the living laboratory presents

2008-01-10T08:04:00.001-05:00

20 Stories Up Is Really High. Remind Me Not To Come Here When I'm Feeling Blue

2007-12-29T19:31:00.000-05:00

I think to welcome the New Year I should probably use this for the forces of good rather than just blather. Boring. I know. but well worth it's weight in gold, which is to say, very little.

Very little gold.

Oompah Loompahs Are Good Eating If You Do Them Just Right.

2007-05-25T09:35:00.000-05:00

Dammit dammit dammit all to hell! Soon, I will return triumphantly to this arena, despite the filth and the old cumstained bleachers. I will return. Can't a guy catch a break?

Dig These New Jams! Get Your Ass On the Dance Floor! And Wax It, Monkey Turd.

2007-05-10T11:27:00.000-05:00

Wow. So anyone in close proximity of my life is undoubtedly aware of all the crappage that I have been dealing with over the past week and a half. Good crappage, but crappage still the same. In fact, I would call it sweet smelling crappage.

Hiatus begone!!

And to commemorate the day, I give you some of the dumbest shit you can find. It might not be a prime example of people doing innane things (For that I would check out Salt Lake City) but it does represent something that strikes at the heart. I give you...Astronaut pee. Courtesy of the BBC.

How do you 'go' in space?

A tour of a space facility in the US apparently prompted Prince Philip to ask how astronauts deal with "natural functions" in space. So how exactly do they go to the toilet (or should that be the loo)?

It's all to do with air flow. On earth, in the West at least, your standard toilet is a water-flush affair, that takes waste and washes it down a pipe.

THE ANSWER
Space toilets use air flow as water flushes have drawbacks in zero gravity
Adult nappies are used on space walks and during take-off and landing
The lack of gravity on the shuttle and the space station mean a water-flush system is not an option. You don't need a particularly vivid imagination to see the potential problems.

Instead, on the shuttle, urine and faeces are carried away by rapid flow of air.

The unisex toilet resembles a conventional loo, but with straps over the feet and bars over the thighs to make sure that the astronauts don't drift off mid-go. The seat is designed so the astronaut's bottom can be perfectly flush to make a good seal.

The good news for fans of convenience is that, on the shuttle at least, urinating standing up is possible. A funnel-on-a-hose contraption is included so that astronauts - both male and female - can urinate standing up. Or sitting down if they prefer. They just attach it to the toilet using a pivoting bracket.

I would wait for 10 hours and then once back inside get someone to help me off with the suit and rush to the bathroom
British astronaut Piers Sellers to Prince Philip
The system separates solid and liquid waste. Solids are compressed and remain on-board to be unloaded after landing. Liquids are released into space. Nasa hopes one day to recycle waste productively.

Researchers at the University of Guelph in Canada have said such recycling will be key to tackling any future mission to Mars in order to feed the astronauts.

The air used in the space shuttle's toilet system has to be filtered to get rid of the smell and bacteria before it is returned to the living area.

Incinerated waste

On the International Space Station, the fundamental principle is similar. The fan-powered air-flow toilet system stores waste. Urine is sucked up and stored in 20 litre containers which are dumped into the Progress resupply craft. The ship is later ejected into the atmosphere, where it burns up.

A regular feature in the BBC News Magazine - aiming to answer some of the questions behind the headlines
For solid waste, a plastic bag covered in holes is placed inside the toilet. Air is sucked through the holes so everything ends up in the bag. The elasticised top closes and the bag is pushed into a metal container. A new bag is popped in for the next visitor. Again the waste heads off to Progress.

Space toilets have come a long way. In the book The Right Stuff and its film adaptation, an astronaut on an early mission feels the need to urinate during a massively delayed take-off. With no facilities provided - and no adult nappies, as used today during take-off and landing - he is eventually allowed to urinate in his suit, causing his sensors to go haywire.

And Prince Philip is among good company in wondering how astronauts attend to their bodily functions.

A spokesman for Nasa confirms it is a question much asked by children and journalists alike.

Prince Philip wants to know if he can get a girl into space and have her pee on him standing up. This is the BBC.

A long mother fucking article about urination and feces. And I refer you back to the last line of the article. Journalists are children. Not that there is anything wrong with children. Them be tasty eatin'. And not that there is anything wrong with pee. It's sterile and is a natural thing unless you eat a whole lot of asparagus. Then you in trouble. I'll have something better for you later.

My little noggin hurts with a pulse like a monkey I once saw beating off in a zoo. Rapid fire. Noisy. Verging on explosion.

Dude. That Totally Fucking Blows My Mind. I Relate In So Many, Yeah. It's like the 4th Dimension or Something. Time Passes Like...Relatively.

2007-05-04T12:34:00.000-05:00

Whoa, this is like total bogus, you know. It's like. damn...can you really? I don't...Wow...yeah totally. Uh huh uh huh, I see what you.. yeah, you're hitting it right on the, yeah uh huh, that's it right. cool cool..I see what you're...no, totally yeah yeah.

Have you ever caught yourself saying something along these lines?

Shame on you.

Swamped. Back in a few.

Uno de Mayo Mayo Mayo Mayo Vinegar and Eggs. Mayo Mayo Clinic. Mayo My-O, My O is Long Since Gone.

2007-05-01T09:41:00.000-05:00

It is May. That means spring. My heart feels like spring. Warm and fuzzie like. I was spinning in circles in a giant field. It was magical. And these little peaches with little arms and little legs come dashing through the orchards to rub their fuzzies all over me. We touch cheek to cheek. And dance to the song with a similar name. They look like butts. They might be humping my leg with their fuzzie parts. I eat them. And ignore the little screams escaping their fuzzie lips. And I weep. Blood.

Happy May!

More to follow...eventually.

This Has Taken So Much Time to Type, I'm Leaking a Bit In My Shorts. And I Feel Naughty. In a Good Way.

2007-04-27T16:00:00.000-05:00

So, last weekend. A strange weekend where I removed little wooden shards from my body. This week. A strange week where I sit and wait for things to come, so to speak. Think of it what you will.

In celebration of weird shit happening in life, I will share yet another scintillating story. Well, not really scintillating, just tepid at best.

So, at the end of my fateful first year in college, toying with the idea of transferring to another school but thinking, "Fuck, I have to apply all over again." I decided that the best thing to do was to pick up and get the hell out for the summer at the very least.

(To answer your question, I never got around to applying for a transfer. I'm a tightwad. No way those bozos were going to get my $50 application fee. And I'm a lazy fuck. There is that.)

Anyway, I decided to pick up and leave. So this was the plan: leave school for Virginia, paint friend's new house, fly to SF to visit the brother, fly out to Nepal to work on the rice fields and community forests for three months. (And not because of some weird Asian identity fetish. So all of you leeches back off, unless you have money...sucky fucky 20 whole dolla. I highclass goods.)

The day before I leave good old New York for the great state of Virginia, home of Rev Soup, I ship all my packed goods off to Long Island so that I never have to see them again until my return. Never did I think that I would have to ask for them back. I realize, in my packing fervor, I packed the one thing that I would need for my summer adventrure - my animatronic evil cymbal clapping monkey.

Well, my passport. And plane tickets. Make that two things.

Anyway, I call my friend's brother and have him open up a couple boxes and there they are sitting in a box like a couple of egg's under a roosting hens' gigantic ass, waiting to be brought out from the dark.

My friend's dad then drives them an hour and half to my dorm room and I get into a car headed south. Ordeal number one, complete.

I get to Virginia and have a really fun time painting a house and picking paint colors and all that crazy hoo ha shit that really shouldn't be all that fun but when you have free reign to do whatever the fuck you want to a house, you do whatever the fuck you want to that house. You splatter it with rat blood, fill a giant tub with skittles, and go to town. (Those skittles, by the by, are like little dwarves, they burrow on up there and when you get them out, it's like a pretty pretty rainbow.)

Oh yeah, and you light some sage.

However, while I was experiencing some jollies of my own, I realized that my foot was beginning to hurt. I didn't think about it too much, splashed on some arnica and continued on my daily routine. (This becomes important later on.)

A week later, I am on the plane to San Francisco. My foot gets run over by a drink cart and then stepped on by some stewardress in high heels (that's right, the bitch ain't a flight attendant, she a sterwardress.) While seeing stars, I could make out the stewardress hightailing it down the aisle, an image reminiscent of the hen I referred to earlier. (Another hazard of preferring to sit in the aisle is that when in an aircraft taking a nosedive, you are more likely to be knocked unconscious by falling luggage, which for me, going to destinations with high populations of Asians, is really dangerous cause there might a bevy of things flying at your face- a severed dog leg (jerkied), a flatscreen tv, dentures, a toaster, a massive dildo, cuisinart blenders...it's not a good way to go.

Either way, I get off the plane and realize that the pain in my foot has increased tenfold. I get into the airport, hobbling on one leg, take my shoe off and what do I see? A throbbing purple baseball where my left big toe used to be. Hmm. Throbbing and purple balls will never be spoken of or alluded to in this blog ever again. Naturally, I can't really walk, so my brother picks me up and I hobble over to the airport clinic to get help from SF medical students. Now. Let's just set the record straight. I like California. I also don't mind doctors, even student doctors really. When you combine the two? No.

He takes an X ray of my foot and what does he say? It's either a broken bone or gout.
I find out later that I do indeed have a form of gout . And no, I'm not some crazy old lardinous British lady with my stockings hanging around my ankles like a cheap prostitute after she deals with a john that likes it rough. Or like your sister. When we were kids. In the public bathroom. It was a piece of cake. Ye Olde Bloody Cake. Ye Olde Bloody Pudding with a Bangers and a Mash, yea? D'you fancy some spotted' dick? Fer that Blood Pudding, yeah?

Anyway, it sucked shit. So there I am, popping "nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories" to ease the pain and you know what, I find out later that the drugs are just horsepills of Alleve. Fuck. No fun visuals there.

I finally, after a week, hang out with some other friends, spending most of my time high as a kite. I could say that it was to relieve the pain, but then again, why bother?

On my last day on the sunny west coast, I catch a ride back with my friend, still high, walk into my brother's apartment, and he's about to go to the gym. I say cool. He says, I'm not going to bring my phone. I say whatever its fine. He leaves. I go to check on my flight.

It leaves in two hours. You know when they trick you and say that the flight leaves at 12:05 AM on the 1st and you realize that that's technically the same day because you're an idiot? And then you check again cause you're still coming off some residual high? Yeah. yeah...

I panic, run around in circles like a chicken with it's head cut off..or a cymbal clapping monkey, and throw all my shit in a bag. My brother's roommate shows up and he's nice enough to give me a ride to the airport. We hit the road, I leave a frantic message on my brother's phone and it's all a haze.

Miraculously, I get to the aiport 30 minutes before the flight leaves and I get to the gate (This was before 9/11 so it was easy to scale security.)

I'm starting to think that something is telling me not to go.

37 hours of flying later, I arrive in Nepal. They pick me up, I am relieved, I actually made it. I hear explosions in my head, like fireworks lighting up the night sky, celebrating my arrival and my innate ability to overcome any obstacle.

Turns out, the explosions were real. The entire royal family was being shot to shit by the king's nephew with a semi automatic.

Adventures in storytelling!

If you know the significance of the image above, please comment. Otherwise, I can tell you about it later.

NUN SHOWDOWN 2007...HAVOC IN THE HABIT! - Courtesy of J.S

2007-04-25T10:34:00.000-05:00

'nuff said.

You know, like those Marvel comics "'nuff said" series where there was no speech in any of the panels of the comic book?

They sucked.

"Havoc in the Habit", however, is genius

Check 1, 2. Check. Check. Check. 1.2 Check. Check. Check. Czech. Check. Shut The Fuck Up, You Mangy Whore! What Part of "Not On" Don't You Get?

2007-04-24T14:43:00.000-05:00

It has been more than a week since I wrote about my En-cunt-er with the United States Judicial System and so I am back although I am behind schedule on all walks of life. Even my period is late

.

However, before I continue on my usual rage filled endeavor, I would like to say that the United States Judicial System is quite cool. I'm not sure how else you could have a fair and just system, if at all, but I guess we do alright considering I get to keep my hands after getting caught with a goose underneath my car...

Not that I was...I mean...I wasn't guilty...the pastor made me do it. Yeah, that's it. The pastor. I'm so ashamed.

However, if you have any better ideas on how to create a fair judicial system, please let me know and I'll take it up with the board. Or at least talk about it on this here weblog.

Let's turn our attention to more pressing matters. The judicial system can wait. This is what really takes the kicker.

Two stabbed and two arrested in convent fracas

Thu Apr 12, 8:19 PM ET

NICOSIA (Reuters) - Two people were stabbed and two arrested in scuffles at a Cyprus convent on Thursday in a power struggle between rival factions, police said.
ADVERTISEMENT

Witnesses said priests and nuns were involved in the night-time fracas at the Metamorphosis tou Sotiros convent, some 35 km (22 miles) south east of the Cypriot capital Nicosia.

Disputes there have been simmering for months over control of its speculated vast wealth.

The people injured and those arrested were laymen, police said. "Two required stitches for head injuries inflicted by sharp implements and two were detained for obstructing police," a police source told Reuters.

The convent follows the old Julian calendar and is not considered part of the official Orthodox Church of Cyprus. Last December a nun at the convent was hospitalised following an assault.

NUNS SHOWDOWN 2007!! Whoo! I would like a Tshirt with those exact words. Cause there ain't a thing better than a flying nun than a fighting nun. I mean, if you step away and take a look at the obvious, you'll admit that nuns will kick your ass.

Example 1: I direct your attention to any Catholic School. The mild mannered nun hides a switch or ruler to implement the hand smack of death to anyone who dares tread on Jesus' name. Jesus' girls don't take smack about their lord and savior lightly. The feeling of that handsmack, although arousing, is soon followed by a giant purple welt across the palm. What commoners refer to as the mark of shame. Not to be confused with the mark of the beast. Which is characteristically found on the nether regions. Not that you will ever see that. That's for Jesus.

Example 2: They wear black. Perfect for sneak attacks in the dark. Stealthy stealthy ninjas. The traditional uniform also allows for the storage of hidden weapons, much like the aforementioned ruler or a shank carved from a crucifix and on rare occasions, mop handles or bedposts.

Example 3: They have a lot of pent up sexual tension. Tapping into that reservior of boiling juices results in mental state similar to Wolverine's Beserker Fury.

Example 4:What skill.

Example 5: You know in The Sound of Music where the nuns take out the spark plug in the car and thwart the Nazi incumbents from gaining on the Von Trapp Family Singers and then the Mother Superior leads the family through the wilderness? It is clear that nuns have uncanny abilities in mechanics thus in direct correlation: missle warfare. There is also clear evidence that nuns are reconissance/tracking experts and/or possess the ability to see in the dark.

Example 6: They are women.

Beware the nun. She kill you. You realize 5 minutes later.

Oh yeah, I don't use the word "fracas" enough.

There are No Words to Describe the Amount of Stimulation My Rods and Cones Get When I Open My Non-Eyelids.

