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It got all red and pinchy. My skinned elbows were all achey and swollen. Someone turned the lights off and I had to hold my arms at odd-angles to avoid bumping into things that would no doubt cause a lightening storm of agony.

This time, it was big, furry bears rolling around the grass in the sunshine, smacking into trees and shit. There was a moment when I rolled along with them and they with me, scaring the crap out of confused bystanders and laughing maniacally at our own spectacle. We scratched each others' itchy spots and shared an ice cream sandwich. We got our sticky paws everywhere.

Until one day, it was time to go home: bears live in caves and hollowed-out trees and eat honey and wear no clothes.

Little girls live in hatboxes and eat serious things like soup and wear scoop-neck shirts and skirts with a sprinkle of applique ladybugs down at the bottom.

And I'm okay with that...but just in case, I left a note. It says:

"Please come to my tea party. If you stay a long time and get sleepy, you can sleep over--I left the bestest, roundest spot in the box for you. Bring your sleeping bag and a pillow and a bag full of crayons. I will make soup."

Sweat is literally dripping into her eyes, the sting of salt seeps under her contact lenses. Least of her concerns. Wishing she had some kind of hair scrunchie, even a rubber band, for fuck's sake, she continues to dig.

The work isn't as easy or fast as she thought it would be--the ground a lot tougher, the spade a lot blunter--and she begins to have doubts.

The thing makes a sound: half gurgle, half wimper. The sound is revolting and it renews her sense of commitment to this task: this is her shit and she's gotta deal with it. It's gotta get done and it has to get done tonight.

"This is going to take all night," she mumbles aloud. The thing hears her and wimpers again; trying to appeal to some residual sense of mercy...of decency and she realizes she wore the wrong fucking shoes.

She is suddenly grateful for the fact that she's alone. There's no one to care where she's been, no one to ask about dirt and blood and shit-smeared face. Her son is safe with relatives in another state. Her son must never know about this.

Just a little more. The leak is starting to become unbearable and the wetness is making her nauseated--either the reality of the pain or her mind making things worse with every drip. She may not survive this herself but this fucking thing has got to be disposed of first...it has to vanish, her clothes set to hot/high and her body smelling of Coconut Lime Verbena and herbal shampoo before she'll allow herself to be found, pale-skinned, collapsed over the ottoman, bathrobe soaked from the waist down. They will tell him an accident happened.

It wimpers again and she kicks it, drawing strength from her own resolve against the alternative. This is how it's gotta be.

This fucker is going all the way.

You fucking vermin, how'd I know you'd show up? I've been sitting in this chair all night, listening. There were times I swore I heard you out there, would rise with a start, peek through the curtain and see only the radius of the post-light...and nothing. Losing my mind.

But here you are. I can smell the meat-rot in your fucking mouth, your coke-hungry eyes scanning the floor, my shirt for every crumb. You are here to teach me...to provide me with a valuable life-lesson in social order.

Social order.

What fucking order? Your loyalty? Your rules? Your graces? Your queen? You would just as soon eat her for showing weakness. You have no order. Where more than two of you are gathered, there can be no order.

Let's chat...what? This? No, of course I'm not putting it down. You think I'm nuts?

I'm hungry, get it? The last group of you left me here with nothing and I've had a long time to sit here, thinking about that. I've been in this chair a long time, waiting...for you, comprende?

So now, which of you is going to get in the pot?

What? Oh, you didn't notice that door latch behind you? Yeah. let's not change the subject. You need to work this out among yourselves and get me an answer in the next 5 minutes. I want an answer in the next five minutes.

Use your superior social skills. Do it.

I'm waiting.

Just a few here, just a few there. Stupid bitch won't even notice.

Every single "pill" represents a day I bore pain. Chronic pain. A day I grit my teeth and powered through some shit in the name of not pussying out and succumbing to a panacea whose components are weakness and escapism and addiction.

I bore pain with the belief that the escape hatch was always there in the background if I really needed it. If shit got hairy, I could pull the cords and scream "Right here, right here! I neeeeed to get off pleease!"

Stupid bitch won't even notice.

And I'd count them. I felt bad about counting but I did. I'd watch the numbers go sharply from 60 to 14...and you'd always tell me I'm crazy: "Are you sure it wasn't you? I think your memory is screwed up, didn't you just take three of them yesterday?"

The worst was when I had them locked up in a box...a box to which you'd stolen the spare key almost from day one. A key I'd believed I'd lost on vacation. You still won't admit that part. You let me believe I was nuts.

You let the world believe I was nuts.

"Where are the ones I already prescribed you? Well I can't give you any more. You're going to need to see a specialist now."

Credibility I will never get back...but this seems to be a running theme with you. I wear your mask of filth so you are free to roll your eyes at me and secretly revel in your victory: dodged another bullet. Oh how smart...how slick you are for all of us. Another badge for your superior mind.

But what makes this real, what makes the diagnosis "sociopath" true for you: It's your righteous indignation as you point out my disturbances. Your eager and superior air as you threaten to expose me. How you lord it over my head.

But you forgot who I am. You've become so comfortable seeing me as stupid, you've forgotten that's never been true, has it? I've got my little jar filled with crumbs: things you left out, bits you've dropped.

And I'm learning, you motherfucker.

It's not fair. I was really sweet and I got painted into some monster for no good reason...and no matter what I did to try to argue that point, it was taken as though I was proving the point. Winless situation. You stack the deck against me and reserve the right to judgement from your pillar while I squirm to prove my innocence...squirming which is seen as proof of guilt.

I deserved an apology for the cruel things that were said to Scarlet about me--things which, if we're being honest, aren't exactly true. Things which found themselves to my ear pretty immediately after being said. After all the times I'd been warned and all the times I defended you fiercely...Was it any wonder I was angry?

Have I no right to my feelings?

I think the truth of the matter is: I was right about more than a few things and anyone who shakes you--makes you question your own stubborn view for a moment--must be doing witchcraft. Or in your mind: manipulation.

After a while, I could do no right. None at all. Any interaction whatsoever was picked apart for ill will which was why I took a couple weeks to distance myself in the first place...which was seen as something else, no doubt.

