by Jeff Davis

The Associated Press reports: “Three men have been charged with murdering a senior editor for PC World magazine in what police said was an attempt to steal marijuana that the victim’s son grew in their home for medical use. Rex Farrance, 59, the San Francisco-based magazine’s senior technical editor, was shot in the chest on Jan. 9 after masked men broke into his suburban home. Farrance’s wife, Lenore Vantosh-Farrance, was pistol-whipped during the robbery but managed to call 911…Farrance’s relatives believe the killers targeted the home after learning about the marijuana from a friend of the 19-year-old son….’Without regard to the legality of the extensive marijuana-growing operation that was taking place in the residence, we regard Mr. Farrance as an innocent victim in this case,’ said Contra Costa County prosecutor Harold Jewett.”

Okay, so, first question. Who was this kid hanging out with and what color were they? Let’s see:

The AP article continues: “The three men charged Tuesday could face the death penalty if convicted of murder, murder in the commission of a robbery and murder in the commission of a burglary. One, Tremaine Amos, 25, of Bay Point, is serving time for an unrelated conviction. The other two, Darryl Hudson and Montrell Hall, both 23 and from Pittsburg, are being tried this week for robbery in a different case.”

Hmmm, “Tremaine” and “Montrell” sound very African-American to me. Quite a few blacks named “Darryl” too. I think this mystery is solved.

Basically, this aging computer geek was so wrapped up in his wonderful yuppie career in the cyber-world, or so poisoned with liberalism, that he neglected to raise children who were worth a bucket of warm spit. He allowed his trashy teenaged son to hang out with blacks. The kid naively babbles to the blacks about his pot plantation in his Daddy’s house, and so the blacks break in and murder his father for drugs. What an all-American tale, so neatly encompassing the spirit of Diversity!

Farrance sounds like a hippie re-tread who tolerated his son’s pot-smoking and pot-growing. Bet I can guess what his last words were as he lay bleeding on the floor where the black thugs had left him: “Like, bummer, man.”