2007-04-19T11:53:00.000-05:00

It's not surprising that the news of the aftermath (be it about Virginia Tech or American Idol) is dominating headlines, much in the way Anna Nicole Smith is drinking a TrimSpa Martini in her pink vomit stained slippers laughing at all of us from the pearly gates - overpowering, slightly tingly, and a borderline freakshow.

I'm not trying to say that these things are inconsequential. (For the most part they are but I'm trying to straddle a fence here and my legs are too short and the fence posts are skewering my balls and my ass simultaneously and that is just not a good way to go.)

What I'm saying is: Dwell for a bit and move on. That being said, with media and sad, tormented people spewing forth like a pox on the world (or just the States) I bring you something from the other hemisphere.

Herpes hits 132 racehorses in Hong Kong

HONG KONG: A strain of equine herpes has infected 132 racehorses in Hong Kong, host of equestrian events at the 2008 Olympics, the South China Morning Post has reported.

Equestrian events were switched from host city Beijing to Hong Kong because of difficulties in establishing a disease-free zone in mainland China and this outbreak is certain to raise concerns about the suitability of Hong Kong.

For now, containment measures at the Hong Kong Jockey Club in Shatin in the New Territories appeared to be working and there was no obvious threat of the outbreak worsening, the newspaper quoted Brian Stewart, head of veterinary regulation and international liaison, as saying.

"The horses are showing elevated temperatures but they seem to have recovered after a couple of days of rest. Overall, the symptoms are very mild," Stewart said.

The club was not immediately available for comment.

The viral outbreak comes as Hong Kong police investigate a device that was found embedded in the city's other horse track turf in Happy Valley in late March.

The device, which was uncovered during a routine check, was designed to shoot poison darts into horses at the start of a race.

The plot shocked the city and the Beijing Olympics equestrian chief in Hong Kong quickly pledged that security would be tight for the 2008 Games.

My love for this is simple. There is a man, or an organization, plotting to take over the world by spreading herpes though the competitive equine population. How he spreads the disease, I'd rather not discuss for I am not an expert, but if I'm allowed to have a dinner party where I get to invite anyone I would like, Catherine the Great will definitely make the short list. In court, an expert opinion can go a long way. I feel like watching Pinky and the Brain.

On a different note, as I was writing this entry from a sun soaked (finally! oh wait, it's gone.) room in NY, I realized that once again, I'm trying to straddle the fence. I seem to enjoy it more than I thought I did. There are definite parallels between poison darts in horses and recent events. And the question all of a sudden became: do I continue on, as put forth earlier, and pretend I didn't notice, or do I all of a sudden have to find cutesy, non-threatening, silly fun time news that won't in any way contribute to our collective psyche? And in doing so, am I compromising? And in admitting those thoughts in writing, am I compromising?

S'pose so. I think I'll just go get some coffee and shut the fuck up. My brain hurts.

2007-04-16T16:47:00.001-05:00

The count has officially been upped to 33 making it the worst shooting in US history.

2007-04-16T13:29:00.000-05:00

21 people were claimed victims in a brutal shooting directed at students and faculty on the Virginia Tech campus in Blacksburg, VA. It appears that the attack took place in two firings, two hours apart. By the second hour, several students thought the safety precautions were lifted. This is when the second round of shootings took place.

8 years after Columbine, after the snipers in DC, after the clocktower, today...well, what more can be said?

There's a lot to be said. I'm not someone that gets involved in political affairs easily. I'm not someone who wants to decipher right and wrong, the just and the immoral, or any of the great unknowns. Socially, I've since adopted a similar approach. Although I am known to be quick to judge on most occasions, often working off of instinct, that does not apply to serious matters. Hot button issues like gun control, the Israeli/Palestine conflict, war, and the death penalty are what we coined them to be because there is no way to correctly and accurately argue in favor for or against it. In doing so, I am, in effect, waging my own individual war. The fire that I cultivate to fight for something is part of the same driving force behind enemy lines.

I'm not concluding that the solution is to sit in apathy and sap myself of drive, fever, or conviction. There's much more involved.

We have been given a strange blip in the history of human existence. Within these precious years, this slice, this period, this era, we are so fully saturated with knowledge, that the moral high ground is no longer the foothill of the past. The peak has gradually become increasingly difficult to summit. At least in the past so much was based on the reasoning of protection against or fear of the unknown. Now, as it has been for several years, we wallow in the information wherein the danger lies.

As I've been busy looking at the news, mostly of a trivial nature to satisfy my mean streak, it has become abundantly clear that media outlets, big and small, are clouded over. What perspectives can I form that haven't been manipulated and taken into account in advance? Is there a way around it? No, not really. I guess in the end, it is my personal responsibility to tread with a necessary level of awareness, not lightly, or cautiously, in fact, quite the opposite. Always stride but keep my wits about me.

There's not much that I have said that hasn't been said time and time again in every culture. It's not a rant or a manifesto or a sermon, but a personal reiteration that I've decided to let open because I know it's not an uncommon thought.

Today, and every single day, something in the world has gone awry. But something about these recent transgressions have struck a cord with me. There is nothing to deny and no one to take the blame. It is just human tragedy.

I guess I have been overly cliche on so many levels but the fact of the matter is that "cliche" is "commonplace." If enough people at this same moment share similar fleeting thoughts, then I'm secure in the notion that things aren't as askew as I thought when I first started.

That's Ludicrous! Like the Rapper! But More So! Like Yo Mamma's Juicebox. Quotation Marks Do Apply.

2007-04-10T11:09:00.000-05:00

So, I promised everyone stories the other day. Stories involving really stupid shit correlating to the entry I wrote earlier about the 22 year old girl suing for damages because her boss's husband picked her up and dropped her on her head at a mandatory office party.

Heh. Yep. Still funny.

Anyway, I have been to jury duty. It began one fateful day when I sat there and thought, what should I have for lunch and then I got a call. "You got a jury summons." And then the voice on the phone broke out in hysterical laughter. Maybe it was because I was mouthing off trying not to curse because well, that would be rude. Have you seen that one Calvin and Hobbes strip when Calvin's dad drops a christmas present on his foot and screams "Ripping dipping dang fang a ding dong!" or something to that effect. That was me. Although, Bill Waterson's ideas of the man's inner psyche probably did not consist of tearing heads off with your teeth and then fucking the esophageal passage while gastric juices spilled out of it. But that's not what I was thinking either. I was just kinda bummed.

So I decide that there isn't really anything wrong with jury duty and maybe I will get a cool case and I'm unemployed right now so I guess I might as well get it out of the way. It was time to do my civil doody. (Like how I slipped that in there? Clever, right?)

I got up on the morning of February 14th and got a ride to the courthouse. I know. Valentine's with Judge Bishop or Silverstein. He treats me good. He rubs one out under the pulpit, I mean judge's chair thingy, under his robes during trials, tips well, and rounds up on the hour so I'm okay with it. The halitosis takes getting used to.

But I get herded into large room where I wait, hoping, mostly, that I don't get called on. An hour later, we watch a public service film about the joys of civic duty. We, the people, the commonfolk that can't get out of jury duty (which means we're probably not very smart and don't have any real convictions) are the only people who can make or break someone's entire life. All up to 12 unqualified people who at the most, can form a complete sentence. Sort of. That I think true. See? Told you.

My name is suddenly called from the voices ahead (It's a large, deep cavern of a room.) and I slap my forehead in dismay and walk to the front. The group of us are ushered away, shuffling our feet like a chain-gang into a smaller room.

There are two lawyers. One, a smart talking man with a thick Long Island accent and the other, a quieter glasses wearing, thinning hair kind of guy. Both in their late 30s/early 40s. I think about what they did to get to this point in their careers...University of Phoenix online...selling blackmarket babies for tuition...eating ramen and cut up hot dogs...cramming time for the bar....cramming time in at the bar...barshhheshs...

And now they have a degree that will give them a steady influx of cash. Something I will never have.

Anyway, they proceed to tell me that the case today involves a nurse. Damn. A oncological nurse. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages due to pain and suffering. DAMN. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages due to pain and suffering from injuries sustained at a YMCA. DAMNIT FUCKING RIPPING DAGNABIT DIPPING DANG FANG A FUCKING WHO HA DING DONG SHIT BRICK CUNTSUCKING DEVILWORSHIPPING HOBAG MONEY GRUBBING DICK WEEDS!

I was a tad annoyed.

At this point I'm a little steamed by this little play of manipulative lawyer speak and hope that in no fucking way I get called because someone will want me on the jury. Asian...check. College educated...check. Just out of said college and thus no job and has time to serve on a jury for Nurse Douche-y McBitchface who fell off a stationary bike in a fucking YMCA...check.

They shuffle through most of the people in the room, asking them questions, taking some people, turning away others. Finally, they are looking for one last juror. They call one name and the final name...is mine.

I would call foul play at this point or lunge across the banister but I am in a court room.

They call the two of us forward. I glare. I look uninterested. They ask if we can serve fairly. The other lady says she can. They ask me.

"I don' think so."

"Why not?"

"I think this case is completely ludicrous."

They get my ass out of that room so fast I think I left my conjoined twin on the cheap plastic seats. Nah, found him. He's under the couch cushions again. Oh, you. You love that hide and seek.

When asked outside as to why? You fucking manipulated the entire population in that room to see a withered old nurse who treats those kids you see on TV with no hair or eyebrows who falls off a bike and cracks her wrist, that's why, you dipshits.

I don't have to go to jury duty for another 7 years.

Necrophilia Is A Fun Word to Say. I Could Name a Child That. Except For That Whole Corpse Fucking Thing.

2007-04-09T09:16:00.000-05:00

And in one fell swoop, the weekend has come to a close and I am sitting at this office in Midtown cursing the days that once were.

In some recent news, Artist Sol LeWitt has passed away. If you don't know his work, it might be worth looking into. On a cheerier note, manatees are going to be classified as "threatened" instead of "endangered" or "extinct" which was my first thought when I read the headline "Manatees losing their endangered status." Manipulative bastards. Either way, it's good news, that means Jenny Schecter can write more about the peaceful manatees and go apeshit on some other unsuspecting lesbian with a pulse (or even if they didn't, she'd probably give it the go ahead too.)

This is the way you woo her.
Stick your fingers in her cooter.
If her lips do not stretch,
it means, perhaps, you are a lech.

She's dead, you fucking idiot!

5 dollars from the bank you get.
Because clearly now, I won the bet.
Doubly forth we to your car,
I will need to go to the bar.

To wash my mouth of all that stuff.
I gathered, plastered on her cold cold muff.
At the time I was unaware
Distracted by all that matted hair.

She's fucking dead, you idiot!

But either or tis okay.
I got off on it anyway.
The load flew through, hard and fast.
And in that moment the die was cast.

In a flash I turned my head,
checking for the one I bed.
Vanish-ed!

I grab the 5 clams and dart
Feeling a strange tingling in my heart.
Perhaps she wasn't really stiff,
But oddly now I am instead.
My head and heart are in quite a tiff.
Sticking it to the dead, I dread,
Is a sign you are fucked in the head.

I run and run and run and run.
Stopping once for a Cinnabun.
I run and run and run and run,
Accidentally plowing over a nun.

Sinking in fear from the past,
I check into a hotel at last.
Showered twice in every hole.
I clease myself of her ghouly soul.

Looking back to see, once more
Her stony face in the bathroom door.
I scream and shout and plead for life,
her icy hands cut like a knife.

One last attempt, I try to ditch,
But she proceeds to make me her bitch.

She's fucking you dead, idiot!
She's fucking you, dead idiot!

We were married at the gates of hell by a minister who unwittingly got caught touching young boys in the spring of '92. It was a magical affair.

(The image above. Now that's what I call a cold fish.)

Moments of Silence for Things Coming to an End. My Sanity and those Little Bugs I Found in My Asscrack were Good to Me...Or Did They Really Exist?

2007-04-05T09:31:00.000-05:00

A few things to be thankful for:

1. They are making a live action film based on an Edward Gorey story. If you have no idea who Edward Gorey is, you have a lot to learn my friend. The only short sighted thing about this whole endeavor is that they aren't making a classic 2D animated movie based on his drawings.

2. They are banning female circumcision in Eritrea. Many should follow suit. If you have no idea where Eritrea is, you have a lot to learn my friend.

3. I have decided to become a woman. And then I will become a man again for shits and giggles.

To all, I say: Finally.

I Have a Gimp Leg. A Freak Accident Involving A Pair of Nylons, a Rapid Wombat, Crampons, and the Dalai Lama. I Cherish It So. The D Lama Is So Shiny.

2007-04-04T12:27:00.000-05:00

In celebration of the coming Spring (although the weather today feels like someone sucked out my insides from my anus and my ear canal simultaneously), I will do a little dance and make a little love and bring our attention to a friendly court case involving a love for the dance.

(Some other points of reference are Heather Mill's prosthetic dancing in the hit series Dancing with the Stars Season...2 or 3 or 4. You can also refer to such hit tv shows as Pussycat Dolls present The Search for the Next Doll or So You Think You Can Dance or Grease! You're the One That I Want.)

These shows are not to be miscontrued with quality. They are in fact grouped together as "The shows that I see every once in a while and have to keep myself from leaping across the room and pissing on the faces in the television set. I did that once with a watergun when I was a child. So, now as an adult, I have changed to a more mature form of drenching my foes. Unfortunately, like when I was child, it always results in some broken electronics and embarassment when someone walks into the room. Oh yeah, they also all have ridiculously long names. I will start a show. It will be called "The Search of the Next Asian/ Pacific Islander In Search of a Soul Whilst Torching Retail Queens that Work at Armani Exchange and French Connection...Who Are Asian." I smell a runaway hit.)

But to get back to the point, if you haven't figured out my formula by now, there was a recent newsitem that I thought particularly interesting. Not because of topic, but because of the story it made me remember. Now, I don't think I want to share with you the story to which I am referring so that I can write about it tomorrow so I will make a little idle commentary after the article and then leave you hanging until next week. Like an episode of LOST. Where nothing ever happens but it always could. Or like watching Jesus on the cross, wondering if he would bleed out and lose bowel control or not. Now I bet you wish you were there.

Woman Sues Co-Worker For 'Negligent Dancing'
Lacey Hindman Says She Fell And Was Seriously Hurt Because Of Co-Worker's Dance Technique
Get breaking news alerts

(STNG) CHICAGO Oldies music was playing at the Lincoln Park bar and a circle of co-workers danced.

But Lacey Hindman said she had no idea David Prange was about to grab her by the forearms and flip her into the air, jitterbug-style.

The small-framed 22-year-old said she was surprised as the stocky-built Prange tossed her airborne and she crashed headfirst into the wood floor at Stanley’s Kitchen and Tap.

Hindman suffered a fractured skull and brain injuries in the April 2006 incident and is now suing Prange — whose wife, Kate, is a well-known fashion designer who owns the Shop Girl store where Hindman worked.

Hindman, of Chicago, wants unspecified damages for injuries her attorney says were caused by “negligent dancing.”

“We want him to be accountable for what he did,” said attorney David M. Baum.

