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Topics - The Suu

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Aneristic Illusions / Shootings in Canada
« on: Yesterday at 04:07:44 pm »
I'm busy at school right now, but here is a link with a news feed:

I'm not hearing shit on the American media.

Well, not really Providence, but it's related to Providence, it's in Johnston, the town I worked in for a while. Also, this is the funeral parlor that took care of my ex-father-in-law. I'm skeeved.

OHNSTON, R.I. (WPRI) — Three badly decomposed bodies were discovered inside a storage unit in Johnston Thursday – one being the body of an infant.

Eyewitness News was first on scene as the state Medical Examiner and law enforcement from Providence and Johnston investigated at United Storage on Putnam Pike late Thursday afternoon.

Major Joseph Razza of the Johnston Police Department confirmed for Eyewitness News one of the bodies was in a coffin, another was on a piece of wood with cardboard over it.

The Medical Examiner left the scene around 5 p.m. and was transporting the bodies to the M.E.’s office. Razza said the remains appear to be those of two adults, because of the size.

Razza said the bodies were connected to the now-defunct Pennine Funeral Home in Providence.

He said the unit was initially rented to the late Alfred Pennine. However, due to non-payment, the unit was auctioned off. Razza said the person who bought the contents of the unit discovered the remains inside.

Last month, the Rhode Island Health Department forced the Pennine Funeral Home to close after six bodies and the cremated remains of two others were discovered in the Grove St. business following Pennine’s death.

I lost my grandmother 3 weeks ago. The timing couldn't be worse, I mean, not that it's ever GOOD, especially when it happened out of the blue with no warning. Nevertheless, I had to prepare myself to see my immediate family for a reason NOT Christmas for spring break, and north of the Mason Dixon line to boot. They hate coming up north, especially after last summer's vacation when Long Island was topping the 100s in July, and mom was ready to kill dad for wanting to come up into the land of no central AC to "cool off" for a couple of weeks.

Hearing my dad sobbing uncontrollably on the phone was probably the worst experience in my life. At least with my grandfather, we had warning, we knew he was going to go and mom was ready for it. Gramma was my dad's life line. He lost his father when he was 17, and for the most part, we assumed she was going to out live us all.

Gramma still worked part-time as an activities coordinator for a senior citizens center in Babylon, on top of that, she was also an event coordinator for her apartment complex. She never stopped. Ever. She had called my dad 2 days before she passed to tell him that she won a whopping $120 in Atlantic City, and wasn't planning on spending it all in one place. This is the type of woman she was. They found her on her couch, in her pajamas, holding the remote. She went peacefully in her sleep with no pain. It was just her time. I wouldn't have wanted her to go any other way, despite the total suck it had thrown at us all.

Arrangements were made very fast, because she was to be buried in the military cemetery near Pinelawn next to my grandfather, so we had to book it to Long Island, fully packed 2 days early for Pennsic War. It was damn near killing me. My body hurt, my eyes hurt from crying, and despite the fact I somehow managed to get everything done that I could and packed what I still needed to work on, there was no way I felt ready for anything.

We left New Hampshire at 3am, and I put on my makeup on the Bend of 95, between Stamford and New Rochelle. Mr. Suu would say, "Bump." Every time he saw one coming so I wouldn't poke my eyes out with the liner. I know he was doing it to make me feel better, but his words became grating after a while. I just wanted it to be over with.

We make it to Babylon within a reasonable time, and everyone is at the funeral home still. I was told that we wouldn't have time to get there, so we make it to the church ahead of everyone, and, well, change in the parking lot out of our comfy road trip clothes.

...Yes, you heard me, I dropped trow in the back lot of the very sanctuary where I was christened. This is when the fun begins. My dad calls, and tells us that there's still time to get to the parlor, and that all of the kids and grandkids had limos waiting for us. So, I wince, and we head over. My brother is the first to meet me outside, knowing that I was probably going to snap, and he grabs me tight.

"We got this shit." He says.

