Not Quite Grave Robbers, But Just as Effective.

I’m not one for overly gory tails; but I’ve been reading up on historical crimes purrpetrated in the name of medicine, and I’ve come across some rather interesting bits of tripe that I certainly wouldn’t read to children before bedtime. Not that I can read to children before bedtime, what with my lack of human speech organs and all, but still, the subject isn’t one I’d recommend for that sort of thing. Then, I wouldn’t recommend reading to children before bedtime anyhow. Why do that when you could be petting or playing with the ol’ feline friend or something equally constructive like feeding him?

Anyway, as I was saying, I came across some stuff on the matter of murder in the name of medicine, and it struck me as rather fantastical. I mean, I read the news, and I’m well aware that humans are purrfectly capable of hacking one another to bits and selling off the parts here and there. But this business of body snatchers and grave robbers was mostly foreign to me. I had no idea what real and devilish crimes these terms embodied. (Was that a pun? If so, I meant to do that.)

Purrhaps I never understood the hoopla caused by carving up a carcass in front of an audience. Sure it’s nasty, but the dead are dead for the love of d*g! What harm is there in that? It’s not as if they’re alive and being sliced to bits in front of an audience, which, when you think about it, would be infinitely more horrible, especially if you’re the one being sliced. Still, I suppose there were enough people around who really disliked the idea, causing a need in the scientific community that could be met by only four kinds of people: The brilliant minds who willed themselves to the furthering of the scientific cause; the grave robbers, who convinced those already dead to take an encore before a live audience; the murderers who willed others to the furthering of the scientific cause whether they liked it or not; and the criminals who where hanged for murdering others to further the scientific cause whether they liked it or not.

One of the most famous cases of such a crime occurred in Edinburgh, Scotland in the early 19th century. Then, I’m not sure if I should say ‘such a crime’ since there were actually 16 murders purrpetrated by the criminals involved. Regardless, their names were William Burke (aptly named, I’d say) and William Hare. They were Irish immigrants relocated to Scotland in order to work on the Union Canal. Apparently Hare settled down in West Port with some widowed woman, and they began playing house in her boarding lodge. A bit later Burke and his lady (if you could actually call her that) took up lodgings there. From what I’ve read, that’s when all hell broke loose.

The two chaps never really liked each other; but they were both evil layabouts who liked drinking and hated working, so they soon hit it off as well as two people who abjectly loath one another can for the sake of a few pounds.

Now, I’ll have to go back a bit to the time before all hell’s breaking loose, because there are a few details that bridge the men’s meeting one another to their committing murders together. One such detail was the death of a lodger who had taken ill and never recovered. I don’t suppose Hare cared much about his lodger while he was alive, but since the man had died owing him about ₤4 back rent, he took considerable interest in his corpse. In fact, Hare had come up with the idea of pinching his body from its casket and replacing it with a bag of something other than decaying proteins and salt water. It was easy. Since the man hadn’t been buried yet, Hare knew he and Burke could make the switch and sell the real goods to Robert Knox, an anatomist who was in the habit of handing out cash for freshly dead people without asking a whole lot of pesky questions.

Hare’s plan to recover his lodger’s debt worked nearly double. Knox gave the pair seven pounds ten shillings for their efforts, which by today’s standards would be the equivalent of ₤10,000 or something in that general neighborhood. Purrhaps not quite that much, but you get the idea: it was more than they had expected. I think it was at this point that hell did all of its actual loose-breaking, because this is when they started murdering people.

At first they murdered people who weren’t known and wouldn’t be readily recognized by those watching the actual dissections. Pretty clever considering it wouldn’t go over well with the public if they were to sit down to an anatomy session only to realize the vicar had died and no one had informed his wife. But, you know, the problem with greedy, stupid murderers, aside from their general smell, is that they are greedy, stupid murderers, and it isn’t long before they start murdering just anyol’body for the noble cause of a few fat guineas. Granted, I know that not all greedy, stupid drunkards are greedy, stupid murderers, but Burk and Hare were to the tune of sixteen stiffs within the span of a year. And when you’re too busy killing people to ask them if someone may be out looking for them later that evening, it’s only a matter of time before you end up on the business end of a criminal investigation.