The Pranges did not return calls Monday.

Hindman said she knew the Pranges well -- they’re family friends who hired her to baby-sit and, later, to work at their Lincoln Park shop.

The dancing incident came after a book-signing at the store, and all employees were required to attend the after-party, Hindman said.

They were dancing in a group when David Prange reached over and grabbed Hindman’s arms, she said.

“I was in the air, over him,” she said. “I fell hard enough, you could hear the impact of me hitting the floor over the sound from the jukebox.”

A store manager took her home and watched over her that night, but when she woke up “in excruciating pain” and with a “lump the size of a baseball” on the back of her head, she went to the hospital.

Her lawsuit, recently filed in Cook County Circuit Court, seeks damages for medical bills, lost wages for time she missed from work and future losses due to her injuries.

Now for the commentary. I have none. It's just a funny story. Some dude flipped a girl over and dropped her on the her head.

Think about it...

Yeah...

Yeah...

You're stifling a laugh now, right?

Oh and don't you love the fact that the girls all have glowing blue eyes in the photo above? It's like the precursor to seeing 9 Linda Blairs in halter tops puking on a marching band and fucking themselves with the cross.

Perfectly in time to the music and to each other.

BOO YAH! ~ KEEPING YOU ALL IN CHECK!

2007-04-03T09:46:00.000-05:00

CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY DON'T KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON HAVE SO MUCH TO DO HAVE NO SENSE OF WHAT IS GOING ON OUTSIDE OF THE WORLD APART FROM MINE OWN (NONSENSE!) WILL BE WORKING ON SOMETHING SHORTLY BUT JUST TO TIDE YOU FELLAS OVER IN THE MEANTIME I WILL JUST HAVE TO GIVE YOU SOME FRANTIC WRITING ABOUT MY INABILITY TO FORM OR WRITE A COMPLETE SENTENCE UNTIL EVERYTHING IS SORTED OUT AND ALL IS CALM IN THE WORLD ONCE AGAIN. STAY TUNED.

OH YEAH. HAPPY APRIL FOLKS.

Dance, Monkey, DANCE!

2007-03-30T16:06:00.000-05:00

Eating is for Pussies. I Eat. I Must Be Pussy. I am Fried. Fried Pussy. Everything Tastes Better Fried. Eat Me. Tastes like Chicken. Or Fish. Depends.

2007-03-30T14:01:00.000-05:00

If you are "eating it" or eating it.

Crude, I know. But there is a method to my madness. (I know, again, I use terms and phrases that are overused...In case I wasn't clear, I said pussy tastes like fish and so on and so forth. It's a trend.)

It has come to my attention, and maybe you as well since I heard about this a little late in the game, that the Japanese are at it again with their crazy shenanigans. I feel like there might be another "n" in that word somewhere. Where is my Vanna when I need her? Flip the tile, DAMNIT!, FLIP the FUCKING TILE! YES, I BOUGHT THE FUCKING VOWEL ALREADY! FUCK, I'LL BUY ALL OF THEM!

Anyway, what I was getting at can be witnessed here.

For those of you out of touch with Japanese culture or Japanese tv programs, let me explain although I'm sure it is quite self explanatory if you actually watch the video (I know some of you skipped over it and to you I say shame on you.) Go watch and read everything in the sequence it was given unto thou. And then go back and mix it all up and call it your own. Some say plagiarism, I say staying true to the original voice.

What you are seeing is an aquarium. An aquarium that is attached to a deep fryer. You can fry the fuck out of anything. Chicken, lobster, Mars bars, goldfish, sweatpants, toe nails, really just about anything will taste good as long as it's battered and fried. And there are real live fish down underneath the oil. If you remember your basic chemistry when you were a kid, oil and water do not mix. Which is why people say sex and condoms are like oil and water. They don't mix. Wait.

Yeah, they don't mix. They're a good idea and should be used at practically all times. But truth be told, not much fun.

In any case, the fish feed off the crumbs and random shit that flakes off the subtlely crisping food product. It kind of reminds me of Ally Sheedy in the Breakfast Club. But she did that out of teen angst. We do this out of deliciousness.

The fish can live unharmed as long as they don't charge themselves headfirst into a gooey vegetable oil heaven while idly swimming around in the deep blue. Sure, if given an easy way to end it, you might really consider it and we have to account for the fact that fish are stupid. You stick a finger in a fish tank and they come nibbling along (If you haven't tried it, you should. It's a magical experience one can only equate to watching a live birth or feeling the tickling urge to sneeze for the very first time...what movie was that in?)

Finally, you might also be questioning the fact that hot water and hot oil might be a disasterous situation. Watching little fish heads explode right out of the tank might not be something you would want as you bite into a ball of fried ice cream. Which also brings to question why fried ice cream is almost always an Asian restaurant delicacy.

Oh well, what I wouldn't give to see a deep fryer explode and watch water and oil and pork rinds and fish and shrapnel spew forth while 26 (and specifically 26) Japanese people stare wide-eye and say "Sugoi!" in a hushed tone. It's all really anime if you think about it. (Whoever knows the Japanese word, I give you 5 dollars. Wait. Boo. You give me 5 dollars. That way I have one less john to get off.

Anyway, sharing time is over. It takes a lot of work to be clever. And I think this time around, I've buckled under the pressure. What can I say? It's hard to be quick on your feet when you have a full grown salmon jammed up your ass.

So I've heard.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

There Is Only So Much I Can Bear As the Weight of Oscar Gold Rests on My Weary Shoulders.

2007-03-29T10:43:00.000-05:00

Juiceboxes, hamsters, undeserving Oscar winners. Things I love.

Seems bizarre but all will be revealed. Like a young girl being exposed to weird Uncle Sal’s genitals. Unwillingly.

Growing up eating paste, pretending to be superheroes, and pinning your tail on a donkey is something we can all relate to. Most of you do this before college, but I is late bloomer. Cut me slack. (Bitch.)

So with the memory of youthful exuberance, you understand that juiceboxes are love -- yummy, sweet, packed with vitamins. Parents let you drink it because it’s healthy. (Watch it, too much rots your teeth. It’s a deceptive world we live in.) And taking care of that hamster is love. (Also a plot by your parents to instill some voodoo hooey about responsibility, yadda yadda, eat/drink/smoke/shit/sleep/eat more/shit more/no-mom-and-dad-it-didn’t-yes-still-don’t-have-a-real-job.) Just to have it plowed to death by the lawnmower or car or your sister’s fat pimply ass. Never solved that one... But, yes, I still hold the memory of Chuckles close to my bosom.

However! Understanding the love for Oscar winners is as complex an undertaking as life’s great mysteries. God, what makes string cheese so string-like and cheesy?

Let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start. (Curse you, Sound of Music and your hypnotic effects on impressionable children!)

The Oscars began in 1928.

70 years later, Jack Nicholson (who is awesome) and Helen Hunt (who is Jamie Buckman from TV’s Mad About You) won awards for As Good As It Gets. Cute movie, I guess, but that’s one meek American lady against four Brits. Helena Bonham Carter and her heroin-addled veins definitely reign supreme over Jamie Buckman from TV’s Mad About You. I love me some Marla. Scream at my boredom-induced alter ego who’s cleverly situated next to a gelatinous writhing dildo any day. (Kids say the darndest things. Cosby agrees.)

Then, the Oscars, much like my adolescence, spin out of control for the next ten years, churning out scraggly, greasy products that smell vaguely of cheese i.e: Halle, Julia, Jamie, Malcolm X. (the actor), Crash, Almost Famous, Return of the King, 2 Live Crew/Three 6 Mafia.

After this explanation, you perhaps share the same distaste and are thinking one of two things: Why puberty sucks and why does this bozo still love shitty Oscar winners?

The point is that “Catwoman starring Oscar-winner Halle Berry” and “Oscar-winner Jamie Foxx in Stealth” can exist. Hearing the voiceover guy spit these words out without irony is music - pure, unadulterated love melodies dancing in my ears like Keebler elves.

Plain and simple. There is something undeniably arousing about watching critical acclaim sink to rock-bottom depths. You know you’ve been there. Watching a bunch of image-obsessed actors flounder when their careers take a nosedive just makes you want to get it on.

~Fin~

In closing, as promised, juiceboxes, hamsters, shit Oscar winners -- what do you have in common?

I want to squeeze each and every one of you and watch fluids squirt out. With love. Baby.

My Eyes Are Smarting From the Tears Flowing Down My Face and the Noxious Fumes from the Rotting Corspe Under My Patio

2007-03-27T10:52:00.000-05:00

Middle school sucks ass. It's a conglomeration of all that is wrong with the world. When children are hormonal and smell and sprout hairs and think they are growing up. And when social typing thrusts itself onto the unsuspecting kiddies like a dog on your leg. And then the dog blows his load and you're left with a sticky wet mess, not unlike the grimy, snot-nosed bastards who roam the halls with training bras and zit creams, voices cracking in screeches and moans, not unlike the sounds a dog makes in the throes of a back-breaking orgasm.

I used "dog and "orgasm" in the same sentence again. I need help.

Who says humans and dolphins are the only living beings that fuck for pleasure? I mean, a dog humps your leg with the same amount of passion one carves a hole in a watermelon and proceeds to...

I'll spare you the gory details of my imagination.

I guess not all of middle school is bad. Socialtyping isn't all bad, it's probably a necessary step towards self awareness. You tend to forget the times where everyone is trying to figure out if they are jocks or nerds or cheerleaders or theater kids or goths or well, the list goes on and on. It's at that moment when you realize that you are a different person. And you don't have to be into the same shit everyone else is. And you can find like minded folks all around. And then you realize that you live in Salt Lake City and everyone is Mormon and the fantasy is shattered once again.

Middle school- a welcoming committee at the gates of hell. Sometimes, I wish I could draw little cartoons to illustrate what I am saying on this blog. It might help. Like the New Yorker. But not as highbrow.

However, I don't really have the time to do more than what I am doing already. So stop pressuring me.

Uhm, sharing is caring. Which means one thing. Your money, your drugs, your material possessions, your gentials, are all mine.

Middle School Principal Charged With Buying Crack
By KEITH MORELLI
The Tampa Tribune

TAMPA – Van Buren Middle School Principal Anthony Giancola was arrested after police say he bought $20 worth of crack cocaine from an undercover officer in his office where he planned to smoke it.

Giancola, 40, is planning to resign, according to school officials.

Giancola told authorities he developed the crack habit in December after having some personal problems and was using $300 to $400 per day worth of the drug, according to Tampa Police spokeswoman Laura McElroy.

McElroy said Giancola made contact with an undercover officer a few days ago about buying $200 worth last night, but called and said he had a prior appointment and couldn’t make it. Giancola asked the undercover officer to come by the school with $20 worth of the drug.

The officer went to the principal’s office around 3 p.m. and sold Giancola the drug, McElroy said. The principal said he wanted to smoke it right there, but the officer demurred and said he didn’t feel comfortable and would leave. The principal walked the officer out to the school lobby where several other undercover officers were posing as parents, McElroy said.

They arrested Giancola on the spot and whisked him out of the school, McElroy said. He was charged with possession and solicitation to purchase the drug on school property.

McElroy said the officers tried to make the arrest as subtly as possible so as not to catch the attention of students. She said Giancola was cooperative and apologized to a bank of television reporters as he was led away.

School officials backed the police.

“We are being told the principal is resigning,’ MaryEllen Elia, school district superintendent said late Thursday. “We are in full support of the position the police took in handling this.’

“I’m very disappointed and upset,’” Elia said. “Obviously it’s unacceptable. Everything that can be done will be done relative to charges. I’m extremely disappointed.”

Elia said that Jackie Heard, a retired general director for the district will be sent to the school to help as will crisis teams of school psychologists. Elia said the principal had nothing negative in his record.

But some parents of students there were upset by the way the arrest happened.

“I can’t believe they would humiliate him like that,” said Shannon Bischel, a parent of a 7th grader at the school. “We all make mistakes and to embarrass him like that is cruel considering all he’s done for the school.”

Karen Bierce, who worked as a production coordinator in Van Buren’s cafeteria until three weeks ago, said she was shocked by news of the arrest, when informed by a reporter.

“It is blowing my mind,” she said. “Him of all people. He’s been great with the kids.”

How much is $20 worth of crack? Whitney Houston couldn't spend money on the good stuff? I can understand a Floridian middle school principal having a $300 habit but multiplatinum recording artist Whitney Houston?
So. Hmmm. His predicament is starting to feel oddly familiar...

And who's to say a crack addict can't be good with kids? You watched Being Bobby Brown, just to make yourself feel better about your life, and worse about your general views on society but we're selfish creatures...Ok, they weren't great parents.

I'm unfocused and frazzled. I blame many things.

A Pox on Your First Born Will Not Be a Problem Because His Genetic Predisposition Is All Sorts of Ugly.

2007-03-26T15:35:00.000-05:00

It appears that I received a comment! YAY!!

Yes, "there are more Catholics than any other religion, including Hindu."

However, as I never stated that Jesus sucked ass at "reign"-ing in his followers, and only mentioned that Jesus had the following of " a wee population (in comparison to the global population", thus implying that many, many people in the world are in fact, not Jesus followers, I leave you with this riddle.

What do this:

and this:

have in common?

A:EAT FRESH!

It's a Knee Jerk Reaction But I Guess That Doesn't Negate the Fact That I Piddled on your Sandwich

2007-03-23T13:05:00.000-05:00

I am attempting to move as quickly as I write this blog so that the words "enormous va-jay-jay" won't be on the top of the page. I'm a little conscious of who might accidently come across the page and think that I have a vagina, which would be a natural progression since I have a set of ovaries already but to boldly state that I have a vagina would be jumping the gun.

I feel that the past few times I have started an entry it always begins with "so I was sitting..." You'd think that I'd have a huge fucking ass and maybe some bed sores from all the sitting, but hey, why stop now? So I'm sitting here and my face is really dry. From the winter months which are just now gradually working their ways away until spring will offically grace us for...3 weeks and then it will be hot and humid summer.

Fuckers. The lot of them.

Contents of my fridge: Miso, tofu, pickled ginger, a grapefruit, broccoli, mustard, butter (do you keep butter in the fridge?), homemade broth stewed lovingly over hours and hours. a veggie burger, some mushrooms, a lemon, yogurt, salsa, cheese, heel of a loaf of bread, olives

Contents of my pantry: tomato puree, sugar (3 kinds), salt, flour, dark chocolate bark, Arborio rice, Sushi rice, canned black beans, chickpeas, quinoa, barley, cornmeal, polenta (same thing), nori, pinenuts, slivered almonds.

Contents of my soul:

Iceberg lettuce.

So I read this the other day and I thought I would share because my verbal flatulence needs to be contained and I have found the solution.

Berlin - German scientists have developed a pill that stops cattle breaking wind.

Methane emissions from cattle are responsible for four percent of harmful greenhouse gas emissions, and any reduction would be a major contribution to reducing global warming.

Scientists at the University of Hohenheim in Germany say they have now tested a pill which in combination with a special diet and strict feeding times should make cattle less harmful to the climate.

