Why Do All These Damn Coal Miners Keep Getting Themselves in So Much Trouble?

Remember back in April when all those miners blew themselves to bits in West Virginia, in a misguided attempt to get the CEO of Massey Energy in trouble with some of his elected employees?

Remember more recently when those 33 Chilean coal miners made their tunnel collapse and played hooky from work by hiding underground for 69 frustrating days?

Well, now it seems some Chinese attention-seekers have thrown their hat into the ring:

 Associated Press -- BEIJING -- An explosion in a Chinese coal mine killed 20 and trapped more than 30 workers underground Saturday in the country's central region, state media reported.
A man answering phones at the mine said he had not heard anything an accident.
China's mining industry is the most dangerous in the world, and more than 2,600 people died in mining accidents last year.

(courtesy HuffPo)

What exactly is it that all these miners are after, aside from time off work, peace and quiet, total darkness, homosexual tension, and the satisfaction of temporarily crippling their bosses' golden goose?

Remember!

 

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Yet Again, Religion Makes People Stupid

It wasn't that long ago that Bernie Madoff was busted duping his fellow Jews with impossibly high returns on investments. Greed and misplaced faith were their downfall.

Now it's the Christians' turn:

"It was a good place where Christians would be investing in the work of other Christians," said Karen Lamb, a 55-year-old Terre Haute, Ind, housewife.

More than five years later, the Lambs still are waiting to get most of their $53,000 investment back. Now a former pastor is going on trial for what authorities call a multimillion-dollar scheme that preyed on thousands of parishioners who thought they were helping build churches but were actually buying the man and his sons planes and sports cars.

Authorities say Reeves, founder and owner of now-defunct Alanar, and his three sons duped about 11,000 investors into buying bonds worth $120 million secured by mortgages on construction projects at about 150 churches. The men diverted money from new investments to pay off previous investors, pocketing $6 million and buying two airplanes, sports cars and vacations, according to court records.
Officials say the scheme operated mainly in Indiana, though church members in other states, including Florida, Michigan, Maryland and Oklahoma, also were victimized.

(courtesy HuffPo)

When will people learn that a common religion does not equate common values, that thieves are thick among religious folk, as they are with all folk, and--most importantly--that you should never invest ALL of your money in one place?

Probably never, so maybe it's a blessing in disguise that most people out there have no money to invest thanks to the Lords of Wall Street and the Chamber of Commerce.

In the meantime, be wary your fellow churchgoers...

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The (Near) Future of Sex?

 
Imagine a world where people couldn't masturbate.

I'm talking about men and women here, remember, because women do it, too, whether they are as forward about it or not.

So, in this fantastical world that may only be two years in our future, imagine that, for whatever reason, there is now no masturbation in our genetic coding. Anything other than vaginal/anal/oral intercourse is not going to get the job done no matter how hard you try, so there is no reason to ever think it could happen.

The behavioral changes resulting from this slight reinterpretation (or evolutionary progression/regression depending on your point of view) of the human being would be stunning.

Viz:

- There would be a lot more sex happening. Women could not defer to their hand or vibrator, men could not defer to their hand or Pocket Pussy TM. Both sexes, for various reasons, would be more inclined to actual interpersonal interaction of the sexual variety, which is a truly undebatable result of this restriction, if you ask me.

- A lot more straight guys would be involved in gay sex--since they might get an undeniable urge at some point, be unable or unwilling to pick up a woman for a quickie, and would be unable to masturbate, remember--although my guess is that most straight crossovers would be in the "Only Blow Jobs, Thanks" category, and might even pay extra for some program that fakes men into women with digital wigs and whatnot (most helpful when paired with squinting), since it will happen often enough over a lifetime, let's be honest.

- A digital solution to the "I Can't Masturbate So What Do I Do" problem would emerge almost overnight, since computer geeks are out there and we all know the necessary technology exists at this moment for a virtual sex program.

A virtual sex program? What? Is this some kind of Strange Days meets laser tag meets sexting meets yeah-right-like-that-will-ever-exist bullshit?

Well...it actually could exist, it could be called "Pandora's Box," and hear me out:

A man puts some kind of sensor-equipped sleeve over his penis that is connected to his computer and a woman connects her specially-designed vibrator to her computer, they connect over the internet, and they're off.