My cousin and her husband come out, "Oh good, you still have time to see her!" She says. She's a psychologist. She has no fucking emotions, I swear. I love her to death, and I'm going to miss drinking our way across Manhattan now that she's decided to procreate, but I digress.

I hate funeral parlors. I hate wakes and viewings. That's not the person you loved in the casket, it's a fucking shell made up to look like someone you once knew. Ex-Mr. Suu's father didn't look like himself, and I was scared to death that my grandmother would look equally as horrible. I refused to go up there. Flat out refused...So I got dragged by my brother eventually.

Each grandkid was given gaudy old lady pins to wear. I picked a woman's face wrapped in obnoxious friendly plastic, and my sister, very loudly, goes, "HAH! I knew it! Christina (shrink cousin) owes me 20 bucks!" My other cousin, Danielle, facepalms and goes, "Shit!"

Welcome to Long Island, Mr. Suu. This is my family. Swearing like sailors in front of my dead grandmother.

But wait, there's MORE.

My dad and aunt were, naturally, a mess. But what I saw in their eyes wasn't their grief, it was my own future, freaking out over their caskets. Life is finite, I'm going to lose my parents some day, and now I was dealing with my parent losing theirs as a warm-up. Fuck this. I wanted to leave...but I get dragged up to the casket. My mom and dad had it all planned out. They left all sorts of goodies in there for her:

A bottle of Dewars to drink with my Grampa Sal.
A bottle of Johnny Walker to drink with my Pop, my mom's father. They were buds.
A deck of cards to play with my Uncle Happy.

My brother kept patting her body on the head. She was tiny, he's very tall. This was a joke for a while, and she couldn't stand it. It made him laugh, and as far as I know, he hadn't cried at all yet. That's usually not a good sign. By this point, my sister is force feeding me tissues and Mr. Suu was shanghaied by my uncle, talking Bubblehead shit, since well, here he is, walking in to a funeral home, wearing a Navy uniform, hell of a first impression for the extended family who hadn't met him yet. Mr. Suu lost both his father and his stepfather before he was 18. He's a funeral pro and can hold his shit together well. I'm not so good at this thing yet.

They call us back to our seats to get ready for the services. I sit next to my brother, and my sister walks by us. My brother reaches out and punches my sister in the stomach, making her go, "UNG!" very loudly. Mom facepalms, dad laughs.

Once that's over, the majority of the grandchildren go in one limo, but Danielle and her fiance manage to escape into the "grown-up" limo. So I'm crammed in with Mr. Suu, my brother, my sister, the Shrink Cousin, and her husband. I should mention that putting me and my siblings in a confined space for any significant amount of time is probably a bad idea. I'm pretty sure the limo driver thought we were all psychotic. Seriously, it turns into an episode of the Three Stooges, and I was at least thankful...kinda, that Mr. Suu was separating my brother and I. He could still reach for the noogies, though, totally unfair.

So, back to the church, remember the church? I got naked in the back parking lot of said church. There's about 500 people there waiting for the full Catholic service. Mr. Suu was picked as a pallbearer, along with my brother. My dad couldn't do it, mostly because it's not supposed to be immediate family, but also because he had polio as a child, and limps, badly. My sister and Danielle immediately start imitating my dad trying to carry a coffin and Gramma falling out. We are terrible fucking people.

This was probably the worst part emotionally. Here I am, walking into a large Roman Catholic Church, the one my brother and I were  actually baptized in, seeing faces that haven't seen me since I was an infant (how did they remember me?!)

...This was also when my brother decided to pick his time to cry. And cry he did, the minute they put the pall over the casket, I guess the reality of it all sunk in, and he exploded emotionally. This created a chain reaction back to my sister and I. She grabbed my hand really tight and we processed in with my family to the front row pews, collectively losing our shit and receiving tissues from random folks on the aisle.

And then the eulogy started thusly,

"A priest, a rabbi, and a minister walk into a bar."