The pill, which is still being tested, breaks down the methane in the cows' stomachs, and also has health benefits for the cattle.

Winfried Drocher, head of the faculty for animal nutrition at the university, said: "It will make this energy available for the cows' metabolism. The cattle can use the methane to produce glucose instead of just passing it out and it will enable them to produce more milk."

The only problem at the moment is that the pill is about the size of a fist, which is hard to persuade the cows to swallow.

"It needs to be this big as it dissolves slowly, releasing active ingredients over several months. Our aim is to increase the well-being of the cows and to reduce the emission of greenhouse gasses," said Drocher. - Ananova.com

Apparently, cows are smarter than we think cause I've seen many people swallow objects the size of a fist and the outcome is usually pretty foul. (Thank you internet, Uncle Charles, and Aunt Mamie for your proficient, if not forced, guidance.)

Even a cow won't do that. Hindus worldwide nod in agreement. They just relax sphincter muscles until apocolypse comes crashing down full force on our heads. Which is my favorite part as I'm sure as is yours. We, as a race, are going to collectively burn to death from the sun's rays, drown from rising water levels, or just pass out from all the cows farting us into oblivion. Harbingers of death - cows. The second coming was not Jesus coming back to say hi, was not the Devil coming out on top in the eternal war between heaven and hell but just the California cows in that commercial, busy stinking up the world and wondering what snow is.

If the above article has truth, then first off, we have to admit that domestication and farming animals is a double edged sword. Secondly, this is a lobby to eat as much cow as humanly possible to prevent greenhouse gases, preferably while it's still raw and bloody or seared to perfection with a cold center.

I realize the cleverness of this posting just now as I make the connection of the contents in my kitchen. If you look carefully, no meat at all. Not a bit. (There might be some animal by products for all you knitpicking, doubting fuckin' Thomases, but being vegan is not a lifestyle I choose to lead. In fact, I can't. I have gout.)

And then all of sudden with keen wit, I have 180'ed the whole deal into an advocacy statement for the consumption of live animal flesh, which tastes like happy fritters in my mouth. Made of leperchauns. Or just lepers. Tasty.

So,

Would you rather die from skin cancers or feeling your heart explode inside your chest?

EAT MORE MEAT, AMERICA, YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT.

I Will Swallow You Whole With My Enormous Va-Jay-Jay and You Will Quiver In Delight and Pass Out From the Exhilaration.

2007-03-22T09:52:00.000-05:00

Okay, not really.

So I was sitting around this morning in my underwear...wait. Nope. Just a blanket, lasciviously wrapped around my body...wait. Nope. There was a lot of fumbling involved, some tripping, some trudging about in a haze, some ass-scratching, and I stepped on the dog and he yelped like the sound one makes at the high point of an intense orgasm...wait. Nope. Don't have a dog. "Dog" and "orgasm" should also never be in the same sentence.

SO I was sitting around this morning, eating some leftover eggplant roll (still kind of cold), wondering if this blog is really worth keeping up. I mean, I'm not really sure who reads it, potentially no one, and I could say that I'm doing it for myself, but that wouldn't be truthful, not that I have a serious problem with lying. I don't have a drinking problem. See? Easy.

So, any of you faithful listeners out there, if it gives you something to do while you are at work, brilliant. If it gives you some great jerk off material, so be it. If it gives you conversation topics with your grandmother, even better. If it gives your grandmother some great jerk(jill?) off material, then I'll give you 5 dollars for your troubles. So you let me know, ya hear? Oh yeah, submissions or suggested topics are also very much welcome. The ranting is a lesser problem than the topic of rant.

While we are on this whole thing though, if you recall Dan Savage held a nationwide search for a gross sexual term to be tagged to "Santorum" as in Rick Santorum. (Wikipedia works wonders for people who have trouble differentiating between the numerous politicos that will inherit the earth.) The winning definition was "the frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the result of anal sex."

Now, as you read earlier, I had trouble finding a good term to attach to female masturbation. Whoever comes up with the best term, I will post it on this site and advocate the use of said term to describe the act of little girls touching their dirty parts, sometimes shamefully in the back of the rectory, sometimes with the man in the clown suit at birthday parties, you know the variety. And I will do so for the rest of time. Advocate the use of the term, that is. Not practice my balloon animals.

IT IS ON!! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!

What I was really getting to before I began the contest and the self-doubt portion of my post stems from my conscious thoughts as I sat on subway this morning. Hentai tentacle beasts.

I love you.

You bring glee in my heart because I know there are fucked up people in the world, just like me. And there' something about tentacle beasts, although strange, I find, rather exciting.

Not in a way where I actually want to be penetrated by a squid, or in the way a farm boy might bed an animal...or is it "barn an animal" or "haystack a goat?"

But it is this perverse, twisted, animalistic behavior that really lets you know that you are alive.

I mean, if you are going to get assaulted, best it be a strange animal that just runs amok trying to stick it's grubby little fingers into any hole it can find (like that cousin that you don't really know but are acutely aware of) rather than a living breathing human being making the conscious decision to plug your orfices with a random assortment of household objects and/or body parts.

Am I right or am I right?

I'm going to stop now before I get a little too involved in discussing the merits of beast abuse over other abuse. It's just not pretty. Or is it too pretty?

Only time will tell.

If you haven't realized already, I've been vamping this entire time to bring you to this newsitem. Giant squids are fascinating. Underwater, gigantic, squiggly. They are perhaps the scariest motherfuckin' thing you could possibly encounter. And therefore the most sexually stimulating.

WELLINGTON, New Zealand - A colossal half-ton squid, believed to be the largest ever caught, may be destined for the microwave oven.

But researchers say they don’t want to cook the massive creature — just defrost it so they can study it better.

Scientists at New Zealand’s national museum, Te Papa Tongarewa, have taken possession of the beast that took fishermen two hours to land after it was netted by chance in Antarctic waters last month and was frozen soon afterward to preserve it.

Expert Steve O’Shea said the squid had weighed in at 1,089 pounds and measured 33 feet long — heavier but shorter than initial estimates of 990 pounds and 39 feet.

It appears to be by far the largest specimen of the rare and mysterious deep-water species Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, or colossal squid, ever caught.

Experts say the creatures, which have long been one of the most mysterious denizens of the deep ocean, may grow even bigger — up to 46 feet long.

Aggressive hunter
O’Shea said scientists at the museum are considering using a giant microwave oven as a possible way to defrost the animal so they can study it.

The mammoth squid could not be left to defrost at room temperature because the process would take days, leaving the outside to rot while the core remained frozen, he said.

At the time it was caught, O’Shea said it would make calamari rings the size of tractor tires if cut up — but they would taste like ammonia.

Colossal squid can descend to 6,500 feet and are known to be extremely active, aggressive hunters.

O’Shea said the squid is priceless to scientists, and would be worth many millions of dollars if insured.

Squids are love...

Don't you just want to stick your finger in it?

Holy Crucifix, Batman! I'm All Tied Up! Thank God You're Here! Wait...What Are You Doing? Hey, That Hurts...Wait...Do It Again.

2007-03-21T11:25:00.000-05:00

In the news: another representation of Jesus is bleeding. This time in a policeman's house in India. Officials say that the red paint is probably melting from humidity.

"This is indeed a miracle and shows that Jesus was in pain because of our sins," said John Chrysostom, a priest at the Anglican Church of Port Blair.

Dude, for once, can it not be about you and the entire human race? Thanks. I'd like to entertain the fact that there might be some underground society painting Jesi(?)(never thought about plural jesuses...makes you think don't it? It's all very complicated.) And these men (Jesus painters are way into sausage parties. Didn't you know?) had the foreknowledge to paint the blood with red paint...the likes of which would melt in extreme conditions.

I bet they are Irish. Swashbucklers.

However, that being said, I'm trying not to discount the fact that Jesus indeed has had a huge impact on my life. And yours. Jesus has been the port in the storm on so many occasions in the trials and tribulations that develop over daily life. The ones that usually are followed by "Perhaps that was a bad idea."

He tells me that in a reality that says influential people of all colors at some point will probably be portrayed as white.

He tells me "You're not a very good person and since I have a strong hold on just a wee population (in comparison to the global population) they all be chilling in my crib in the clouds. No room for you, sucka."

He backtracks and tells me that if I do start believing, and repent all my sins, and start being good, and stop wearing a condom (or if you do, poke a hole in the tip of it and continue full force with the unsuspecting victim), then maybe, I just might be able to climb on board. Jesus's reach is a Greek hazing.

He tells me that if I do horrible things and feel really sorry for myself afterwards, I'm golden.

He tells me that wearing women's underwear is okay.

He tells me that leadership isn't an easy task. Control your disciples, keep your sects in order. At least try. And if you can't hack it, martyrdom is the way to go. Absolves you from everything.

He tells me "Ah'll be bahk."

He tells me people are created in his image. Have you looked in a mirror recently? That's Jesus talking.

Or it could be the fact that all God's children have fucked shit up a whole lot. Yeah that might be it. Jesus, you a'ight in my book. No. It's not the Bible. Oh. Right. Hmmm. Well, sure, that might be true...but have you licked an eyeball? I highly recommend it. No? Right...White Castle? Now? Uhm. Yeah, ok.

Sorry, I apologize. He does that sometimes. You just have to humor him. Anyway, continuing on...I realize that what I've been writing is perhaps a showcase of my infinite unintelligence and shallowness. If only I can find a way to dig deeper and sink my teeth into something that is underneath the surface. If there is anything there. Its a crap shoot really.

Burrowing dinosaur unearthed
Fossilized family broadens picture of extinct reptiles.
John Whitfield
The discovery of a dinosaur family fossilized in its burrow could make us rethink where the animals lived, how they behaved, and even what wiped them out, say researchers.

Well, just hold on to your britches for one second...Dino goes off and digs a little deeper and is still fuckin' extinct? Shit then. So, shallow or deep, you're fucked in the end. I'll just stop obsessing about it.

David Varricchio of Montana State University in Bozeman and his colleagues found the jumbled remains of two juveniles and an adult together in what looks to be the remains of a custom-built hole in southern Montana.

The discovery provides the first evidence that dinosaurs could burrow, and the best evidence yet for long-term parental care in dinosaurs, says team member Anthony Martin, an expert in animal traces at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia. "I imagine that two juveniles curled up in a small space with an adult," he says.

The team has named the beast Oryctodromeus cubicularis, meaning 'digging runner of the lair'. It belongs to a group of small herbivorous dinosaurs, and lived 95 million years ago during the mid-Cretaceous period.

The skeletons are incomplete, but they show that when fully grown, the animal was about 2.1 metres long, of which more than half was tail. The dinosaur had a broad snout and powerful shoulders well adapted for digging, and sturdy hips that would help it to brace itself as it dug. It could also run on its back legs.

Secret entrance

The burrow's presence was betrayed by a patch of rock that differed from its surroundings, in an area known to contain dinosaur fossils. The burrow seems to have been dug on the edge of a river flood plain and filled with mud during a flood, burying its occupants, the researchers report in Proceedings of the Royal Society1.

The den was just over two metres long, with a pronounced s-bend — making it harder for predators to enter — opening out into a terminal chamber. The close fit between the sizes of burrow and beast convinced the team that Oryctodromeus had dug its own den, rather than simply displacing a previous occupant. "It's not just a random attempt," says Martin. "It's very well constructed."

"It was generally assumed that dinosaurs wouldn't dig — they tend to be either runners or very large," says palaeontologist Paul Barrett of the Natural History Museum, London. "This is quite a departure."

Varricchio and his colleagues had previously found what seemed to be a family of dinosaurs in what could have been a collapsed burrow in China (see 'Fossil hints at devoted parenting in dinosaurs'), but no one had seen an actual tunnel space until now.

Safe underground

Burrowing may have helped dinosaurs to survive in harsh climates, increasing the range of habitats available to them. No one knows exactly what the environment of this part of the world was like when these dinosaurs lived there, although it was probably semi-arid.

Related dinosaurs are known to have lived in southern Australia, which was close to the South Pole at the time, and South Africa, which was hot and dry. These species and locations would be good places to look for further evidence of burrowing, says Barrett.

The lack of an ability to burrow has also been suggested as a factor in the demise of dinosaurs 65 million years ago, at the end of the Cretaceous. Many of the mammals, reptiles and amphibians that survived a mass extinction at this time could burrow, perhaps sheltering them from whatever catastrophe caused the massive cull.

"The absence of burrowing has been proposed as one reason why dinosaurs didn't make it," says Martin. "You can't use that as a reason now."

Using one specimen to speculate about the dinosaurs' extinction is "quite a big inference", says Barrett. "It might be taking the data too far," he cautions.

Ah but a guy can dream can't he?

Period, Period, Period, You Are An Ellipsis. Which is Indicative Of My General State of Being.

2007-03-20T11:34:00.000-05:00

Bloody fucking shit bitch, mucka mucka hi mucka hiney ho, turtles in the square need a line of blow...
There has been a certain amount of nostalgia resurfacing in my life over the past few days. I think it's okay to feel this way but I am still a little unsure about the details. There's a line where public and private is drawn and being in this whole mode of finding those who you once knew, once saw, kind of breaks it up. Or makes you feel like you need to draw that line with the biggest fucking sharpie marker you can find and then if there are any unwanted tresspassers, you can blow them the fuck up with some heavy artillery, like a cadre of angry penguins with blowtorches. That work underwater.(Have you noticed that these days as long as you have a movie about penguins, you win an oscar? Something about them and their heavy bottomed waddling is probably striking a familiar tone with many Americans around the world...face it, the USA is a heavy-set environment.)

However, is it really worth the effort to go into a serious discussion on the merits and faults of public and private domains in society? No. At least I'm no longer in the mood.

Let's further alienate ourselves. Shall we bring the subject around full circle to the menstrual cycle?

Some of you who had the pleasure of hearing me speak on this subject before will remember the feverish glint I get in my eye when doing so.

The period is awesome. On so many levels. On a purely biological level, where an egg is cultivated and expelled every 28 days or so. Yes, yes, I understand that some people are very irregular. But gestation periods are for the most part very definitive. So. It would be safe to assume that without all the crazy shit we do to our bodies, sorry, I don't mean "we," I mean all you girls who have your menses, but for sake of simplicity, we, without the drinking and the meds and the THC and the eating disorders and the fad diets and the free radicals in the air and the smoking and the chemical by products of household solutions and the stress and the (this is starting to sound like a Tori Amos rant...) and the depression and the study drugs and the birth control pills and the sex and the roosters we keep in the backyard for special occasions, would probably be much more on point with our periods coming and going.

And thus revelling like pigs in shit over the miraculous albeit, annoying, bloody, and painful nature that is the ability to conceive a child.

Furthermore, that is the one thing that will always have a superior stronghold over society and men in general. No questions asked when you have feminine troubles. Gym teachers, fathers, bosses, gays, all cower at the thought. (Jesus too. He told me.) There is something so undeniably taboo and disgusting about endometrium that make them turn the other way in a heartbeat, much like the words "Kids" or "Queer" or "Marriage." A generalization perhaps, but the meer utterance of "tampon" has enough power to make a grown man cringe in fear and cry for his mama (who is at this point probably experiencing the "change" and therefore exempt.)

