Tennesseeing is Tennebelieving

And what they Tennessesaw they cannot UnTennessee

Headline reads:

"Former Tennessee Lawmaker Allegedly Drove 90 mph While Masturbating out Window"

Witness Deanna Dykes said Blakely was "waving, grabbed his shirt, kind of pulled it up."
"He was taking his hand, wetting his mouth, and masturbating," witness Deborah Sturgill said.

And another:

Witness Kelly Street offered a similar account.

"At over 90 miles per hour, he had his penis out [the window]... he was masturbating... and that's when it got really, really bad. I wouldn't look over any more, and I wrote his tag number down on my hand, which I believe he noticed, and he exited very quickly," Street said.

Wait a minute. He put his penis out the window at 90 mph, and you say "...that's when it got really, really bad??"

I think not. I say kudos, good sir.

Hell, if he's that coordinated, not to mention talented, not to mention determined, maybe he deserves another shot at office?

You should see what he's got in his other fist.

I Scream...That is All

Um, no. No, thanks, I don't think I want any ice cream anymore today...or...ever, really.

This ad is apparently from a Philly area ice cream shop called Little Baby's.

I have an idea for a slogan for them: "Little Baby's: Bringing You Big Fucking Nightmares Since 2011"



via

hey, hey, watch the hands, lady

Well, I do need a job...

Honestly, I'm tempted to call this guy just to gather material for a sort of anthropologic journalism story on it. What a hell of a first-person piece this could be. Talk about Gonzo journalism...

Now if this were to mean that old fat women--and old fat men(!!!)--were free to grab my goodies, well, maybe not.

on political suicide...

...and the dwindling of numbers.

Here are some thoughts that occurred to me today, in light of all the posts and concern over the (white, male, Santorumesque) efforts to impose new restrictions on women's healthcare that have recently unfolded.

Republicans just can’t help themselves. Their desire for exclusivity and to turn back the clock to, say, 1850 has gotten to the point where it would be hilarious if it weren’t so sad...

Strike that. It is hilarious.

Let's look at their efforts to reach out.

So they long ago alienated African-Americans, fighting at every turn as they did against any implementation of civil rights laws, and further, seeking to roll back what rights have been won by imposing new poll taxes and onerous voter ID laws designed to keep out the great unwashed on election day.

In Arizona, Alabama and now Georgia we’ve watched as what miniscule gains they made with Latino voters were erased in the slow-motion political and economic train wreck that is those states’ anti-immigration laws.

They’ve stood firmly with the one percenters, fighting tooth and nail against even gelded, toothless financial reforms, shrieking about government takeovers when people made the mild suggestion that the very rich--who have done so well under our system, and who the rest of us have very kindly declined to rob and murder--might like to pay a few percentage points more in taxes rather than see the country they supposedly love descend into a bloody, crumbling hellscape.

Gay rights--well. ‘Nuff said.

And now they’re doing their damnedest to alienate the 50.1 percent of the population who regularly visit a gynecologist--along with the unknown percent of the rest of the population who think women might have more to offer the world than to become the human version of factory-farm sows, lolling on their sides in a cage, spitting out child after child under the watchful eye of male supervision.

Jesus Christ! Keep up the good work, fellas!

Pass the popcorn--what we thought was the slow decline of the Republican Party may well turn out to be the end of the Republican Party in an apocalyptic firestorm--one of their favorite go-to visuals. And it might happen sooner than we think, if they continue to chase people out of their ever-shrinking ‘big tent.’

It occurs to me that if you support people who hate everyone, you're unlikely to have anyone support you.

Whoa. Zen for haters, man.

it's windy in here

Um...I don't think that means what you think it means.

Hello Kitty, indeed.

and of course, normal

Naturally they make the normal race the last one. Freakin' Obama.

uh...yeah...

Memo to the Vatican's social director: shirtless, ripped, male acrobats performing for the pope in the Vatican might send the wrong message.



I like how around the 1:00 mark, there's a close-up on Benedict's face and his eyes slowly scan low to high as he takes in the entire, er, package. Jesus, dude.

But hey, at least they left the altarboys alone for that brief period.

and there you go

This right here, this right here, ladies and gentlemen, this shit right here, this is why I hate the holidays. The fact of this product's existence, and the fact that it is in Target right now, two weeks before Thanksgiving.

I don't need red milk. Not now, not at Christmas time, not ever.

Not unless it is actually white milk that has had the blood of marketers and ad-men generously splashed into it from the the living gout of red, red krovvy spraying from their open necks.

Now that sounds delicious.

via.

fine. i'll go somewhere else then.

Sigh. You can't do anything in this town anymore. Stupid nanny state.

worship, teach...uh, guys?

I have no idea where this came from, but I laughed.

uh, i'll just have a beer, thanks

An unusual flight of whiskeys

via

From the ‘Gee, I sure wish they hadn’t thought of that’ file. Here’s a guy who distills whiskey from the urine of diabetics. Yes, you read that right.

