Tuesday, October 21, 2014

If Cyrano de Bergerac Were a Mortician

Along with the large volume of spam I deservedly receive, there's the occasional, loosely targeting marketing appeal from proprietors of various virtual emporia. The last time, it was from Ken Myers, "a leader in the nanny industry" (I'll just note that this was back in 2013, so the couple of Robin Williams jokes were in no more than average bad taste).  Today, the vast combines of the Sympathy Card Ghost-Writing business have turned their cephalopodan tentacles on World O' Crap:
I'm Suzie Kolber and I’m a volunteer at ObituariesHelp.org. I visited World o Crap online
Yes, that's usually where you'll find it.
I’m wondering if I can contribute some content to your website (http://world-o-crap.blogspot.com/) about “How to Express Your Condolences For a Loved One." What do you think? 
I think you just neatly demonstrated the difference between "visiting" a site and "reading" it.
 Let me know if you like the idea or if you have a better suggestion.
I actually do have a couple of ideas. Let me run 'em by you:
  1. What about an anti-aging cream made from embalming fluid and driveway sealant! Or...
  2. How about if mortuaries made plastic deathmasks of your loved ones, then added an elastic string so kids could Trick or Trick as their recently deceased Grandpa? (Homeowner: Awww, and what are you supposed to be?  Trick or Treater: A reminder of your own mortality, Ma'm!)
Anyway, back to Suzie...
If not, would you consider sharing my new advice page that lists how to write a condolence message with your visitors? (http://obituarieshelp.org/words_of_condolences_hub.html
Sure, Suzie. It's been my sad duty to write a few obituaries over the years -- for Jim Capozolla,  beloved Crapper Marq, and the irreplaceable Doghouse Riley (and I just noticed, in looking these up, that Marq commented on Jim's obit, and Doghouse commented on Marq's, which is either a bittersweet reminder of the Circle of Life, or these posts are like that video in The Ring) -- and it's a hard, emotional experience that could only benefit from the introduction of crib notes.
The page was recently endorsed by the International Funeral Directors Association and I think this would be helpful to anyone that has recently lost a loved one or is about to attend a funeral.
Yes, if there's one thing that can improve the grieving experience, it's making it less personal and spontaneous.
I’m proud to say the website receives over 400K visitors per month and helps lots of people during their most difficult time.
Wow, I should be asking you for a plug, except I don't actually help anybody, even when the livin' is easy.
Please let me know your thoughts and if you’re able to add me as a resource, please share the URL with me so that I can look at it.
Actually, I seem to have deleted your email, Suzie, but just know that my thoughts are with you as you work through this difficult time of networking and marketing.

And if any of you guys are worried that your elegy is thin gruel and could use a nice starchy thickener, consider Suzie's Obituary Helper.

(Speaking of death: Actor212 has produced a timeline on the Duncan Ebola case which demonstrates with remarkable, cool-headed clarity, that the U.S. is in danger of coming down with a fatal case of Texas.)

Monday, October 20, 2014

Tell Ya What, Cap'n, I'LL Go Down With the Ship

Once listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the Biggest Box Office Flop of All Time.

Cutthroat Island (1995)
Director: Renny Harlin
Writers: Michael Frost Beckner & James Gorman and Bruce A. Evans & Raynold Gideon (Story), Robert King and Marc Norman (Screenplay)

“Jamaica, Caribbean. 1668”  Geena Davis puts on her pants. And a vest. And a monkey. The man she just boffed (who has a luxurious mane of ringlets that makes him look like a languid, post-coital Tiny Tim) pulls a pistol from under the sheet and says, “You were amazing in the sack and I hope we didn’t shock the monkey, but I know you’re Morgan Adams the pirate, even though you look more like Maud Adams from Octopussy, so I’m turning you in for the reward” (I’m paraphrasing slightly). But the monkey hands Geena some ball bearings and she says “Ha! I took your BALLS!” (Not a paraphrase.).

Geena rides a horse through the surf at sunset for awhile in an apparent effort to sell us on some brand of pirate douche. Then she jacks a man’s dinghy and rows out to a pirate ship, where Frank Langella has part of a map and is making Geena’s dad (Pegleg Harris Yulin) give him the other half. But Harris foils them by jumping in the ocean. Geena tries to catch him but accidentally breaks the boat and falls in the water too; fortunately the movie manages to beach itself.