And that's the beauty of it. I get a weird tingling in my prostate from thinking about a bunch of people treating the period like it's some sort of pus-oozing disease. Like they have to don a radioactive body suit and wade through the muck of it all. Like it's been sand blasted over the city in a red sticky mess and the men freeze, petrified in terror over what might happen if any skin contact or inhalation occurs. They start charging through all the home depots across the world tearing each other limb from limb for the last ventilation mask in country. You know, like SARS, but not just for the Asian variety.

Power, I tell you. It's hypnotic.

A friend, floating knee deep in the crimson tide, needed to stop by a rest stop in Maryland (which by the way is a harrowing experience) to pick up a tampon. As I was loudly discussing the merits of an applicator versus the kind that you just shove on up there with your finger, but then backtracking when I noticed that the applicator tampons they were selling were made of the material of a toilet paper roll, these two two huge burly men stopped by to look for something. One of the guys had these hatchmarks on the back of his neck, you know, big old prison tatts inked in with a ball point pen, where each mark represents each person he maimed along the path towards self-confidence so naturally, I look at them questioningly and wonder if I'm next in line. So there I am, coming up to about their waists, gesticulating wildly about heavy flow days, and there they are looking at first, then inching away slowly befor hightailing it out of there.

It's like kryptonite for anyone with a penis, not just Superman.

And I mean, really, who but a woman can handle the experience of having a period or carrying a baby and enduring monthly cramps? Can you imagine a guy having a period? They wouldn't know what the fuck to do with themselves.

I'm not sure if Margaret Cho mentioned this but you know you can definitely picture a guy reaching for a dirty sock to shove all up in there on that heavy flow day. And then forgetting to take it out. And developing a yeast infection. And then wondering what to do about it. And then baking bread with it. No. Just kidding.

Ladies, you have a stronghold. Use it. But remember, with great power comes great responsibility.

(Exposed to image above by Heather Fink)

The World is a Better Place For There are Scalding Hot Toaster Treats Enough to Share. I Hate Toaster Treats. They Taste Like The Growth On My Toe.

2007-03-19T13:13:00.000-05:00

Uhm point blank. Read this.

Scuffle over strudel ends in stabbing
The Salt Lake Tribune
A man was stabbed Monday after a fight over a pastry in West Valley City. Roommates at a residence near 7200 West and 2680 South began arguing over who ate someone else's toaster strudel, said police Capt. Tom McLachlan. One roommate left the residence and returned about 11 p.m. with three friends. The four began assaulting two roommates, McLachlan said. During the melee, one of the roommates under attack grabbed a knife and stabbed one of his attackers in the side, McLachlan said. The stabbed man was flown to University Hospital in serious condition. McLachlan said the roommates were all in their 20s.

As is generally used in casual internet speak, WTF?!

You know you have the general dispositions to exhibit a violent hankering for a toaster strudel if:

A. You smoked the entire contents of your friend's bong. You didn't buy it and therefore you don't give a fuck.
B. You just drank a shit load. You didn't buy it and therefore you don't give a fuck.
C. You crapped your pants while you were loaded but you jacked the pants off someone in the back alley of a drugstore and therefore, you don't give a fuck.
D. You live in or around Salt Lake City, Utah and your parents are brother and sister and you're too busy pounding the shit out of your first cousin anyway and therefore, you don't give a fuck.
E.You love toaster strudel.

So, I am not a fan of toaster strudel myself, as I am sure I have made abundantly clear to everyone here. I do not like jam or jelly or reconstituted corn syrup or frosting made out of...who the fuck knows?

But I guess at the end of the day, it's really funny and depressing all rolled into one. The fact that someone left his apartment to get his friends to come and jump his roommates over some Pop-tarts is seriously fucking awesome. It just goes to show that sometime small town/suburban life is a whole lot more exciting than one could intially perceive.

All this shit happens right beneath the surface. Makes me want to uproot to Connecticut and watch the free for all. You know there are a lot of freaks in CT. And Florida. And in my basement. You can call me about rental rates.

Can you imagine, though, telling your friends, "So dude, man, I got back home, I was all like, jonesing for my toaster studel and so I went and opened my fucking cabinet and you know what? The fucking toaster strudel was all fucking gone and I was like, fuck that!"

And then realizing that your friends wholeheartedly agree with the travesty that has descended upon you and are ready to go and kick the shit out of your roommates for you. That's what I call loyalty. You should shed a little tear. For the fact that your friends have your back. And that they are also stupid in a way that you can't really put to words. And the fact that you are therefore, probably just as moronic as Larry, Curly, and Moe over there mustering up the outrage that is TOASTER STRUDEL DENIED! YOU ARE TOAST, ASS-RAPISTS! I WILL GO LOCO ON YOUR JAM STAINED FACE!

Instilling fear and a craving for toaster strudel like nothing else in the masses.

Toasty and warm...gooey goodness. Damn it. I want toaster strudel now...reminds me of warm vagina. You know, in the way it gets all over your face.

(I found this photo. I deemed it appropriate. Thank you to you who did it.)

You've Come A Long Way, Baby, Now Strip Down and Go Back to Where You Started. You Know, Just For Kicks.

2007-03-17T08:45:00.000-05:00

What's to say that I haven't said already. For those of you who have been exposed to the hideously disfiguring experience of going in for a 6 dollar smoothie at a Jamba juice or at least have been around to hear me shit all over it, I do not apologize. You did it to yourself. Deal. But in case you have no idea what the fuck I'm screwballing over, here goes.

You walk into this little environment.

You see the brightly lit interior, taking special note of the wheatgrass planters and the clear plastic cases full of oranges.

You look at the menu, daunted by the fact that everything in sight is an alliteration. Mango mambo madness...Root-tooting Raspberry Roofies...Asian Apple Assfart... you get the picture.

You walk up to the counter, anxious about the fact that when you order you will hear the words "pomegranate peach passion punch" escape your lips and die just a little bit inside.

(You have to use the name they gave it. You can't get away with calling it the red one. or the orange one. They are all red or orange. The oranges in the display case quiver in fear.)

You make your order and they ask you with a smile (Some, not all, and I don't reciprocate.) if you would like a booster.

You flounder for a moment. What the fuck is a booster?! Oh, right, powdered supplements that make you feel more alive to compensate for the fact that you died a little naught a minute ago. You ask for protein or immunity boosters and think about other powdered alternatives. Coke comes to mind, but most pills can be ground into the right consistency with the a bevy of household objects.

You look at them incredulously when they ask for your name. Why do I need to get personal with you? You consider picking an alias, but are so lost in thought that all you can come up with is your real name. You resign yourself to reality.

You wait.

You wait.

You pick the crud out from under your fingernails.

You wait.

You hear your name, feeling a little shamed and pick up your fruity beverage with your head tilted down.

You walk away, drink a third of it and realize that you aren't in the mood or it's too cold or you can't handle the 6 pounds of fruit in a cup or you feel like your life will never be the same...

i just realized I have half a beer that I was drinking from last night sitting on the kitchen counter. It's 10 in the morning. I'm thinking about it.

Oh yeah, so in random news in recent history...

OOH! Picture says it all.

What It Is, Right, Is That There are So Few Things That Can Get Rid of That Taste In Your Mouth.

2007-03-14T11:50:00.000-05:00

So I polished off a bottle of cheap wine by myself the other day. Alone. I have to admit. Sometimes drinking alone is not a bad thing. In fact, it's pretty intensely fun if you're in the mood. To drink alone. At night. In your apartment. By yourself.

And then finding yourself masturbating on the hard wood floor. Gratifying. (In all seriousness, it's quite fun and is a good way to pass the time. Then again, when is masturbation not?)

But, then you wake up in the morning, and, given, I have some strange constitution that leaves me hang-over free, it doesn't help the fact that you have that weird sulfite, fermentation mouth that even a good brushing doesn't get rid of.

So I sit here, dry mouthed, in hopes that it will go away as the day goes on.

MECHANIC Chris Donald loves his work — he has sex with CARS.

And he admitted last night: “Some men like boobs and bums, but I much prefer curvy bodywork.”

Chris, 38, has a recognised psychological condition that makes him physically attracted to motors.

He has had sex with more than 30 different models in 20 years — plus two motorboats and a pal’s JETSKI.

Chris, who DOES have a girlfriend, confessed: “A nice car for me is a feast for the senses. It’s about smells, feelings and tastes. If I see a gorgeous Mercedes I know I’d love to jump into bed with it.”

His weird obsession mirrors that of electrician Karl Watkins, who The Sun revealed was jailed for having sex with pavements in Redditch, Worcs, in 1993.

Chris has his own website devoted to his bizarre fetish — and claims there are 500 other cranks like him, including women.

But unlike doggers who have sex with strangers in chilly car parks, the motor engineer uses a heated and carpeted double garage at his home for the strange liaisons.

He has met more than 20 people online who have driven their cars over for a service.

Most like to video Chris exhausting himself — while they are pleasuring THEMSELVES.

Chris said: “It’s all about imagination and creativity. There’s more to car love than exhaust pipes. Stroking the body panels and delicate touching makes excellent foreplay.”

And he bragged: “I did have the exhausts custom made for one car because they were too small. I had them widened and rounded.

“The firm never asked why — but I loved the view while she was up on the ramp and they were working on her. I love all aspects of cars. Some people even like to taste mechanical fluids, but that’s going too far.”

Chris, who lives in the West Country, has made love to top motors including a Bentley Arnage, Porsche and Jaguar XK8.

He has also owned a string of cars that have been the object of his affections — with the latest a black 2.5litre Jaguar X-Type with cream leather upholstery.

Chris writes stories about “auto-eroticism” on his website and has penned a manual called How To Make Love To A Car.

Now, cmon, really? It's not like the world isn't full of weird fetishes. I understand that. And I applaud anyone who has and willingly comes forth with their fetishes but there's something about this story that is just a tad awry. I read it with a thoughtful squint that many Asians are loathe to do lest their eyes become mere slits that make take on the appearance of joyful Buddha. Although not as joyful. Or fat. With less chance of heart disease.

I would now like to take note of a few comments made by this man as well as the press.

First and foremost, "a recognised psychological condition that makes him physically attracted to motors." Is that just a socially acceptable term for fetish? And since when have we decided to make fetish sound like disease? I have a condition. I like to stick my finger in rotisserie chickens. So if i get it psychologically recognized, I can call it a condition and not something I'm really turned on by and therefore less of a social taboo?

And did I say dead chickens? I mean. I like...people. Live people. Live people sex is lovely. Not chicken carcass...mmm...carcass...

And the fact that some newspaper decided that this was news is equally...well, who's surprised?

Secondly, "Chris has his own website devoted to his bizarre fetish — and claims there are 500 other cranks like him, including women."

Is it strange that women have psychological conditions? Judging from many women I have met in my life...they usually travel with more than one - some say equal to the amount of baggage they would bring on board a plane.

500 people do not a condition make. In fact, that's barely a fetish. Chris, get your facts straight. All you have is the rights to the Unrated DVD version of Disney Pixar's Hit Animated Movie, Cars featuring the voice talents of Owen Wilson and Randy Newman.

"And he bragged: 'I did have the exhausts custom made for one car because they were too small. I had them widened and rounded...Some people even like to taste mechanical fluids, but that’s going too far."

Uhm, that's fine and good. But nothing aside from my family's old Ford Taurus is going to experience that now are they. And why is tasting too far?

If you want to fuck a car, more power to you. But something about this guy irks me. And I can't tell what. Maybe it's just the photo of him trolling the parking lots.

Or the fact that he has the money to own several cars. Ass munch.

Atta Boy: Get Them When They're Vulnerable and Weak.

2007-03-13T13:30:00.000-05:00

So I know my posting schedule has become slightly erratic as of late. And I have to attribute it to a shifting in social responsibilities. None of which I am very excited about. But you gotta do what you gotta do. Like a prostitute that doesn't want to give head to a greasy fella in the backseat of a Camaro but if she don't she gets pummeled from both ends. Literally and figuratively. With the back of a hand. Or a swift kick to her impregnated uterus. From her john and her pimp. All the while trying to feed her other child. And her crack addiction. So maybe not both ends. More like any end possible. Like an eye socket.

Whoa. It's a dark dismal day in my heart even though the sun is shining through my window. It's a good day indeed.

Anyway, just as a mid substantial post appetite whetter, I give you a couple images from the work of Atta Kim. This is from his series, "Museum Project." And it's fucking bril'.

Take a gander, cook your goose. Consume it. And shit it out the other side.

Once in a Blue Moon I Feel the Urge to Make a Community Service Announcement. Don't Hold Your Breath, I Hate Community.

2007-03-07T15:25:00.000-05:00

In today's weirdness, aside from the double oinker, is a cow that eats chickens. In India. I love it.

But the real kicker today is the fact that there is a lady who is suing Planned Parenthood for fucking up an abortion. She went to get an abortion and they failed.

I mean, it's usually a 100% guarantee if you cross the border and have it removed by a little old lady with a coat hanger in the shower. And it also works well and is pretty much a sure thing if you throw yourself down some stairs.

So you have to ask how in the world did Carmen San Diego get away with that one?

There are these evil tinkering pro-life elves with pointy ears and mind melding powers hiding under the beds in the PP clinics with little single serving size jello pudding cups and when you strip down to your skivvies and your singlet, they burrow deep into your vagina and slather vanilla flavored pudding like spackle on the walls of your uterus so when the doctor is about to insert a speculum or whatever they do in a real clinic (i'm all for homegrown operations.) and are about to remove the little organism (That is a human life! That is your son/daughter! Forget the fact that his/her little stem cells will either save a life or get flushed down the toilet! It's a life! So, hold on to your unwanted offspring and wait for the day when you are like the girl in the joy luck club who stares off into space and let her unwanted baby drown. And then, THEN, will you understand what it is to abort a thing that has no consciousness without a conscience. And finally, FINALLY, like a scene in a Gus van Sant movie, can you move on with your life and continue cutting those coupons with Billy Bob while you are on the crapper in your "mobile living environment.")

Where was I? Oh yeah, the vanilla pudding eradicates the effectiveness of the doctor's tools so that little cluster of cells can cultivate and grow, glued solidly to your insides, into the brat-faced being you call your own blood.

And the elves triumph once again, and report back to Bill Cosby for their next mission.

And, why, you might ask, why is this a tale to tell? She went to another doctor when she was 20 weeks preggers. And they didn't detect it. Now, I dunno. 20 weeks is what? 5 months? You'd think there might be some nice physical indicators that there is a human growing inside your swelling uterus. But hey, who's to say how the wonderful world of biology really works when you have the supernatural thwarting your every move.

It's a sick, sad, strange world. I'm swooning...

Oh yeah, get this, the woman's name -- Jennifer Raper. I just thought it was cute. It's a cute name for a cute baby.

Baby Raper. Baby Raper was born in 2004. (Kid, ain't going to live that down, youse just a failed abortion, Baby Raper.)