Because sufferers of type 2 diabetes have a very high concentration of sugar in their urine, James Gilpin realized it would be possible to distill whiskey from it, sugar being the essential ingredient for making spirits.

Gilpin is apparently a student in something called design interactions (some of his other projects sound interesting too) so I doubt that this project is meant to be terribly commercial. It’s probably more of a statement on consumption in wealthy western societies, resource management and waste.

God, not to mention sugar. How much frickin’ sugar to you have to ingest--and, obviously, not process properly--in order to leave a ‘scale build-up’ in the toilet bowl?

At least the result is delicious, delicious whiskey. Made from the tears of birthday cakes.

I’m also gonna pass on that Big Gulp and king size Snicker’s bar, I think.

It's all right, I guess. But it does have a bit of a whang to it...

yummy!!!

this is probably the most disgusting thing i have ever seen. even the vanilla vodka wouldn't make it work. :)
via neatorama
(or should that be meatorama? :)
enjoy!
--k

Recipe by Alie and Georgia

Prep Time: 5 minutes
Cook Time: 0 minutes
Yield: 2 servings

Ingredients:

2 McNuggz (plus more for snacking)
1 tub McDonalds Brand Barbeque Sauce (plus more for licking off pinky finger)
1 lg. Mcdonalds Brand Chocolate Milkshake (plus more for bringing all the boys to the yard)
1 bottle Vanilla Vodka (recommended brand: Absolut)

Open the McDonalds bag. Eat one McNugg each, followed by two bites of the Filet-o-Fish (make sure you don’t tell anyone that you eat Filet-o-Fishes).

Mix three or four shots of vanilla vodka in the McDonalds Brand Chocolate Milkshake, followed by one shot each directly into your mouth.

Rim each martini glass with McDonalds Brand Barbeque Sauce, and pour milkshake/vodka mixture into the glass. Garnish with a McNugg (which is to be swiped along barbeque sauce rimmed glass after the milkshake has been finished, and consumed with pure, unadulterated glee).

The proof is in

God exists. In salami. Via fark:

'A South Florida woman said she was cooking fried salami when she noticed the word "GOD" on the meat, Miami television station WFOR reported.

Nancy Simoes said she had three pieces in a skillet and flipped one of them and saw the letter G.

"Then got the O and I thought to myself how cool will it be if the third letter was a D."

Simoes realizes people may think she's crazy.

"I can't make this up. ... it's there in the burn marks."

For 20 years, her family has enjoyed fried salami for breakfast.

Now Simoes is wondering how she will preserve the "holy" salami.'

Might I suggest she eat it? Transubstantiation at its most meaty.

Only in Florida.

widespread part deux

so, just got back from the widespread panic show down in loveland--or at least, from the parking lot prior to the widespread show down in loveland. i had a deadline and honestly didn't care all that much about seeing the band. i wrote the whole story from the angle of the parking lot camaraderie and sort of asking people what they were doing there--in some cases to see a band they had already seen play live fifty times or more.

and i met some really sweet people down there, people you could just walk up to and start a conversation with, no problem. very open and friendly people, for the most part. there were a couple of meatheads there, already too drunk hours before the show started, but that's to be expected anytime there is a gathering of more than ten people. idiots make up anywhere from 35 to 75 percent of the general population, based on my ongoing informal survey. add alcohol and that number can be even greater.

but back to the show: i mean, i get it guys. they're good. they write fun, happy songs that make you feel good. and i understand obsessiveness, believe me. i can latch onto something and overdo the hell out of it. (see: substances, all; sex, any; masturbation; alcohol)

but i can't think of any band i would go see fifty times. not one.

and, anyway, to this outside observer this is something different than the accumulation of raw numbers, or achieving volume--or even hearing every possible permutation of the band's catalog. this isn't even about having some compulsive need to hear this band play live, yet again. this isn't addiction to their music. hell, i would go so far as to say that it isn't even really about the music at all.

it seems to me that it's more about belonging to some tribe, feeling at home among a group of, as i said, very kind-hearted people--but it's still just a need to belong. it's a need to feel like a part of something bigger than oneself, even if it is a parking lot and a concert hall that will be empty again in a few hours.

i guess you can see similar concepts playing themselves out at punk shows or indie-rock shows or whatever other kind of show -- we all wear uniforms of a sort. but this is still different. it's a fanaticism that weirdly jumps from band to band over the years, as if utter devotion were something that was interchangeable, depending on if a band is still active or not. like you could unscrew that devotion as if it were a fuse when the Dead call it quits, and simply plug it into Phish. next up: widespread panic.

if there were an antichrist, all he would have to do is start a popular jam band. he'd instantly have a dread-locked army of slavishly devoted acolytes ready to do his bidding.

of course, it might be hard to get them motivated...

--kjb