Pegleg Harris is slowly dying. He has time to bequeath his pirate ship to Geena, and ask her to shave his head (I’m guessing he has the other half of the map tattooed on his scalp, although it’s possible the RID shampoo and nit comb are proving ineffective). But when he hears her listlessly lisping lines like “I’ll fly his blood head [sic] as my banner!” he suddenly can’t die fast enough.

Cut to a fancy ball, where Matthew Modine is playing a Silence of the Lambs-style serial killer, since he appears to be wearing Cher’s scalp as a wig. He pilfers a woman’s barrette, but burly men, also in Cher wigs (let’s call them the Cher Bears) immediately catch him. The Top Fop in the room instantly condemns him to slavery; and since Matt’s the love interest, I guess we’re in for a neurasthenic, All-White revival of Mandingo.

Back at Pegleg Harris’s ship, Geena declares herself captain by waving her father’s scalp, which is indeed tattooed with a map, and which she apparently carved off his skull, giving new meaning to the phrase, “a chip off the old block.”  Unfortunately, it’s only one third of a treasure map. Her uncle has one piece, and Frank Langella has the other. Even worse, her Dad’s skin is written in Latin and Geena can’t even read English (I mean her character can’t, although her delivery does suggest she learned her lines phonetically).

Geena puts on a dress and trolls the prison for Latin scholars (personally, I would have tried the library, but I’m not the one with the photogenic overbite), where she decides to buy Matthew at auction after he confesses, in Latin, that he wants to wash her feet. Another buyer is interested, but Geena stabs him in the ass and the auctioneer bellows, “SOLD to the lady with the monkey!” (I myself like to shout this every time I make a successful bid on eBay).

The Cher Bears recognize Geena from her super-glam police sketch, and start a chase scene which is long and dull, but punctuated by moments of hilarity whenever Geena is replaced by her brawny stuntman.

Meanwhile, Geena’s friend Maury Chaykin is the Kitty Kelley of the pirate world, writing gossipy, tell-all books about Who’s Keel-Hauling Who, and the Top Fop wants Maury to betray her so he can get a slice of the treasure and we can all pretend there’s a plot.

Geena has to dress like a prostitute to visit her uncle (I guess we’ve all had to, especially around the holidays) and titillates him with her Dad’s scalp, which she’s been carrying around in her bikini area. He agrees to join her on the quest but says they’d better hurry, since her map is developing dandruff.

Frank shows up and demands the map, threatening her with a moray eel, but she refuses to admit that she’s using her father’s skin as a panty liner. He kills her uncle, but it’s okay, because it turns out he’s also her uncle, so she’ll still have an excuse to dress like a whore on Thanksgiving.

Frank gut-shoots Geena, then there's a stupid chase through the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, which ends when Matt turns into a 17th Century MacGyver, and blows up a lot of stuff like firkins and pantaloons.

They get back to the ship, where Geena is hemorrhaging to death from her gunshot wound. Fortunately, Matt is also a doctor, and he and Geena flirt shamelessly as he digs a rusty musket ball out of her perforated intestines.

Matt secretly stole the second piece of map off her uncle’s corpse, but Geena catches him with it and sentences him to be marooned. But just then her crew mutinies, and maroons her first. (What I wouldn’t give for Bugs Bunny to show up and comment on the quality and quantity of maroons in this picture.) But the joke’s on them, because Geena washes ashore on Cutthroat Island, which just happens to be where the treasure is! 

Frank and Geena’s disloyal crew also show up and camp on the island. During the night someone steals Frank's purse, and when he wakes up he realizes Geena must be alive, and screams, “Bitch STOLE…MY…MAP!” And just to demonstrate how peeved he is, he juices a tarantula with his bare hand. Meanwhile, I look at the time code on the DVD, scream “There’s STILL…AN HOUR…LEFT!” and squeeze the juice of one lime into two ounces of vodka.

Actually, it was Matt who stole the map, because he also washed up on this island that nobody could previously find without three separate maps, but now everybody's plowing into by accident.  Geena discovers him sinking in quicksand, and they do the old “Throw me a rope!” “Throw me the map!” bit, and anyone can see how this is going to end from a mile away, but the film takes a surprisingly dark turn when he gives her the map and she throws him a rope.

In the mood for scenes of people walking around the jungle? How about if they count off each and every step, just to rub it in? You’re in luck. Eventually, Matt and Geena find a cave where the treasure is just lying around loose. Geena goes for help, gets captured, she and Matt wind up dangling by ropes from the top of a cliff, and just decide to put us out of our misery by falling to the rocks below. But they’re saved by an act of Providence, as a rogue wave catches them just before impact. But it’s an incredibly fake-looking CGI wave that fools nobody, which I think is God’s way of saying that he secretly hates them and wants them to die.

