jesus in the tree bark and in the grilled cheese samich. if i recall, there recently was a potato jesus someplace too.
well, happy easter to all you catholic faithful, because our nazi pope has decided to unfurl the shroud of turin, for only the 5th time in 100 years. it was last seen in 2002 after its extensive restoration. its next appearance was scheduled for 2025, but that has been hastened way upwards.
oh, noes, it is most certainly NOT "religious tourism", but an "opportunity for the faithful to meditate, pray and contemplate on the mystery and extraordinary suffering of christ."
last time this rag was out, over 1 million came to gawk.
in 1988, 3 independent labs carbon-dated separate pieces of the cloth and placed its origin between 1260 and 1390, offering it was simply a brilliant medieval fakery. pt barnum must roll in his grave about this hoax successfully baiting the sheeple for 5 centuries! "egress this way," indeed.
the nuns indoctrinated me to the pope's infallibility, that he is the mind and voice of god here on earth, so i am quite sure that ratzi does not mean this as any kind of icon smoke and mirrors to distract from all the euro-pedo's now flaming up all over the continent. including his personal approval of the transfer of rev. peter hullerman, from within his own district. he directly received a memo advising the priest not be allowed to work with children, had to give up drinking and attend private therapy. none of this happened. the pervert was quietly moved to a different parish, a chess piece in a frock, and eventually convicted of further molestations.
there is not enough red silk papal cloak cloth to smother these fires. we thought it was bad here in boston. now it is in ratzi's own house.
oh! lookee over here, i found a piece of the true cross!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
would jesus be fat too?
so a professor and a minister walk into a museum...
the minister is also a professor and the guys are brothers. they did a study of paintings of the "last supper" done over the last 1000 years. to my frustration, this is a large swath of time and they don't break it down into different eras, like the advent of safe canning, the industrial revolution, the assembly line, modern health codes for food safety (thank you, upton sinclair), mr birdseye and his flash-freezing, the post ww II pesticide era of farming, which dramatically increased agricultural yields, or our modern era of biggie fries and all-u-can-eat buffets.
but anyway...
using special enhancement software, they found that, over the past 1,000 years, the size of the main meal has progressively grown 69 percent; plate size has increased 66 percent and bread size by about 23 percent.
so, if, instead of a few sheets of dry matzoh, he'd had unlimited breadsticks and mountains of butter, would jesus have been too fat to walk on water? cuz he is always krazee skinny in all pix. with his not so secret flings with whores like mary magdalene, and the whole water into wine thing, i never took jesus as an ascetic.
would jesus super-size?
the minister is also a professor and the guys are brothers. they did a study of paintings of the "last supper" done over the last 1000 years. to my frustration, this is a large swath of time and they don't break it down into different eras, like the advent of safe canning, the industrial revolution, the assembly line, modern health codes for food safety (thank you, upton sinclair), mr birdseye and his flash-freezing, the post ww II pesticide era of farming, which dramatically increased agricultural yields, or our modern era of biggie fries and all-u-can-eat buffets.
but anyway...
using special enhancement software, they found that, over the past 1,000 years, the size of the main meal has progressively grown 69 percent; plate size has increased 66 percent and bread size by about 23 percent.
so, if, instead of a few sheets of dry matzoh, he'd had unlimited breadsticks and mountains of butter, would jesus have been too fat to walk on water? cuz he is always krazee skinny in all pix. with his not so secret flings with whores like mary magdalene, and the whole water into wine thing, i never took jesus as an ascetic.
would jesus super-size?