And this is news in 2006.Baby Raper is now Toddler Raper. And soon to be Kid Raper, then Teen Raper, and finally, just Ms. Raper.

The law moves in mysterious ways (i.e. slowly), just about as mysterious (slowly) as, you know, conception and the rising popularity of I dunno, say, Go-gurt (which I hope to God above that that isn't true. do we really need to squeeze our food down our gullets from packets you can carry in your purse, coat pocket, or tampon case?

Hindu, we got a sacred cow for you.

It smells like aborted fetus.

Hola Mo'fuggers! Year of the Pig Rears It's Ugly Head

2007-03-07T15:18:00.000-05:00

BORN IN CHINA!!! It's like Charlotte's Web, Asian edition. You know we'll eat it no matter what it looks like. That's some pig, alright.

One, Two, Three, Let's Make Up for the Sexual Proclivities of the Masses

2007-03-05T16:24:00.000-05:00

I'm not quite sure what that title means but I just thought it sounded funny. If I really think about it, I think it is an attempt to overthrow the men and women who are "missonary for life" - a term I coined in the warm embrace of highschool pubescence meaning "someone who will always and eternally only have sex in the missionary position."

However, that really isn't the point of this little entry o' mine. It's just an entry point to the entry. Ha! Mind boggling, I know.

Sometimes, writing is hard. We all know that. And it can be painful. Like the sexual proclivities of the masses. So this was what I was going through, as evidenced by witnessing this chat transcript. You can almost hear my tortured soul crying out for help, searching for a friend, a shoulder to support my crumbling weight, and all I get is "D." He/she can't bear the weight, just look:

me: i can't think of something to rant about
D: how about grad school
and how you're not in it
how about small apples
can't stand small apples
or even worse, small oranges
like clementines?
why they gotta be sold in crates, i can't eat that many
And that orange webbing they put on it? misleading!
makes the oranges look really good but they don't really
although i guess you can make neat arts and crafts out of them
me: hmm
nah.
hmm
something. i need to do some research for topics.
D:I hate you
you're stupid
small oranges are super stupid
ok i guess i don't really hate you
i just hate small oranges
why do they have to taste so good?
me: i think i should just post your rant.
Dennis: I think you should reveal small oranges as the bitches they are.

So I am not going to talk about oranges or clementines but I will say that they are quite tasty and peel very easily, which in this day in age is highly necessary. Tell all the people having unsafe sex that a South African man has developed a condom that you can slip on in merely seconds - for you shooters in the express lane of life.

But, now that I have made this entire entry into a convoluted examination of life and love at large, I will swing it back to what I love most:

"UK Scientists to examine undersea "open wound" in Earth's crust."

(If you don't get the reference then we need to have a talk.)

A team of British scientists has set sail on a voyage to examine why a huge chunk of the earth's crust is missing, deep under the Atlantic Ocean -- a phenomenon that challenges conventional ideas about how the earth works.

The 20-strong team aims to survey an area some 3,000 to 4,000 metres deep where the mantle -- the deep interior of the earth normally covered by a crust kilometres thick -- is exposed on the sea floor.

Experts describe the hole along the mid-Atlantic ridge as an "open wound" on the ocean floor that has puzzled scientists for the five or so years that its existence has been known because it defies existing tectonic plate theories of evolution.

"We know so little about it," said Bramley Murton, a senior research scientist at Southampton's National Oceanography Center.

"It's a real challenge to our established understanding of what the earth's surface looks like underneath the waves," he told Reuters by telephone from the brand new, hi-tech British research ship RRS James Cook.

Mid ocean ridges are places where new oceanic crust is born, with red-hot lava spewing out along the seafloor.

What scientists are keen to know is whether the crust was ripped away by huge geological faults, or whether it never even developed in the first place.

The primary motivation for the project was to understand how the earth continues to evolve.

"The area that we are looking at is part of a mountain range that spans thousands of square kilometres, but we are beginning to realize that there are probably millions of square kilometres where the ocean floor is missing," Murton said.

The six week mission, led by geophysicist Roger Searle of Durham University and Chris MacLeod of Cardiff University's School of Earth, Ocean and Planetary Sciences, will recover sample cores of rock by drilling into the mantle using a rig lowered on to the sea floor.

Asked if the discovery posed a threat to the environment, Murton replied: "It's not problematic for the earth because it is a natural earth process -- but in terms of knowing how the earth works and how the world is put together it is important."

Murton also said the expedition would shed light on the composition of sea water amongst other initiatives.

Crust formation is a fundamental mechanism of the earth which affects the chemistry of the world's oceans.

20 men plunging into the deep dark secrets locked in an open wound underwater.

I smell a movie. One of those you can watch in a booth in five minute intervals for a quarter.

Not that I would know.

Oh, The Devil You Know, That One Inside You, Is Poking Out a Bit.

2007-03-05T12:32:00.000-05:00

Thusly, (not a word), I will begin today by issuing an apology for several things.

First, I would like to apologize to the lack of posts for any of you who might actually get some perverse thrill from reading this. I have been rather busy the past few days.

If you look in my bathroom, you would understand.

Secondly, I apologize to a specfic person who's anonymity I have leaked on the internet. Unfortunately, his remarks were of the ignorant kind, so it casts he/she in a bad light (or just sightly dimmed.) However, we also must understand that it is a joke. We do not endorse the use of Injuns. Except in the development of casinos on the wastelands of the USA. So, in jest, I apologize, Dennis. Did I do it on purpose? You be the judge.

Last, and foremostly, not to be confused with the term "Last but not least," I apologize for "hurling on your rosebushes." What does that mean? I'm taking guesses.

What I did this weekend: paint the bathroom. That's right, you dirty pervs. Just a wholesome paint job. Nothing else that your filthy minds might have conjured up. Just a wholesome paint job. Naked. With some monkeys. Well, people in monkey suits. (Let's not anger PETA.)

And a case of Wine coolers. Mmm. Strawberry blast. (Which doesn' mean I drank them.) (Which means I did something else with them.)

Just a wholesome paint job.

And finally, you know, cause that comes after "Last." I give you a piece of mail I received the other day.

Hi, I hate to be the one to mention this, but people continue to talk about your weight issue and it just disgusts me. Whether you know it by now, people are always chattering about each other at work but you come up more than enough. I wasn't the happiest or best-fit up until a year ago or so but that did change. Thanks to my dam brother-in-law(of all people). Anyhow, it was for the best.

What I am saying is that you need to do something different and maybe you can make the same difference I did. Try this stuff I used. I took it on the idea it's just more junk but it worked great. I see more positive reviews on it nowadays and makes me feel even better. So, I am encouraging a change, not only in the chatter around here but in you personally.

-Anonymous for now
Using an anonymous email website to send this btw;) When it helps/works just send a memo out with the name "Angel" in it. Then you can take me out to lunch to thank you. Talk to you sooner than later I hope;)

BITCH, PLEASE! YOU WANNA GO?!

Yellow and Black Do Not Mix As Evidenced by Our Grandparents and Bees

2007-02-27T10:59:00.000-05:00

Let me just start this out by saying there was a column in AsianWeek, "The Voice of Asian America." by this Asian guy, Ken. It was called "Why I Hate Blacks."

Eng's "reasons" for hating black people include:

-- "Blacks hate us. Every Asian who has ever come across them knows that they take almost every opportunity to hurl racist remarks at us."
-- "Contrary to media depictions, I would argue that blacks are weak-willed. They are the only race that has been enslaved for 300 years."
-- "Blacks are easy to coerce. This is proven by the fact that so many of them, including the Rev. Al Sharpton, tend to be Christians."

I don't want to get to involved in this because, well, we all know it happens all the time. I'm just surprised they printed it...for black history month. And that on Drew Curtis's Fark they described the news item:
"Asian corumnist wites wacist articre about bracks"
Which is an equally bitchy move.

To move away from the crap, let's look at what global warming has done for us instead. Now that all the polar ice caps are melting, scientists are finding all sort of cool fishies and such. Makes me wonder, do they make good sushi? Cause they look like good eatin.

Hmm. Maybe we are still on this whole Asian thing. We do like the taste of raw fish. And having koi ponds and such. And we do think fish are lucky. And that is why we eat them with reckless abandon.

So as a rebuttal for the Asian-hating-Black issue, I will leave you with a few comments and you can duke it out for yourselves.

1. The chair of ethnic studies at UC Berkeley said in response to Kenneth Eng (Also author of "Why Whites Inherently Hate Us." and "Why I Hate Asians") that Asian-Americans cannot underestimate the impact the African American struggle had on paving the way for other minorities in US history.

2. A friend of mine was watching basketball one day, and her Chinese grandmother says" Why do you even bother watching? They're so dark you can't even see them."

3.

BEIJING (Reuters) - A Chinese businessman has advertised on the Internet for a stand-in mistress to be beaten up by his wife to vent her anger and to protect his real mistress, Chinese media reported on Monday.

"When the woman found out her husband had a mistress, she insisted on beating her up," the Beijing Youth Daily said, citing the advertisement posted on a popular online jobs forum on sina.com.

More than 10 people had applied for the job, the newspaper said. The "successful" candidate would be 35 and originally from northeastern China and would be paid 3,000 yuan ($400) per 10 minutes, it said.

Many Chinese businessmen keep mistresses in second homes, a trend banished after the Communists swept to power in 1949 but which has made a comeback with market reforms in recent decades.

CLEARLY, WE HATE EVERYONE.
But especially women.
We like misogyny greatly.
But even women hate women.
So maybe that's just universal.
Or women suck.
Or men suck.
And that is why I love the period.
Not the puncuational kind.
The hormonal kind.
It's sticky.
In a figurative way.
In my brain.
More on that later.

Have you heard the story of the Chinese empress that cut off all the limbs off one the Emperor's concubines, put her in a large urn, and then kept her in prison, only to bring her out on occasion so she could spit venomous remarks in her face?

Where is my mistress? I would like to offer her up for you to beat her. Don't worry. Asians love pain. Remember. Oranges in a towel or tube sock will cause a nice amount of internal damage without bruising. Cause I would still like my mistress to be purdy.

We love appearances.

And money.
But within reason. $10/hour.
Affordable price for good time. I don't take personal checks. Cash only. Or PayPal.

Have I told you we are very tech saavy as well?

Random Happenstance: Water Cooler Talk at Happy Fun Kitty Heaven

2007-02-23T11:26:00.000-05:00

So, let's get a little personal since I never really do and just rant about random news items instead.

Here are some strange musings that have occurred in the span of an hour.

My strange friend, we'll name he/she "D," had a conversation. Also, when I call someone strange it can be one of three things. 1. A term of endearment. 2. A compliment of sorts when you really have nothing else to say. It's more interesting than "Interesting." and of course, 3. Honestly batshit crazy.

We had a quick Google conversation about the colloquialism (Wow, I spelled that correctly on the first try. It's not that complicated but it looks it. Appearances mean a lot and you know it.) Ok, let me try that again. I have a tendency to get a little off track. We had a discussion about the phrase "American as Apple Pie."

As it turns out, apple pie, is not American, which really isn't a very big surprise. Here is the rest of the conversation verbatim.

D: is apple pie american?
me: i actually have no idea
11:29 AM D: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apple_pie#Apple_pie_in_American_culture
looks like apple pie was invented in england?
hmm.. a recipe from 1381.. i wonder if it's any good
no sugar tho :p
me: "america" was also invented by england.
11:30 AM D: america was soooo not invented by england
me: uhm.
11:31 AM me: pretty much.
D: it was invented by americans!
the british colony was invented by britain
me: no, we wiped out most of the native folk
and by we I mean white people
Dennis: no, we wiped out the INJUNS
i'm not white!

Right before then, I went to the Deli and the Korean guy who was serving me soup, nice guy, mind you, says to me "It takes a lot of balls for an Asian man to have that haircut." To which I replied "Uh...ha. Thanks." and proceeded to pay the $3.50 for a large soup and free bread (I usually take the one with olives and rosemary in it. Warm tasty goodness.) He filled the cup extra chunky. Good man. Good man.

And of course, right before then I Googled a list of influential Asian Americans. You get your usual suspects...Maxine Hong, Jessica Hagedorn, IM Pei, Yo-Yo Ma (who kind of looks like the soup man at the deli.) The surprising thing was that the list of Asian-American business men and scientists were pretty short. Threw me for a loop. Hey, I can't help but function in blanket stereotypes and generalizations sometimes.

So that was my morning. Not all that fascinating. So I leave you with this last quip.

There is a Japanese TV show where these people in Tokyo are challenged to live for a month off 10,000 Yen. That roughly converts to $82.74 by today's exchange rate. (I checked.) You pay for your food and what not and then at the end of the month, they calculate and subtract your utility fees. One guy had a live chicken hatching eggs.

Gotta love the Japanese.

Nosferatu Family Vacay: The Undead Indestructible Gay Meth Queen Slips into Dar Es Salaam. And a Little More to Boot(y).

2007-02-22T12:25:00.000-05:00

Continuing news filtering in from the animal kingdom -

Breaking news? Not really. But it broke a few things, mainly my steely exterior of undeniable fortitude. And now, as a result, I have a grin that stretches across my face like that newscaster lady in the first Batman starring Michael Keaton, Kim Basinger, and the ultimate joker of all time - Jack Nicholson.

Let's see if Heath Ledger is up to scratch. (He's going to be the new Joker for those of you who aren't keeping up on the comic agenda.) Heath, let it be known that if you fail, which you might because broody Christian Bale Batman is so much cooler than you, I will eat your baby. Mathilda Rose, or Baby-Lou Eatme or whatever the fuck antiquated name you and your hipster wife named her while you skated on your skateboard in Brooklyn with a big ole hemp beanie on your noggin. Might I remind you that before people thought you were legitimate, you graced the screens as a turd-monkey jouster and a priest who liked the feeling of that thing up your butt. (What thing is it? Multiple choice for all! A. Broomstick B. Crucifix C. Jesus D. The Hand of God)

Anyway, back to my original plan of attack. Here is a new news item from the BBC. I think it shows a lot of journalistic integrity.

Men in parts of Tanzania's main city, Dar es Salaam, are living in fear of a night-time sex attacker.

A BBC correspondent says the attacks are being blamed by some on a demon called "Popo Bawa" meaning winged bat.

Some men are staying awake or sleeping in groups outside their homes. Others are smearing themselves with pig's oil, believing this repels attacks.

Reports of the demon's existence have been common for many years in Zanzibar, where locals claim it originated.

The BBC's John Ngahyoma in Dar es Salaam says not many people actually believe that the demon exists and there have been no sightings.

But Mbaruku Ibrahim, who hails from Zanzibar, says the story of the demon is common there and people in his village on Pemba island sleep beside a huge fire outside their houses whenever it is said to appear.

The story goes that the bat is able to transform itself into a man at night and it has also been blamed for rapes of women.

Sheikh Yahya Hussein, a prominent astrologer in Tanzania, claims that the demon is a spirit that is unleashed by witches to torment their opponents.