Forty minutes to go. At this point I’d actually be fine if God spared Geena and Matt and smote director Renny Harlin instead, since that would let the producers invoke force majeure and write the whole film off as an insurance loss.

Maury Chaykin finds Matthew washed up again (they probably should have called this Washed Up Island, but looking at everybody’s IMDB page now, it seems redundant). He takes this as a cue to finally pay off that subplot we’d forgotten about, so he turns Matt over to Top Fop, who has apparently also stumbled onto this secret, uncharted island. Top Fop then sails off in Frank’s ship with the treasure and Matt.

Geena sneaks around her mutinied ship all ninja-like and secretly de-mutinizes it, then sails to intercept Frank’s ship. At last! An hour and 35 minutes into our pirate movie, and we’re finally getting our first battle at sea. But both Geena and Frank order their men to stealthily creep and crawl to their battle stations like kids sneaking downstairs to catch Santa, because what's your hurry?

Okay, I got a little ahead of myself; they’re not actually fighting yet. However, we do get a bunch of shots of hairy men squatting, if you’re into that.

Still not fighting.

Okay, now they’re fighting.  Wait.  No.  False alarm. 

Wait – I think they are fighting.  Yes, they’re definitely supposed to be fighting. It’s not really a qualitative difference from when they were squatting, but on the bright side, the primitive CGI flames and explosions make it look like both ships are filled with molten lava, and every time they get hit with a cannonball, a tiny volcano erupts. It actually looks less like a pirate movie and more like the cover of Dianetics.

I have something to confess…I’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes without typing a comment. I don’t usually do that, but this whole thing is just so snoozy and confusing. It’s consnoozy! Or snoofusing. I should get back to watching the movie.

Geena gets the brilliant idea of grabbing the treasure from Frank’s ship and blowing up the powder magazine; unfortunately, that’s not the order in which she does it. Eventually, she gut-shoots Frank with a cannonball, just to one-up him, then she and Matt jump off the ship as it explodes for the second time. But this time it means it, and is basically reduced to a blizzard of Ohio Blue Tips and hot lava scattered over a two square mile area. 

Crap, it’s not over yet?  Look, you don’t care, I don’t care, but we started down this road together, so dammit, take my hand, and let’s see it through to the bitter end.

Cut to the next day. Somehow they recovered the entire treasure from the vast area of ocean floor over which was scattered by the explosion, without sonar, or diving equipment or – hey, my will to live just left me. I could feel it. I think I actually heard a door slam…

No, no...I promised we’d get to the end credits together. After that, we may turn on each other like two hamsters in a cage. There may be death. There will be blood. But a promise is a promise.  So….The pirates are all rich, yay! But they want to stick together and keep pirating because maybe sequel! In the meantime, the monkey has gotten into the treasure and is draped in so many pearl necklaces it vaguely resembles Barbara Bush.

The End.

(P.S. There's still time to nominate a crappy horror film for for Wo'C's First Annual Horrible Halloween Horror Bash. Just leave your suggestion here. A review of the winning loser will be posted on October 31st.)

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Sunday Sermonette: Let Me Be Frank About Swank

As I continue piecing together our archives from the old, hacked-to-death domain, I find to my surprise and delight that we have not yet exhausted America's Strategic Swank Reserve.  So please enjoy this homily from Wo'C Spiritual Advisor Pastor J. Grant Swank...

Originally posted March 5, 2009

Quick! To The Wombmobile!

