frank is
confident that this warning will cut
into crime.
“You tell me,” Frank asked The
New York Times, “if you see a
vehicle with the bumper sticker and
one without the bumper sticker,
which one are you going to rob?”
Frank knows what he’s talking
about. A convicted burglar, Frank
says prison life is easy, and that the
fear of death is the only reasonable
deterrent for career criminals.
Hmm, sounds good to me. Plus,
$5,000 would almost pay off my
credit card. Now all I have to do is
pay my $ 10 and set a trap for those
unsuspecting hardened criminals
lining up to steal my treasured lint
uoug reiers
collection.
I can start by buying a gun (that
would probably help). Then, I think
I’ll walk down dark alleys at night,
saying things like: “Ask yourself,
‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do you
punk?”; or maybe “I dare you to
knock this battery off my shoul
der.”
That oughta get me mugged.
Then all I have to do is pull out my
gun and, if I don’t get killed first,
squeeze that trigger and take
another person’s life. A small price
to pay for $5,000.
Maybe I could move to Texas.
Then all I’d have to do would be to
leave my car unlocked and hide in
the bushes. Eventually, someone
would open it up and try to swipe
my evergreen air freshener. Wham!
Judgement at 1,000 feet per second
— and five grand for me.
All I have to do is move to
Texas, pull the trigger and take
another person’s life. Is this a great
country or what?
I most likely would want to take
some shooting lessons, too. Dead
Serious doesn’t pay you if you only
wound the criminal. It probably
would cost money to get good
enough so there’s no doubt about
my killing ability, but for $5,000, it
would be worth it.
What’s more, when I went down
to the station to fill out all the
reports that surely go along with
killing someone, I could look and
laugh at all the poor saps who
allowed themselves to be victim
ized because they weren’t “Dead
Serious.”
“Yeah,” I’d laugh, “that poor
schlump of a thief stole his last
book bag. Heh heh heh.”
Not only would I be raking in
the dough, but I’d also feel a lot
better about myself as a person.
And all I have to do is pull the
trigger and take another person’s
life. A small price to pay for
$5,000 and loads of self-esteem.
So it’s decided. I’m going to get
serious — Dead Serious. I’m going
to take back the streets and make
myself — and my rubber band
collection — safe.
No longer will I walk the streets
apprehensively. No longer will I
avoid the “bad neighborhoods.” No
longer will I be worried about
becoming a victim, looking over
my shoulder with every step. I’m
going to walk tall, Buford T. Pusser
style. No filthy thug is going to
change the way I live my life. The
fear of crime will be replaced by
the sense of financial opportunity.
So I guess it’s time to send in
my 10 bucks and move to Texas.
Any punk who tries to steal my
CDs is in for a big surprise.
Yes, indeed, Dead Serious is the
wave of the future in law enforce
ment. Darrell Frank’s program will
eliminate crime and make all my
dreams come true.
Just think of it: All my money
problems will be over, and all I’ll
have to do is pull the trigger and
take another person’s life.
A small price to pay for $5,000,
right?
Peters is a graduate student and Daily
Nebraskan columnist
Practical ‘stuff not for V-Day
I haven’t got the proof yet, but
I’ve got this curious hunch about
the origins of Valentine’s Day. I
know that many people believe that
this is the supremo, end-of-all-end
Hallmark holidays, but I wouldn’t
bet on it.
Others think that Valentine’s
Day is the one day of the year that
you’re supposed to give thanks and
say “I love you” to your significant
other. But my problem is why we
must have a day set out to do that.
After hearing all the complaints
from those individuals who are not
fortunate enough to have a loved
one with whom to celebrate V-Day,
you would think that the day was
created just to make fun of those
individuals who are single.
The last theory does have some
relevancy to it, but I would like to
present my own theory about the
true origin of Valentine’s Day.
Drum roll, please!
Valentine’s Day was created by
a woman who wasn’t getting nearly
enough presents from her man. So
she created this day to get more
stuff.
There you have it. Right in front
of you and the whole world, the
real reason why Valentine’s Day
exists.
I know that many of you out
there are probably a little skeptical
about this new and innovative idea,
but let me give some details on
why I believe this to be the final
just cause.
The first thing that comes to
people’s minds when they discuss
V-Day is a nice romantic dinner
with their better half, followed or
preceded by the giving of gifts.
This is where my theory really
starts to take shape. Now there are
some women who do buy presents
for the man in their life, but there
are many who don’t.
Now, I dare ask, how many men
do not buy a present for their
Robb Goff
girlfriend or wife? Probably not too
many. In fact, you could probably
easily pick out those guys on
Wednesday because they are either:
— Sporting black eyes and
bruises that did not originate from
the Nine Inch Nails concert.
— Walking behind their
girlfriends or wives and apologiz
ing for being alive.
— Moping around with their
heads down, feeling like a
schmuck.
It’s not just the idea of giving
the girl a gift, but it also has a lot
to do with what you give her. I
don’t want to hear all those lines,
like “Whatever he gives me is good
enough” and “I don’t really care
about the present, I’m just happy to
be with him.”
Hogwash.
If your guy doesn’t get you that
outfit from Dillards that you’ve
been hinting about for the past
month, then he is pond scum. All
men know what I’m talking about.
It’s the truth! The present has to be
frilly and tender and from the heart
and oh-so-shucky-dam, how-much
money-did-you-spend-on-it cute.
You know it’s true!
