Bob dylan wants to fuck your face.
Bob dylan wants to fuck your face.
UNION CITY, Ga. - A McDonald's employee spent a night in jail and is facing criminal charges because a police officer's burger was too salty, so salty that he says it made him sick.
Kendra Bull was arrested Friday, charged with misdemeanor reckless conduct and freed on $1,000 bail.
Bull, 20, said she accidentally spilled salt on hamburger meat and told her supervisor and a co-worker, who "tried to thump the salt off."
On her break, she ate a burger made with the salty meat. "It didn't make me sick," Bull told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
But then Police Officer Wendell Adams got a burger made with the oversalted meat, and he returned a short time later and told the manager it made him sick.
Bull admitted spilling salt on the meat, and Adams took her outside and questioned her, she said.
"If it was too salty, why did (Adams) not take one bite and throw it away?" said Bull, who has worked at the restaurant for five months. She said she didn't know a police officer got one of the salty burgers because she couldn't see the drive-through window from her work area.
Police said samples of the burger were sent to the state crime lab for tests.
City public information officer George Louth said Bull was charged because she served the burger "without regards to the well-being of anyone who might consume it."
cops are fucking stupid...Police said samples of the burger were sent to the state crime lab for tests.
looking to purchase:big brother skateboarding magazine back issues. travis bean tb1000s electric guitars.
DES MOINES, Iowa — A Des Moines man was charged with domestic assault Sunday after throwing a bag of Cheetos at his father.
Twenty-two-year-old Patrick Hamman was arrested after the bag of cheesy chips hit his father, Michael Hamman, in the face.
Police said the bag hit his father's glasses, causing a cut to the bridge of his nose.
The police report said — quote— "Michael's T-shirt was also covered in Cheeto dust."
Police said Patrick, who lives with his father, admitted that he was on methamphetamine at the time of the argument.
Meth? Sounds more like HGH if he could throw that hard...
- Caribou @ The Fonda in Los Angeles on Saturday, February 28th
- The Replacements @ The Palladium in Los Angeles on Wednesday, April 15th
- Belle & Sebastian + Mac Demarco @ The Fox Theater in Pomona, CA on Thursday, April 16th
6x Coachella Attendee (2007 - 2011, 2014a)
He has to be the luckiest black man alive if hes not found guilty of this.
(CNN) -- Former college and NFL star running back O.J. Simpson has been questioned as a possible suspect in an alleged theft, a Las Vegas, Nevada, police spokesman said Friday.
Police say O.J. Simpson has been questioned as a possible suspect in an alleged theft at a casino.
Sgt. John Loretto of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department said there was an allegation of a theft, "involving Simpson as a suspect."
"We're waiting right now to see if we can put together a press conference," Loretto told CNN. "We haven't arrested him or anything else; the investigation is very preliminary right now."
Asked whether Simpson is a suspect, the officer replied, "It is an alleged theft, and he is an alleged suspect."
CNN affiliate KVBC-TV in Las Vegas said the matter involved allegations of robbery at Palace Station Hotel and Casino.
Simpson was acquitted in the June 1994 slayings of his ex-wife, Nicole, and her friend Ronald Goldman.
The two were stabbed to death outside her Brentwood, California, home.
The former football star was arrested soon after the killings but maintained he was "absolutely, 100 percent, not guilty."
PARENTS AT ROCK CONCERTS MUST PROTECT KIDS FROM LOUD SOUND By Abigail Van Buren
Sat Sep 15, 8:03 PM ET
DEAR ABBY: I am begging you to have a medical health professional address this problem.
We were at a music festival last night, and sitting near us in front of the amplifier was a young mother with an infant who appeared to be about 5 weeks old. She was there for five hours!
I voiced my concern to a woman with her who said, "You can't tell her anything." I then spoke to a security guard, asking him to suggest that she move to the rear, away from those killer sound systems. No luck.
I'm ashamed to say that I did not go up and tell her to get away and save her child's poor little ears. So, I am begging you to print something about destroying children's hearing. I know some adults are plain stupid in this matter, but that infant had no choice. -- EXASPERATED IN WILKES-BARRE, PA.
DEAR EXASPERATED: I took your letter to Dr. Allen Senne, director of audiology at the famous House Ear Clinic. This is what he had to say, and I hope parents will heed it:
"Any noise in excess of 85 decibels -- that's about as loud as a power lawn mower -- is damaging to the human ear. That's why OSHA (the Occupational Safety and Health Administration) guidelines prohibit workers from working in areas where they're exposed to noise greater than 85 decibels for an extended period of time.
"Children are at least as susceptible to the effects of noise exposure as adults. In fact, professionals in the field of audiology are now seeing an increase in the incidence of younger people demonstrating hearing loss due to noise exposure from listening to iPods, Walkmans and other in-ear receivers because the digital sound produced by these devices can be played at louder levels without distortion.
"A typical music concert is amplified 110 to 120 decibels, which is significantly beyond any damage risk criteria, and has the potential for causing irreversible hearing problems. THIS CAN BE THE RESULT OF A ONE-TIME EXPOSURE.
"In fact, I recently treated a boy from Texas who had lost his hearing in one ear because he wanted to be close to the music and stood directly in front of an amplifier at a rock concert. That was a one-time exposure, so draw your own conclusions."