While rich Americans are responding to Administration proposals by threatening to “go Galt,” Pastor Swank is planning to confront the evil head on, by putting guns in the proto-hands of zygotes and letting them shoot their way out of the womb.
B. Hussein proposes forcing abortions on everyone in health care, regardless of their biblical convictions.
No knocked up nurse or doctor will ever bring a pregnancy to term again. Signs will go up in every hospital ladies room:  “Employees Must Abort Fetus Before Returning to Work.”
If that happens, womb baby defenders will go into full action.
“Womb Baby Powers…Activate!
They will refuse to close anti-abortion hospitals. They will refuse to murder womb boys and girls, though B. Hussein enthusiastically goes the length to kill of these children.
I love when the pastor gets all Old Testament patriarch in his locutions, and wish more people would follow his example; I think it would really class up the country.  (”Honey, can you diaper of this child while I microwave of this Hot Pocket?”)
I did.  Turns out it’s actually a muslim murder machine, which I kinda took for granted.  But more importantly, Swank is no longer dependent upon websites like RenewAmerica and Mens News Daily to spread his aphasic message; the pastor has joined the late 20th century and started his own blog, which I can’t recommend strenuously enough.  Liberated from censorship and editorial nitpicking, Swank has seized the business end of the megaphone, and lets Swank be Swank!, giving his thoughts bold, catchy titles like “GOD DESTROYS WICKED ANTI-USA CLOT” and “RACIST ALLAH: BLACK = GROSSER HEART THAN DONKEY’S.”
Anyway, back to today’s Junior Jumble:
B. Hussein has professed himself to be “Christian” while undercutting the biblical ethic. B. Hussein is actually a Marxist Muslim; therefore, he can lie in order to further Allah’s Islam World Rule.
Couldn’t we just settle this with a WWE-style grudge match between God and Allah?  Or would that be too much like watching Toni Collette’s character from The United States of Tara try to punch one of her own alternate personalities?
As B. Hussein hangs on to his demonic convictions, genuine believers test his wickedness by demanding life over death for little babies in female bodies.
Can’t we just poke around in those female bodies with a fork until we find and pull out the little babies?  It works with those king cakes on Mardi Gras…
This is the fundamental test facing America.
And I partied all weekend instead of studying. Fortunately, the test is still multiple choice.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Happy Birthday, KWillow! I Got You Ten Icky Things!

Today is the natal anniversary of the delightful and much beloved KWillow, Doctor Who aficionado, charmingly acerbic commenter, and friend to all animals, both human and the better kind -- and one of our very favorite people around here. In her honor, I went through the Google search strings bringing people to World O' Crap with the intention of answering a few, but I have to say...it's gotten really pervy in our referrer logs.  I mean, the questions used to be pretty straightforward ("how do I become a lesbian": The same way you get to Carnegie Hall, honey. Practice, practice, practice), but lately they've veered increasingly toward the outré and fetishy. And by posting them here, I'm only going to encourage that dark and disturbing trend.

Oh well.

The Top Ten Google Search Strings Bringing People to World O' Crap:
  1. mantis eating each other: Apparently, here at the Mouseketeer Clubhouse, it’s “Test Rule 34 Day."
  2. smurf vagina:  I assume this is the female equivalent of "blue balls."
  3. constructivism is bullshit:  I refuse to even engage with this bourgeois reactionary whose counter-revolutionary ideas threaten the very foundation of our non-autonomous art movement.
  4. film with hovering ugandians: That would be the prescient Danish dystopian art film It's All About Love, which argued -- in 2003! -- that battling Ebola with flight restrictions is pointless, because Africans are super buoyant and will just float over here under their own power.
  5. sweet smell in attic bats: This may be the worst impostor fragrance idea I've ever heard.
  6. hunky sexy pastor: I see Doug Giles has been doing a bit of auto-Googling again.
  7. mel gibson braveheart tits: Colloquially known as "McMoobs."
  8. mens beefy anus: I see the FDA is making even the title character of NBC's Hannibal disclose what he puts in his hotdogs.
  9. squinty dick: Um, I'll take "What a Pirate Nicknames His Genitals" for 200, Alex.
  10. the barbershop enemas: If you've never had a quartet of male nurses serenading you in close-harmony as they give you a pre-operative high-colonic, then you haven't begun to experience all the wonders Obamacare offers.
And now, please join me in wishing KWillow the happiest of birthdays and the manyest of returns.
Sexy Birthday Lizard! (Because that's a thoughtful, even contemplative face, and smart is sexy)

[Also, if you have a moment, drop by this thread and tell us which crappy horror film you'd like to see given the Better Living Through Bad Movies treatment for Halloween]

Thursday, October 16, 2014

The Call is Coming From INSIDE THE BLOG!

As you know, each year on Christmas Eve we post a Better Living Through Bad Movies-style review of some cloying holiday dreck, a tradition which stretches back to 2006, when the Crapper commentariat rose up and spoke with one voice, demanding we poke fun at It's A Wonderful Life.  Fortunately, bad Christmas movies are America's most abundant renewable resource, right behind crappy horror films; and with that in mind, this year I'd like to branch out -- with black, bare, finger-like branches etched in sharp relief against a slate-gray sky -- and extend the custom to Samhain.