Every thrust and clench is made digital, transmitted over the internet, and felt in near-real-time. Piggyback this onto a program like iChat or gChat, and tell me you don't have a near-sex experience with somebody--sound, sight, and sexual sensation.

Some of the long-term effects of this revolutionary leap would be as follow:

- Women will have more sex. Every time a woman would ordinarily reach for her vibrator or rely on her fingers, she would have the option of contacting some male friend of hers, ex-boyfriend of hers, or a total stranger for a virtual-sex session instead. Do you actually think she wouldn't? Disease-free, semi-private (he's not in your home, in your bed, there in the morning, etc), almost-not-really-cheating-since-it-isn't-real, etc...you have to admit this would be an extremely attractive option if a girl could do this instead of whatever she does now.

- Men will have more sex. Every time a man wants to masturbate, he would instead have the option of contacting a female friend, ex-girlfriend, or stranger for a little semi-illicit virtual sex session instead of being alone. He would know exactly who to call, and one of them would eventually say yes. In a pinch, he could always call a guy he knows and play make-believe.

- Cheating as we know it will splinter into a million shades of gray. Is it cheating to use this program? Is it more like cheating if it's an ex-significant-other instead of just a friend? Will fuck-friend finally be a term that makes it into the dictionary? Is it better to have a guy or girl virtually cheat than to actually cheat? Is virtually cheating okay, since it's safe and virtual? Will there be caps placed on the amount of virtual cheating, in order to maintain status quo in the relationship?

- Threesomes and foursomes will skyrocket in popularity once they can be accomplished virtually. Think about it--if it ever starts to feel weird, you just turn the unit off and do whatever you want to do. It pretty much sells itself to that enormous chunk of the population that is currently on the fence regarding group sex.

- Sure, some people will abuse this capability and go off the deep end, spending 20 hours a day with some digital-capture attachment on their dicks, trolling the internet looking for any possible willing partner, but that is to be expected. There are always freaks around who do what they're not supposed to do and skew the data. Your average consumer, meanwhile, would still benefit from this enormously, as it is something that will be a godsend whenever one member of the couple has to travel, whenever people date long-distance, whenever people are just too shy to get it done in person, or whenever people might otherwise go out and date-rape or rape somebody, etc.

- Whoa, yeah--I pulled out the rape card. If people couldn't masturbate, there would be more rapes. That, I feel, is a tragic but inarguable point. Many of the potential-rapists out there today would jump off the fence and start getting into trouble once we removed masturbation as an alternative. But if we come back to the real world for a second, where masturbators are plentiful, and then add this revolutionary new program (Pandora's Box) into the mix, then what we have here is a virtual way to reduce incidences of rape. If some guy could get lucky with a random acquaintance or prank call a girl in the phonebook who's willing to virtually fuck him because she's bored or just horny or whatever, he is less likely to go out there and actually rape a girl. It may not drastically reduce the number of rapes, but if it even reduced that number by one it would be worth it.

Now, whether or not we ultimately get into a David-Foster-Wallacean situation--where people purchase realistic-looking digital representations of themselves that are way hotter than they should be or of a different sex or whatever (from freelancers at Pixar?)--let's just remember that while this potential development is fascinating from a philosophical/pyschological standpoint and full of further economic opportunity, it is also pretty much irrelevant to the conversation at hand.

The fact of the matter is that people who want to wear masks will be attracted to this, as will people who have no need for masks but won't ask too many questions for fear of the answers. When virtual sex becomes fairly commonplace, asking a partner whether their digital representation is real would be like asking your girlfriend today if her eyelashes are real--you won't even bother cuz you could never be sure you're getting a straight answer, so what's the point?

The gay men of today (who have iPhones) have Grindr...what will the gay AND straight people (who have iPhones and/or computers) have tomorrow?

The gays led us to all the trendy loft districts, all the trendy fashion updates...why not to all the trendy means of sexual gratification?

Why not jump into the endgame right away? I know we can do it and it'll be a beautiful slow-build with a seemingly infinite lifespan, add-ons, apps, accessories, avatars, additional sensory receptors...

Have I sold you on this yet? If not, then I don't think you are thinking clearly and I want you to forget you ever read this. If so, let's talk investment stake and get this thing off the ground, hit up Sean Parker for some extra money, etc.