Belief in witchcraft and superstitions is widespread in Tanzania, especially in rural areas.

So, check it, first off, the BBC is posting news about an evil Transmogrified Man Raping Bat. That has to make you wonder if FOX News might, just might, be a little more legitimate than we previously assumed. I know, a little far fetched but think about Mr. Ledger and then answer the question truthfully. Ok, yeah, I see your point.

Secondly, the men are afraid of getting it up the butt. So they decided to sleep in groups with each other? In Pig's oil? I think there's more than meets the eye. Something tells me an old White wrinkly colonial Freemason started a conspiracy many years ago so that men could fuck each other under the guise of an ass demon. If you hold a blacklight on the victims you'll find the next clue. Or cumstains. or both. or cumstains in the shape of a clue. Or a clue in the cumstain. Either way, Tom Hanks, you know you love it.

Thirdly, "the story of the demon is common." Do I really need to say more?

Now for a little sex ed. (And I am not your gym teacher. But I am friends with many "Friends of Gym Teachers" if you get my drift, but that's not the point.)

Anal intercourse is not a gay thing. According to Wikipedia, anal sex is "often used to mean the insertion of the penis into the rectum." Furthermore,

There is a common misconception that anal sex is practised almost exclusively by gay men, but this is not true. It is thought that an estimated one third of male couples do not include anal intercourse in their lovemaking. About one third of heterosexual couples try it from time to time. It is thought that about 10 per cent of heterosexual couples have anal intercourse as a regular feature of their lovemaking. In absolute numbers, it is hypothesized that more heterosexual couples have anal sex than homosexual couples.

As all people should know is that when it comes to anal penetration, you have the option of using a synthetic penetration device - whether you are on the receiving or giving end. Or both.

Just remember, if you are curious, just take it slow and safe. And you will be a happy man, woman, intersex, trans, MTF, FTM individual. (At some point, there are just too many to include to be inclusive.)

For more info regarding safe anal play, visit babeland to seek out a good introductory guide

For your amusement regarding the stupidity of the world, visit here or here.

BUT! The Bat demon knows all the intricacies of analplay: He's all inclusive! "It has also been blamed for rapes of women." The main thing it forgets is the whole notion of consent.

BUT! If the Bat is an animal, then technically the human end is committing bestial sodomy, so really, who is the victim?

Ahh, all these conundrums in life brought forth by one little article about a horny Tanzanian bat (or man wearing bat wings made of canvas.)

We ask, in conclusion, are you enriched? Can YOU get a PopoZao? If you know what I'm referencing, then it's time the Popo Bawa pays a visit in your bunghole. Or it's time to get all Popo Bawa on your ass.

I slay me. And my Joker grin lives on.

Whole Heartedly Sad Day in the Wildlife Kingdom Threatens My Existence.

2007-02-20T11:02:00.000-05:00

It's been a long while since I posted. Mainly because I got a holiday and I'm not at work. But now i'm back. This was the last post but it might be a tad strained.

New Fangled Ideas!
Twenty years ago, a lonely animal lover watched penguins fluff some feathers and decided that there was something more to this...

Valentine's Day is the time of year when zoos around the nation seek to woo a new adult audience with risque tours that couple champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries and candlelight dining with impressive facts about how animals do the wild thing.

Credit for the concept goes to Jane Tollini, a former penguin keeper at the San Francisco Zoo. Tollini conceived the idea two decades ago while watching her penguins' courtship ritual, which culminates in what she describes as "bowling pins making love."

SAMPLE ANIMAL FACTS:

Male pigs have a unique corkscrew endowment and impressive, um, output; manatees have orgies and don't really care if their partners are male or female; and a male porcupine has only one four-hour window a year to mate.

Also, apparently, male manatees aren't really particular about what hole or what partner to stick it in. And porcupines do it cautiously. Can't get pricked with the wrong thing.

Uhm, guys. This is common knowledge. No? Just me? Damn.

Furthermore, some of these Valentine's Day Dirty Animals Get It On Packages have planned events where for example the guy side of the date (if were are assuming the whole hetero-normative thing) can participate in a mating danceoff. Which is equal parts awesome and sad, I think.

Picture it. Guys, doing their white boy over(under?)bite (for some reason, I feel like this event adheres to a predominantly white frat boy aesthetic.) trying to get the women all hot and bothered. Next thing we know is that they'll just walk up on stage quietly and calmly and just whip it out. No. Too evolved and coordinated...maybe in a few more hundred thousand years...yes, we'll still be going to zoos to watch animals do it then.

The human race is moving in an onwards and upwards direction.

How the hell did they get this oh so genius idea? (Me, sitting in my apartment naked, watching the National Geographic channel.)

Oh. Alright, I'm penciling it in.

Your Childhood Foodstuffs are Coming Back to Haunt You in So Many Ways. They say Boo.

2007-02-15T11:39:00.000-05:00

First spinach rears it's ugly head with E. Coli
Then spring Onions in Taco Bell (Or maybe it's just Taco Bell)
And now Salmonella in Peter Pan Peanut Butter.
Steven Colbert in Ben and Jerry's..but that sounds like a tasty morsel.

But really, who in their right mind eats Peter Pan Peanut Butter. You know as a kid it was all about the crunchy Jif.

And I'm almost certain that there is a scientific link between the consumption of creamy peanut butter and serial killers. Who likes it smooth? Ted Bundy, Son of Sam, John Wayne Gacy Jr. (of particular note) loved it smooth, that's who.

So if you want to one day raise children to become evil deathspawn, give them the smooth stuff and Poof you'll have 30 dead bodies hidden in the rafters.

Speaking of other things that don't belong, I give you this news item from the AP.

NEW YORK - Anne Frank's father tried to arrange U.S. visas for his family before they went into hiding, but his efforts were hampered when Allied and Axis countries tightened immigration policies, according to papers released Wednesday.

Otto Frank also sent desperate letters to friends and family in the U.S. pleading for help with immigration costs as the family tried to escape the Nazi-occupied Netherlands.

Now you see, Anne, dear Anne, you realize that because we didn't want you in the US, you hid in an attic and wrote in your little diary about sickness and youthful hope and tortured generations of grade schoolers who dribbled snot and coughed on mass produced copies of your diary and didn't think twice about the fact that you were rotting away like the John Wayne Gacy's boys and then grumbled at the fact that they didn't want to read your filthy diary and just wanted to go home and play the Nintendo? I didn't think so. You hurt us so good. If this were a Sado-masochist convention, you would win the grandaddy of all prizes. Or a lifetime achievement award. That's impressive for a sheltered 15 year old chick.

Currently listening to: John Cougar Mellencamp's "Hurt So Good"

(Did you also recognize the parallel that this news item was pretty unannounced and hidden like the Frankster until my Nazi-self found it sitting in some random news website which is like the proverbial attic? I deserve a medal. Made of children.)

Editor's note: The views stated above do not reflect the writer's genuine views on the Holocaust, Nazi Germany, or the horrible tragic events that occurred during the time period, which include but are not limited to: Jewish people in ovens, Homosexuals having their brains dissected, and the beginnings of equating masculinity with German women.

Annelies Marie Frank (b.June 12 1929 - d.March 1945) succumbed to typhus in the Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp. May she in all sincerity rest in peace.

Accompanying articles: Nut Butter
Franks' Grilled Franks Family BBQ (I know. Inappropriate. I apologize.)

Addendum RE: Vasectomy-related Dementia and Femi-nazi Castration Tactics

2007-02-14T12:49:00.000-05:00

In response to my statement that women should not castrate men for fear of ending up with a swarm of demented drones I say this:

I suppose it would be easier to manipulate large masses of ball-less blubbering idiots off a cliff like in that game "Lemmings." Game on! Remember the Sheep bomb? Classic.

Furthermore, if you do feel the urge to castrate the men in your life, please remember to send a memento to honor the moment the nuts go flying. You can purchase a pair of nuts for his SUV, Flatbed truck, or sports coupe here.

BUT! May you be warned. If you come within inches of my nuts with a sharp implement, I will counteract with the meat carving knife sitting on the magnetic knife strip in my kitchen. Ah, nothing like the joys of simulated bourgeois life to purge oneself of 4 years of social justice laden schoolyard antics.

Some knives - Santoku, paring, cleaver, bowie. All good for slicing off a piece of that. So back off, bitch. I cut you.

Bowie knife...Bowie...David Bowie...The Labyrinth...nut-centric.

For the full article on the case of the Missing Nutless Crazies, please visit these nutjobs (Reuters)

Also: to return to happier times,
To roast your own 8 to 10 servings of nuts in the comforts of your own home:
1 1/2 to 2 lb whole chestnuts in shell
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
1/4 cup water

Special equipment: a chestnut knife (optional); a large heavy skillet (preferably cast-iron) with a lid

Make a large X in each chestnut with chestnut knife or a sharp paring knife, cutting through shell. Toss chestnuts with oil in a bowl.

Heat dry skillet over moderately low heat until hot, then roast chestnuts in skillet on stovetop, covered, stirring every few minutes, for 15 minutes total.

Add water and continue to roast, covered, stirring occasionally, until water is evaporated and chestnuts are tender, about 5 minutes more. Serve hot.

HOT NUTS! HAPPY VD!

Buyer Beware: Kid Safe Scissors Can Still Cause a Painful Snip Snip

2007-02-14T11:52:00.000-05:00

Dear friends,

It has come to my attention today that, unfortunately for all the femi-nazi gestapos that I had the privilege of attending school with, the male sex does in fact think with their external genitalia. So all of you out there who thought men should be castrated to be clear headed or whatever, I present you this case. Now, let it be known that I am aware that most experimental studies have their fallouts, inconsistencies, and inconclusiveness, which is the science equivalent of "Dude, I suck my best friend off when we're drunk, but that doesn't mean I'm not, I mean, doesn't mean I'm gay."

Straight from the horse's mouth (and by horse I mean press and by press I also mean piggish man. Yeah! Cooter is the fine fruit of the masses! Taste the succulent! Without an anatomical nutbag in our way, FEMALE can rise above the patriarchal society that holds us down! May all men burn in hell, NEIN!, die slow grisly deaths from pus-seeping Ghonnerea!) Sorry, got carried away by all the propaganda.

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Men who have had a vasectomy may face an increased risk of developing a rare type of dementia marked by a steady loss of language skills, researchers said on Tuesday.

Researchers at Northwestern University in Illinois, writing in the journal Cognitive and Behavioral Neurology, linked this male sterilization surgery to a neurological condition called primary progressive aphasia, or PPA.

Therefore, let it be said that if we are to lose our balls, we could potentially prove to lose the little cognitive function we possess. So don't roast our nuts, coddle them. Fondle them like you would a baby giraffe.

Harlot! You Deserve a Good Whipping For Not Explaining Yourself to the Fullest Extent.

2007-02-13T13:57:00.000-05:00

The birds you see in the previous post are called...wait for it...

BOOBIES!

Oh yeah, and carrots it seems, also can be made into warships.
Once again, who is surprised?

Japan = Bilk
Scotland = Fibers extracted from carrots that can be made into warships and fishing rods.

Okay, I'm surprised.

ANS? Still biting it.

Drink Bilk It Does a Body Good and Wasted. Clever Japanese People Are At It Again

2007-02-13T12:42:00.000-05:00

In the news, a small liquor shop/brewery in Hokkaido, Japan released a new drink: Bilk.
From Reuters:

Nakahara's new brew, "Bilk" -- a combination of "milk" and "beer" -- is about 30 percent milk. It also contains hops, and the production process does not differ much from that of regular beer, he said.

His shop started selling Bilk, which apart from a slight milky scent looks and tastes like ordinary beer, on February 1 after spending about six months developing the product with a local brewer.

Now we can have strong bones and damaged livers! Awesome. Although there might not be any nutritional value after the brewing...so...we have damaged livers. And thus we ask, has anything really changed at all?

It does entice me to do a little gastronomic home experiment. This is the challenge for you. (If I involve you in some excitement, it makes you more likely to do stupid shit for me.)

Take a pint of beer of your choice (I would recommend a dark beer.) Pour it in a glass 70% full, then fill the remaining 30% with whole milk. Taste it. If you live to see the day, and it tastes pretty good, I'll financially back your endeavors and start marketing it at some suburban kid's lemonade stand. We'll make a killing. Fruity fun in the Sun! (Bilk apparently tastes fruity. I'm not saying completely unfounded nonsense all the time. Although, one must admit that as you read these entries you ask: Does he, in fact, have Tourette's? I'll never tell.)

While we are on the topic of milk, it seems that the top news of the day at The Sun in the British Isles, are two equally lame things.

1. Robbie williams is in rehab. He was in a boyband. (Pasty, white, like milk.)
2. British girls apparently have the largest average boob size in Europe. Which can only mean one thing-- in the evolutionary long run of things, all people gain one evolutionary advantage. Heightened brain function, honed mental capacity, increased muscle dexterity, quicker neural synapses, and bigger boobs to distract from all the ugly.

And Anna Nicole is still dead.

Now I Have a Crick in my Neck From Looking At the Asian Folk On an 11 Degree Diagonal

2007-02-12T11:12:00.000-05:00

HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR: Feb 18. Year of the Pig. You know who you are.

Since we're on this subject, I give you this. You've seen it. You love it. You give birth to scaled fishy friends.

All the Slanty Eyed Folk Make Me Look at Things with a Perpetual Head Tilt

2007-02-11T12:26:00.000-05:00

Let's just set something straight before I move forward on what I am about to say. I am Asian. Moving forward now. (By the way, the name of that picture is main_asian_baby.jpg which I enjoy.)

Back in 2002, I was living in North Adams, Massachusetts, which is basically the back water Berkshires all the way up in Western Mass. Just over the summer. When it rains. And is humid all the time. And I would walk to my internship at the contemporary art museum and rig a few things or hang lights...oh the good old days when I didn't have to sit in front of a computer all day long.

Anyway, on a lunch break, avoiding the Brewhaha (a sandwich/coffee shop. It was pretty good. I just hated the name. Who says that? Brouhaha. The offspring of incest, that's who. Which by the way, I heard a rumor that North Adams was the incest capital of the US. Let's think about this. 1. I find that hard to believe since it's in MA. 2. I probably heard it from a disgruntled intern at the museum...trust me. It's a small quiet town.)

Now this is where it all goes down. My friends and I were sitting in some random Chinese buffet because, well, we thought it was an okay idea at the time. or cheap. That's right. It was cheap.

All of a sudden out of nowhere like a bat out of hell, the door opens, the light breaks in in shafts, and a herd of little Asian children come charging in like a herd of... what was that movie with the strange furballs that eat people? Critters? It was kind of like that.

Here is the kicker. Behind all this little Asian children, (Yes, Asian, although most of them were little girls so I'm guessing they were from Mainland China. You know how that goes down.) Yes, behind all these Asian children come all of these White folk, that I can probably only assume to be the adoptive parents of these little Asian cannibals (We eats the dogs, it ain't much of a stretch. And if you have ever been to a mildly shady restaurant, I would say you have had your share of Old Yeller too.)