So if there's one particular horror film/monster movie/creature feature that bored, irritated, or inappropriately titillated you, leave the title in comments.  I'll pick one, post the results on Halloween, and we can all enjoy it together (well, hopefully you'll enjoy it. I'll probably be bitter, semi-recumbent, and boozing it up).

So put on your stingy-brim fedora and your herringbone sport coat -- the one with the Paul Drake Effect -- and vote until ambiguous horizontal lines radiate from your skull.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

If Yoda Had Trained Paul Blart, Mall Cop

As you know, J.J. Abrams is directing the first new Star Wars movie in nine years, heralding a renewed franchise that will not only continue the story of films IV through VI, but follow new and familiar Star Wars characters in a series of spin-offs. Naturally, with both Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi dead, and Luke busy with the Abrams film, a new mentor will have to be found for the next generation of Sith and Jedi.

I give you, D.W. Wilber of Townhall.  According to his bio, "Wilber is a former Intelligence and Counterterrorism Officer, and the owner of Secur-Intel-Solutions" (Our slogan: "We're so secure, we didn't even tell the letter "e" we exist!")  I checked their website, and it's charmingly home-made, with a logo that looks like his kid doodled it while playing World of Warcraft, and a motto that smacks of something Wilber scribbled on his PeeChee during Freshman Latin class. (As of press time, their sitemeter shows 883 visitors, although a couple of those are probably me, since I forgot to bookmark it the first time.)

Mr. Wilber's site would appreciate it if you'd mistake them for a sort of store brand Blackwater, and helps the illusion along with a picture of a riot copied from the Web, and a picture of a white guy in jeans standing in the middle of a road somewhere with some brown guys in camouflage and pointing at something off-camera. I feel more secure already.

But who pops up first in their list of clients?  Malls.  So rest easy, America. Secur-Intel-Solutions may skimp on vowels (probably 'cause they blew their budget on decorative dashes), but they spare no effort to ensure that there is a steely-eyed, cold-blooded killer between those rambunctious 12-year olds and Hotdog On a Stick.

In his spare time, Mr. Wilber would appreciate it if we'd preemptively bomb the restive minority neighborhoods in St. Louis County, Missouri.

Since August 9th when Michael Brown committed a strong arm robbery and was confronted by Ferguson Police Officer Darren Wilson, a confrontation which ultimately resulted in Wilson shooting and killing Brown...
Here's your first lesson, Future Mall Cops O' America: Juxtaposing unrelated events to create the illusion of causation; this skill comes in handy when writing up your report about why you tazed that kid who laughed at your "bike rack" when you bent over to tie your shoe, and who may have been the same kid who earlier stole a watermelon Jolly Rancher from Mr. Bulky's, although you didn't know anything about that at the time.  If later challenged, perhaps by an attorney hired by the kid's parents to sue the mall, concede that you did not, in fact, witness the kid committing a crime, or witness a crime at all, or even know one happened, but you felt a disturbance in the Force, as though millions of Plumber's Cracks cried out at once, and were suddenly snickered at.