The girlfriend of one of my
friends kept commenting on him
going to a fitness club and how
great it was for him to work out all
the time.
So what does he do? He forks
out 100 dead Georges and buys her
a membership to the club. They
didn’t have much of a heating bill
because she was boiling so bad.
She started ranting and raving
because she thought that he thought
she was fat or lazy or some other
thing that she probably was, and
that a membership was his way of
pointing it out. He thought he was
buying something practical that she
would like.
Right there lies the problem.
Men are not supposed to buy the
lady something practical.
The “stuff’ that I talked about
earlier is not supposed to be
practical, but rather it must be one
of those precious-moments-in-time
artifacts that the lady probably
doesn’t need.
For example, if a guy really
needs mud flaps for his car but
can’t afford to buy them, and his
mate does, then he will be elated
beyond all words. But if a guy buys
the girl a gift certificate to get her
car serviced, because it needs to be
done and she doesn’t have the
money to do it, then he is worm
food.
It isn’t that the guy’s idea didn’t
have good merits, he just hasn’t
figured out women yet. Then again,
what man has?
So for all you guys out there
who are getting ready for that big
date tonight, step back and think
about what you got your girl and
ask yourself this all-important
question: “Will I get slapped if I
give her this j»ift?”
Then go out and have a good
time with the knowledge that you
will get new stereo wire to hook up
your speakers from her and a
higher credit limit on your cards
because of frequent usage. Which,
of course, she will be glad to help
you break in.
Goff 1> a aeaior secondary education ma
jor and a Daily Nebraskan colamalst
Let your heart lead
in walk down aisle
&
I’m gettin’ hitched. '
The time and place are set
now after weeks of dancing with
the schedules of the church and
the reception hall.
There’s no turning back. No
retreating. No escape. I’ve now
been committed to a date —
Sept. 1, 1995. Soon it will
become a personal hell, er,
holiday, ranking right up there
with Iwo Jima, D-Day and the
cancellation of “Mork and
Mindy.”
My wedding. It rolls off my
tongue like “execution” and
“suicide,” without the nervous
twitch I’ve recently developed. I
suppose it explains that Lyle
Lovett song I’ve been singing for
the past three months: “...
preacher said I pronounce you 99
to life. Son, she’s no lady, she’s
your wife.”
Who am I kidding? After all,
I asked her, and I am fully and
completely in love with her.
She’s the greatest thing that’s
ever happened to me (except
maybe that time I found a
Rolling Rock hidden behind a
chunk of moldy cheese in my
fridge).
Besides, wno else could
possibly put up with me every
day? Even I have trouble doing
that.
But there is a rumor that
married couples, through the
course of time, mutate and
merge into a single creature, like
an octopus with two heads.
My personality does not lend
itself to this sort of mixture. As a
matter of fact, I don’t mix much
of anything. No mixed veg
etables, nuts, salads, drinks or
couples. I have.no mixed
feelings, emotions, or realities,
and no mixing sex or alcohol
with —- well, you get the point.
But of course, these fears are
entirely foolish — a desperate
attempt to cling onto something
that I don’t really want to cling
to anyway.
Perhaps it’s the wedding itself
that has me splitting what few
hairs I have left. I just don’t
understand all the little stuff and
why it’s necessary.
For instance, why do I have to
buy gifts for the people standing
up with me? I invited them,
didn’t I? What else do they
want?
The food thing escapes me,
too. We have to offer a whole
assortment of dishes, along with
free beer and liquor, too? This is
my family. I shouldn’t have to
feed them. Putting up with them
is enough.
I told Kim (that’s my better
half) how to solve the food and
table decoration problem at
once.
Michael Justice
Just buy several buckets of 1
fried chicken, stick them on the
table and let them have at it. I
told her she can even put a bow
or something on it to make it
look better. Then I mysteriously
blacked out for an hour. She said
I fainted and fell onto her fist,
which explained the knuckle
marks.
She mentioned something
about a cake cutter while
applying ice to my jaw.
“We need someone to cut the
cake.”
“Why? People can cut their
own piece of cake.”
“No they can’t, they’re our
guests.”
“Fine. I’ll cut the cake.”
“You can’t. You and I have to
meet and mingle.”
“I can meet and mingle and
cut at the same time. It can’t be
any harder than rubbing my belly
and patting my head simulta
neously. Or is it patting my belly
and ...”
Never mind. We also need to
find a DJ, so ...”
“OH NO! No cheesy DJ,
thank you. No Pointer Sisters,
Bee Gees or Flying Dutchmen.”
“We have to have The Flying
Dutchmen.”
“Forget about it. I don’t feel
like performing CPR on some
body after your dad cleans his
clock. And no Hokey Pokey. It’s
... hokey, and that’s not what I’m
all about.”
The only thing left to decide «
is how many people to invite.
We started at a limit of 100, but
somehow, through many corre
spondences with immediate
family, the number has increased
to 250.
I’m told that being married
can be the greatest adventure in
your life, and that there is
nothing more satisfying or
comforting than knowing that
the person you love the most will
be with you forever.
All I know is that the moment
I saw her I knew she was the
one. If that sounds cheesy to
you, then you haven’t met your
true love yet. Hopefully, you *r
will someday meet that person.
And remember — she can cut
her own damn cake.
Justice b a Jailor news-editorial aad
broadcasting major and a Dally Nebras
kan columnist
Mlt Wul flue* Ccynnmo**’
Mike Luckovich