How twisted is that? As if once a week they would get together here at lunch time so that their Chinese Munchkins could get in touch with their cultural heritage? With a a crab rangoon?

On a similar note, can I just say that a crab rangoon is a deep fried wonton of sorts with crab and cream cheese. ( I found this out recently.) Asians don't really eat cheese. Americans eat cheese. Some Asians like cheese though, but the crab rangoon is a purely American thing. You can add fortune cookies to that mix.

Anyway, story time is over. Remember, if you have an adopted child, don't find stupid ways for them to get in touch with their culture. Babies have no culture except the one they were brought up in. And if you want to take them to their manufacturing country, please,, by all means, do so.

What was is that Angelina Jolie said once? Something along the lines of "I want to adopt a child from several different countries so they can grow up together and share their cultures with one another."

ARGH. If you have any doubts that Zahara and Maddox will smother Shiloh in her sleep then you're an optimistic wunderkind.

For more info on taking the child that doesn't look like you on vacation, click here

People at Your Job Make Your Job Tolerable So Rise From the Pits of Despair, Kiddos.

2007-02-08T16:35:00.000-05:00

I stole this from another blog that took it from the Guardian. I know. Lame.

Edward Hallowell, a doctor in Massachusetts, said that a failure to switch off from work was driving stress levels up, a problem exacerbated by the modern addiction to gadgets such as Blackberrys. One patient asked if it was normal for her husband to put his Blackberry on the pillow while they made love. "Just as we learned how to drink responsibly, so we need to learn to use technology," he said.

Other research is slowly revealing some unusual tricks to relieve stress. Tests by George Preti at the Monell Chemical Senses Centre in Philadelphia found that female volunteers felt less tense after sniffing armpit sweat, although he has so far been unable to explain the discovery.

Oh yeah, Anna Nicole is dead.

I Demand a Recount, I's Got Eleven Toes, Not Your Standard Ten

2007-02-08T13:25:00.000-05:00

This is the work of Thomas Demand, a German born photographer who creates environments with cardboard and paper and then photographs them.

The meticulous, obsessive nature is so evident in his photos - unsoiled, haunting vacuums of familiar environments.

It's perspective within perspective. A fully realized world captured within a second frame.

Go you.
I sound too serious. I don't like it.

Romeo and Juliet, Trapped in a Love Nest Outside Verona, Could Be Related

2007-02-07T13:00:00.000-05:00

From the Associated Press.
It's pretty.
So I am sharing.
Just the image.
Not the sentiment.

Fossilization makes you want to cream sometimes. By you I mean me. And by sometimes I mean all the time. Although this might not be fossilized. Meh, it does the same thing.

Oh yeah! I guess this qualifies under dancing skeletons! CELEBRATE.

The Space Race: A Cosmonauts' Actions are Monitored by the Kremlin. An Astronauts' are a Whole Different Story

2007-02-07T12:39:00.000-05:00

Lisa Nowak, astronaut, I'm sure you have heard, drove 900 miles in a diaper in attempts to kidnap her romantic rival, Air Force Captain Carolyn Shipman.

I was going to talk about how batshit crazy this chick is and don't get me wrong, it's not like I changed my mind about that but the prosecution just decided to make this an attempted murder case. Which is probably the right thing to do considering the knife and the mallet and the garbage bags and rope and the disguise she bought for herself - all in cash.

It's sad. For her husband (not the Spaceman who was her love interest) and her son, and her twin daughters. See? Marriage works!

But I think what I really want to talk about is this: This lady drove 900 miles in a diaper so that she could avoid bathroom breaks. A diaper. And the press says something along the lines of: Astronauts wear diapers in space all the time.

THE LADY AIN'T IN SPACE.

Although I guess if your name is Lisa Marie, you can't expect too much. The other famous one married Michael Jackson. Who is the real nutbag, you wonder?

Cause you know she probably wore diapers with him in Neverland.

Psychic Calls from the Other Side Usually Encounter a Busy Signal

2007-02-07T12:03:00.000-05:00

So! A day after I posted something about faggots - the pork liver meatballs of the West Midlands in Great Britannia, we get some news of an actual case of faggotry (the food) and the perils of a person of the homosexual persuasion in a homophobic wasteland that is the world. Do you ever think, though, that maybe people take things a little too seriously? You decide. I'm just riding high on my moment of psychic clarity.

From The SUN

Pies and prejudice anyone?
By JOHN SCOTT
February 07, 2007

A PUB sparked fury by serving a ‘Barrymore Pie’ — and describing it on the menu as: “Faggots swimming in gravy.”

Gay rights groups called for the dish to be scrapped at Mad O’Rourke’s Pie Factory.

Peter Tatchell, co-founder of Outrage! said: “This may have been intended as a joke but homophobia is not a subject of fun in the same way racism is not appropriate for a joke.”

Customer Karin Thompson dropped plans to eat at the pub after reading the menu and wrote to the owner to complain.

She stormed: “It is an offensive use of language — a cheap jibe that is not even funny.”

But defiant boss Peter Towler vowed to keep the crusty favourite on his menu at the pub in Tipton, West Mids.

The 47-year-old said: “It’s been on the menu six years during which time I have had hundreds of thousands of customers and not a single complaint.

“Why don’t these people worry about something important — like the National Health Service.

“These people say this is not funny but their behaviour is turning it into a joke. I am sorry that they are upset but I will not be bullied.”

Mr Towler added: “I will not bow to this pressure. I sell about 100 Barrymore Pies a week. I suppose I could change its name to Politically Correct Pie.”

Faggots are a traditional meatball dish particularly popular in the West Midlands.

A party at comic Michael Barrymore’s Essex home in 2001 ended with guest Stuart Lubbock, 31, being found dead in a swimming pool.

Absolve Thyself from Unnatural Sin, Puppet. Although the Lord JC Hung Like A Puppet on the Cross...Alright. We Cool, We Cool.

2007-02-06T14:41:00.000-05:00

Sometimes its hard to keep on top of themes or current features so here I return us to dancing skeletons. Anyone who knows me knows I have some sickly relationship with puppets. So, this is kind of appropriate. Enjoy. Or don't. I'm not sure I do. I'm so conflicted. Dancing skeleton = bliss. Dancing puppet = wrath. Dancing skeleton puppet = a lost lamb.

Puppets are always fucking dancing. Okay. I get it. Jiggling looks like dancing. Dancing is jiggling. It's simple. MR. Skeleton here is definitely more coordinated than most, but once you start buying into or reinforcing stereotypes, people will start shit. They'll be starting shit like...

"You ain't nothing but a dancing puppet."

or

" You like it up there, don't you, you fuckin' puppet."

or

"Puppet, PLEASE!"

So let's stop perpetuating the stereotypes, guys. The dance is evil. All puppets from around the world are asking you to help stop the dance. Except shadow puppets. They shady bitches.

Steaming Hot Faggots Smothered in Pea(s): It's What's For Dinner

2007-02-06T10:17:00.000-05:00

The world is my favoritest place ever. And this is why.

Notice how faggots are produced and packaged by a company called Mr. Brain and served with a "rich West Country Sauce." It's these little details that slay me. After a little research, here's how you can create your very own faggot in the kitchen.

Ingredients

* pigs liver
* onions
* breadcrumbs
* suet
* chopped sage
* salt
* pepper

1. Mince the liver and onions together into a mixing bowl.
2. Add the breadcrumbs, suet, and sage, and season with salt and pepper according to taste. Ensure that enough breadcrumbs are added such that the mixture can be shaped.
3. Shape the mixture into balls and place onto a greased oven tin.
4. Bake in an oven for approximately 30 minutes.

The juices in the tin can be combined with boiling water and flour to make gravy to accompany the faggots.

I think it is safe to say that we are privy to the fact that faggots are shaped like balls. Many thanks to the Faggot family. Please refer to the BBC

Law and Order: Special Victims Unit: Jerry Orbach and the Case of the Missing Optical Organs

2007-02-05T16:05:00.000-05:00

Okay, I know this is old news but I figure something is worth mentioning if and when every single time you see this advertisement you feel a little funny inside. Breaking it down in fractions - One fifth disturbed, one fifth intrigued, one fifth in amazement that this was the campaign they decided to go with, and two fifths mild embarrassment from the semi-hard you're sporting from witnessing this work of sheer genius.

If an ad campaign about the death dealings of our beloved keeper of the NY Justice system can channel enough electricity to spark that slight tinge of excitement and arousal, then they must be doing something right.

Or perhaps its just the talk about eyes.

OCULOLINCTUS: Look it up. Lick it up.

On a more serious note, a donated organ can be used to save lives that are unfortunately cut short. You can visit the government for more information.

However, if you are seriously religious then this probably isn't an option afforded to you. Or if you are a chain-smoking booze hound. Or a meth addict. Or if you just aren't in great shape. Still, it's always worth a shot.

Orbach staring at you from beyond the pearly gates would agree. The subway smells a little less like old cheese today.

Drinking OJ is Forever Tainted by the Memory of Nicole Brown Lying Dead on the Kitchen Floor. And Now I Love it More Than Ever. Bottoms Up!

2007-02-04T19:38:00.000-05:00

It was brought to my attention that I had something very specific to discuss but suffice it to say, I forget.

Papercuts hurt like a mother.

Perhaps, while we are on the subject of tainted goods, I will begin with a few tainted things.

Modern dance. Tainted forever by the silly screeching noises of experimental music which ultimately end up sounding like a cat in heat peeing through the pain of a urinary tract infection atop a steel drum being scratched up as it writhes through the supreme hurt of a burning pee.

Steel drums. Tainted forever by white boys with dreads. And the sound of steel drums.

A Liberal Arts education. Tainted forever by the overwhelming population of kids with trust funds who think they know everything there is to know and like to quote Borges and are constantly in a fight to the death for having the most eclectic tastes in music and rightly and firmly believe in anti-establishment and anti-capitalism while sitting around in a room smoking an eighth of $60 weed bought from a delivery service out of a $100 glass bong and then watching pretty screensaver patterns on their laptops.

I pushed that one a bit far.

Lou Gehrig. Tainted forever by the disease.

Jesus. Tainted forever by religion.

Condi Rice. Tainted forever by birth.

Theater.

Taint. Tainted forever by the word "taint"

Swimming pools. Tainted forever by the urge to pee in the water to stay warm.

And yet, we love them for their flaws. Except for Condi. She can go.

In an ideal world. I will be watching dance-theater to the strains of electronic music, rubbing Jesus' taint in the swimming pool while discussing Nietzsche as we laugh and chortle like little girls witnessing Condi Rice twitching from Lou Gehrig's disease (Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis)

A progressive, fatal neurodegenerative disease caused by the degeneration of motor neurons.

Once again, a bit far. But this is the place to do it.

And let's cherish this moment with a critical milestone in history.

Monkey Spackle: Spank Your Monkey Ways Right Out Onto the Floor - $3.95 with Proof of Purchase

2007-02-02T13:06:00.000-05:00

Thinking back on the good old days, of dancing skeletons and 16bit computer games, one always comes to mind - Monkey Island. Young Guybrush Threepwood comes to Pirate Island in search for Monkey Island, an isle of insurmountable treasures. Standing in his way is the Pirate Captain LeChuck. It doesn't really sound all that entertaining when you talk about it like this but all I know is that if one of the objectives in the game is to steal a large basset hound from a house and smuggle it away by shoving him down your pants, then you have yourself a pretty sweet deal.

But, this is about one of our favorite cultural (alas, not my culture) icons, the dancing skeleton. See below for details.

This post is probably just a personal fetish but I figured I can make an appeal to other like minded fools.

Although Not November 1st, (Dia de los Muertos, you gringos) Commemorate with Dancing Skeletons!!

2007-02-01T14:56:00.001-05:00

We open the festivities with a little video by Miho Hatori, the singing half of disbanded Alt-something group Cibo Matto. This is her single, Barracuda, off her solo album, Ecdysis. Brilliant album and album title. See below for definition, courtesy of Merriam-Webster online. I love you.

Main Entry: ec·dy·sis
Pronunciation: \ˈek-də-səs\
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural ec·dy·ses
Etymology: New Latin, from Greek ekdysis act of getting out, from ekdyein to strip, from ex- + dyein to enter, don
Date: circa 1854

: the act of molting or shedding an outer cuticular layer

HOW COOL IS THAT? Skeletons and arthropodic shedding! My life is complete. No, too bold. My life has been handed the hall pass so that I can take a piss and wander the halls for a few sweet minutes.

More skeletones later, cajones.

Calendar Happyness, or, if you like, Jesus Saves, You Heathen

2007-02-01T11:19:00.000-05:00

IT'S FEBRUARY!

And can someone explain to me why in that book about the struggling homeless dude with a child it's spelled "Happyness?"

You know when you read a book (Novel idea, I know. Hey...that's a pun.) and then they come out with a movie it's practically impossible to shake the image of the actor as the character in the book when you think about it[the book] in the future? Or, God forbid, go back and read the book again? Reading? Really.

I think we can all say for sure that when you read the Bible [THE book,] Jesus doesn't look like Jim Cavahsomething (The Passion of the Christ, 2004, also known as the guy from failed J.Lo vehicle Angel Eyes and the airline clerk from My Private Idaho [Internet Movie Database, James Caviezel]) but from now on when you're sitting in your church pew, Jesus/Jim will be the one who is speaking to you from way on high. And judging from his past role with Gus Van Sant, we can safely assume he is also a gay.

In reality, which is, given, very, very detached from religion, Jesus probably looks/looked (Do any of us know for sure?) more like [insert famous Israeli/Middle Eastern tv/film star here. I'm shooting blanks...drawing a blank.]

Or Will Smith.

Thank you and good day. February First. First Day. End of Days.

Damn you, Jimmy. You could have given me the heads up.

(You know...end of days...damn you jesus....jim caviezel...
jimmy...damn you, jimmy...end of days... no? Forget it.)

Emo is not my Native Country but I Speak the Language of its People Well

2007-02-01T11:07:00.000-05:00

From my last recording:

"Gathering the wax from my ears to mould tealights so that you and I can wax nostalgic and talk about the future in the flickering glow. Forever."

Wise Words from the Communist Kitchen

2007-01-31T12:44:00.000-05:00

Fellow comrades:

We are gathered here today to strengthen our bonds in the kitchen. It is your temple. Food is the nun and the monk of your temple, giving you faith when convictions are weak. Enslave it.

Make not 999 cheap plastic trinkets, but 1000 strong!

Today, remember, when baking with chocolate chunks ( chips, if you are a simpering weakling) or nuts (We require walnuts--read: cost effective and yummers) coat them in flour, else they sink to the bottom of the batter, leaving nothing on top. RISE UP!

This program was brought to you in part by:
General Mills
FOX News 5
and the makers of those little plastic capsules that hold cheaper plastic figurines that are usually sticky or don't stand up that you can get for a quarter at most Safeway supermarkets.

and

Safeway Supermarkets.

A Welcome Speech Is In Order for You and for Me.

2007-01-31T12:32:00.000-05:00

There comes a time in every man's life where he undertakes a great undertaking. YES. Motivational chit chat comes to an end now.