We now join Obi-Wilber's previous sentence, already in progress.
...Ferguson and the entire St. Louis metropolitan region has been gripped by a constant tug of war between the police trying to restore order and peace and allow the criminal justice system to follow its’ course, and a disparate group bent on continuing the protests and violence. 
'These are not the violent, militarized police you're looking for."  Here's your second lesson, Stalwart Guardians of Baby Gap: the Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded. Which necessarily includes pretty much anyone who reads Townhall for the articles.
New Black Panther activists,
Oh, is that guy in town?
 black Missouri state senators allied with the protestors and rioters,
Remember, Junior G-Men, to always specify the race of bystanders, e.g., "the black witness claimed he saw me shoot an unarmed black teenager," because it subtly highlights their conflict of interest, i.e., they are too melanin-rich to give an unbiased account of events. (A word of caution: this doesn't work as well when using the word "white" -- e.g., "the white Missouri state senator allied with the white prosecutors and the white police chief of the all-white police department who support the white officer who shot the unarmed black teenager." In this case, substitute "brave" or "courageous" for "white" and maybe end the sentence with "who lives in the house that Jack built" just to lighten things up.)
 anarchists who show up anywhere that offers them an opportunity to destroy property,
Boy, I'll say. I worked in an auto dismantling yard in Azusa one summer, and the entire staff? All anarchists. Naturally, I was afraid it might be a closed shop situation, and I'd have to join their anarchists' union, but fortunately they destroy their own governing structures before they can sufficiently mature to organize a framework for collective bargaining.
and white useful idiots who have fallen for the old line of blacks being “oppressed”.
Uh...I didn't check the roll sheet today...None of you guys are black, right?  If you're black, raise your hand.  Huh...Okay, if you're black and feel you've ever been 'oppressed,' raise your hand, keeping in mind that this will count for half your grade..."
 All drawn together for one purpose, to throw out the Constitution of the United States and demand Officer Wilson be arrested, prosecuted, jailed, and executed, regardless of what the evidence shows. 
I see some of you who've watched Schoolhouse Rock are scratching your heads, but the Bill of Officer Wilson's Rights that allow white police officers to shoot 3/5s of a citizen before receiving a written warning is in really fine print at the bottom of the Constitution, and it doesn't show up that great on parchment so you probably just missed it.
Basically a modern day lynch mob. 
Since Republicans concerned about the existence of voting voter fraud have reached back into the Jim Crow toolbox for a remedy, they should have expected that other fads from that era would be swept along on this wave of retro fashions. However, the fact that blacks (and white useful idiots [but not anarchists, because lynch mobs are too hierarchical for them]) are the ones bringing back lynching is unfair, and probably illegal. It's like those cyber-squatters who register corporate domain names before a company can, and then demand payment or they'll turn JoAnnsFabrics.com into an amputee porn hub. For blacks to lead lynch mobs -- however "high-tech" -- is a clearcut case of intellectual property theft.
Or better yet an insurgency determined to force society to acquiesce to their demands, or else.
Given how well the U.S. has historically done against insurgencies, I'm afraid there aren't enough mall cops in America (even in the Mall of America) to save you now, Obi-Wilber.
After all, what does an insurgency do but riot and destroy property, attack the authorities, in this case the police, and threaten to spread their ‘revolution’. As the Ferguson insurgency has done, threatening next time to “burn down the white areas”.
"Next time"? So white people get one free shooting (presumably with their choice of sides) and will only get burned out of their homes if they ask for seconds? Well, it's not much, but it's more of a warning than Rosewood or Tulsa got.
Once Officer Wilson is exonerated of any wrongdoing in the shooting death of Michael Brown (and he will be) the evidence will show Officer Wilson was justified and acted within the law.
Beyond what the evidence will show the State of Missouri also still has a ‘Fleeing Felon’ law on the books, allowing the police to use deadly force to affect the arrest of any felony suspect attempting to flee arrest. 
(Raises hand) Sir? Even the not liberal RealClearPolitics thinks that isn't true, and hasn't been since Tennessee v. Garner in 1985.

Obi-Wilber: (Raises hand, Force chokes me)  I find your lack of faith-based legal reasoning disturbing.
Remember, Michael Brown had just committed a ‘strong-arm robbery’, by Missouri Statute, Robbery 2nd Degree. A felony.
This assumes facts not in evidence; but Officer Wilson is strong in the Force -- the Police Force  anyway, which explains why they're all so desperately covering his ass -- and anyway, we're trying Mr. Brown in the media, so the rules of evidence don't apply.  Say, while we're at it, we might as well clear up our backlog by pinning a few other things on him in order to justify his death:  I have it on good authority he also ate all the Früsen Gladje, secretly switched our coffee with Folgers Crystals, and surreptitiously put the ram in the ramma lamma ding dong.
And he definitely was trying to flee. The Ferguson insurgency has threatened to murder police officers and white people in general to achieve “justice” if Officer Wilson doesn’t receive the “justice” they deem appropriate. If we take them at their word, not only will the City of Ferguson burn, but many of the surrounding communities in St. Louis County will also fall victim to the insurgency.
According to witnesses he was stopped and had his hands up. Still, black people are demanding that a white cop face justice, so they should be treated, not as citizens gathering to petition the government for a redress of grievances, but as an insurgency, and promptly bombed back to the Stone Age. On the bright side, they'll finally be in sync with the Ferguson P.D.'s grasp of civil rights.
One hope for stemming the expected violence is that weather prognosticators in the mid-west are correct in that this winter will be as bad or worse than last winter was in the St. Louis region. Perhaps the Grand Jury will release their findings when there’s a foot of snow on the ground in St. Louis and the temperature is fourteen below zero.
And thus endeth the lesson. So let's review: Protestors objecting to the summary execution of Michael Brown by a cop are the moral equivalent of ISIS. Fortunately, they're mostly Blacks, and Blacks don't like cold weather because they're from Africa, so we should play it safe, file a motion for a change of venue, and hold Officer Wilson's trial on Hoth.

