Nanny Judge

There's been a series of stories lately that have literally made me want to facepalm and repeatedly smash my forehead into the nearest wall/desk/domesticated animal.

Canada, eh?
The first one I read a couple of days ago was about a Canadian man that had been arrested because his 4-year-old daughter drew a picture of a man holding a gun during her kindergarten art class. The Canadian father explained the drawing was supposed to him getting the monsters and bad men, the school didn't think so and rung the police and child protection. The police then arrested him without a warrant, ransacked his house, told his wife she had to go with him to the police station and their baby would have to go with a child services officer. Luckily Granny was around the corner to take care of baby Sundae (small facepalm here also due to name choice). So anyway, the man had all his rights violated, told to disrobe, bend over, lift ballsack etc etc and was then pressured into retroactively granting permission to the police to search his house.

The kicker in this story is that they did find a gun.

They found a plastic gun that shot soft foam darts. Face. Palm.

Wet az bro
The other story that caught my judging eye was about an English gent that was rescuing his plastic bag from a model boating lake in Hampshire when he had a seizure and fell in. Bearing in mind these pools are barely 3 1/2 feet deep, he was left in there for up to half an hour because fire-fighters and paramedics, who were all Brits that could swim (amazingly), didn't have the right "training" to go in and get him out. The first fire-fighting crew to arrive hadn't been trained in water higher than ankle-deep. Facepalm. They then decided that the man must be dead as he had been in the water face-down for 10 minutes. Then, when a policeman volunteered to go in and get him out, he was told not to. Facepalm.

I imagine that conversation to go something like this:

"I say Rumpole, what do you think about this poor chap? Quite the predicament he's in then aye?"
"Indubitably. One would have to say he's in appalling form, he's been bobbing up and down like a cork for almost 10 minutes Sarg."
"10 minutes you say? Dreadful situation. Surely he must've carked it by now then?
"Right you are Sarg."
"Jolly good show, I must say!"
"Shall I hop him and fetch him then?"
"Don't play the hero Rumpole! You'll get your knickerbockers wet. Wait for the coastguard."
"Oh yes, good point, fancy a cuppa?"

Let's go swimming! No! It's wet!

If you're interested, read the whole thing here including the $5000 a day paramedic helicopter that wasn't used. Faceypalmy.

What I want to know is when did everybody become so bloody scared? What happened to showing a bit of gall? If it's not parents bubble-wrapping their children, it's people leaving other people to die because they're too scared to violate the rules and regulations.

What happened to unbridled bravery and raw courage? Our grandparents lived in a time where you threw your body over your army-mate's to protect them from bomb blasts. Now we're too scared to get our socks wet? Actually, there's nothing I hate more in the world then wet socks, but I believe I could make an exception.

Sometimes, rules are so lame.