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

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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

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.

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.

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

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

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).

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.

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.

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Psychic Calls from the Other Side Usually Encounter a Busy Signal

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.

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

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

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!

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.