Thursday, March 18, 2010
eye bleach, i beg you
what a dirty week. just... ew.
john edwards' mistress rielle hunter has a spread in esquire. ahem. yes, i said spread. the pix are mostly of her in a man's shirt, a pearl necklace (uh-huh) and no pants. come hither stare and such. including the just totally icky one of her on the blackmail baby's bed with stuffed barney (is he still a thing?) and dora the explorer dolls. she still with no pants. who does this? who poses on their infant's bed with a fuck-me face in a national magazine? to rehab their reputation, no less?
i have no idea what the interview has to say cuz i don't care. i find it staggering that this woman wants to be in the public eye after what she has done and with whom. nary a care for the little who that once grown will click a mouse and see all this garbage, nor the much bigger who's living with their dying mother who see this garbage now.
another of the tiger woods harem has come forward this week with tawdry bits. 4 months after the elin beat-down a porn star with balloon boobs named joslyn james published over 100 dirty tiger sexts. we'll cruise on the fact that by profession a porn actress has no shame and at best a fluid sense of boundaries. other people's dirty talk is always just kinda sad -sounding, i guess, but he wants to slap her, call her dirty names, admits he'd have stage fright for a golden shower (giving, not receiving; tiger has a shy bladder? c'mon, right? his father never made him pee in the bushes rather than lose course time?) and order a turkey club. not all at the same time.
weirdly, the transcript is all just him. she has a way better cell-plan than i do since mine only saves about 20 texts, clean or dirty. much like the blue lewinksy dress it will bring her 15 seconds of mainstream media attention, but then what? again, his kids will get to click and get sick in just a few years. regardless of how nice or not-nice is tiger's wife, she is freshly humiliated. james' family must be thrilled how all those ballet lessons panned out.
then lastly, a nice girl indeed finishes, if not last, than in the mud. sandra bullock, 8 days after her oscar win, got faced with front page frontals of the tattoo model named "bombshell" mcgee, who claims to have been having a year-long affair with bullock's husband, jesse james. james has been married 3 times, and is a cult reality tv guy, who pimps out hogs or some such. i'd read his name, that he essentially pretended to be a descendant of the outlaw, but this whole story makes me yearn for that "coward robert ford" to rise from the dead and come a slingin' with a six-shooter.
somehow bullock went from a joke (miss congeniality) to an oscar winner/powah-playah, with staggeringly profitable movies under her belt. a broad who won a razzie AND an oscar within weeks of each other and showed up to accept each award graciously has become america's real sweetheart. in her oscar speech, and other interviews, she thanked james for "always having her back." that it was the first time in her life she'd had that, and how profound and wonderful it was. she'd used her money and muscle to help james get custody of his kids.
tits mcgee got $30k from a rag for lots of dirty j.j texts. sexts from james for the year they were banging, and including some just days after the oscars. she calls him "vanilla gorilla" saying he has a ginormous dick. (even though gorillas typically have small penises relative to other hominids, but i think she skipped that class in bio.) other stuff has piddled out about her supposed neo-nazi sympathies (and tangentially that james' 2nd wife, a porn star, is married to a felonious neo-nazi), and generally unsavory associates and demeanor.
like tiger's porn actress, mcgee has different boundaries (and they both have sex-cam websites!) than your average jane. all that's swell and i'm not here to throw stones at mistresses, nor the husbands who keep them. my glass shatters too easily. what does make me sick is the lack of regard for collateral damage. the kids. the families, the wives.
just like the man keeping a mistress, there used to be a code of conduct for the girlie. first rule? shut up. be discreet. it blows my mind that these women out themselves. that botoxed conga line of chicks who sucked tiger off? they came out for what ? a chance to be on howard stern? is that the highlight? an asterisk in tiger's wiki about being no.6, no. 16, or no. 696?
jiz-bum james and inky mcgee already dwelled on the seamy side as far as careers and associates.
hunter (her third known name) ran with dark shadows chasing her for all her adult life. she came from money in florida and was a competitive equestrian. her lawyer-father died of cancer while under fbi covert investigation for very likely culpability in a show-horse-electrocution-for-insurance-money-scam.
she then ran hard and fast with that nyc brat pack crowd and was the basis for a jay mcinerny character in his 1988 novel, "my so-called life". "allison poole" was pathologically sexual, riddled with std's and conned her b/f for money for an abortion she never had/needed. by most accounts, hunter was not embarrassed, but rather relished being the source for allison.
she met edwards in a bar.
