Here is the piece of shit that is accused of beating a 72-year-old Vietnamese immigrant to death. . . for the fun of it.
Elex Levell Murphy is being held without bond as I type this. I say "at this moment" because it's not widely known whether or not the usual race-baiting rabble-rousers have decided if they want to get involved. I'm talking about Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and Louis Farrakhan. I'll guarantee you if enough television cameras show up, Jackson or Sharpton will be there.
There are three more of these animals associated with Murphy on the loose. This is why I suspect Sharpton, in particular, is agonizing over how to spin this in his favor so he can get involved. The stupid son of a bitch hasn't learned much since the Tawana Brawley incident in the late 80's.
Hoang Nguyen, 72, a recent immigrant to the U.S. was beaten to death as part of The Knockout Game, something our inner-city urban wildlife has apparently adopted as being "fun."
Think about it: Here's a seventy-two-year-old man who survived the Viet Cong, Ho Chi Minh, the fall of Saigon, the spillover from Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge and who knows what else. He comes to America, the land of opportunity, and within three years is beaten to death as part of a game.
Our inner-city urban wildlife is out of control. Not long ago, I proposed a hunting season for gang-bangers, no license needed and no bag limits. Once again, we see another perfect scenario for thinning the herd.
This kind of crime is nothing more than the result of generation after generation of senseless liberal thinking and policies. Excuse the criminal, blame the victim. Play the race card at every draw, demand more affirmative action. If it's white on black crime, it's a hate crime. If it's black on white, it's justice.
It's a gang mentality and it's out of hand. Our courts can't deal with it. Our cops can't deal with it (because the courts and politicians won't LET them deal with it). Our legislators WON'T deal with it.
We can deal with it this way. And history shows it will work.
A cowboy, Indian and gang-banger were sitting around a campfire one night, drinking and discussing the state of the nation.
"I remember when we were plentiful, but now we are few," the Indian lamented as he downed another shot of whiskey.
"Shit, man," the gang-banger sneered as he took a hit off his crack pipe. "I remembers when we wasn't nothing and now looks at us--we be everywhere, mothafucka."
The cowboy took a long pull from his beer, crumpled up the can, tossed it in the air and quicker than lightning, drew his six-gun and shot a hole in the middle of the crumpled beer can. Looking square at the gang-banger, the cowboy drawled, "That's only because we haven't played Cowboys and Gang-Bangers yet, asshole."
If these gangsters and inner-city animals want to play games, I say let the games begin.