Slimeball, continued some more

Here's a picture of the anonymous letter that I got in the mail.

It has two address labels on it. One for me, and one for my wife. That, in itself, is interesting because if the entire mailing list could be reconstructed, I wonder what it might reveal?

When I first got it, I glanced at it and saw that there was no return address. Then when I saw what was inside, I just put it back in the envelope, tore it half, and added it to the rest of the junk mail that ultimately found its way into the paper recycler bag.

I figured the information was just part of the public record.

This afternoon, however, I fished it out and I'll save it in case the police might like to have it. Unless the perpetrator wore gloves while they pasted the address labels and stuffed the envelopes, their fingerpirnts are on this one.

I'm sure the perpetrator(s) of this little campaign have realized by now that Mike Germain will be getting a lot more votes because of this. The irony, of course, is probably only adding to the anguish of the slimeball(s) who did it.

Isn't it amazing how some people think they can get away with such things? It's an interesting disease, this idea that if nobody finds out, then everything is okay. When this happens to good people, they usually realize after a while that they are suffering much more for not squaring themselves with the people around them, and the society they live in. It is, after all, the ethical and moral standards of behavior that THEY agreed to abide by, but then violated so egregiously.

And they think that nobody knows. But somebody does know, ...they know. And it gives them a disease of the mind that can never go away, but only get worse, until they finally square themselves with the world around them. Knowing is the one thing that can never be gotten rid of, no matter how stupid anyone cares to get about it.

Sadly, no-one has to supply the punishment for such acts. This is the world that we live in, full of people living lives of quiet desperation, merely for want of an unbiased, impartial, and ultimately fair confessor.