Photography: Brick Icicles??? Brickles??

Danny Choo posted these pics on Boing Boing and had this to say:

"This abandoned Russian fortress is probably one of the creepiest places I have seen.

The reason for it to have such a strange look is because it was used later by Russian army to test the influence of Russian alternative to napalm inside of the brick houses.

Due to very high temperature of napalm the bricks started melting just like ice melts in the spring forming the icicles, but those icicles are of red brick."

Quentin Tarantino: Inglorious Basterds

Oh I know where I'm gonna be in august. I do love a good bloodbath!

It'll Be A Cold Day In Hell...

...before this broad gets a dime of my money!



Does that make me an insensitive bitch? Probably. But the fact remains that this chick, Nadya Suleman, was already the mother or 6 children (3 of which are disabled) before she decided to channel her own inner bitch and have litter of 8 more children. That's fourteen children, ya'll. Fourteen children for a single mother who has no job, is living with her parents, is currently $50K in debt and receiving foodstamps. Happy accidents are one thing, but this chick already had enough children to start her own music group. So why in God's name would she risk her health and that of her children by not only deciding to go through invitro again, but choosing to carry all eight to term? Her mother thinks that she isn't wrapped too tight and it's not hard to see why. This broad wanted a whole bunch of babies with no way to pay for their care and upbringing and now she's looking for a handout. No Fucking Way!

Do I feel sorry for these kids? Of course, I do--they're looking at being raised in poverty by a total crackpot. So why won't I donate? Because I (and no one else for that matter) has no reason to beleive that any money given to this broad will go toward taking care of those children. How do I know that she won't save it up to see if she can carry ten next time? And believe me, there will be a next time. Just like people who don't know when to stop with the plastic surgery, this one doesn't know when to stop with the baby-making. I'll be damned if I contribute to enabling her in what is obviously a psychological condition.

Where is Homey Da Clown and his sock when you him??

Flashback: A Prayer for the Whipped

So I actually started this blog on Myspace a few years ago and it kind of fell off. Now that I'm focused on Tha Borderlands, I thought that I'd post some of my old blogs (in no particular order) each week, just to give folks an opportunity to see where I've been coming from. I must say that after reading some of them, I think I've mellowed out a bit. Enjoy.

June 23, 2006

A Prayer...For the Whipped

I said I would have this blog ready by the end of the week and I intend to keep my promise. But, I have to admit that I struggled to find the words to express my sadness, dismay, and disgust over the subject of this particular entry...Whipped Men.

I guess I had trouble figuring out how I wanted to approach this particular subject.

On one hand, I'm sympathetic towards the plight of the Whipped Man. Deep down I know that a whipped man is a good man, a kind man, a gentleman who has fallen prey to a far more aggressive woman in possession of what may or may not be the poonani from heaven. I know that the reason these men are such easy prey is because of their overwhelming need for outside validation. It is this need that sends them running into the arms of their oppressors to be ruled by an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove. I know that whipped men can and have been productive members of society but when given the choice between the needs of the many and the needs of She Who Must Be Obeyed, the many can kiss their asses goodbye.

I also realize that the relationship between the whipper and the whipped is very symbiotic. The whipper is worshipped and the whipped finds solace in the attention (be it positive or negative) they receive. Both parties are obviously attempting to fill some hole caused by a certain lack of self esteem and if they aren't harming anyone else in the process, what difference does it make, right?

But then on the other hand, I wonder...

What the fuck is the matter with these dudes?! No amount of coochie in the world is worth losing your self-respect--if you had any to begin with! What's worse is that now, pussy isn't the determining factor for being whipped. A guy can be totally whipped without having even smelled it let alone hit it. And these bastards are multiplying like rabbits! They're coming out of the womb with big signs on their foreheads that read "Please, whip my ass!"

Many a time have I sat and watched one of these dickless wonders give up family, friends and asprirations for the sake of the megabeast. It has sickened me to my core. Have I tried to do something about it? Yes! But unfortunately, the first symptom of being whipped is Can't Understand Normal Thinking syndrome or C.U.N.Ts. The ability to hear goes flying out the window right along with reason and rationale.

And inspite of all of this, one has to ask...where the fuck are the homeboys?!! Where are the men who will take these pathetic souls under their wings and dump them in a Fight Club where they'll be beaten until they can see straight? Whatever happened to Bros before Hoes?

It is a sad and sordid mess, my friends. And I know that there isn't an easy answer. All one can do is sit, reflect, and pray for their salvation.

And that is what I will do. I will pray that one day these gentle creatures will open their eyes and retrieve their balls from the mason jar under their oppressor's bed.

Love, Peace & Soul

I Love Jesus...But I Drink A Little.

Fucking Hilarious.