Monday, October 13, 2014

E Pluribus Asterisk

Rebecca Hagelin is an author, Townhall columnist, and a frequent source of carbon dioxide on FoxNews. Admittedly, none of that really matters, but she's invaluable if you've ever wanted to know what the Children of the Damned look like all grown up.
Fashions by Forever Cuckoo, at the Midwich Mall.

Like a lot of people, Rebecca is very concerned about public health issues, and warns of a coming epidemic:
The Challenge: Pornography Pandemic
Okay, so it's more an epidemic of coming she's worried about.
Pornography is everywhere. 
It's in the closet!  It's under your bed!  It's -- wait. It actually is in both those places. Okay, carry on.
It’s an evil with far-reaching affects that damage many layers of society. But no one is hurt more by the overwhelming presence of pornography in our society than children.
Especially when your dad catches you with his stash and smacks you with a rolled up copy of Juggs.
According to a study by the London School of Economics, nine out of ten children who go online (by the way, many of them just doing their homework) will view pornography. 
Call me a prude, but I don't think teachers should be assigning porn as homework. That's really more of a leisure time activity.
Even when kids are acting responsibly and innocently, adults in the pornography business are so fixated on creating new porn addicts that they have made it virtually impossible for children to escape their grasp. Think about it—90 percent of all kids on the Internet will be subjected to the sexual images and values of perverted pornographers.
And 73% of all Townhall readers will be subjected to pundits who pull 87% of their statistics out of their ass -- slowly, like Thai anal beads.
There should be a protected space in childhood where kids don’t have sex forced upon them—physically or mentally. 
So for a child, the experience of being molested is exactly the same as stumbling upon a supercut of all the boob shots on Game of Thrones?  The scales have fallen from my eyes. In fact, thinking back on my own childhood,  I used to hang around my dad's trucking company in summer, and I see now that he really deserved to do hard time for that Parts Pups calendar in the men's room.
Mere exposure to pornography inflicts a great deal of damage to developing attitudes, psyches and morality.
And then sometimes it just inflicts a great deal of orgasms. Or do you also consider that "damage," and if so, have you ever considered that maybe you're doing it wrong?
Donna Rice Hughes, CEO of Enough Is Enough (EIE), a non-profit organization determined to make the Internet safer for children and families said,
That would be this Donna Rice (Hughes):
“For 20 years, children have been spoon-fed a steady diet of online pornography, with few laws or barriers of entry.
Still, it's gotta be better than that Mott's applesauce my mom used to spoon-feed me.
Recent peer-reviewed research shows the extreme nature of Internet pornography is having a destructive impact on the mental, emotional and sexual health of adolescents, including addictive and even criminal behavior. “ (You can learn more about the work of Enough is Enough atwww.InternetSafety101.org)
I checked Donna's Wiki entry, just to make sure it was the same person, and discovered that "she has worked [with Enough is Enough] since 1994, whose mission is to make the Internet safer for families and children."

