Ripped from the Headlines

'Cow-eating' trees of Padrame!!!*

"Mangalore: Carnivorous trees grabbing humans and cattle and gobbling them up is not just village folklore.

Residents of Padrame near Kokkoda in Uppinangady forest range sighted one such carnivorous tree trying to dine on a cow last Thursday [October 18, 2007]. According to reports, the cow owned by Anand Gowda had been left to graze in the forests.

The cow was suddenly grabbed by the branches and pulled from the ground. The terrified cowherd ran to the village, and got Gowda and a band of villagers to the carnivorous tree.

Before the tree could have its meal, Anand Gowda and the villagers struck mortal blows to the branches that turned limp and the cow was rescued. Uppinangady range forest officer (RFO) Subramanya Rao said the tree was described as ‘pili mara’ (tiger tree) in native lingo.

He had received many complaints about cattle returning home in the evenings without tails. On Friday, the field staff confirmed coming across a similar tree in Padrane, partially felled down.

However no detailed inquiry was made as the authorities were not asked for any report, Rao said."

Scary, yes?

All I could find photo-wise was this terrifying car eating tree. But there could be people inside!!!!!!

You can get your own carnivorous plants here!

*I added the exclamation points. How not? It's a cow eating tree!


When the Pigeons Came to Town

Sure, at first it just seemed like fun and frolics.

"They tickle!" people were heard to say.

But these were clever pigeons. And the pigeons had purpose. A poopy purpose.

No one was safe.

It started with the indignity of poo raids and quickly escalated.

For these...

...were carnivorous pigeons.

The warnings appeared but by then it was too late.

The attacks had begun in earnest.


The Eternal Flame

The bonfire was lit during a service at Beskid Zywiecki, close to John Paul's birthplace at Katowice, southern Poland, on April 2 - the second anniversary of his death.


Slow Dancing with my Shadow

Eons ago, I had an idea. An idea birthed from food poisoning and a late night editing junket but an idea nonetheless.

From the moment the then title, FUCK NOIR, burst from my lips I became invested and attached to a project that has taken two years to bring to fruition. My mind is full of frozen images from along the way. So many stills from the movie of my life devoted to pitches, cajoling, editing, burst bubbles, bubbles reborn and one epiphany after another.

I am a very, very lucky girl.

This last two years have been hard. So hard.

I lost my dad and for a long time lost hope and my will. Weeks would slip through my fingers without my noticing. When I came out of my cave (a cave I still spend a lot of time in), lo and behold, my people were still there and so was this damned book. I'd started out hoping to put into my dad's hands when it was done.

I've dedicated it to him instead.

Next month on November 20, EXPLETIVE DELETED will hit the streets. There are many last minute things to do, reviews bad and good coming in, signings to set up and a launch party to plan (anyone up for a "come as your favorite Banned Book character" theme?) and I am riding around the rim of sanity on a unicycle.

Think about it. After you sell the book to a publisher, edit it and get it to the printers, you're not done. You have to sell the fucker to the people! To the bookstores, to the libraries, to that guy down the street with the hairy back who for some bizarre reason mows his lawn backwards!

And you have to go on television!

I mean I do!

The Babbling Brook of Frolics and Fucks!

Then it all begins. It will be me, multiple cans of Diet Rockstar and an uncaptured audience. An audience I must capture.

Because I am a Warrior of Words. And my War brings Wisdom to the dark corners of my mind. There I find myself, still sitting under the table where I went to hide during my ninth birthday party. I hated, just hated, having all the attention paid to me. All those eyes focused on me.

There is no table for me to hide beneath now.

I have to take the shy little girl inside by the hand and step out, ever so briefly, into a spot light.

Wish me luck.

Sir McMullet

It was always John for me. Always. I thought the man in the white pants and black socks (!) above was a dork before I even knew what a dork was. The round lipped "oooooooo" way of singing, the constant look of surprise. I knew my chain was being yanked by a master. John was just John. Pissed or pissed off, stumbling or dancing, brilliant or tampon on the head. Always just John.

The way that I am just me and you are just you and we are just all together.

Off to bed, I am. Alarm clock to buzz and be smacked all too soon. I have lands to scape and tools to loose.


What Does Death Feel Like?

Click here to find out what it's like to die by drowning, fire, electrocution, lethal injection, etc.


The Angry Clowns

Knock, knock, knock.

Matthew Hoffner wonders who in the hell it could be at his door at 11 at night.

One way to find out.

He opened the door.

Three men in clown make-up were there and they looked mean. Really, really mean.

Hoffner closed the door.

The clowns kicked it in.

Then they punched him several times.

Then they left.

After they left, Hoffner realized one of the faces looked familiar; that they "had a common gal in their past." But this was not the nasty clown that assaulted him.

The police investigation is continuing.

Photo from collection by Mg Lizi


Sole to the Earth

I take great joy in walking barefoot,
My feet to the ground.
Sand against my heel,
Grass between my toes.
Barefoot I am closer to
The Beginning of Everything.

The Barefoot Path in the Western Contemplative Tradition


Regional traditions

In many cultures it is considered inappropriate, even rude, to wear shoes indoors. It may be acceptable to wear shoes in public places ( e.g. museums or libraries ), but people are usually expected to go barefoot, or wear socks, inside dwellings. This is usually true for countries where inclement weather is frequent, such as Japan, China, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Vietnam, or Canada, and serves the purpose of minimizing the amount of dirt and mud brought in from the outside.