Nope, not kidding. The priest actually started it like that.  The entire church erupts with laughter, and he continued, making it as lighthearted as possible. Come to find out, we were sitting where she normally sat, and made faces to the choir during mass every weekend. So we all decided to make faces at the one cantor who attended, and she started laughing at us. At one time, my mom and sister started to discuss making a batch of gramma's cream puffs, to which I over heard, and said, "Oh hells yes!" In church. IN CHURCH, IN THE FRONT ROW DURING MY GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL, I SAID, 'OH HELLS YES!'  :kingmeh:

They did have us take communion, and my brother's wafer got stuck on the roof of his mouth, so there he was, getting over his emotional outburst, making funny faces as he tried to pry the thing off of his palette, and my sister and I are trying not to lose it. However, this guy at the service was wearing a really bad toupee, REALLY BAD. That Danielle immediately pointed out, which made my sister snort audibly. We also meet my Gramma's "companion" who was 65. She was 87. so I blurt out loud once we're outside of the actual sanctuary, "Dude, Gramma was a cougar! Fuck yeah!"

Service was over...back to the limo and off to the cemetery, which was a good 20 minutes away at funeral speed. We get there, and there's 2 services ahead of us. They weren't actually going to inter her on the spot because there's just no room and we would be walking on other graves, so they have these, well, picnic shelters to do the final farewells in. However, we had to wait. And wait. Like 45 minutes worth of waiting. Christina and her husband start dozing off in the backseat, and my sister decides that this would be a great time to put her feet up on the back of our seat right into my husband's face. He takes her shoe, and she jumps at him to give it back. He passes it to my brother, who, no shit, opens the limo door, and goes to throw it at the other limo in front of us.

Judgment gets the best of him, and he sits back down, then says, "I forget we're in a cemetery. That would be kind disrespectful. But if we had a moonroof in this, it would have been in dad's lap by now!"

The limo driver at this point has chosen to ignore us and get out of the car. Probably for the best, because my sister claims her shoe back, puts my brother in a headlock from behind him, and proceeds to shove her shoe in his mouth as he was trying to talk. He starts gagging, and remarking that it's salty. I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe, and my cousin, who had been quiet, goes, "You know, if Gramma was here, she would have thrown the damn shoe and blamed it on someone else."

...So my husband and my brother decide to hold my sister down in attempts to get the shoe back, but the limo driver comes back in, totally ignoring us, and drives us up for the interment service. Once last goodbye. This wasn't easy either, but we all got roses, and said our Psalms. We head back to the limos, and my parents' limo driver had a bottle of rum he started passing around to everyone. Apparently mom came prepared, and we all stand there in the cemetery, hitting the sauce. We drive back to the funeral parlor to get to our respective cars. Our limo driver told us that we were the most fun he's had doing a funeral in years, and that he was glad that we could at least still have some laughs, and wishes that he knew our grandmother, since we apparently know how to have a good time. 

We go to the afterparty, we're Italian after all, at Gramma's apartment complex, and we're haunted by her, since there's pics of her everywhere, and her handwriting, and everything. This sucked, so, we put on the disco ball, and us 5 grandkids started dancing like idiots to no music in the middle of the floor, and did the electric slide, which she taught us all when we were younger as we sang it badly. This got an applause from all her friends, who got up and joined us.

Of course this is when the divine interventions start happening. Danielle trips over a bingo chip that wasn't there before, and then when we get back to my aunt's house with all the leftovers, engaging in a drunken game of Cards Against Humanity, the "Grandma" card pops out. So we dealt her in. This is also when I decided it was a great time to run with a meatball and sprain my ankle.  :kingmeh:

The next day, we had to run to the mall so Christina could get something for a wedding registry she was bitching about. So us 4 girls go into Macy's, and sing a song Gramma taught us years ago, "I won't go to Macy's any more more more, there's a big fat policeman at the door door door. He pulled me by the collar and made me pay a dollar, so I won't go to Macy's any more more more." The store manager was unamused, so we book it back to the aunt's for dinner. This is when Christina announces she's having twins, and I proceed to scream and yell and hoot and holler that I get to make blankets. It's the little things, I guess. It made me happy. Later we went to my Gramma's apartment, and decided to play dress-up with her clothes and take what we wanted. I got a couple of scarves and a sign for my kitchen that says, "Never trust a skinny cook." My husband, who loves playing closet archaeology, found the dress she wore to my aunt's wedding in the 70s, as well as her wedding pictures to my grandfather which I have never seen in my life. I think even though she had a strong exterior, she was forever heartbroken at the loss of my Grampa, and just couldn't bring herself to show them off.