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Abilify Your Life Today

Abilify is a drug made by Bristol-Myers Squibb that is used to treat schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

But, let's face it, that's a limited market (read: limited profits), so the greedy assholes over at BMS decided to widen the pool a bit by shifting gears and pushing it as an add-on drug to treat depression.

Because, naturally, if everybody wasn't already depressed (they are), they would be so depressed by this depressing news that Abilify's potential consumer pool will eventually reach 100% of the global population. Regardless of whether the drug works (it doesn't), this represents a near-perfect blow in the struggle between pharmaceutical companies and the forces of good.

Are you depressed about the side affects of your antidepressant--and even more depressed that it isn't effectively combating your depression? Is it getting in the way of you smiling while giving foot massages to your wife on an isolated dock at your lake house?

Well, then force your doctor to prescribe Abilify to, you know, make you more able to face the day, silly!

These happy customers could be you! 

[If you were actors not taking Abilify -BMS Legal]

Sorry to have to spoil all the fun times here, freedom-lovers, but that communist towelhead Obama (who can't even prove that he was born!) makes us have to say shit like this:

Side effects of Abilify include, but are not limited to...

Nausea, vomiting, constipation, headache, dizziness, an inner sense of restlessness or need to move, anxiety, insomnia, restlessness, an increased risk of death or stroke, very high fever, rigid muscles, shaking, confusion, sweating, increased heart rate and blood pressure, abnormal or uncontrollable movements of the face, tongue, or other parts of the body.

Also, be careful when you stand up, as you might faint from lightheadedness caused by a sudden change in blood pressure. And don't get sick, because your white blood cell count will plummet when on Abilify. Don't ever drive or make a decision either, because Abilify adversely affects your judgment, thinking, and motor skills. It will also "impact your body's ability to reduce body temperature."

Don't drink alcohol or breast-feed, and be aware you may experience suicidal thoughts and/or fall into a coma unexpectedly.

And don't forget, these side effects are in addition to any you are already experiencing from your regular, inneffective antidepressant medication (which we want you to keep taking, since we make money off that, too).

And let's also not forget that antidepressant meds are Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitors, which means they are attempting to treat an emotional problem as a biochemical problem, despite the fact that the link between depression and a biochemical imbalance has never been proven.

Anyway, whatever--enjoy your easy solution, lazy Americans!

And do be careful behind the wheel of your 5mpg XL-SUV--I'd hate for you to scratch the bumper as you plow through a class field trip because your medication made you think they were ducks and you were playing a video game in your dreams where you hunted animals from your Escalade.

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Hungary: The Louisiana of Europe

Imagine living in a village in Hungary, sitting in the town pub eating some hearty goulash, and drinking some fine draft ale after a hard day's work in the mines, when a river of toxic sludge suddenly floods your town and burns you alive before dumping into the Danube River and spreading across Europe.

Sound like a nightmare? Well, it is and it isn't:

KOLONTAR, Hungary — The wall of a reservoir filled with caustic red sludge will inevitably collapse and unleash a new deluge of red sludge that could flow about a half-mile (1 kilometer) to the north, a Hungarian official said Sunday.

On Monday, the sludge flooded three villages in less than an hour, burning people and animals. At least seven people were killed and at least 120 were injured. Several of those who were hospitalized were in serious condition. Around 184 million gallons (700,000 cubic meters) of the caustic red sludge was released.

The red sludge devastated creeks and rivers near the spill site and entered the Danube River on Thursday, moving downstream toward Croatia, Serbia and Romania. But the volume of water in the Danube appeared to be blunting the sludge's immediate impact.

(courtesy HuffPo)

Not only has it already happened, but it will happen again when the crack in the North Wall eventually collapses.

Yikes.

Well, what do you expect would happen when the government allows a 24-acre reservoir of toxic sludge to be created and maintained by a corporation who doesn't give two shits about anything other than selfish greed?

This is what I would expect:

(courtesy Reuters)

Oh, but don't worry about the long-lasting effects of this toxic spill on the life inside and around Europe's second-longest river--a river so beautiful they compose waltzes in its honor--because the offending aluminum company has been dumping other chemicals into the river that will supposedly reduce the effect of the toxic sludge they put in it.