i have had sex with married men. i have had affairs with married men. i always justified it in my head putting it all on the guy. *I* wasn't doing anything to the wife or the kids. it was all his choice. i just happened to be available and attracted. if the guy made noises about leaving the wife he got dropped like a hot rock. that was never gonna be on me.
i kept myself sufficiently removed that it never went beyond a fling with those guys.
except when it did.
and she found out.
she wrote to me.
she demanded to see my correspondence with him.
trumped, destroyed, by my own hubris, there was no way i would pour gasoline on the flames. to what end? it would only feed her self-flagellation and in no way could help him or salve any of my pain.
i felt ashamed.
i cannot, cannot, cannot, comprehend these women all falling over themselves, pushing their push-up bras in the faces of the paparazzi, to publish sexts and tapes and voice-mails and stuff about socks (eliot spitzer's ashley dupree... oh, so long ago, in a more innocent time).
"hell hath no fury blah-blah" goes back to zeus and hera. (although she frequently lashed out by punishing his bastard offspring, like driving hercules mad so that he'd kill his own wife and children.) yet no matter how many times i witness the scorched earth policy of somebody like mcgee or james, i am dumbfounded. they become emotional agent orange. why intentionally hurt the wife? the fucking kids? what have they done to be a party in your greek tragedy?
they don't get the guy back. they don't look smart or powerful or sexy. they look like cheap discarded toys. they don't even get rich! snaggle-crotch mcgee got like minimum wage for her junk. how does any of this make them feel better? most of america writes them off as money-grubbing whores.
as for hunter, she is a whole other vile species. trying to become some sort of media celebrity while appearing as nothing more than a circling vulture.
they all make me embarrassed by women.
john edwards' mistress rielle hunter has a spread in esquire. ahem. yes, i said spread. the pix are mostly of her in a man's shirt, a pearl necklace (uh-huh) and no pants. come hither stare and such. including the just totally icky one of her on the blackmail baby's bed with stuffed barney (is he still a thing?) and dora the explorer dolls. she still with no pants. who does this? who poses on their infant's bed with a fuck-me face in a national magazine? to rehab their reputation, no less?
i have no idea what the interview has to say cuz i don't care. i find it staggering that this woman wants to be in the public eye after what she has done and with whom. nary a care for the little who that once grown will click a mouse and see all this garbage, nor the much bigger who's living with their dying mother who see this garbage now.
another of the tiger woods harem has come forward this week with tawdry bits. 4 months after the elin beat-down a porn star with balloon boobs named joslyn james published over 100 dirty tiger sexts. we'll cruise on the fact that by profession a porn actress has no shame and at best a fluid sense of boundaries. other people's dirty talk is always just kinda sad -sounding, i guess, but he wants to slap her, call her dirty names, admits he'd have stage fright for a golden shower (giving, not receiving; tiger has a shy bladder? c'mon, right? his father never made him pee in the bushes rather than lose course time?) and order a turkey club. not all at the same time.
weirdly, the transcript is all just him. she has a way better cell-plan than i do since mine only saves about 20 texts, clean or dirty. much like the blue lewinksy dress it will bring her 15 seconds of mainstream media attention, but then what? again, his kids will get to click and get sick in just a few years. regardless of how nice or not-nice is tiger's wife, she is freshly humiliated. james' family must be thrilled how all those ballet lessons panned out.
then lastly, a nice girl indeed finishes, if not last, than in the mud. sandra bullock, 8 days after her oscar win, got faced with front page frontals of the tattoo model named "bombshell" mcgee, who claims to have been having a year-long affair with bullock's husband, jesse james. james has been married 3 times, and is a cult reality tv guy, who pimps out hogs or some such. i'd read his name, that he essentially pretended to be a descendant of the outlaw, but this whole story makes me yearn for that "coward robert ford" to rise from the dead and come a slingin' with a six-shooter.
