Karma, or God's Groin Punishment

You know how if you do something crappy, like, say steal two cases of someone else's Nestea from underneath a shopping cart, where the person left them, forgotten, in the grocery store parking lot (Ahem. Are you reading, you?) ...

And then, a couple days later, when you've forgotten all about the many weekend hours you spent lying on your back in the grass, pouring iced tea down your throat and making iced tea fountains with your mouth, laughing and laughing at the idiot who left the Nestea under his cart ...

... that's when a ninja comes out of nowhere and punches you in the nuts really hard ...?

That's kind of what's happening to Joran van der Sloot.

The world's most notorious jet-setting creep recently was arrested in Chile and deported to Peru to face charges related to the murder of 21-year-old Stefany Ramirez, a woman van der Sloot allegedly met in a casino and took back to a hotel room.

Van der Sloot allegedly paid for his trip to Peru using funds he extorted from Beth Twitty, the mother of missing Alabama student Natalee Holloway.

Those who have not been living under a rock for the last five years will recognize Holloway as the high-school graduate who disappeared in Aruba during a graduation trip in 2005. Van der Sloot has remained a suspect in her disappearance.

Over the years, van der Sloot has told several lovely, colorful stories of Holloway's disappearance, saying he left her alive on a beach, she began convulsing and he hid her body after she died, and that he sold her into sexual slavery.

Such a nice boy. It must bring so much peace to Holloway's family.

He allegedly told Twitty he would reveal the location of Holloway's remains if Twitty paid him $250,000. Twitty had already sent him $15,000 when Ramirez was reported missing - five years to the day after Holloway was reported missing.

Recently, he told Peruvian authorities that he would aid Aruban authorities in the recovery of Holloway's body if only he could be transferred to Aruba.

Seemed kind of odd to me ... could Aruba be that much more lenient than Peru? Perhaps, he'd like to be close to his mother? Better weather? Softer beds?

Then, the other day, I saw footage of van der Sloot being escorted to a Peruvian law enforcement vehicle with tinted windows.

It was odd, though. The windows were darkened, but not like one would expect to see on a professional law enforcement vehicle in the United States.

They were darkened in such a way as to indicate a dealership had nothing to do with the windows. Instead, I believe law enforcement officials took the car to the little brother of one of the cadets, who skips Ag class to do detailing three times a week in the side parking lot of the Best Buy.

(It's a good spot, because no one goes to Best Buy anymore because no one buys CDs.)

The kid has a good side business, but the officers got ripped off because that tint job is bubbled worse than the windows on that Trans Am the transfer kid from Jersey used to rev in the 7-11 parking lot on Friday nights.

Anyway, I laughed for a while about the bubbled tint on the official vehicle windows, and the whole thing got me thinking about the quality of Peruvian jail.

I'll bet it's really special.

So special, I'll bet van der Sloot will be calling it "home" for many years to come.

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Wouldn't it be awesome if Peruvian officials kept a ninja on staff to randomly punch prisoners in the gonads?

Like, if you were a prisoner, you'd never know if it were your day. It could be a year between nut punches, a week, a couple days, a couple hours. You'd never know!

One day, you might get three nut punches and think, "Well, there are my nut punches for the year. Glad that's over."

But then, as soon as you were feeling normal again ...

In your crotch!

Then, you'd be rolling around on the floor, groaning, "Why God? Why my nuts? It was just my turn last week."

And then God would be like, "Why?! Why!? Did you forget about your goat raping spree and the time the orphan babies nearly starved because you wasted all the baby formula making daiquiris? Hmmmmm?"

That's when you would start thinking about how creamy the formula made those pina coladas, how refreshing they were, in the good ol' days, way back before you were in a third-rate prison. But God would still be yammering away ...

"Or how about the time you got wasted and poked holes in the beekeeper's garb? Or when you toilet papered the convent?

"Or when you stole your mother's car to go cruising for sluts and didn't even wipe off the mirrors or seat belts -"

That's when you'd interrupt and be all, "HEY! That wasn't a crime!"

And God would be all, "Ohhh, look who's all high and mighty now, Mr. Neighborhood Old Lady Peeper."

And then, you'd sigh, and say, "Jesus, God. Fine. Send the fucking nut puncher again. It's got to be better than this guilt trip. You know, this is why no one is Catholic anymore."

Then, God would cross his arms (like he does) and get all huffy and say, "So be it." Then, he'd grumble a bunch of stuff you couldn't really hear, but you'd be pretty sure you made out, "cock knocker" and "Satan's loins."

And then?

NINJA NUT PUNCH!!

Hah! God got you again, goat fucker.