Archive for January 25th, 2015

Away In A Manger

A Russian nascent-mother can expect to pay a bribe of $4000 for a private hospital room in which to give birth. Can’t come up with the dough: deliver in a hallway.

Abortions are increasingly anathema in Russia: these days, after 12 weeks, a woman seeking abortion better cry rape. And the revivified Russian Orthodox Church, that snuffling butt-buddy of purse-lipped closet case President Vladimir Putin godin lashing uppity Russian women into jail, seeks to permanently plug up half the vaginas currently aborting.

While meanwhile there are roughly one to five million homeless children in Russia.

The government, from need, has set up, up and down the land, “baby boxes,” where mothers who cannot be, can box, for some other, their babies, rather than leave them on the streets.

And so, cats, they have taken, to caring for Russian children.

In Obinsk, a week or so ago, a “baby was abandoned in front of an apartment block and left lying on the floor on a day when temperatures were several degrees centigrade below zero.”

A local cat by the name of Masha that lived in a cardboard box in the hallway “warmed the baby for several hours with her body,” TV Zvezda channel reported yesterday.

After hearing loud cries, one of the residents opened her front door and spotted the baby on the floor, with the cat sitting beside it, licking it and trying to warm it, TV Zvezda reported.

“The residents are certain, if the cat hadn’t taken care of it, the your are so beautifulbaby wouldn’t have had a chance,” the channel’s anchor said.

Nadezhda Makhovikova, who lives in a flat on the stairway, told REN TV she went out after hearing sounds as if the cat was meowing in distress.

“When I went down, I saw it was the baby crying.”

When paramedics arrived and took the baby into the ambulance, Masha ran after them, REN TV reported.

Vera Ivanina, a paramedic, told REN TV: “She was so worried about where we were taking the baby. She ran right behind us, miaowing. She was really a rational creature.”

Russian television aired footage of the shaggy green-eyed tabby cat, fed by residents and allowed to live in the hall.

“Allowed to live in the hall.”

 . . . and she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn . . . .

pre-monolith unevolved blind deaf dumb unhuman unlife unholy unseeing unknowing unfeeling unaware unloving unloved jesus wept and wept and wept and wept and wept ooga-booga pre-human ape-less knuckledragging and oh you weep oh you weep oh you weak oh you weak oh you sorry sorry bastards


Sunday Services

born on christmas day

Into The Great Wide Open

Voyager, in case it’s ever encountered by extraterrestrials, is carrying photos of life on Earth, greetings in 55 languages, and he is risena collection of music, from Gregorian chants to Chuck Berry, including “Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground,” by ’20s bluesman Blind Willie Johnson. Whose stepmother blinded him at seven by throwing lye in his eyes, after his father beat her for being with another man. He died penniless of pneumonia after sleeping bundled in wet newspapers in the ruins of his house that burned down. But his music just left the solar system.

—Peter Noah

The Light Is Beautiful

Our Town

Lodz was cruel and unusual. Singularly picturesque with its dilapidated buildings, dilapidated staircases, dilapidated people. Lodz had only been slightly damaged during the war so the town of my film-school days was, in fact, the pre-war town. And, because it stood just as it had before the war and there’d never been any money for repairs and townrenovations, the walls were all blistering, plaster was peeling away, crumbling everywhere. And all that was singularly picturesque. It’s not an ordinary town.

When I was still at film school, my friends and I often played a game which was very simple but required integrity. On the way to school in the morning, we had to collect points. If you saw someone without an arm you got one point, without two arms two points, without a leg two points, without two legs three points, without arms or legs, a trunk that is, ten points, and so on. A blind person was five points. Then, at school we’d meet at about ten in the morning for breakfast and see who had won. We’d usually all get about ten or twelve points, on average. If anyone got fifteen, he was almost sure to have won that day. That shows you how many people there were in Lodz who didn’t have arms or legs or who were mere trunks without both arms and legs. This was a result of the extremely backward, ancient textile industry there, where people were forever having limbs tore off. It was also the result of very narrow streets where trams went right up next to the building. You just had to take one inadvertent step and you’d find yourself under a tram. Anyway, that’s the sort of town it was.

It’s a town where, for example, there were notices in the trams which said that if you wanted to transport a cabbage-slicer, you had to buy two tickets. I’ve never ever seen a notice like that since—that there’s a special loofare for transporting a cabbage-slicer.

There was this guy in a park with a special machine which would give you an electric shock. You’d hold on to the negative charge, with one hand, and with the other a wire which was positively charged. And he’d turn on the power. The whole point was to see who could stand the highest voltage. How much will you stand? 120 volts? Proof of whether you were a man depended on whether you could bear 380 volts, for example. And not 120. A child could stand sixty or eighty then would let go immediately. But serious, fat men would hold on to 380 volts and say: “Okay, give me more.” But the guy didn’t have any more. He only had 380 volts.

There was a woman who lived right next to the school. The road near the school was quite wide in one place because there was a park there. It was, say, twenty-five meters wide. The old woman’s house was on one side of the road, opposite was the park. And where the park started, there was a public toilet where you had to go down some stairs if you wanted a pee. At more or less ten in the morning, that old woman would leave her house where she presumably didn’t have a toilet, and make her way to that public loo. She was, well, very old. She moved with great difficulty. She moved so slowly that it took her eight hours to get to that toilet. Sometimes seven. Sometimes six. Then she had to climb down the stairs. Afterwards, she had to climb up again and, in the evening, she’d go back home. She’d go to bed. Sleep. Then get up in the morning and go to the loo again.

