Judgment.

Remember this knucklehead? Professor Melissa Click, affiliated with the school of journalism at the University of Missouri. Back whenever it was when there were protests at Mizzou over racism by the president of the university and fraternities and I forget who all, the black members of the tackle football team decided to boycott playing games! That got people's attention and soon the protests spread to me-to'ers like Professor Cluck. The protesters had sit-ins, encampments, on campus and didn't let journalists come around. Melissa was with a group of these "No Pencils Allowed" kids when another kid, in the journalism school, came up with pencil and camera, obviously, and mic, and all the latest high-tech gadgets and tried to practice journalism. Journalism professor Melissa's response:

"Who wants to help me get this reporter out of here? I need some muscle over here.”

Well, you can imagine, if you don't remember you can imagine that that went over like a lead balloon with everybody in the whole world and especially with Official Mizzou and fellow pencils world-frigging-wide. Her contract was not renewed or something, she was affiliated with, but not of, the journalism school, lost her office I guess, I don't know, essentially, and rightly!, became a target of worldwide derision and contempt, has no future and might as well just shoot herself in the head, okay? 

The District Attorney's office has now charged her criminally with misdemeanor assault. 

Oh, come on.

Now: an assault is a threat; Melissa's words were a threat, all of the statutory elements of the crime are met. But come on.

The student journalist victim is a guy, Click looks to be a petite woman, Yes! She called for backup, "muscle," because she fucking couldn't do shit to hurt this guy kid and that was the extent of the violence. The guy-kid's pencil wasn't even broken. Give me a break, let Click live out whatever short, unhappy life she has left in humiliation. Don't fucking charge her. What is that guy-kid doing? 

Look, one time I said something, I don't even remember what it was, that really, REALLY pissed of an ex-friendgirl of moi. She was 5'0" tall. I'm 6'1". I weighed...'bout 180, she weighed...105? 110?, I better not go higher she may get pissed again. I was standing up, she was sitting on her sofa, and when I said whatever smart-ass thing I said, she BOLTED off and took 2-3 steps toward me in her bare feet and with a fierce--Much more fierce than Melissa--teeth-baring look on her face, pounded the palms of her hands with their red-painted nails twice on my chest as hard as she could!

Battery. That's  battery, call the cops, arrest her, that's battery. 

Give me a break. I couldn't help laughing even as I feared further inciting her, Who knows? Maybe she'd kick me in the shin with one her bare red-painted toes! "Is that all ya got?," is the only thing I could think to say and that's what I said and we both laughed. She hadn't done me any harm, couldn't possibly do me any harm, even if she had called for "muscle." 

Move on.