I've thought about this endlessly...trashed my own sanity for what feels like decades and I know what I did wrong: pretending to be sooooo over it and acting like a flirtatious nutcase publicly was wrong. I sold me and was pretty fucking rude to you. Acting out my pain publicly at all was pretty rude and stupid. There are, a million shameful, whorish, dirty and humiliating acts and positions I've been in since then to which I'll readily admit. But what I never ever ever ever did was anything intentional to take from you or coerce you.

I have to stand up for that...because it's the truth.

I have needed you as a friend so many times since then and I have to just deal. I have been a good friend up until now...have asked for little or nothing and now I need. I need because I've been through so much disaster in the last year, I don't even know how to function anymore. I need.

I need the unconditional, non-judgmental, loyal friendship I provided. I need.

I needed you to give me a break. Allow me some time to regulate before you judge 5 years on 6 ugly weeks.

The cold truth is, I think maybe Scarlet was right: you were finished with me the moment I let slip the truth. Why am I having such a hard time understanding that? I was used. Simple.

The mindfuck in all of this is that it's taken me months to stack up the evidence and compare facts and conclude that I have no choice but to see..to understand this horrid thing everyone tells me to accept may, in fact, be true of you. All it took was a few days for you to convince yourself of some evil tale that never happened.

I still miss being yr companion...mates ambling down the street together...or off on some adventure. I still can't believe. There is still some helpless, clueless, well-meaning, naive, little idiot that that thinks this has got to be a huge misunderstanding. That somehow, at some point the truth will come out and I'll get a call and it'll be you, saying sorry for being quick to judge: (I forgive so easily and so completely!) that you maybe should have listened a little more and colored a little less. That in hindsight, the things you believed never really added up since, you know, I expended so much energy for years trying to hide the fact that I was anything but fine (and this is part of the reason why).

But that won't happen because there's no such thing as fair. There's no such thing as people wanting to do right. There was nothing of any long-term worth in this to you and so there's no desire to make small repairs to maintain the investment. Of course you don't feel you owe me friendship and understanding, I've been written off. It was easy.

And so I'm coming to terms with the fact that maybe my anger is a good thing. Maybe what I need is a little dose of pissed-off.

(But I still miss...)

I need to just start knowin' what my eyes are seein'

(So many funny things I want to tell you...)

I need to wake up and drink a big, stupid mug of "you don't care."

This little girl inside has been smacked in the face so much, it doesn't sting anymore...doesn't shock and offend. It fails as a wake-up call and that's the fucking problem.

(don't care)

Not fair.

(don't care don't care don't care!)

I need to get angry enough to create some fucking rules and stick to them.

I have to go to court tomorrow and decide either to put someone who has kids to jail and make him lose his career (he's in a field where a conviction would bar him from employment permanently) or utterly fail to protect my own interests in a situation where i was the victim of some pretty violent acts on his behalf.

This is the second time someone who was supposed to care about me has been horrifyingly violent to me in the past year. I understand that this--all of this--is part of a huge cycle that started when i was four or five and that I'm somehow perpetuating it by placing myself in situations or subconsciously behaving in ways which triggers these incidents.

I have lost two good friends this month and three this year because I'm such a fucking needy mess right now. Last night was the third: a girl I thought was my "twin mess." Apparently, my mess makes me less attractive than hers.

I had a fight with my sister who is caring for my son so I can get through school. I appreciate everything she's done for me but puts me in a state of obligation to her and therefore, I must be willing to keep my mouth firmly shut when she's dishing it out about my life, activities, judgement among other things. Accepting a favor in my family means you are obliged to accept judgement and even make yourself available for stress relief.

I think I'm getting sick again...or rather; I never fully recovered. I've been seriously fatigued but can't sleep. I haven't been able to wake up fully the way I usually do in the mornings: I'm usually pretty chipper despite not being a "morning person," but lately, it takes me a half-hour to clear the cobwebs and I'm still confused in the car on the way in. I don't know if this is me still recovering from the nasty, 3-week bronchitis from last month or if this is indicative of something more sinister. I just don't feel right, you know? We know it's not mono but there's good evidence to suggest that I've developed severe anemia. That's an invasive test I'm not looking forward to taking but I'd like to rule out the possibility of cancer so...

School is the only thing good in my life--which is why I'm still putting up with a lot of personal shit in my house: so as not to rock the boat and lose that. I can't afford to take on a new lease and buy all new shit in AL when the intent is to get the fuck out of here and build life in N.O. I need to just suck it up and try to get through.

I've been going back to "see someone" at the VA as well, but there's a conflict in that I can't disclose too much about the shit I've been taking from others--only be honest about the things that are wrong/warped with me so I have this odd situation where I have to explore a lot of my own unhealthy behaviour and thinking without any context or contributing factors. I must seem a lot more insane than I am.

I have a touch of the ass-burger's. My brother has it way worse than I...sucks for him but at least it's obvious he has a disability. All my clumsy verbal disasters, endless faux pas...this freakish inability to gauge the social temperature in a room--that which is screamingly obvious to others--makes me appear to be pissing people off on purpose. It makes me look like a dumb bitch. I can compose my thoughts and write extremely well but I fuck up in-person social interactions something fierce. I say dumb shit and think to myself "That came out sounding stupid but it's too late now. Now I gotta pay for it." and I do. I keep my mouth shut that it was a mistake because it only looks like you're backpedaling when you try to correct yourself. Then you get to be a moron and a weaselly liar too.

I put myself out there too much with people--I don't know how to be any other way. I don't dislike many people, don't have much of a grudge/anger response to speak of and tend to give people the benefit of the doubt looong after they've proven they're laughing at me for the fact that I don't even make them spit on it first...much less spring for Astroglide. I blame myself for things which aren't my fault. I have knee-jerk response that makes me second-guess myself even when I know I'm right. This was thankfully ingrained by three adults in my life before age 13: I was taught "What you just saw, didn't happen. You are wrong. You are crazy. Your perspective is off and if you keep insisting, you will be beaten. These aren't the droids you're looking for, you twisted, ugly, little girl."