So she's been on a crusade against internet porn basically since the first year the World Wide Web went world wide. I imagine she began by campaigning against the introduction of the 14.4 modem because it would allow adolescent males to download Cindy Crawford GIFs from Compuserve in only an hour and a half!
Many parents today know the sad truth and have already taken the necessary steps to protect their children when they are at home. (You can protect your kids by installing Internet filters on computers and mobile devices, by teaching them how to be safe online and by monitoring their online activity until they demonstrate the maturity needed to navigate the treacherous territory on their own.)
Okay then, problem solved! Anyone for coffee and pie?
 However, when kids are out of the house, the protective barriers parents put up come down. Tech-savvy kids often figure out how to get around filters and, to further complicate the matter, public Wi-Fi in restaurants and cafes allows unprotected and unchecked Internet browsing.
Until your child grows up, we're going to have to treat all grown-ups like children, so grab those outlet covers and toilet seat lid-locks and let's babyproof the planet! Oh, and we're also going to need to take down Rebecca's column, since it's a choking hazard.
But kids getting around filters or accidentally stumbling upon negative images isn’t all we have to worry about. Public Wi-Fi provided by many businesses also serves as a safe haven where perverted criminals can anonymously view, post and share child pornography, which only leads to further sexual solicitation and abuse of children.
You know, when I'm at Starbucks it does creep me out a bit to know that the person at the next table with the blueberry scone could be looking at pornography or worse, writing about it for Townhall.
As Mrs. Hughes said, “Now is the time for corporate America to take a stand against Internet pornography and child pornography that is damaging children. This is now a global public health issue that must be addressed holistically. Parents, corporate America and law enforcement must share the responsibility to protect the younger generations, and we must do so now—together.”
Because despite conservatives' success in spreading abstinence-only "sex education," there remain some cracks in the wall where evidence for the existence of sex might still leak through.
EIE has been on the front-lines of Internet safety since 1994 and has recently launched a new campaign called “P*rn Free Wi-Fi” to encourage corporate America to join the fight to prevent the Internet-initiated sexual exploitation of children.
Bit of trivia: the asterisk is "P*rn" is pronounced "asterisqué."
 (Rebecca served on the original steering committee of, and helped launch Enough is Enough way back in 1992 - incidentally, when she was pregnant with Kristin.)
Really? You were fed up with Internet porn in 1992?  What, was somebody sending you bukkake videos by Telex?
Specifically, EIE is asking McDonald’s and Starbucks to start using pornography filters in their establishments across the United States, hoping that many other businesses will follow suit. Both companies have pornography filters in their establishments in the United Kingdom (due to a self-regulation initiative begun by Prime Minster David Cameron).
You know what the UK doesn't have? A First Amendment. And is it really "self-regulation" when it's imposed by the Prime Minister?
 Hughes said, “If McDonald’s and Starbucks can protect children from pornography and child pornography in other nations, they should do so here in the US. Offering safe Wi-Fi is in alignment with both McDonald’s and Starbucks’ corporate best practices and family-friendly policies. This would be a win-win for families and the companies’ respective brands. It’s not about censorship;
 it’s about corporate responsibility and good corporate citizenship.”
This might be tougher than you think, Donna. Now that corporations are recognized by the courts as persons with a legal right to religious freedom, they're probably developing sentience, and becoming self-aware, and you know what the next step is: learning to masturbate.

But here's the thing...Anyone who's worked in an office with a content filter knows that it strains out a lot more than just sexually explicit material.  And I'm curious to know what the difference is between someone reading explicit Suits fanfic on his laptop, and someone else reading 50 Shades of Grey? Neither one of them is likely to start jerking off in Starbucks, but if Donna and Rebecca succeed in bowdlerizing what you can access on your tablet, they'll have to do the same to your Kindle -- because porn cannot be allowed to exist in the public sphere with hypothetical children, regardless of whether the beholder's eye regards his reading material as such -- and then they'll have to crack down on the Mommy Porn paperback book du jour, because every slope is equally slippery, so we must be prevented from lubricating them with our gooey bodily fluids.
As Hughes said, “Parents need to be the first line of defense to safeguard their children online. However, they cannot shoulder the entire responsibility alone. If parents understand that strangers can view hard-core pornography and child pornography in front of their kids in these establishments, I believe they would join us in saying, ‘Enough is enough!’”
I'm a little queasy about the idea of recruiting strangers as co-parents for your kids, but then as someone who's occasionally posted vintage typewriter erotica and other images that might be considered NSFW, I'm even more leery of giving bluenoses like Donna and Rebecca veto power over who gets to read my blog.  Their fears, in my opinion, are overblown, a veneer for a pathological discomfort with human sexuality.


Recently a friend has been browbeating me about watching The Blacklist, going on and on about its many virtues and how I really should jump in now that the first season is on Netflix. I resisted, because I have a fear of commitment, but then the billboards and the bus shelter ads starting ganging up on me too, so I finally said "Enough is enough!" and tried to program the DVR to record it. I couldn't remember what channel it was on, so I used the search feature, and didn't get more than four letters in before I was HOGPILED BY PORN!

Frankly, "Wet, Swollen Vulvas Ravaged In All Black Orgies" sounds like something your server would say when reciting the daily specials ("Six pounds of Black Shaft served in Gooey Holes with a distinctive sauce"), but the rest of these seem as if they were translated literally from the Japanese. Except maybe "A Black Mom, Dad & The Naked Babysitter," which sounds like a 1980 TV movie starring Robert Hayes and Pam Dawber.

So maybe porn is everywhere, and like those fracking chemicals in our water table, we just need to get used to it. Hm...I wonder how Suezboo deals with this at her Internet cafe, and what the laws regarding online naughtiness are like in her native South Africa?

What do the rest of you guys think about all this?  And who do you think would win in a fight between White Dong and Monster Black Schlong?