Great. More chemicals.

And by the way, let's just ignore the fact that the local groundwater will be fucked for eternity and everyone who lives nearby will never be able to sell their houses and may start growing superfluous eyeballs.

This sounds so much like the BP oil spill, but maybe even worse. When will people in charge realize they cannot trust corporations to be responsible? When our rivers and oceans are boiling, poisonous stews that eat through everything except specially-crafted mega yachts?

Jobs created to clean-up toxic disasters are not the kind of jobs we need in this world, especially considering the cost of cancer treatments for all the workers will far exceed whatever meager wages they earned cleaning up an irreparable mess that should never have happened in the first place.

Just look at that stinking, steaming, caustic tidal wave at the starting gate...

Anyway, the clock is ticking on this beast, so keep your ears pricked and re-think that summer cruise on the Danube.

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Too Right

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Smooth Moves

Well done, YAK Films:





I wonder how Sir David Attenborough would narrate that?

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Of Gilligans and Mary Ann

For those of you out there obsessed with Lost, Survivor, and Gilligan's Island (so many of you out there, I know--GET YOUR OWN WEBSITE ALREADY!), or who haven't been able to shake Lord of the Flies out of their head since high school (mostly because it's the only good book they ever finished), get ready for this fascinating (and true) tale as old as time, courtesy of this strange but informative website:

* * *


June 30 1951 - Anatahan Island
A group of stranded survivors of a Japanese vessel sunk by the American military found their way to the island of Anatahan, 75 nautical miles north of Saipan. The island's coast line is precipitous with landing beaches on the northern and western shore and a small sandy beach on the southwest shore. It's steep slopes are furrowed by deep gorges covered by high grass. This brooding cone jutting from the sea floor is a large, extinct volcano with two peaks and a grass covered flat field, the final resting place for a B-29 Superfortress that crashed upon returning from a bombing mission over Nagoya, Japan on January 3, 1945 killing the aircraft's crew.

By 1951 the Japanese holdouts on the island refused to believe that the war was over and resisted every attempt by the Navy to remove them. This group was first discovered in February 1945, when several Chamorros from Saipan were sent to the island to recover the bodies of the Saipan based B-29, T square 42, from the 498th Bomb Group, 875th Squadron, 73rd Wing under the command of Richard Carlson Stickney, Jr. The Chamorros reported that there were about thirty Japanese survivors from three Japanese ships sunk in June 1944, one of which was an Okinawan woman.
Pamphlets had been dropped informing the holdouts that the war was over and that they should surrender, but these requests were ignored. They lived a sparse life, eating coconuts, taro, wild sugar cane, fish and lizards. They smoked crushed, dried papaya leaves wrapped in the leaves of bananas and made an intoxicating beverage known as "tuba", (coconut wine). They lived in palm frond huts with woven floor matting of pandanus. Their life improved after the crash of the aircraft . They used metal from the B-29 to fashion crude implements such as pots, knives and roofing for their hut. The oxygen tanks were used to store water, clothing was made from nylon parachutes, the cords used for fishing line. The springs from machine guns were fashioned into fish hooks. Several in the group also had machine guns and pistols recovered from the aircraft.

Personal aggravations developed as a result of being too long in close association within a small group on a small island and also because of tuba drinking. The presence of only one woman, Kazuko Higa, caused great difficulty as well. Six of eleven deaths that occurred among the holdouts were the result of violence. One man displayed thirteen knife wounds. Ms. Higa would, from time to time, transfer her affections between at least four of the men after each mysteriously disappeared as a result of "being swallowed by the waves while fishing." In July 1950, Ms. Higa went to the beach when an American vessel appeared off shore and asked to be removed from the island. She was taken to Saipan aboard the Miss Susie and, upon arrival, informed authorities that the men on the island did not believe the war was over.

Meanwhile, officials of the Japanese government became interested in the situation on Anatahan and asked the Navy for information "concerning the doomed and living Robinson Crusoes who were living a primitive life on an uninhabited island", and offered to send a ship to rescue them. The families of the Japanese holdouts on the island of Anatahan , were contacted in Japan and requested by the U. S. Navy to write letters advising them that the war was over and that they should surrender. In January 1951, a message from the Governor of Kanagawa Prefecture was delivered.