But I still love people. The overall chance of connecting with others and making things in the world a tiny bit better than than they would have been before I die with my dust-speck of influence is important to me. It's worth the risk and inevitability of anguish. Sometimes I feel like life is saying "I said STAY DOWN, bitch!" and people on the sidelines who aren't necessarily enemies are wincing and whispering "Don't get up, stay down! We can't bear it anymore." But I keep on getting up and taking my next beating. I can't help it: people is the only reason to be here. Connection with other sentient human beings is the only thing that really matters when you really think about it. Bettering things for those around you, elevating the people you touch, indulging in multi-sensory pleasure, yes but also making it possible for everyone to have a whack at the same.

Education/shared knowledge.
Liberty.
Indulgence.
Total acceptance/non-judgement.
Making people feel comfortable and worthy in their own skin and inviting them to the party so long as they're not hurting others.

I don't believe in god so this is my religion. You don't need a scary man in the sky to threaten you into being good. DYI, nigga.

I just wish for more reciprocation sometimes...a hand to hold, a few more fucking hugs and smiles, a few less sneers and eye-rolls.

Fucking help me out here, world!

For a while, Stanford has been offering free online engineering courses for the public free of charge. You don't get the credit but the education is out there for anyone with the gumption and wile.

Stanford has decided this fall to offer three engineering/comp-sci courses that you can HAND IN TESTS AN ASSIGNMENTS AND GET REAL CREDIT...

For FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.



There's no penalty if you fail or drop. I know some of you monkeys are just a little smarter than the rest of the simians and can DO this.

DO IT.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Wce9By7SL0

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v511/Navkat/2011-08-11232442.jpg


(linked by ECH for NSFW but highly funny material)

Please to be explain: Why the fact that I am not thoroughly knocked out by this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyJfHU4GoOQ makes me the equivalent of a musical troglodyte.

Okay, look: I'm not musically trained but I'm fucking smart. I was born with a natural ear and (from what I've been told) perfect pitch (I used to hum the dishwasher, cars and refrigerator as a child). I just never had anyone telling me "You're talented! Go ahead and try to do something musical because you have a chance at making that work!" (are you hearing the irony and understatement in that? Yeah? Yeah, yeah?)

To me, it sounds like a basic syncopated rhythm pattern (oh jesus. Okay, okay, you win the breakbeat argument) with some multi-tap-delay-techniques, autotune and my 7-year-old at the controls of a synth with sound samples from both Trons and one of the last Terminator movies fed in. I mean, I feel like I could make this stuff.

To my high-brow, uber-smart musician fuckers, it sounds like Deus ex machina, so to speak. Just fucking genius.

Is the Emperor nekkid? Or am I a fucking moron?

TEEPARDEE TELLZ TEH FAXTZ:

http://blogs.browardpalmbeach.com/pulp/2011/07/tea_party_manatees_against_bible_jurassic_park.php

First three posters.

but twitter suggests we should #prayfornorway

http://www.thestar.com/opinion/editorials/article/1029625--norway-defiesthe-haters

Canadians, who share Norway's idealism and openness, can only admire this grace under duress, and grieve our ally's loss.

I should have announced this last week when I had the chance.

I always get a little nervous about having an account on here when great lulz are happening in the world and you jackasses aren't posting a goddamned word about it...like motherfuckin radio silence or some shit.

???

Did you intent to send me this email:

from   Doctor Howl <REDACTED>
to   <REDACTED>
date   Sun, May 8, 2011 at 4:35 AM
subject   Re:8
mailed-by   nm12-vm0.bullet.mail.sp2.yahoo.com
signed-by   yahoo.com

   
hide details 4:35 AM (10 hours ago)
   
Hi! Visit this site and you life will change to better!... http://bakaneko.fr/page.php?dipyahooID=96m4

Or should I assume this is spam?

Feel free to delete thread in its entirety and address it how you want to if this is spam. I'm not going to enclicken that linky until I hear from you though.

Can this happen? I'd be willing to pay an anal subscription fee.

Also: BIP.pdf link broken on the wiki.

Or 

It took me a long time to "get" you but we (you and I) are not like the other girls...and that's fucking awesome. Hard road. Walked it all my life.

Also, I am drunk on Limoncello and waxing sentimental about New Orleans.

I want to meet you, and not just for your hair, classy laydee.

<3

Show yourself, you coward. No "proof" of the orange creamsicle until you make yourself known.

I ate a dozn oranges yesterday and haven't pooped...like, at ALL.

My ass is plugged up harder than a marshmallow in a drinking straw.

Like a baguette in a drainage pipe.

A pillow in a mailbox.

99 latex-covered monkeys in an air vent.

"Bacon Cologne (pronounced ba-cone) is an amalgamation of 11 essential oils, flowers, herbs and, of course, the essence of bacon.

http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/04/06/bacon-scented-perfume-sure-why-not/

I do. Pics forthcoming.

Enjoy while you wait: http://www.urb.com/2011/03/23/big-freedia-yall-get-back-now/

I'm just going to jump in to this whole Nigel vs. navkat thing, and navkat, you have talked to Roger right? How did/do you survive Roger if Nigel's vague prodding bothers you?

I get Roger. If you notice, he's not ever really nasty about anything, just takes a superior stance and simply asserts that you are wrong (even when he's fucking with you). He pokes and trolls but he does it with class.

I don't have class.

But I'm right, and it pisses people off. I am also five feet tall and have hair that white people love to pet. For reasons unknown, in person my essential and perfect adorable righteousness makes people laugh and love me. Online, it fills them with rage and hate. Luckily, that makes me laugh, when I'm not seeing red.

My best friend is Jewish, also I have a cute dog.

I'm sorry I don't understand why people want to move to New Orleans and Portland.

If I could have your phone number, I would call you and say "I don't understand why people are like, oh hey a flood plain! I'd like to move there!"

it would be different, I swear to god. There is a reason people want me to like, be their minister and marry them and shit. Mostly people say that I am "nurturing". Also I might be kind of a bitch at times, but that's not really my predominant trait. I am starting to become kind of distressed about my online bitch persona, because seriously, I am every bit as much of a Horrible Bastard in person, but for some reason people find it fucking cuddly or some shit. ECH and Net and TGRR and Freeky and EOT can vouch for this. EOT has seen probably the worst sides of me; he's seen me be a real bitch, and cry, and lose my shit.