—Krzysztof Kieslowski

Disqualified Death’s-Head To Take All Of The Money, All Of The Names

Clinton II, recently disqualified by the Democratic National Committee from seeking the presidency as a Democrat, because she is a cruel and callous death’s-head who snickers and chortles at the killing of human beings, is nonetheless planning to suck up all of the money available to 2016 Democratic presidential contenders.

Major donors are ready to announce huge financial commitments to Hillary Clinton as soon as she she is risenannounces a second run for the White House, according to Clinton allies and Democratic fundraisers.

“The floodgates are going to open immediately, and there’s going to be a rush to get on the team,” said Don Peebles, the real estate mogul who served on President Obama’s national finance committee. “There’s nobody in the Democratic Party who can match her. Not even close.”

“It’s going to be like nothing you’ve seen,” added one top Democratic donor, who supported both of Obama’s presidential campaigns and plans to throw big support behind Clinton. “The numbers will be astounding.”

Having secured all of the money, the people of the Thanatos Candidate are now throwing a tantrum because The Black Man will not bend to her the knee and immediately turn over to her Death’s-Head Juggernaut the enormous, sophisticated email list, and associated data, keying his supporters.

“There’s a lot of data—voter data, massive email lists that Obama built and there are a lot of people who want to make sure that he spreads that wealth,” the Clinton ally said. “They want to make sure he doesn’t take it in a suitcase back to Chicago and move on. No one wants to see it disappear or have it used just to build a library.”

Oh bugger off, “Clinton ally.” Better in a suitcase, than catapulting the Death’s-Head into the White House.

Death’s-Head’s husband, Mr. Death’s-Head, is reportedly so enraged at The Black Man’s failure to crawl across cut glass to Mrs. Death’s-Head in order to fawningly present her with anything and everything she wants, that he has taken to randomly snatching women off the street and inserting his penis into them.

Mr. Death’s-Head is a howling racist who back in 1992 interrupted his campaign for the presidency to fly down to Arkansas, where he was then serving as governor, to personally preside over the execution of Ricky Ray Rector, a mentally retarded black man.

[R]icky Ray Rector became world famous upon his execution in 1992. Then Governor Bill politicsClinton left the campaign trail in January of that year to sign the warrant for Rector’s execution. Rector’s mental capacity was such that when taken from his cell as a “dead man walking” he told a guard to save his pie. He thought he would return to finish his dessert.

I try to remember this story when I am told that all Black people love Bill Clinton or that he should be considered the first Black president. Clinton wasn’t Black when Rector needed him. He was just another politician who didn’t want to be labeled soft on crime.

Then, in 2008, when The Black Man was beating Mrs. Death’s-Head like a gong in their contest for the presidency, Mr. Death’s-Head famously fumed that “a few years ago, this guy would have been getting us coffee.”

Instead, he drank their milkshake. And is drinking it still.

Putin Puppet Proclaims Russian People Shall Eschew Electricity, Food, To Protect Der Leader

Russian Deputy Prime Minister and shameless kleptocrat Igor Shuvalov went down to Davos this weekend to warn that people better bugger right off Vladimir Putin, the current Russian tsar, because “when a Russian feels any foreign pressure, he will never give up his leader. Never. We will survive any hardship in the country, eat less food, use less electricity.”


Russian food, as is well known, consists go get emprimarily of potatoes, and things that are pickled. Also, vodka.

It is significant that Shuvalov did not promise that the Russian people would stop drinking, in their drive to Protect the President.

As for electricity, more than most of that is generated by resources stolen from the Siberian people.

Around the time that other European peoples were clambering aboard boats to cross the great water and there steal the Americas, Russians began pouring over the Urals, to snatch with greedy grasping hands Siberia. Native Siberians were told to get lost, just as native Americans were. Today, the region is violated by innumerable techno-whiz-bang dumberments ceaselessly extracting this and that, dumberments that can never be switched off, because if they were, they would freeze solid, and never come back on again.

It is true that some Russian electricity is generated by nuclear devices, but these have a tendency to blow up or sink. That is because they are relicts of the era when Russia was run by men—Brezhnev, Andropov, Chernenko—who were either functionally or literally dead.

It was during this epoch, for instance, when Russian bicycles were famously built of cement.

There then came a brief six-year period of light, when the nation was helmed by Mikhail Gorbachev, who, in the histories, will go down as pretty much unique, in deliberately declining to exercise the powers available to him, allowing events to take their course, and so he presided over the dissolution of an empire.

But Gorbachev was rudely shoved aside by the lumbering hot damndrunkard Boris Yeltsin, who famously shelled his own parliament, and sold his country into Hell.

Today the tsar is Putin, veteran KGB disinformation officer and Yeltsin protege. A pitiable closet case whose zealous rejection of his own homoerotic tendencies manifests in such denialist madness as appointing to head the 2300-employee Rossiya Segodnya cum Sputnik News the babbling 12th Century baboon Dmitry Kiselyov. Who believes gay people who die in car accidents should have their hearts and other internal organs burned or buried, so as not to be inadvertently transplanted into The Normal People; that in the libertine homo-overrun Sweden “at age 12 there is already child impotency”; and that a 22 year-old murdered Russian, in coming out as gay, “provoked” his own slaying.

And Shuvalov thinks the Russian people are going to starve themselves in the darkened streets for such people.

Right. Sure they are.

When I Worked

January 2015
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