Officials: Man traded his dog for gun to shoot his son
Jan 21, 2015
MASON CITY, Iowa —Authorities said a man charged with being a convicted felon in possession of a firearm was sentenced Wednesday.
Bill Douglas Thorne, 58, of Mason City, received a prison sentence of 21 years in federal prison.
Thorne was convicted by a jury on the charge in April.
Federal authorities said Thorne traded his dog for a .22 caliber rifle that he intended to use to shoot his son on July 24, 2012.
Thorne had others hide the gun in a Mason City park, authorities said, but it was turned over to police when he was arrested on harassment charges.
Thorne had been convicted in 1997 in Florida of five counts of burglary and one count of armed burglary.
There is no parole in the federal system.
Copyright 2015 by KCCI
1 Comments on: Man traded his dog for gun to shoot his son
Comment by Sparky@muttswap.com:
Yo, I’ve sniffed a lot of assholes. Others I lived with.
A .22 rifle? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s all he got for me?
At a minimum I’m worth a goddamned thirty-aught-six. On a good day maybe even a Mossberg twelve gauge.
Ever heard of haggling, dumb ass?
Ok, am I pure bred? Hell to the no. Straight up proud-ass mutt here. Cross-bred, scraps-fed and turning circles in my bed. But if you’re a smart dog owner, you have to consider a little thing called motherfucking value.
My mixed background? I’d argue that shit makes me MORE valuable. Just look at the fat stacks I saved him on vet bills.
My diverse gene pool is crazy strong. I’m not some in-bred show dog bitch just waiting around to see when hip dysplasia finally takes over. Or when the doggy epilepsy seizures kick in. Or when my head just fucking explodes. (Heard that’s common in cocker spaniels. True story, Google that shit.)
Seriously, only a .22? Yo, fuck that. I never felt so cheap.
That’s some kinda thanks for all my loyalty. For putting up with all his bullshit, all the yelling and the railing about Obama and the same damn tired-ass stories about Florida over and over again.
I feel sorry for his cellmate because I can tell you first hand—the motherfucker never shuts up. Wasn’t a day went by that I didn’t wish he spoke at a frequency even I couldn’t hear.
And did he ever take me for a walk? Oh hail no! Too much to ask, get his ass off the couch and grab a leash. Nope, just lay there watching TV, a hand down his pants, constantly scratching his balls. Hell, I can reach mine with my tongue and don’t spend nearly as much time scrambling my huevos as that man does.
More I think about it, the more I come to realize what a shitty owner he was. Can’t believe I didn’t pick up on that sooner. Aren’t I supposed to have instincts about people? Dunno why it took me so long to hear my inner canine voice saying, “This guy? Real asshole.”
White trash ain’t the new black but if by some chance he ever gets a dog in one of those prisoner and puppy programs, here’s a tip: Pop Tarts and pork rinds make lousy dog treats. Yo, buy a fucking box of Milk Bones once in a while, jackass.
Still, guess it could be worse. Could be his son.
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