I think I'm kind of drunk; dammit. I gave up not drinking and now it only takes about four ounces of wine to fuck me up hard.

Also ECH should become a coroner, because that would fucking rock hard. Dude.

I had to split this bc I couldn't bear to jack ECH's thread again.

Okay. Perhaps we're off on the wrong foot. Maybe I misunderstood.

I must admit: your dog is adorable and I am now curious about your hair.

Per TGRR's Holiest of Holy quests, I have received reliable confirmation that this man is alive and kicking in the FQ. I suspect his computer and/or phone got kaboomafoo'd in the storm, he lost touch with no access to webbernets for a long time and just let PD.com slip from the radar (as most people did after Katrina...that bitch made a muthafucka re-prioritize in a hurry).

I have a friend who sees him daily and is willing to transmit a message.  Please PM me with contact info, instructions or whatever else ya got. He may STILL be without web access...especially if he's an artist, musician or bartender.

Found this morning growing out of a dead stump in my yard:


Spongy-looking yellow substance popped up overnight. More like chocolate mousse in texture than anything else. Touching it makes some stick to my finger and the place where I touched it soon turns darker...orangey.

Can anyone identify this? Picture was taken in Mobile, AL.
Last rain: 2 days ago (but it's fixin' to rain today).

Is it a mushroom? Fungus? Puke of a dog who has been drinking from high-pollen puddles?

SHOULD I EAT IT?

I've liked the work of Banksy for a long time...even before I really knew, who he was. I'd seen pictures of street installations, posted to the webbernet by intrigued citizens, lucky enough to have a camera before it was removed from view. I didn't really know banksy until the post-Katrina/Grey Ghost installation in my beloved New Orleans.

Hurricane Katrina (29 Aug 2005) devastated New Orleans on levels deeper than just a bunch of physical destruction--it vandalized the bohemian heart of the city. The free-form, chaotic circus of artists, musicians, performers and characters who fit into the "none of these" category (like Mr Okra in the Marigny--these people, these quirky things make up a whole--a novel, if you will--and the pages that depicted the most colorful segments of of the New Orleans storybook were torn from their binding and scattered across the country. Some of the most lovely pages were lost forever and there will always be holes...puzzle-pieces missing from the picture. Parish and local government were "every man for himself" and the pitch-black nights were terrifying--even more so than the harsh reveal of the broad-daylight discoveries of decaying bodies (this went on for months) and the Hi-def scrutiny of National Guardsmen tromping through the Faubourgs. Just to give you an idea: New Orleans East didn't get power back for four years. It was the Wild, wild west...and that about scratches the surface of what people meant when they said the situation was one devoid of hope.

In the midst of this--this looted and denuded rubble where once stood a pillar of coloring-book paper-mâché adorned by a concoction of Spanish/French costume jewelry-- in the midst of the downed cell towers, the missing loved ones, the disappearances of people, property...infrastructure, arose the artists. Like a horde of watercolor zombies, stickers, stencils, paints and chalk in hand, they set about to color in the holes...to replace missing pieces with a patchwork of sometimes angry, sometimes uplifting, always OMGASMic images and messages.

They appeared en masse almost overnight: an army of Little Big World-esque "sackboys," they stickered, tagged and painted the ugly bits with messages like "Don't lose hope!" and cartoons lampooning the politicians who were poorly handling the post-Katrina rehabilitation. Even Rodrigue got in the action.

Nola Rising was created and New Orleans did what New Orleans does: she picked herself up, brushed the blood and broken glass off herself, gathered them up and made a lovely tiara out of the mess. This is why I love that city; if you leave her alone long enough, she'll paint the room with glitter and peanut butter.

Enter Fred Radtke.

Known as the "Gray Ghost," Mr. Radtke is a retired Marine-cum-renegade "crime-fighter" with definite opinions about what the police should be doing for the city, how its citizens should be behaving and what does and does not constitute art. Basically, Radtke is a citizen of New Orleans who still doesn't "get" what the city is about.

Armed with a bucket of gray paint, Radtke took to painting gray squares over the city's "graffiti." That is to say: Radtke painted over anything he did not like. Stickers, tags, paintings, messages of frustration and cries for help. Fueled by objections from the more "art oriented" young citizenry, Radtke created his own little non-profit getup: Operation Clean Sweep, and petitioned for public funding based on his insistence that his operation was doing what NOLA lacked the resources to accomplish. Art went up, Radtke painted it over it. More art went up on the gray squares as if to flip Radtke the bird. Even on private property, Radtke would paint over commissioned pieces (including the very famous "Bywater Monster,") without the owner's permission. Once Radtke had been given the nod by the Parish, he behaved as though he was above the law. He got himself a van and began appearing guerrilla-style in broad daylight, carrying a bat or a firearm for "self defense." Against the objections of shop owners (who would run outside, believing it to be a mistake), he'd pull out his bat or gun and continue his "work," then jump in his van and jet.

This went on for three years.

On the third anniversary of Katrina, Banksy showed up to duel with "the Ghost" and to gift the ailing city with something beautiful. The results are stunning. First, with quirky plays on the devastation left by the storm: A boy's umbrella flying away on the side of the sea-wall, National Guardsman looting a building, climbing out of a window carrying a television, a refrigerator flying away on a kite-string (cars and refrigerators were found in trees and odd places for months after), Banksy's work was whimsical and uplifting. Radtke, of course, started immediately.

Finally, Banksy began openly mocking the "ghost." Depicted in his later works as a faceless house-painter with a roller, Banksy found large swaths of Radtke's "leavings" and marked them up with scenes of Jazz Funerals and even the "gray ghost" himself, painting gray squares over flowers:


This went on for a few months and then just like that, Banksy disappeared. But taggers all over New Orleans were validated and inspired anew. The war continued, just as it always has and just as it always will: through the nameless, anonymous body of the Collective Chaotic.

Whew! This started as an invitation to a discussion about Banksy and street art, and ended as a sonata about why I love him so much.

Maybe it'll touch someone, maybe not. Grateful for the outlet, though.

So hungover.

Honestly? I don't give a rat's ass about all the golden apples or the fucking bunless hotdogs or the fucking 23skidooozOMGthelawoffivesisEVERYWHERE.