We left the next day for Pennsic, and I wore my pins almost the entire war. At least I know now, that it's okay to throw shoes at funerals. I'll keep that in mind for the next one.

So once upon a time, I was really athletic. I competed in volleyball and swimming in high school, made all-state twice in volleyball, started Taekwondo when I was 10 and received my black belt when I was 18, while often competing in colored belt nationals and attended one international competition in Brazil. I detested running with every fiber of my being, mostly because my instructor used to grab me by the collar and drag me to keep up with everyone, no matter the fact that I was asthmatic. I eventually forced myself out of that, would run 2-3 miles every day on my own accord, hit up a couple 5ks each year and even completed 2 triathlons....

...Then I went to college.

During College Mark I, I was at least still able to go to my old TKD school, just not as frequent, because I was working.

...Then I moved to Rhode Island. And for whatever reason, my weight shot up. Probably because I was eating mom's cooking again. I got back into TKD up here, tore my MCL, and that was that. I gave up. And despite what people think, SCA combat in no way shape or form can compare to what I was doing. No way.

So despite diets and trying to stay "thin", I fell into disrepair. My weight ballooned in 2009, which may actually be because of my thyroid come to find out, but I chalked it up to stress, and did what I could to try to drop it. And failed. I started a low-carb diet over a year ago, this has helped, but the weight started to peeter back on, so after much protest to my husband, I finally conceded to start a workout program.

30 Day Fitness Challenges are a godsend. So far I've completed the ab challenge and the Little Black Dress Challenge, and after I get back from Pennsic I'm going to do the Beach Body Challenge, which just looks evil. However, I got talked into trying the Couch-to-5k program from Cool Runnings, which is a free schedule of runs designed to get you off your ass and completing a 5k without stopping in 9 weeks. I just completed week 4, and I have not died yet. It is not easy. In fact, considering the last time I ran, willingly, on my own in a race I was 19 years old. In Florida, where it is le'flat. I'm in New Hampshire now, and my apartment complex has 20 degree grades, and I'm in the flat part of the state.  :lulz:

The goal is to run a pink out race at the end of September to benefit breast cancer here in Portsmouth, with a couple of my girl friends, dressed in pink viking dresses and looking like idiots, but since race costumes are all the rage now, we figured we need to go for it. Right now, my fastest pace before I gas out completely is about a 10 minute mile. I need to shave another minute off before I can race.

Either way, when I started this shit last year, I had a 38" waist, and 52" hips. I am now down to a 33" waist, and 44" hips. My goal is a 30" waist, and 42" hips. Back to a size 10. I'm not far off, but I can't stop the disco, so to speak. I'm not weighing myself. It's too much grief for a number when my muscle mass just shot up.

I don't know if I'll ever get back into triathlon shape. There's a huge difference in 32 years old and hypothyroid versus a teenager, but I want to start swimming laps again as well at the local Y. Military families get free memberships, so may as well.


Oh this is going to be a shitshow if it's actually true and not the media spinning it.


Seriously? A hurricane for the 4th of July? What the hell did the Colonies ever do to you? We gave you the goddamn independence you have this in this great nation, and now you're trying to take off our nose with the first storm of the season? John Adams is rolling in his grave.


That's right, SCOTUS ruled in favor of Hobby Lobby. So not only are they not required to provide affordable birth control and abortion options under federally mandated ACA, this just opened a can of worms for other religious exemptions. Like, I dunno, vaccinations.

We're all gonna have lots of babies and then die of Smallpox, thanks to Jesus.

Fuck this country.

Apparently this ISN'T the free market they wanted. You wanted the fucking cops to be privatized? This is the result, pencilnecks.