Well, to make a long story short, which I should have done about half an hour ago, they were eventually caught, and Hare stabbed Burke in the back (figuratively) by testifying against him. I don’t know if it came as much of a surprise to Burke, but if it did he really was as stupid as he was greedy. In return for his testimony, Hare was later released. Burke was hanged and eventually dissected himself. Okay, he didn’t dissect himself; he, himself, was also dissected. (You know what I mean.) Hare disappeared to a murky fate, of which there are plenty of legends but very few facts.

I can’t say that I think Burke’s punishment wasn’t fitting to his crimes, nor can I say that I’m entirely satisfied with Hare’s being set free. And as for Knox, I can’t recall what happened to him. I believe he ended up retiring or something, like a politician who gets caught doing all the things he’s supposedly been fighting during his career in office. Regardless of their respective fates, one thing is for certain: they never escaped their deeds. Years after the headlines faded and Burke had long since rotted in his grave, children all over Scotland were heard to sing the rhyme of their disgrace: Burke is the butcher, Hare is the thief, but Knox is the silent boy who gladly buys the beef.

Yours Purringly,
Mr. W.C. Humphries II (Mr. Fleez for short.)

The eBay Monster...

I'm not sure what motivates companies to turn on their patrons, but eBay's done it again. When eBay first started it was a great place to buy and sell: it was cheaper than running an add in whatever local newspaper one has available, and it caters to a far larger audience. Then, at the time it was only about $0.15 to place a basic add. The fees have since doubled, and will soon nearly triple.

I recently received a friendly notice from some chump up in the CEO's office of eBay, claiming that he was, in fact, the CEO himself (which we all know is a load of rubbish). This letter claimed that eBay usually likes to adjust their fees each year and that this year, like all other years is no different. Of course, that means the fees are still going up rather than down, and there's a lorry-load of claptrap double-talking associated with the reason behind it all. Then, who needs to read that far into anything sent out by the eBay propaganda machine; we all know the real reason is greed.

As you've all noted in past, and even at present, I've listed things through eBay before. I will even be listing some things in the near future, but I can't say that I'll be doing business with them after I've finished off that which I've already planned. I'm looking into new options: New auction sites, my personal website, and possibly internet consignments are a few, but I must admit, I've not found anything too terribly promising. Further, even after I've found a new place to sell my ill-gotten loot, I'll likely still collect using PayPal, which, as most people know, is eBay owned.

Something here seems to ring a bell. A distant memory pawing at my kitty mind. Something about people becoming slaves to propaganda and losing themselves to the machine. Something rather 1984ish. Or, if you're a Futurama fan, Momish.

I guess I'm a hopeless optimist, but we felines frequently take the optimistic view on matters. I can't help thinking that sooner or later eBay is going to eat so much of it's merchant's profits that it will choke itself into an abysmal demise. Then, I suppose that is an unrealistic expectation. I mean, we all thought it would eventually happen to Microsoft, too; but they managed to strangle most of their competitors, ethically or otherwise. I'm sure eBay isn't above engaging itself in ethical absenteeism. Virtually no heartless corporation is.

Then, I guess I can't solely blame the heartless corporate demons. It's easy to blame them, but the fact of the matter is that consumers choose to be used. Sellers don't have to stay at eBay; but they do it because they're frequently too lazy to research their options, or once they've researched them they feel that they're hopeless. Buyers don't have to buy at eBay, but they do it because they're sheep to the marketing shepherds. The bottom line is that humans thirty years ago probably wouldn't have put up with such shenanigans. Humans, and sad to say it, felines, have become soft. They like taking what's handed to them, because it eliminates the need to think.

I say! I just had a startling thought! Purrhaps I'm not an optimist at all! Purrhaps I'm just annoyed! I'm annoyed at the way humans run things, at the lack of fairness and decency, at the level of complacency in the world, and at the way I'm fed late on Saturday mornings! Yes, if there something we felines are even better at than optimistic thinking, it's the harboring of annoyance; and I can think of nothing more annoying than paying through the whiskers for a service I could get from somewhere else if humans, and dare I say some felines, would only tear free of the propagandistic tentacles of the eBay monster and shop elsewhere!

Yours Purringly,
W.C. Humphries II (Mr. Fleez for short.)