I don't care about methodically and systematically mindfucking every passer-by with the good fortune to hear the "Great Good News" of d1zc0rd14z1111...

Listen,

I think we were put on this earth for pleasure. Cult of Ecstasy. Fuck everything with a PULSE, man.

I think we were put here to pleasure each OTHER.

I think we were put here to take mind-altering substances and sleep around and rub and touch and love and validate each other in an endless orgy of nonsensical validation and mutual/communal fulfillment and cum for all spacetime.

I believe that science got it right...and what we do with it OUR choice...and I choose to have orgasms, GIVE orgasms and look for any drug, chemical, porthole or plane that will provide the same...no matter color (colors are AWESOME), gender or planetary orientation. I want some of whatchoo got, get it?

Fuck "pushing the message."
Fuck impresssing anyone.
Fuck station or rank or standing.

I will suck ALL your cocks, get it? 'cause sucking cock is FUN!!!! It's fun, goddammit. It's FUN.

Well? Laugh!



The Chinese might be on a roll here but for now, WE got it. Revel in this shit. Fucking ENJOY bc this might be the last chance you have to actually enjoy the LUXURY of such lofty, americanized ideals as "discordianism."

You know I speak troof.

Let's all communally FUCK...because it feeeeeeelz goood.

Crif Dog is somewhat of a phenomenon in the NY Metro area (where I'm from). Crif (and the attached "secret" speakeasy, P.D.T.) have gained quite a notoriety among late-night St. Marks drinkers and partiers...with damned good reason: These are not ordinary "Danger Dogs" with a cute, little spiral of bacon running the length.--these are fully-encased, fried-to-an-ever-loving-crisp, drunk-dialing, edible dildoes of infinite, ungodly hedonistic pleasure.

But there's a trick to 'em. You can't just wrap one of those fuckers in bacon and drop it in some oil. There's a method.

You will need:
1 pkg 8 standard beef& pork hot dogs (the cheap ones work best here)
8 strips of bacon
1 pkg hot dog rolls
Your favorite Crif dog toppings according to the menu (or make up your own!)
Deep fryer and oil (I used canola)

Heat your deep fryer to the lowest setting..like around 345ºF

Heat the dogs slightly so they're warm. A microwave works just fine for this, just make sure they don't get too hot and/or split.

Dry the warmed dogs off with a clean paper towel and wrap each tightly with a whole strip of bacon, making sure the entire dog is completely covered from end to end.

Place the dogs into a non-stick frying pan over a med-low heat with the loose end of the bacon down so that it's pinned in place between the dog and the pan. Let the bacon get a little golden and then caaaaarefullly turn each dog little bits at a time. It's very important that you keep the temp down and don't let the bacon crisp. What you want to do here is cauterize the bacon to itself and to the hot dog so that it keeps its shape for the fryer without needing to be stuck with toothpicks. If you skip this step and attempt to put the wrapped dogs directly into the oil, the bacon flies off and the hot dog goes explodey. If you attempt to cook the dog in its entirety in the pan, they don't come out evenly cooked and don't taste as good.

When the bacon looks cauterized on at least two opposing sides, drop them carefully, one by one into the hot oil using metal tongs. If you did it right, the dogs should stay fully wrapped. I suggest only doing a couple at a time until you get the hang.

This next part goes quick. After about a minute, the dogs will float to the top. keep popping them back down into the oil with the tongs, turning and turning until the bacon looks really fucking crispy.

Pull them out, drain the excess oil, then bun 'em, top 'em and eat.

I personally love the Chihuahua (avocado, sour cream and green onion) and the Tsunami (Teryaki, pineapple and green onion).

Sorting through my emails, I received the following email from SettlementVonage@services.vonage.com:

This email was sent from an email address that does not accept replies.

LEGAL NOTICE

Important Notice from the United States District Court
For the District of New Jersey about a Class Action Settlement.

A Class Action Settlement Could Affect Your Rights if you became a Vonage customer in the United States, its territories or possessions on or before January 3, 2011, who (1) signed up under a one-or two-month free service promotion, (2) canceled service within ten days of the expiration of your money back guarantee promotion, (3) were charged a disconnection fee, and/or (4) requested cancellation but were thereafter charged regular monthly service fees for service that you did not use after the cancellation request.

A proposed Settlement has been reached in a class action alleging that the above-described promotional offers made periodically by Vonage, or fees associated with termination or cancellation of your Vonage service, were unlawful. The Settlement resolves several claims that challenge Vonage's promotional offers and account cancellation practices. Vonage strongly denies any wrongdoing, but has agreed to settle to avoid the burden and cost of further litigation. The sole purpose of this notice is to inform you of the Settlement so that you may decide what to do.

If the Settlement is approved, a settlement fund of $4,750,000 in cash will be created. Class Members who submit Claim Forms may receive monetary benefits between ten ($10) and eighty ($80) dollars per claim depending on the type of claim and establishment of eligibility. Please visit www.SettlementVonage.com for details. You may also choose to exclude yourself from, or object to, the Settlement. The Court has appointed attorneys to represent the Class. You may hire your own attorney, but only at your own expense.

Please note that maximum benefits may be pro-rated and that different promotions were available at different points of time, so you may not have signed up when a particular promotion was in effect.

For a full description of the Settlement, related Court documents, and deadlines and forms, please visit www.SettlementVonage.com.
•   Claim Forms are due within sixty (60) days of final approval, which may be as early as July 9, 2011.
•   Requests to exclude yourself from the Settlement must be submitted to the Settlement Administrator and must be post-marked on or before April 19, 2011.
•   You have the right to appear before the Court and object to the Settlement and/or the application for attorneys' fees and expenses. Any objections must be sent to the Court, Class Counsel and Vonage's Counsel by April 29, 2011.
•   The Court will determine whether to approve the Settlement at a Final Approval Hearing at 10:00 AM on May 10, 2011 at Courtroom 5E, United States District Court for the District of New Jersey, 402 East State Street, Room 5050, Trenton, New Jersey.
•   If you do not exclude yourself by April 19, 2011 and you are a Class Member, you will be bound by the terms of the Settlement and give up your rights to sue in court or arbitration regarding issues in the case.