As it turns out, a number of SWAT teams in the Bay State are operated by what are called law enforcement councils, or LECs. These LECs are funded by several police agencies in a given geographic area and overseen by an executive board, which is usually made up of police chiefs from member police departments. In 2012, for example, the Tewksbury Police Department paid about $4,600 in annual membership dues to the North Eastern Massachusetts Law Enforcement Council, or NEMLEC. (See page 36 of linked PDF.) That LEC has about 50 member agencies. In addition to operating a regional SWAT team, the LECs also facilitate technology and information sharing and oversee other specialized units, such as crime scene investigators and computer crime specialists.

Some of these LECs have also apparently incorporated as 501(c)(3) organizations. And it’s here that we run into problems. According to the ACLU, the LECs are claiming that the 501(c)(3) status means that they’re private corporations, not government agencies. And therefore, they say they’re immune from open records requests. Let’s be clear. These agencies oversee police activities. They employ cops who carry guns, wear badges, collect paychecks provided by taxpayers and have the power to detain, arrest, injure and kill. They operate SWAT teams, which conduct raids on private residences. And yet they say that because they’ve incorporated, they’re immune to Massachusetts open records laws. The state’s residents aren’t permitted to know how often the SWAT teams are used, what they’re used for, what sort of training they get or who they’re primarily used against.

Apparently privatized civil service is only okay if they're government controlled, which defeats the purpose of "small government" amirite?


This is what happens when Massachusetts tries to be Rhode Island and fails. YOU NEVER GET CAUGHT USING A 501C3 FOR PROTECTION FROM THE GUBMINT!

Aneristic Illusions / Boehner to sue Obama for use of Executive Power
« on: June 25, 2014, 04:17:18 pm »

House Speaker John Boehner Wednesday told reporters that he plans to sue President Barack Obama over his use of executive action.

"I am," the Speaker said when asked if he was planning to initiate a lawsuit.

"You know the constitution makes it clear that the president’s job is to faithfully execute the laws and in my view the President has not faithfully executed the laws," Boehner added at a news conference on Capitol Hill.

This is going to be hysterical.

Step one:

Learn to machine.

Discordian Recipes / 5 Colonial Era Drinks
« on: June 23, 2014, 12:03:42 am »
so this came across the book of Faces the other day:

Now, being the historian and experimental archaeologist that I am, there's no way in hell I was going to let this slide. So, after some discussion with the husband, we've decided to try all of them. Because we are scientists, ffs.

First up, the easiest one: The Stone Fence.

Rum: Check.
Cider: Check.

I used Cruzan rum, and Stella Artois Cidre, because that's what we have in the house. The Stella cider is a dry apple cider, which would be more similar to a colonial era beverage. The Cruzan I have is a special edition golden rum. I also drank it at cellar temp, not cold.

Taste: Mild and smooth. rum and apples are like bread and butter, I cook with them a lot. I can see the benefits of having a sweeter cider, though. I'm getting notes of vanilla and oak, which could be from the aging process of the rum.

Effects: I felt a buzz pretty fast. Sugar acts as a carrier for alcohol. Drink responsibly.


Melanie's Marvelous Measles!!!

Melanie’s Marvelous Measles is a book written by Stephanie Messenger who has devoted her life to educating people about vaccines and natural health choices. This book takes children on a journey to learn about vaccinations for childhood illnesses, like measles and chicken pox.

Or Kill Me / One Millennial's Experience of a Lifetime.
« on: June 05, 2014, 12:42:08 pm »
(Warning: I spewed this on Facebook in response to the graduation from every grade bullshit. This is what happened, with no coffee.)