somehow bullock went from a joke (miss congeniality) to an oscar winner/powah-playah, with staggeringly profitable movies under her belt. a broad who won a razzie AND an oscar within weeks of each other and showed up to accept each award graciously has become america's real sweetheart. in her oscar speech, and other interviews, she thanked james for "always having her back." that it was the first time in her life she'd had that, and how profound and wonderful it was. she'd used her money and muscle to help james get custody of his kids.
tits mcgee got $30k from a rag for lots of dirty j.j texts. sexts from james for the year they were banging, and including some just days after the oscars. she calls him "vanilla gorilla" saying he has a ginormous dick. (even though gorillas typically have small penises relative to other hominids, but i think she skipped that class in bio.) other stuff has piddled out about her supposed neo-nazi sympathies (and tangentially that james' 2nd wife, a porn star, is married to a felonious neo-nazi), and generally unsavory associates and demeanor.
like tiger's porn actress, mcgee has different boundaries (and they both have sex-cam websites!) than your average jane. all that's swell and i'm not here to throw stones at mistresses, nor the husbands who keep them. my glass shatters too easily. what does make me sick is the lack of regard for collateral damage. the kids. the families, the wives.
just like the man keeping a mistress, there used to be a code of conduct for the girlie. first rule? shut up. be discreet. it blows my mind that these women out themselves. that botoxed conga line of chicks who sucked tiger off? they came out for what ? a chance to be on howard stern? is that the highlight? an asterisk in tiger's wiki about being no.6, no. 16, or no. 696?
jiz-bum james and inky mcgee already dwelled on the seamy side as far as careers and associates.
hunter (her third known name) ran with dark shadows chasing her for all her adult life. she came from money in florida and was a competitive equestrian. her lawyer-father died of cancer while under fbi covert investigation for very likely culpability in a show-horse-electrocution-for-insurance-money-scam.
she then ran hard and fast with that nyc brat pack crowd and was the basis for a jay mcinerny character in his 1988 novel, "my so-called life". "allison poole" was pathologically sexual, riddled with std's and conned her b/f for money for an abortion she never had/needed. by most accounts, hunter was not embarrassed, but rather relished being the source for allison.
she met edwards in a bar.
i have had sex with married men. i have had affairs with married men. i always justified it in my head putting it all on the guy. *I* wasn't doing anything to the wife or the kids. it was all his choice. i just happened to be available and attracted. if the guy made noises about leaving the wife he got dropped like a hot rock. that was never gonna be on me.
i kept myself sufficiently removed that it never went beyond a fling with those guys.
except when it did.
and she found out.
she wrote to me.
she demanded to see my correspondence with him.
trumped, destroyed, by my own hubris, there was no way i would pour gasoline on the flames. to what end? it would only feed her self-flagellation and in no way could help him or salve any of my pain.
i felt ashamed.
i cannot, cannot, cannot, comprehend these women all falling over themselves, pushing their push-up bras in the faces of the paparazzi, to publish sexts and tapes and voice-mails and stuff about socks (eliot spitzer's ashley dupree... oh, so long ago, in a more innocent time).
"hell hath no fury blah-blah" goes back to zeus and hera. (although she frequently lashed out by punishing his bastard offspring, like driving hercules mad so that he'd kill his own wife and children.) yet no matter how many times i witness the scorched earth policy of somebody like mcgee or james, i am dumbfounded. they become emotional agent orange. why intentionally hurt the wife? the fucking kids? what have they done to be a party in your greek tragedy?
they don't get the guy back. they don't look smart or powerful or sexy. they look like cheap discarded toys. they don't even get rich! snaggle-crotch mcgee got like minimum wage for her junk. how does any of this make them feel better? most of america writes them off as money-grubbing whores.
as for hunter, she is a whole other vile species. trying to become some sort of media celebrity while appearing as nothing more than a circling vulture.
they all make me embarrassed by women.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
goldilocks and the 3 nightclubs
spent the weekend with the owner and all 3 nights were about the music. or let's say were supposed to be about the music.