For further information and a Claim Form:

Visit: www.SettlementVonage.com                    Call: 1-877-810-7292

Write: Vonage MDL Settlement Administrator, P.O. Box 6809
Portland, OR 97228-6809

www.SettlementVonage.com


VONAGE - 23 Main Street - Holmdel, NJ 07733

This email was sent from an email address that does not accept replies.

© 2011, Vonage. All Rights Reserved.

I'm a former customer who fits into the tried-to-cancel-my-service-and-they-wouldn't-let-me/kept-charging-me category.

I immediately got a funny feeeeeeeling that since this was sent out to Vonage customers by Vonage themselves, filling out a claim form through this channel is an agreement WITH VONAGE and exempts me from any benefits of the actual class-action award.

I've done my googling and can't find any current sources with regards to this particular suit. Now I'm really spooked. Lots of people buzzing about getting the same email on forums--nothing from any official source about steps/requirements for inclusion in the suit or even about the suit itself beyond 2007.

Am I being too suspicious here? The email itself says I may be entitled to up to eighty bucks--but following the links to the claim form tops out at like $50 so right there, that's a little weird.

This is a lot of thought over a measly free $50 or $80, but I'd like to know for certain before I agree to void my right to complain in the future. It's the principle of the thing, dammit!

You're smartest bunch of anti-establishment fags I know. Thought I'd run it up the macaroni flagpole and see.

Have any of you read this?


I'm sure you've at least heard of it. Let me sum up:
1. You have the power to magically attract all the things in life that you want.
2. You DESERVE all good things.
3. Bad things happen to you because you're attracting them with your negative thoughts.
4. Thinking about the bad things at all (ie: SEEING them) makes them worse and continues the cycle.

Okay, look: I have no problem with the so-called "power of positive thinking." I believe that if you're a positive person and you focus on the good shit in your life, you'll tend to behave in a fashion that begets more good shit. I also believe that you minimize the psychological pain for yourself by shelving your troubles. I also believe that by acting "as if," you can behave in ways that occasionally put you in a better position to achieve certain goals for yourself and reduce the chance of unintended self-sabotage.

I do not believe that we are cosmically entitled to certain outcomes, and that by attempting to will them towards ourselves, we will get them.

I do not believe that "maybe if we think really hard, we can stop this rain."

What I do believe is while possibly well-intentioned, this book has become fuel for the lazy, the selfish and the sociopathic. I have seen this in action and it's really insidious the way this "cosmic entitlement" thing is used to justify all kinds of evil bullshit.

This year, I moved to my hometown in NY to be "roomies" with a very close, old friend whom I once respected and trusted. The intent of the living situation was one of mutual benefit.

At some point, I watched that friend physically assault a person. Then, I witnessed my friend's relative living in the house who is a NYC police officer take his side and lie to the Suffolk County police when they were called on the scene. This caused a whole heap of problems for the victim who eventually ended up moving out, getting a divorce, etc.

What it also did was create a favorable situation for my friend and the relative who had both wanted to get rid of the victim...a situation they attributed to The Secret. And then, they rolled with that.

The friend went on to see this little stroke of "fortune" as a sign that things were going his way from now on. He went on to license himself to make a whole heap of poor, selfish and harmful decisions. He gave these decisions no true thought...no mature cognitive thought whatsoever, no consideration for consequences at all because to do so would be drawing negativity into the picture.

Any attempts to counsel said friend heaped a shitstorm of temper-tantrums and verbal abuse upon myself--by merely thinking about these things, I was causing them to happen. He accused me of (I shit you not) "fucking with his goodness." We had endless fights in which he basically threw shit, broke things, sabotaged other people's good times, stomped around and generally acted like an evil, cruel, fucking bastard because the rest of us in the house (by having any problems, feelings or objections whatsoever) were all fucking with his goodness.

At one point, he even tried to accuse me of attracting the freezing weather because I expressed concern over not letting my wines (which were temporarily stored in the garage) freeze and be ruined as Autumn turned to Winter.

The "roomie" situation ended in a very bad way...for me. The friendship is on its way out too: I'm slow to anger, but as time goes on and I reflect, I feel more and more violated...more and more embittered by L'Enfant Terribles and his spiritually affirming orgy of psychic pyromania.

The friend, of course, took my leaving as yet another "sign." One of liberation from my negativity that was wrecking his perfect fucking wave of happy in a perfect life of total, fucking goodness. He wanted me out, he willed the outcome and he got it. But honestly, after months of drowning in this particular pile of shit, the "goodness" is all mine. Trust.

I find this ambiguous, undisciplined brand of spiritualistic mind-fuckery to be more dangerous than Christianity (Christians will burn down your house in the name of jeebus, but at least they won't try to convince you that YOU burned down your house after it's done). Until my above personal experience, I considered it harmless. Others have tried to get me onboard by claiming it would "change my life." I politely poo-poo'd in favor of letting others have their own beliefs. "To each, his own" and all that.

I think next time someone offers me the book, I'll take it as a sign that I'm fated to rape their sticky, blathering mouf-hole with it...or maybe I'll just will them to fuck themselves.

I'm a nice girl, after all.

Hey, y'all.

It seems I can't stick around, can't stay away. I guess I kinda dig you guys...even if I'm not 100% sure what the hell I'm doing here.

One of the last times I popped in, I was kind of a butthead to some people. I'm sorry to the people to whom I was a butthead. It seems we all have our own ideas of what this thing is supposed to be. Oh sure, we all agree that it's not supposed to be anything specific and that it's undefinable by definition, but that doesn't stop us from occasionally forgetting that when we're embroiled in a debate/argument with someone and we think to ourselves "Why in hell isn't he/she GETTING it?" Ya' have done this to me and I (if I'm honest with myself) have done the same to ya'.

I think many of you are brilliant...intimidatingly so at times. Cain and LMNO for sure. TGRR and ECH just as much...except I find their brand of smarty-panceness more easily accessible to me. I'm no slouch myself, I'm just oriented a different way.

Stuff that turns me on: absurdly happy, optimistic, glitter-encrusted, little girl stuff. Not everyone digs that. I'm the girl who will pull your shoe out of your hand mid-throw, hand you a purple unicorn with twinkly-eyes and say "Here, throw this into the cogs instead!" I rather like this about myself...but I realize it's not palatable to everyone 100% of the time.

