Archive for January 17th, 2015

Precious Bodily Fluids

The experience of common everyday driving in Russia was aptly captured by Walt Disney in 1955, when he opened in Disneyland the fearsome and terrifying Wild Ride Of Mr. Toad.

Passengers begin their journey by crashing into a library. They then crash through the fireplace, scattering embers on the floor. Narrowly avoiding a falling suit of armor, the passengers break through a set of doors to find thelet's drive interior hallway of Toad Hall in disarray, as weasels swing from chandeliers. Guests then enter the dining room, where Moley is eating at a dinner table and gets knocked aside.

Upon leaving Toad Hall, guests travel through the countryside, aggravating policemen and terrifying a farmer and his sheep. Making a right turn, guests head for the docks and get the impression that their car will plunge into the river, but quickly make a sharp turn in a different direction and enter a warehouse full of barrels and crates containing explosives. Guests crash through a brick wall as the warehouse’s contents explode. They then head out into the streets, narrowly avoid a collision with a delivery truck.

Passengers then enter the town square, where the cars wreak further havoc on the citizens. Next, guests enter a jury-less courtroom, where the riders are proclaimed guilty by a judge. The cars then enter what is presumed to be a dark prison cell before abruptly turning right and landing on railroad tracks. The vehicles bounce along the tracks in the dark before colliding head-on with an oncoming train.

Passengers then arrive at the ride’s final scene: a depiction of Hell. The entire room is heated, and the scenery features small devils who bounce up and down. Passengers also see a demon who resembles the Judge from the courtroom scene. Near the end of the scene, a towering green dragon emerges and attempts to burn the riders to a crisp. A glowing light is seen in the back of its throat and choking, coughing noises are heard while the motorcar speeds away. Granted a reprieve, the passengers eventually “escape” to the ride’s loading and unloading area, where they disembark.

Much of this Horror is due to the fact that the average Russian consumes four gallons of pure alcohol per year, more than double the rate of even the seriously bibulous Americans. More than 20% of Russian males go unto death stopdirectly due to alcoholism. And these people do not often abstain when they get behind the wheel.

But in a nation plagued by vodkamobiles, what has the Russian government decreed is The Answer? Ban from driving those with “sex disorders.” Which is basically defined as anyone not having ninety-second intercourse in the missionary position with Vladimir Putin.

Banned hereafter from the Russian roadways are people identified as suffering from such “mental disorders” as fetishism, exhibitionism, and voyeurism. Transsexual and transgender people must also get out of their cars before they run down the whole nation.

Gay people are not yet banned from driving, though the government has made it plenty clear they should either get the hell out of the country, or go back into the closet and nail the door shut. “Promoting non-traditional lifestyles” is now illegal in Russia, and that is more or less defined as encouraging anything other than sexual relations with government officials.

Mikhail Strakhov, a Russian psychiatric expert, told BBC Russian that the definition of “personality disorders” was too vague and some disorders would not affect a person’s ability to drive a car safely.

Gee, ya think?

The Association of Russian Lawyers for Human Rights called the new law “discriminatory”. It said it would demand clarifications from the Russian Constitutional Court and seek support from international human rights organisations.

Good luck. Previous attempts at Cassandraing from Russian lawyers have been met with but a big wet raspberry. In the New World Order all transsexuals and voyeurs and such clearly must be swept from the roadways in order to Protect the People from . . . something.

This current gang of goofballs grunting round the corridors of power in Russia has a real problem with sex. It’s just weird. They ought to come to the US and serve as Republicans in the House of Representatives. My advice. They’d fit right in.


My Body Is On Fire

The state of Oklahoma is officially classified as a Hellhole. It is populated primarily by orcs, and its chief export is dust. It is a Known Fact that more humanoids in Oklahoma fuck cows, than each other. Thus, for many years the state was represented in the United States by a hybrid who would abolish science (James Inhofe), and a hybrid who would abolish women (Tom Coburn). And because its citizenry firmly believes there is not already enough death and man-on-firesuffering in the world, Oklahoma has of late specialized in executing human beings in as cruel and unusual a manner as possible.

And so, on Thursday night, there was Charles Warner, who reported from the death chamber, as lethal toxins were injected into his system, “my body is on fire.”

Earlier, Warner had stated, of the death-prep procedure, “they poked me five times. It hurt. It feels like acid.”

Warner’s attorney, Madeline Cohen, who witnessed the execution, said there was no way to know if Warner suffered because the second drug, a paralytic, would have prevented him from moving.

“Because Oklahoma injected Mr. Warner with a paralytic tonight, acting as a chemical veil, we will never know whether he experienced the intense pain of suffocation and burning that would result from injecting a conscious person with rocuronium bromide and potassium chloride,” Cohen said in a statement.

Oklahomans originally wished to extinguish Warner in a Doublemint (“double your pleasure/double your fun”) execution on April 29 of last year, when citizens across the state planned to experience powerful Thanatos orgasms as both Warner and Clayton Lockett were put to death.

However, Warner’s extermination was put on hold when Lockett, the first victim in the Death Show, “convulsed, spurted blood and writhed on his gurney during an execution that lasted 43 minutes,” one that even automatons working for the prison industry described as “a bloody mess,” one so prolonged and macabre and bizarre that at one point his murderers decided to try to haul him off to a hospital and there resuscitate him.

Both Warner and Lockett were black men. And Oklahomans love killing black men. Even more than they like fucking cows. It was a huge bummer, then, there on April 29, when they didn’t get to kill two, in one night.

After the Lockett horror, Oklahoma spent $71,000 on killing “upgrades,” and then successfully fought off a US Supreme Court challenge. There, five members of the high court refused even to consider whether a sedative given to an inmate should or would be strong enough to render him so unconscious that he wouldn’t feel other drugs stop his lungs and heart.

In dissent, Justice Sonia Sotomayor, an actual human being, reiterated that “the Eighth Amendment guarantees that no one should be subjected to an execution that causes searing, unnecessary pain before death.”

But Sotomayor got four votes. Not five. And so the public burning commenced. Yeehaw. Party. In Oklahoma. Where life, it sure is, whitely, grand.

Hail Gluteus Maximus


When I Worked

January 2015
« Dec   Feb »