Creeps, Weirdos

Some of the lyrics to Creep, by Radiohead –

When you were here before,
couldn’t look you in the eye.
You’re just like an angel,
your skin makes me cry.
You float like a feather,
in a beautiful world
I wish I was special,
you’re so f***ing special.

But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here….


… She’s running out the door,
she’s running,
she run, run, run, run, run…

I really like, and at one time even identified with that song by Radiohead, but I speak now in hushed tones to you of a creep of a very different kind. The kind of creep who wouldn’t just sit down and write a song about it. The kind that pays too much attention to your kid and seems put out you’re hanging around. The kind that can’t take no for an answer.

We don’t want to admit they are there, and yet we know they are.

I’m a Daddy, so perhaps I feel it’s my bounden duty to know this stuff. Jason DeFilippo’s entry on the L.A. metroblog reminded me it was a good thing to do here too…

Without further ado I present to you the Georgia Bureau of Investigation Sex Offender Registry Site-Thingy.

If you go there, put in your zip, or whatever else, and find someone a bit too close to home, well, don’t call me when you’re walking the floor at 3 a.m. and jumping at the house settling around you.

I already got enough demons keeping my head up late.

2 Comments so far

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