I still come here because I need the input. Chaos is not a concept that the world at-large appreciates--or even comprehends--no matter the brand. It's lonely out there without some other people on the dance floor actually dancing. It also makes one feel like you're the only one who hears the tune if you stay too long.

So...I have some Barbies and G.I. Joes...wanna come over my house and play?

[The changes, put forward by the Board of Education's conservative members, include referring to the slave trade as the "Atlantic triangular trade".]

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8693397.stm

Tempers are flaring in Texas over controversial proposed changes to the US state's public school curriculum.

The changes, put forward by the Board of Education's conservative members, include referring to the slave trade as the "Atlantic triangular trade".

Critics say the changes are ideological and distort history, but proponents argue they are correcting a long-standing liberal bias in education.

The conservatives are expected to prevail in Friday's final vote.

The changes eliciting the most concern include diminishing the role Thomas Jefferson - principal author of the Declaration of Independence - in history courses because of his belief in the separation of church and state, and dropping references to a landmark court case that barred schools from segregating Mexican American students.

The amendments also cast the United Nations in a critical light, with students asked to evaluate whether the UN and its committees undermine US sovereignty - a common refrain for conservative Americans.

The new curriculum would emphasise the role of religion in America's founding, as well as promoting the superiority of the capitalist system.

The Board insists, though, that capitalism will only be referred to as "free enterprise system", largely because of the negative connotations of the word capitalism.

Someone help me out here: why does it seem like so many people who call themselves "discordians" (on one sense or another) have anti-libertarian, Progressive views lately?

I'm not trolling around for a quick argument, I just feel really alone lately. I don't fit in with Conservatives for societal reasons and I don't fit with Progressives/Liberals/whatever because of my staunch individualist ideals.

It seems like "Libertarian" has become a dirty word lately. I'm not trying to sound alarmist with my tin-foil haberdashery but the current wave of extreme Progressivism feels oppressive and a little bit fascist to me. I start to wonder if perhaps the Alex Jones set has it all figured out after all...and then I watch some clip of them whispering maniacally about Bilderberg into some supaSecret hidden camera (fnord) and I'm suddenly left with the realization that I may be doomed to live a life curled up and crying in the fetal position in the bottom of my shower for the dreadful loneliness.

Isn't there a fun-loving, fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pance, free-hugs-gay-marriage-and-legal-weed-for-all group of "Conservatives" out there who actually feel an iota of love/acceptance for the people they're screaming about Liberty/Bill of Rights/Less Government beside?

How about the other way? Aren't there any "party people" out there who DON'T feel it necessary to push their "sacrifice individual liberty to achieve common goals for the greater good" ideology on me? Cause as far as I'm concerned; compelling me by force to do shit "for the greater good" is just as bad as making me do shit "because that's what jeebus said."

Am I the only one who sees the current president as a happy-faced, kindhearted supaMan in a glowing, psychedelic BIP?


You can do anything you want, as long as you do the Right Thing.

I live in Alabama now.
I used to get Beef on Weck at the Bar-Bill Tavern in East Aurora, NY.
I can NOT live much longer without this stuff...but fucked if I know how to make it, what cuts of meat were used, what spices and how and how LONG to cook that shit.

Anyone have the foggiest?

(Request for a sticky status.)

I'll start:

The sea-salt in my house is intended for my salt grinder, but I have recently taken to adding whole sea-salt kernels to other stuff I'm eating: my favorite is to slather cream cheese on a bagel and then sprinkle some sea salt into the cream cheese...soooo yummy. I also add sea-salt directly to my salad and reduce the need to add dressing.

I've been known to put melted butter and ground black pepper on salad though.

I eat ripe tomatoes raw...just dip them in a little balsamic vinegar and sprinkle them with olive oil and black pepper.

What quirky foodie stuff do you like?

Take an entire gallon of milk and boil that shit in a pot on the stove on LOW.
Add two teaspoons of pure lemon juice. The milk will form curdles.
Remove from heat
Strain all that crap through a cheesecloth, catching all the curdles and ditching all the liquid shit.
Squeeeeeeeeze all the juice out of the solids and start working that shit into a hard ball of solid from inside the cheesecloth

Slice that shit into cubes and put it in yr indian curry recipes...or you could just eat a whole bunch of it because you're completely impressed with yourself for making homemade cheese and then realize that you didn't leave enough for your recipe so you'll just have to add the rest to other stuff or just gorge yourself in front of the latest episode of Heroes. 

I watch this board sometimes. I'm not sure I grasp fully all the nuances of the BIP "tenets," but I'm trying...god damn, I think all this stuff is shit I've thought or written about in some abstract form or another. I feel this is possibly the most important board on this forum for reasons that...well if you follow this stuff, you understand what I'm saying.

More and more, I'm becoming a "guardian of words." I'm scared that I'm not doing it right. I need help, and I'm sure there's stuff I miss or forget or get complacent about, but it's soooo sooo important for the all the reasons Orwell pointed out (and some of the ones he missed) now that conversation and information and memes and the internet are everything.

I have noticed a scary trend lately: Despite the fact that since the webbernet has become a part of daily/hourly/minutely life and I actually write, post, blog and journal and have an excuse to exercise mastery over the written word MORE often; I seem to have become a lazier, LESS skilled writer as of late. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but I've lost my edge. Something in my brain has gotten squished-up and milky and homogenized and it seems (no humour intended) that the internet is actually making me stupider.

LOL
WTF?
ROTFLMAO.

No shit: I once tested at the age of five with a 160 IQ. Now, I don't even have the patience/brainpower to win finish start a game of chess.

"Selective Prosecution."

What does this phrase mean to you?

To me, it means a lot. A lot a lot.

A lot a lot a lot a lot.

To you; the phrase "selective prosecution" is just some legalese for cops who don't go after ALL the bad guys...just some. It's not really a necessary phrase because Christ; we have so many words in this language, we probably could maneouver our way around that phrase with a slew of other shit if we really had to. Right? Besides; that shit sounds so uptight...like something some bitchass lawyer snob might say...RIGHT?

