Suspect sought for questioning. By Tutuolo.

The My Little Pony Killer: Bathia_Mapes: [www.clunkyrobot.com image 449x337]

Anybody else see the faint suggestion of a swastika in the hat?

I didn't, but my vision is very bad.

two words: bath salts

/you're soaking in it

The My Little Pony Killer: Bathia_Mapes: [www.clunkyrobot.com image 449x337]

Anybody else see the faint suggestion of a swastika in the hat?

3 comments in we get Godwin's Law.

/I hate Nazi Leprechauns!

Was he trying to steal their Lucky Charms?

Where is Phoenix Jones when you need him?

AbbeySomeone: Old Man Winter: You know, growing up my Irish relatives told me stories about Leprechauns that fit perfectly with this guy's story. One grand-aunt used to tell me that leprechauns would get drunk and shiat in your shoes at night if you sang off-key while doing chores.
Which also sounded suspiciously like something she might have done as well.

My Grandfather used to tell us stories like that, while sipping from a bottle of Jamesons or Bushmills.
Grandma - John, use a glass.
Grandpa - It's it one woman.

/good times

Also, the police and Harborview get calls like this nearly every day.. The ER in that hospital is freak central, always good for a lulz or 20.

My grandfather was Scottish, and although he didn't believe in Jesus, he sure as hell believed in The Little People. If anything, that was his religion. He saw some when he was a little boy growing up in Scotland, he saw some in the trenches during WWI, and after he made his home in SoCal, he always left a little saucer of milk and a thimble of bourbon on the back porch until the day he died.

My grandmother was a German war bride. She didn't believe in fairies, and never saw any herself, but after a few years of marriage, and some crazy weird goings-on, she started to suspend her disbelief.

When grandfather passed away, my grandmother and I were the last two to leave the cemetery after the graveside service. We were just strolling. Not talking. We were holding hands. I then heard a creak. I stopped and turned my head to look over my shoulder in time to catch what I thought what looked like a tiny trapdoor in the sod slamming shut maybe ten, twelve yards away.

A heartbeat later, my grandmother, still holding my hand, takes off running like a rocket, dragging me behind. She had seen it too. Later that night, grandmother left out a quart of milk and a bottle of bourbon on the back porch.

So was it a bunch of really Irish guys, or...? Because if it was, I'm like a bloodhound for ginger boys. Of course, the only way they'll ever see the cops is if they escape the shackles in my dungeon basement.

Egalitarian: I don't believe in Little People (magic ones) but I have a half-baked theory about how Little People symbolize guilt and fear regarding the previous tribe that your tribe invaded and destroyed. At first the possible remnants/ghosts are seen as monsters, then they gradually shrink into little creatures who have to be placated or they will come back and mess you up. Then long after the original guilt is gone and the genocide forgotten, the descendants of conquerors turn the memory of these guilt-creatures into cartoon characters and jokes.

\busy shoving an early lunch down my craw, you fill in the details

Non-magical little people usually fade away from memory. Either they get exterminated, or they marry our brothers or sisters, or they learn to fit in and then they forget what they were. A good example of which would be my WWI German war bride grandmother. By the time WWII rolled around, she had forgotten how to speak German.

But the magical Little People do somehow exist. And they're magical only in the sense that we don't know how they get away with it yet.