"Am I really barefoot every time you talk to me?" Mortensen says, laughing. "I don't really think about it, but I try to be comfortable and not make things too complicated. I like to be respectful and dress appropriately, but if that can coincide with what's comfortable then that's what I'll try to do."

Symbol of Innocence

This largely American literary tradition dates from the 18th and 19th centuries, when going barefoot was a standard part of childhood play, especially in rural areas. It features prominently in the novels of Mark Twain and the poetry of John Greenleaf Whittier. Barefoot children and young women are also common in the paintings and sketches of Norman Rockwell, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, and the artists affiliated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

Symbol of Peace

One way to commemorate Mahatma Gandhi, is to walk barefoot around his monument. Even Pope John Paul II and George W. Bush paid him this honor, as shoes are banned within Gandhi's memorial site, Raj Ghat.

Woman at Work

Many religious traditions consider removing shoes as a pious gesture of respect, especially appropriate when approaching holy places.

Going barefoot is also a common form of mortification, often combined with others such as pilgrimage, either as penance or ascetism. Roman Catholic religious orders that permanently restrict the ability of members to wear footwear are known as "discalced", though in reference to certain religious orders the term means wearing only sandals on the feet. Barefoot orders include the Camaldolese and the Teresian.

"The Barefoot Path in the Western Contemplative Tradition" by Ken Rice (link below) provides a good overview of the subject.

The Burmese seem to live their religion rather than just practice it. Buddhism is pervasive, and can seem to outsiders as very casual. This fellow incongruously relaxes on the floor with a book in one of Shwedagon’s many temples. In photographing the man, I stress his bare feet. All who enter Burma’s Buddhist temples must remove both shoes and socks, an act of humility. He bares his soles to us. He lies upon a hard floor. He is a humble man. Yet he also turns away from Buddha to read his book. This is an incongruity, and it helps this photograph tell its story.

nelipot: one who is walking barefoot


"Those Damn Kids!"

This photo was taken in Huntington, WV, about 2 years ago, and is the Washington Ave. Burger king.
I happened to have my camera in my bag and had to drive around the block twice to get this photo.

Even funnier is that after I got the picture, I went home and called them to let them know it was up,
and the lady that answered the phone was nearly silent to the point I thought she’d hung up,
and then she burst out and said “THOSE DAMN KIDS!!”

I nearly fell off my couch laughing, and this is one of the most commented on-photos on my page : )
Anyway, enjoy! (but I don’t recommend the burgers ; )

From Neatorama

Producted Mullet


The Saturday Night Otterific Cuteness Buffer

Click here to see the cutest otter video ever made ever!

Some People Seem to have a Problem with This..*.

I, for one, love it.

As do a majority of the people in Denver who wonder why this shirt was taken from the Colorado History Museum gift shop shelves.

Oddly, Colorado was the first day state to celebrate Columbas Day and the place in which its celebration is still hotly contested.

Hey, have you ever read the book: Lies My Teacher Told Me? I read it when it first came out in 1996. It is being re-released on my birthday.

"What passes for identity in America is a series of myths about one's heroic ancestors. - James Baldwin "A Talk to Teachers"

At the very least, this book will make you think. It could also inflame you, fascinate you and incite emotions about a topic you'd thought you put to bed when you graduated.

Mr. Loewen begins his critique with the pantheon of American heroification and dives right into his vilification of common textbook versions with well-footed noted documentation. With Helen Keller, he discusses her membership with the Socialist party and her championing of women's suffrage. It speaks of Woodrow Wilson being a very outspoken white supremacist who, during his bid for the presidency, promised to work towards civil rights. With his second chapters' treatise of Christopher Columbus, you'll begin to question not only his "discovery" of America but find out what gave rise to the "Black Legend" of Spanish cruelty. The Truth about the First Thanksgiving decimates everything ever taught about this event.

You will hate this book, or you will love this book. You will believe it, or you won't. It could seem like anything from a rebuttal to socialist propaganda. But, it will make you think, and that is very important.

*when, really, more attention should be paid to paid grammar and cyber idiocy.


He is the Walurus


Check him out, the newest addition to the New York Aquarium!

Gosh, yes.

Yes, there was a lot of wisdom uttered by the cowled one over the years. A smattering has been collected for your edification.

Batman* (during a bat-climb): "Careful, Robin. Both hands on the Bat-rope."
Robin: "Sorry, Batman."

Bruce: "Most Americans don't realize what we owe to the ancient Incas. Very few appreciate they gave us the white potato and many varieties of Indian corn."
Dick: "Now whenever I eat mashed potatos, I for one will think of the Incas."

Batman: Ma Parker's girl is more dangerous than her three boys.
Robin: Her legs sort of reminded me of Catwoman's.
Batman: You're growing up, Robin. Remember, in crime-fighting always keep your sights raised.

Robin: Prepare yourself for an eggspeditious defeat!
Batman: Very apt, Robin.
Robin: Oh. Glad you liked it.

Robin: "We better hurry, Batman."
Batman: "Not too fast, Robin. In good bat-climbing as in good driving one must never sacrifice safety for speed."
Robin: "Right again, Batman."

Holy Act of Congress

Daisy Got a Bone