To me: "Selective Prosecution" isn't just words: it's an entire, complete thought. It is a concept. It is the difference between seeing the act of busting a hippie/poor/black man for jaywalking at a corner where "everybody does it but no one's ever gotten busted before" as an act of discrimination, or just some "bad luck."

"Yeah, but EVERYBODY does it."

"Doesn't matter; you broke the law too. The cops are not obligated to give you a break just because they give one to everyone else."

You follow?

Here's another one to mull over:
"Cognitive Liberty."

I'll bet to some people; it will never ever occur to them before hearing that phrase that there's any question about whether or not the government has the right to control what chemicals you use to alter your own perceptions. Of course they do...Right? RIGHT?!?

Think about it.


One final chunk of thought: we need to stop MIS-using words.
Take the word: Terror.
That's a pretty strong word; Terror is the strongest word we have to describe "scared" in the English language. "Terror" doesn't just mean "Oh, my god, the bank is going to close before I make my deposit for the day." Terror is not a guy passing out anti-american flyers...or a bunch of kids putting LightBrite cartoon characters all over the city of Baltimore. Terror is "Oh-my-fucking-god-some-guy-is-in-my-house-with-a-gun-to-my-head-I-just-shit-my-pants-oh-god."

You forgot that, didn't you? That's because the word has been over used. It's been used to describe things it doesn't mean.

Think about the word "Pain."
Now think about the word "Anguish."

You see what I mean?
Fear.
Terror.

Just doesn't have the same impact anymore.

I don't know what to do. The problem is so pervasive now, I don't even recognize when it's happening sometimes. I can't do this by myself. I feel like I'm losing.

I can't talk about this shit with anyone else anymore: lately, I'm getting the "tinfoil hat" treatment. Maybe I *am* paranoid, I don't know.

Help me.

And thanks for BIP...for putting into words, that which I could not put my finger on.

...is that we need drugs...because this fucking country has become such a goddamned prison that drugs are the only thing that makes the fucking pain and humiliation of being utterly, utterly dominated go away.

And we imprison each other.

Every fucking time you judge some body; every time you say "He should be locked up" or "They should STOP those people from getting away with___" about anyone who isn't a murderer or a rapist...anyone who DARES live their own fucking life in a manner in which you do not approve...you are adding a link to the chain.

Every time you beat someone over the head for their "naive" ideals. Every time you laugh and point. Every time you tell someone to "get in line, this is how it's done" or "Just take your shoes and belt off and stop making a fuss," you are feeding the monster.

Fuck you.

It's none of your goddamned business what I eat. It shouldn't matter if it's pills or booze or fucking crack if that's what I want. This is MY fucking world too. Shut up, put the cheesecake fork down, turn off Oprah and mind your own goddamned business, bitch. Or better yet; feed your fucking ASPCA cats and pretend you're a good person because you care more about the fucking animals than you have empathy for your own kind.

Traitor.

Fungus.

The apes would have EATEN you, you iPod whore.

http://msgboard.snopes.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=67;t=002074;p=1

http://mike.essl.com/comments.php?id=82_0_1_0_C

and this one:
http://inessential.com/?comments=1&postid=2462

The poster edits and says he thinks it's a prank but scroll down, down, down to the last comment by user: darkhorsecometh.

I polled some of my pals in higher-level IT positions than I and their educated feelings tend towards it NOT being a spoof prank.

Is anyone NOT a "turriss" in this country?

*sigh*

That phrase was actually spoken to me verbatim by someone in a position of authority.

I recently learned the hard way that the things you say online can and are being used against you...whether you realize it or not.


Take Canadian citizen and renowned psychiatrist, Andrew Feldmar. This man was detained and given a life-long exclusion order from the United States for writing about two LSD experiences he had in the 60's.

No convictions, no criminal record, his only mistake was that he posted a thesis in a respected, online psychiatric medical journal. The US guard who stopped him ran a quick Google-search on his name.

And that's all they need these days. The USA Patriot act has given the US federal government an incredible amount of levity against its people...that's right, I said against its people. And the snowballing level of paranoia has extended to both sides of the border.

Growing sensationalized concerns over Canada's supposed lenient border-protection methods and Canada's dependency on the US to export its GDP has sparked a scary trend of movement towards allowing the US to set the standards for Canadian border patrol procedures. In 2002, the US and Canada entered into an unprecedented "Smart-border agreement." This agreement has already had far-reaching impact in Canada on everything from questioning/interrogation procedures to government policies on visitors, refugees and immigrants.

And it's only getting worse. Public outrage of the recent findings that the FBI's terrorist watch lists have swelled to over half-a-million names had had zero impact on this scary trend of acceptance towards red-flagging innocent citizens. Canada's now implementing its own version of red-flagging and name-taking.

To quote the previous article:
"To make matters worse, real terrorists may not even be placed on the list for fear of tipping them off; no kidding, this is the official U.S. position."

What's the fucking point, then?

As for my experiences: I was stopped at the Blaine/White Rock Canadian border on my way to Vancouver from Seattle over what should have been a simple documentation/identification deficiency. I went inside the immigration building with a stack of paperwork, fully confident that I would be able to clear up the confusion and be on my merry way.

Instead, I was subjected to an hour-and-a-half's worth of interrogation procedures. I was questioned on every topic from my personal medical history to my  sexual relationship history in the last few years with people on both sides of the border. I was reprimanded for promiscuity and accused of attempted illegal immigration and something called "misrepresentation," which is essentially saying "obstruction of justice" Criminal lying, essentially.

I asked politely if I had to answer some of the more personal questions and was scolded "You think you have a right to privacy? You people need to get it through your heads that you have no rights at all when you cross our border."

You can't know what effect this sort of thing has on a person. It's like a bucket of ice-water being suddenly dumped on your head. In an instant, I went from being who I am--a sharp, kindhearted, humanist writer--to being a dirty, common criminal with something to hide. A scoundrel of the worst kind who tried to "pull one over" on the border guard and was too stupid to get away with...with what?

I was allowed to withdraw my application to visit Canada that day and given a warning: "Next time you enter, you'd better have all the proper documentation and jump through hoops because if you attempt to do this again, you will be barred from this country for life. We have a file on you now."

I'm so angry I could cry.