friday, we made a brief appearance at a local hang. upfrontedness: the place has little pretension to be anything other than what it is. budwesier chandeliers, keno, pool tables, dart boards, $8 pitchers. i've never had anything but friendly service from the gals behind the bar. i've got all my teeth, which puts me ahead of most of the regulars, but i've only ever gotten smiles from them, and never been made to feel unwelcome. plus i kinda like a "real" joint. not to be confused with the "faux" dive bars, like lucky's and bukowski's, that cropped up in the 90's.
an acquaintance of the owner's was playing, and as he is wont to do, we made out to show our support. collectively they were not much better than a bunch of high school kids in somebody's basement banging away, like monkeys without thumbs, on christmas presents of fenders and gretsches. they seemed to be enjoying themselves which was more the point. the owner shook some hands and we made it an early night.
next night was a cd release party for a band that includes one of the nicest guys i have met in a very long time. the guy so nice you can't figure out why some clever cookie hasn't scooped him up, except to realize girls his age are still chasing bad boys and telling guys like him they"are too nice." and "let's just be friends." all the band mates are decent chaps too and i've seen them play before. they don't suck and in the year or so i have known them have come leaps and bounds.
what's the problem, noodle, you ask? the venue. ack. although a stone's throw from the owner's door, the place just sucks. total 1000% suckage. last year we went a few days after it opened for this same band. doors opened at 9:00. people were streaming in and we got some comfy seats in great eye-line of the stage.
amble up to the bar for brews. a kid is stocking the cooler. young chicks in slut costumes are rushing about, but not doing a thing. i finally ask the barback and he tells me the bar isn't open yet. wtf? why are you charging a cover and letting people in? there is a bar downstairs, we could have cooled our heels down there in the meantime. it begs the bigger question of why nobody was in to stock at like, oh, 8:00? whatever. downhill from there. barwench so stoopid she couldn't use her bottle opener. the decor looked like sybil and all her split personalities went shopping at a foreclosed nightclub auction. just stoopid. lit up margaritaville palm trees, go-go-cages, cheesy booths with dumbass names. a fetid wall fountain frothing foamy ooze. just awful.
the sound? impenetrable at best. bass, bass, bass. then more bass, bass, bass.
so under duress and in an elephant in the room triad, i'm dragged there again. same shit, different day. bar not ready, (bar manager 101: people at a bar want to drink. they want to drink right away. they then get tipsy early. THEN, they drink even more. if you're not ready to roll at the opening bell, you are losing money. oh, and, if you were maximizing your profits there, perhaps you could comp a few beers for the guys playing instead of being so fucking miserly?) barsluts doing nothing but flashing their beavers, (uh, what's a seabreeze?) ALL the downstairs taps are out of service. it was after midnight before a cocktail whore came over to ask if any of us wanted a drink. she'd been flitting about all night and i'd never once seen her carrying a single thing. 2 of 4 toilets backed up with paper and feces at 10:00. i thought it impossible, but the sound was even worse. so bad, i didn't care enough even to get up and take a look at the guys on stage. so shitty, that if the same bands played on my deck, i wouldn't recognize a single song. so god-awful, that the promoter commented on how many peeps leaving complained that the sound was for shit. (this guy is so out of his head, he thought they were out of their minds!) the place is truly one of the most god-awful shit-holes i have ever been in.
sunday, we came into town, headed for one of the regular hangs. this place is a bare-bones gem. (regardless of how the above shitty shit-hole self-monikers.) great beers on tap, cheap prices for city standards, barkeeps who can pour a proper pint, make a generous cocktail and manage to make eye-contact when busy. the sound is just spot on, no matter who we see or when. NO COVER. EVAH. a friend of mine is a member of one of the best bands this city has ever spit out and they are back together. bygones indeed gone and they sound fucking amazing. guitar, harmonica, cocktail kit for drums and a low-strung thingie for bass. it's rock-n-roll like it oughta be: loud, dirty and with a sense of humor.
not every band is as good as these guys. in fact, damn few. i know that. but if the rest of it falls even remotely within those lines... a few drinks and some decent sounds, ya know -- a good time, shouldn't be all that hard to get just right. why is it then? huh?
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