The letters were dropped by air on June 26 and finally convinced the holdouts that they should give themselves up. Thus, six years after the end of World War II, "Operation Removal" got underway from Saipan under the Command of James B. Johnson, USNR, aboard the Navy Tug USS Cocopa. Lt. Commander James B. Johnson and Mr. Ken Akatani, an interpreter, went ashore by rubber boat and formally accepted the last surrender of World War II on the morning of June 30, 1951 which also coincided with the last day of the Naval Administration of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands.

For more information, read Saipan Oral Histories of the Pacific War by Bruce Petty, page 78, 119-120.

* * *

Wow, right? A formal surrender to a US Navy tugboat captain six years after the war ended? From 29 tattered, stir-crazy, deranged, horn-dog Japanese soldiers who had been chugging coconut moonshine and chasing some poor woman around a small uninhabited island with their dirty dicks for five years when not busy brutally murdering each other in order to increase the odds of getting her all to themselves for the rest of the interminable war they were so busy fighting (in spirit)?

War is such gentlemanly sport.

Hey, you know what? Somebody get Aaron Sorkin, J.J. Abrams, and Rip Torn on the phone like yesterday--I think we've got the next hit series here and we need to meet up in the Bahamas and start writing episodes immediately.

We'll shoot one version of the story for every country in the television world, simultaneously so that it's cheaper. It will be the biggest undertaking anyone in Hollywood has ever imagined (eat your heart out, Ron Howard).

Also, somebody track down that recipe for tuba--that coconut moonshine is the best chance I have of finally achieving my billionaire supervillain dreams.

Kazuko Higa with rescuers

Dessert:

Wondering what ever happened to Kazuko Higa? Well, naturally the comely lass joined a burlesque tour in 1952 and regaled audiences with tales of her sexytimes on the island. Moral of her story: "...and THAT is why you never move to a deserted island with your husband!"

Hollywood legend Josef von Sternberg became obsessed with her story and, as one does, wrote/directed/photographed/narrated a movie about her called Ana-ta-han (1953), which has since been remade twice. It was a financial bust and the last movie he ever made. He died of a heart attack 16 years later.

Incidentally, three years after that, Ayn Rand sold Von Sternberg's custom-built, architecturally-significant house (for seven times what she paid for it) to a developer who demolished it--one of her many vile offenses against art and philosophy.

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The Hottest Waste of Time in Years!

Question: In what manner are the pictures on the right better than those on the left?

Correct Answer: No manner. I cannot think of one possible reason why somebody would ever want an image to show less skin in order to increase arousal. The best possible matte to place on either of the images above would be one shaped exactly the size of the bathing suit--no more, no less--but that would be a complete waste of time, as those parts of her body are already covered by a bathing suit.

Answer Its Creator Wishes Was Correct: Every way, dude! Or at least in enough ways to make the purchase of his app that 'shittifies' otherwise titillating photos/cartoons worth a minimum of ninety-nine cents. Look at the bubbles! You can move them around to cover up her legs and shit! Awesome! I totally need to viral this shit on the Twitterne for major cool-dude pointst! [air guitar]

Here's how this totally fun app works, dudes and dudettes:

When you upload a photo of a swimsuit-clad figure, the program applies a transparent layer that you can manipulate using the iPhone's touch screen. You can poke holes--bubbles--in the surface of the transparent layer, opening up patches of skin while keeping clothed areas hidden. You can drag the bubbles around with your finger and resize them by pinching. When you're done, the swimsuit should be completely covered and the exposed areas of skin should imply nudity. After you save your work, you can share it over email, Facebook, Twitter and Flickr.

(courtesy HuffPo)

In other words, you have to actually do WORK to ruin swimsuit photos for no reason, after paying for the privilege.

If this is the direction we are headed as a tech-addled global community, a cave on an island somewhere--the kind where people never hear about world wars ending--is sounding better every second.

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There is Nothing to Fear

This just in:

(courtesy Videogum)

I have to admit--I was secretly elated to hear this news. I've been seriously worried about this shit since like October, thought the end of the world (as we know it) was nigh.

So...champagne anyone? I stockpiled just in case and now it will all go bad before I would ever want to finish it by myself in a non-apocalypse situation.