Preschool is arguably cute. The kid has no idea what's going on and its 99% for the parents. But when you get into grade school, and you have these step-up ceremonies, what are you teaching your kids? My brother had to repeat 2nd grade, what happens to him? Oh wait, nothing, because of NCLB. You're making these kids entitled, til when they get into middle school, and realize they aren't getting a cookie for advancing to 7th grade, and they're surrounded by kids with uncontrollable hormone changes and the like becoming little balls of hate rage. I know this, I was a little ball of hate rage in middle school, and suddenly there's no more pats on the back or smiley face stickers when you get a C on the math test. Now it's referrals to the office when you blow a fit, and detention, and your parents coming in to yell at the teacher for giving their special snowflake a C in math.

Then finally, they're rewarded with an 8th grade graduation, ya fucking hoo, you got out of the bootcamp that is middle school and we're throwing you into the lion's den.

Now it's no longer a cookie at the end of the year, it's a, "You need to pass or you don't get into college or do anything when you grow up." The pressure is on. Life isn't fun anymore, the kids are mean, you've been rewarded with everything up until now and then suddenly it's all on you. All those trophies they gave you for showing up to soccer don't mean a thing when you try out for the school team and don't make it, because you suck, but you've been told your entire life that you're a WINNER and YOU ARE A STAR! Suddenly, your parents can't help you anymore, the coach laughs in their face when they go to fight for your slot on the soccer team. You're not doing so hot in Algebra 2, which is a requirement for graduation, but you don't ask for help, assuming that your ingrained entitlement will save you. Your parents bitch, but there's nothing they can do, and you're put into remedial math classes to help, which slows down your progress toward a college-ready diploma, and your guidance counselor keeps shoving this in your face. "GET INTO COLLEGE."

That's all she cares about, because it's a statistic. You begin to wonder if college isn't really for you, but you apply and apply, because you were told to do so, and aren't accepted into any of them but the local expensive tech school and the University of Phoenix online, both of which tell you that you need to pay with every student loan you are eligible for or they can't accept you. Frantic, you sign your life away on Promissory Notes and finally walk across the stage. Your parents are so happy, you graduated high school and got into "college." They're telling all of their friends of your great accomplishments, and you seem to coast through whatever online class Phoenix throws at you, because they're designed to be easy so they keep getting more of your money.

In 4 years you have to fly out to Arizona, on your own dime, to walk across the stage or they won't give you your diploma. So you do that, your parents fronting the bill because DIPLOMA TIME AGAIN, and you walk and you get that expensive piece of paper so you can be qualified to work, so you start applying for jobs, because these loans are expensive and you have to pay them off. Unfortunately, a lot of places aren't sure about your degree's accreditation, and continue to pass over your application for others from viable institutions. This depresses you, and you sit at home, your mother comforting you.

Finally, you get a call back, it's a retail position, but it's SOMETHING to "hold you over" until the big one hits, you tell yourself. So you stop applying for other jobs, and just work...for 2 years at minimum wage, with tiny raises here and there to help offset the cost of living, but you're still living at home, because your loans are killing you. You're already behind on payments, and your credit rating is shot, so you can't get a car, or an apartment, not that you could afford one anyway at your meager wages and loan payments. Your parents are getting frustrated, and you know you need to do better. Finally, after 2 years, your boss promotes you to assistant manager. It comes with a raise to $11 an hour, and you immediately become super excited, YOU DID IT!

The next day, you expect to come into work to cake and a party and a ceremony to "step up" to assistant manager, but instead, you find a new set of keys and a stack of paperwork, oh, and one of the employees that was caught stealing from the register. You need to figure this out, you're told, because the manager is playing in a golf tournament today. Holding back tears that you weren't rewarded for your great accomplishment, you perform your duties as requested. Then on the way home, you stop by the gun shop, because you'll show them what you deserve, rightfully! Unfortunately, your credit is too bad to purchase an AR-15, and the tears in your eyes tell the clerk that you probably shouldn't be filling out the forms for a background check right now, anyway.

So you go home, and your mother comforts you again.

Welcome to the American Dream, Special Snowflake.

TL,DR: This is how my mind works on half a cup of coffee 30mins after I wake up.

Somebody took the "Dark Dungeons" Chick Tract, got the rights, and FILMED THE FUCKER.

 :fap: :fap: :fap: :fap: :fap:

For those that have never read the win:

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