I shouldn't give my address out online, cuz there are creeps out there who would send me feces-smeared love notes in broken English, so just meet me in the park. I'm easy to find when you want to--I'll be the creep talking to himself on a park bench, wearing a vest because I'm afraid of drowning, and giving everybody the stinkeye. Let's be friends.

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Things Were So Much Simpler Then. And Uglier. Probably.

Ah, nostalgia...how I long for you...sometimes.

Like whenever I try to remember what life was like when I was 6 and I realize I might as well try to reminisce about the Big Bang.

As much as I love to long for the far-from-perfect-but-certainly-less-complicated, artistically-vibrant world that I never experienced in the 1960s/70s, try as I might it is impossible for me to romanticize my actual past. Everything I remember about my childhood I only 'remember' because people have told me the same stories over and over and therefore they have stayed with me longer than the rest.

But these romanticized memories, from somebody else's perspective no less, are far from the truth. They are filtered, corrupted opinions; fiction masquerading as memories. Unless you are a snail or a hermit yet to murder his last brain cell with moonshine, life moves too fast to remember all the details.

It is as if I am a dependable machine stuck in 'Forward Mode', a young man eternally going West and failing to realize I have been treading over the same ground my entire life, unsure what exactly I am looking for and why I keep moving, unsure whether things are improving or getting worse, constantly reformulating theories about the world that become more depressing the more I learn about it and its inhabitants.

The curious, adventurous, social adult--the guy doing it right, I tell myself, all the while conflictingly aware that ignorance is bliss--leads a life replete with biases, uncertainty, and editing, whether he likes it or not. The relentless flow of new information into your brain not only needs to be easily sorted, but also inevitably results in the deletion of the oldest material in the storage bin, the information that doesn't matter because it isn't going to help you achieve your dreams, while the wisdom filling one of Carl Sagan's seminal tracts might help you understand things a bit better and smooth over those last few wrinkles impeding your impending success.

And then you realize you probably had all your best dreams when you were a child, all those dreams you have long-since forgotten, and a slow-burning panic sets in. Am I ruined? Does too much knowledge work against me? Have I paralyzed myself by learning too much about the world? Have I made things too complicated when simplicity is the answer? Has reality destroyed my dreams? Have I lost my unique identity somewhere along the road to wherever the hell I am right now? What am I chasing anyway?

Who knows. Knowledge? Adventure? True love? Happiness? All sound trite, but maybe triteness is closer to truth than we realize. Maybe we should grant it more respect.

All I know is I've been hard at work for twenty years, trying to get somewhere, making sure I enjoy the ride, never sure of where I'm heading or even where I've been once the initial afterglow of discovery wears off. Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing here? Is there a better way to go about all this?

So many questions, so few answers. Zero answers. Help!

Enter the Apple IIe, machine of the future, here in the now to solve as many problems as you can throw at it. 4 + 4? No problem. Starving to death on the Oregon Trail for lack of squirrel meat? Unsure whether or not reality is a dream or if the calories are worth it? Whatever your problem, rest assured the Apple IIe will solve it with only a few strokes of its custom-built keys.

I don't know about you, but I find that comforting. Hey, maybe that's what it's all about--comfort. We all know the answer, whatever it is, will be a simple one, so it might as well be the simplest.

Whatever you do as the merry-go-round of life spins its finite series of revolutions, just make sure you are comfortable doing it and you can be content that you are doing it right.

Huh. Too bad I'll forget all about this tomorrow...

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Rivers Cuomo is Officially a Jackass

If the results of Rivers Cuomo's ill-fated decision to use an equation he distilled after studying the music of numerous successful songwriters to replicate infinite variations of the perfect pop song weren't bad enough--the Green album, Maladroit, Make Believe, the Red album, Raditude (really?)--trixie pixie sellout Cuomo just shot the moon with his latest aural turd, Hurley.

In case you were wondering, yes--the album IS named after the morbidly obese guy on Lost, yes--he IS featured on the cover, and yes--he DID sing a duet with Rivers onstage at some sort of asshole convention in Los Angeles.

I feel no need to ruminate on the wherefores of Rivers' decision, since I don't give a shit what stupid reason he had, but I do think it is important for everybody out there to realize, if they haven't already, that the man behind Pinkerton and the Blue album, two of the greatest rock albums of the last 20 years, has officially become an irredeemable, unapologetic jackass.

You have been warned.

Also, I feel the need to warn you of the following forthcoming turds from the Cuomo camp:

- Pinkerton, their best album and the last one worth a damn (recorded 14 years ago) is set for an unnecessary re-release (same music, but with new fan art! probably! OMG!).

- A third solo album--The Pinkerton Years--is also in the works.

Noticing a trend here, folks?

[Puke]

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Old News: Vatican Corrupt

The world's smallest city-state is in the news once again and, once again, hopes its ridiculously inappropriate Foreign-Sovereign Immunity (which absolves it of all responsibility for child sexual abuse cases in the United States, fyi) will allow it to do whatever it wants while thumbing its nose at the peculiar secular world, where actions have consequences.

VATICAN CITY — Italian authorities seized euro23 million ($30 million) from a Vatican bank account Tuesday and said they have begun investigating top officials of the Vatican bank in connection with a money-laundering probe.

(courtesy HuffPo)

But don't worry, it's probably all a big misunderstanding--it's not like the Vatican has any history of highly-suspicious involvement with the mafia and/or catastrophic financial crimes:

The Vatican bank was famously implicated in a scandal over the collapse of the Banco Ambrosiano in the 1980s in one of Italy's largest fraud cases. Roberto Calvi, the head of Banco Ambrosiano, was found hanging from Blackfriars Bridge in London in 1982 in circumstances that still remain mysterious.

London investigators first ruled that Calvi committed suicide, but his family pressed for further investigation. Eventually murder charges were filed against five defendants, including a major Mafia figure, and they were tried in Rome and acquitted in 2007.

Banco Ambrosiano collapsed following the disappearance of $1.3 billion in loans the bank had made to several dummy companies in Latin America. The Vatican had provided letters of credit for the loans. While denying any wrongdoing, the Vatican bank agreed to pay $250 million to Ambrosiano's creditors.

(courtesy HuffPo)

Yikes! But soft--who runs the Vatican Bank? Its problems can most likely be blamed on greedy secular bankers operating outside the church's sphere of influence, right? The religious folk just made a few careless mistakes in who they hired to run their financial operations, right?

Wrong:

More after the jump...

Stupid Whore Class is in session

"Our backs ache, our skirts are too tight, we shake our booties from left to right."

This is the controversial cheer that a Michigan cheerleader's mother objected to recently. This objection got her daughter kicked off the squad and straight onto the stage of Good Morning America.

The kicker: The former cheerleader is only 6 years old.

SIX YEARS OLD!

For whom do six-year-olds cheer? Six-year-old football players? The Catholic Priests Charity Football League?

Even more importantly, however, how does this cheer make any sense? Who wants to hear about people's problems? Their backs ache? Whose doesn't. Their skirts are too tight? Stop getting so fat!

Boring...

Or are these cheerleaders trying to say they are always on their back getting it from football players and their skirts are intentionally too tight because they're trying to show off the hot bodies they spend all day creating by not eating and ditching class to do bikram yoga and smoking cigarettes across the street?

Oh, wait, I just got it--these six-year-old girls are CHEAP SLUTS who really, really, really want their football-playing sex-partners to win the game against their other football-playing sex-partners who go to first-grade at a nearby rival primary school.

Or so their coach wants us to think, for some reason--probably because she thinks it's "cute."

Makes total sense...this is, after all, the monstrous nation that created Miley Cyrus.


Dessert:
Our disease has been exported to China!

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The Dark Side of Youtube

For every Scarlet Takes a Tumble and Fat Dad Falls Off Skateboard, there is always a video that makes you stop laughing uncontrollably at the misfortunes of others and reminds you of the frightening power of the Dark Side.

This is one of those videos:

(Thanks, Videogum!)

Shock and awe, folks. Shock and awe.

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Who Doesn't Love a Psychologically-Damaged, Overly-Vain Mystery Bride?

The end is nigh, folks, as this will be coming to your television screen before you can stop it:

The [E!] network is set to announce "Bridalplasty," where brides-to-be compete in wedding-themed challenges to win extensive surgical procedures.

Each week, a group of women competes head-to-head in such challenges as writing wedding vows and planning honeymoons. The winner receives the chance to choose a plastic surgery procedure from her "wish list." She's given the procedure immediately, and results are shown at the start of the following week's episode.

One by one, the women are voted out by their competitors and, according to the show's description, "possibly walking away with nothing and losing [their] chance to be the perfect bride."

The last bride standing will receive a "dream wedding," where she will reveal her new appearance to friends, family and the groom. "Viewers will witness his emotional and possibly shocked reaction as they stand at the altar and he lifts her veil to see her for the first time following her extreme plastic surgery," E! said.

(courtesy Hollywood Reporter)

Oh, my God! I can't wait for the bitchy cat fights as these women maneuver to have their foes eliminated one-by-one! And the daily sobbing as they talk about how their noses/chins/cheekbones/butts/breasts/un-rejuvenated vaginas have conspired to ruin their lives!

But mostly I can't wait to see the looks on those husbands' faces when they lift up the veil on their wedding day and realize they just married a perfect stranger who used to be a crazy person they loved for some reason!

It just doesn't get much better than that, if you are looking for one perfect moment that defines a new low in the Global Corporate Village known as the Western World. The ascent of Beck/Palin and the Double Down were just foreshocks and now we must brace ourselves for the mighty quake.

As far as aftershocks go, we also have these three turds to look forward to avoiding this fall:

The Defenders - Jim Belushi (!) and Jerry O'Connell (!)...together at last! Not since DeNiro and Pacino in Heat has America been this excited about an actor pairing. For those of you who are confused, Jim is John Belushi's less-talented brother and Jerry O'Connell is the kid who was in Stand By Me who is married to Rebecca Romijn. Two of the finest examples of the new American dream--failing upward.

Undercovers - The tired Mr. and Mrs. Smith dynamic all over again, but worse. The catchy twist: They're black this time!

Mike & Molly - Two fat people (read: relatable!) fall in love in Middle America while performing endearingly working-class jobs. From wikipedia: "The series, set in Chicago, follows two obese people, Mike Biggs [Get it! -Ed.], a police officer who wants to shed some pounds, and Molly Flynn, a fourth-grade teacher wanting to embrace her curves, who meet at an Overeaters anonymous group and become an unlikely pair. However, they also have to deal with the comments, jokes, and criticism from Mike's fast-talking partner Carl McMillan; Molly's slim sister Victoria and mother Joyce; and Samuel, a Senegalese waiter at the cops' favorite restaurant."

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United States v. Muslims: By the Numbers

(courtesy The Atlantic)

Just goes to show you that, despite our wealth and military muscle, we are but a moon orbiting the Muslim planet, and we should remember that as we spend trillions of dollars and end tens of thousands of lives chasing down the smallest enemy fighting force we have ever faced.

So take a step back, warmongers, hide your misspelled vitriol for a moment, and start taking up a collection to bribe your Congressional representatives to get us the hell out of Afghanistan, Michael Moore-style:

Let's dig a few thousand wells in Afghanistan, build a few free mosques, leave behind some food and clothing, fix their electrical grid, issue an apology and set up a Facebook page so they can stay in touch with us -- and then let's get the hell out. Your own National Security Advisor and your CIA Director have told you there are less than 100 al Qaeda fighters in the entire country. 100???                           (courtesy HuffPo)

As long as our unemployed serf brethren pony up more than Raytheon, Northrop Grumman, Halliburton, and Xe Services (nee Blackwater) combined, it should be easy enough to transform the United States into a slightly more sensible world power.

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AIDS = Hitler

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Lower-Class Twit of the Year Competition Results Are In

The votes are in, folks, and the twittiest of the lower-class twits from across this gorgeous globe have been identified and ranked in a highly scientific process know as a "boondoggle."

Here are the results to share with your friends:


Gold Medal -

That is one disturbed belly-button/cat

 Silver Medal -

This guy's girlfriend must never let him take his shirt off at pool parties.

Oh, wait--he's never had one.

 Bronze Medal (with special commendation for supreme idiocy) -

Jolene must be so proud of her little skinhead

Kids at home, please take note--this is what you either should or should not do, depending on how you want your life to turn out. Good luck figuring that shit out!

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