2 oz blended whiskey
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 tsp powdered sugar
1/2 slice lemon
Shake blended whiskey, juice of lemon, and powdered sugar with ice and strain into a whiskey sour glass. Decorate with the half-slice of lemon, top with the cherry, and serve.
To continue the rock music theme here, Disney apprently doesnt like metal.
Heavy metal concerts moved off Disney property
By Greg Burk, Special to The Times
September 15, 2007
Metal detectors may soon be irrelevant at House of Blues clubs, at least any sitting on property owned by the Walt Disney Co. Five heavy-metal concerts scheduled on Disney property in Anaheim and Orlando have been hastily shifted to other venues or canceled recently, according to House of Blues website calendars.
A Sept. 7 show featuring Machine Head, Arch Enemy, Throwdown and Sanctity, booked two months earlier, was moved on two days' notice from the House of Blues in Anaheim's Downtown Disney entertainment complex to the Glass House in Pomona. Thursday's concert with Cannibal Corpse, the Black Dahlia Murder, the Red Chord and the Absence, originally slated for the Anaheim House of Blues, was moved to the Galaxy Theatre in Santa Ana. A Sept. 26 Anaheim House of Blues concert featuring Obituary, Alabama Thunderpussy, Full Blown Chaos and Hemlock has been canceled outright.
At the House of Blues in Orlando, Fla., on Disney World property, a Sept. 17 concert of the Machine Head lineup has been moved to Club Firestone in downtown Orlando. The same action has been taken with the Oct. 11 Cannibal Corpse package.
Asked about the scheduling changes, John Vlautin, vice president of communications for Live Nation (formerly Clear Channel), the concert-promotion organization that owns the nationwide House of Blues chain, issued a statement Thursday that said only: "House of Blues offers a range of entertainment to match the audience at our venues. It was determined that the mix of entertainment at our two Disney locations should be different from our other venues."
Vlautin declined to comment on why metal bands have been singled out after years of similar bookings or whether other metal events already scheduled, including Suffocation, Edguy and Static X, will be affected.
Rob Doughty, communications vice president for Disneyland Resorts, declined to comment, referring inquiries to Vlautin. Paul McGuigan, concert promoter at the Anaheim House of Blues, also declined to comment through a club spokeswoman.
The Walt Disney Co., through Vlautin, issued a short statement Thursday that included no specifics about the shifts of the metal concerts: "In consultation with Walt Disney Parks and Resorts, the House of Blues will provide a mix of entertainment for guests visiting Disney Resorts."
Rob Flynn, vocalist and guitarist of Machine Head, expressed surprise about the venue change, saying in a phone interview that the group had played both clubs several times without incident. He said he had been told that Disney pressured House of Blues to evict metal on the grounds that it attracted an "undesirable" element; he also said he suspects that "one of the main issues of contention Disney had with Machine Head was our antiwar and anti-administration lyrics."
A sample lyric from the Bay Area quartet's current recording, "The Blackening," goes, "Murder us, silence us, / Divide and conquer us."
The veteran Cannibal Corpse, which headlines the touring Metal Blade Records bill that was removed from the Anaheim and Orlando House of Blues calendars, is known for its extreme album-cover artwork and death-obsessed lyrics such as "Pray to our God / With blood we praise his epic acts of hate," from last year's "Kill" collection. Many modern metal bands express an antiwar, anti-authority and/or anti-religion message.
John Halperin, talent booker for the Glass House, said Friday that the Machine Head show transferred to his venue came off to the satisfaction of bands and fans, despite the fact that it is an all-ages club where no alcohol is sold.
CARACAS (Reuters) - A Venezuelan man who had been declared dead woke up in the morgue in excruciating pain after medical examiners began their autopsy.
Carlos Camejo, 33, was declared dead after a highway accident and taken to the morgue, where examiners began an autopsy only to realize something was amiss when he started bleeding. They quickly sought to stitch up the incision on his face.
"I woke up because the pain was unbearable," Camejo said, according to a report on Friday in leading local newspaper El Universal.
His grieving wife turned up at the morgue to identify her husband's body only to find him moved into a corridor -- and alive.
Reuters could not immediately reach hospital officials to confirm the events. But Camejo showed the newspaper his facial scar and a document ordering the autopsy
It took them long enough. Im sure the kick backs and bribes were not enough. There will be another contractor to pick right up where they left off.
Yeah Im on wired today.....this shit freaks me out.
2ND GRADER SUSPENDED FOR DRAWING A STICK FIGURE WITH A GUN
DENNIS TOWNSHIP, N.J. - A second-grader's drawing of a stick figure shooting a gun earned him a one-day school suspension.
Kyle Walker, 7, was suspended last week for violating Dennis Township Primary School's zero-tolerance policy on guns, the boy's mother, Shirley McDevitt, told The Press of Atlantic City.
Kyle gave the picture to another child on the school bus, and that child's parents complained about it to school officials, McDevitt said. Her son told her the drawing was of a water gun, she said.
A photocopy of the picture provided by McDevitt showed two stick figures with one pointing a crude-looking gun at the other, the newspaper said. What appeared to be the word "me" was written above the shooter, with another name scribbled above the other figure.
School officials declined to comment Friday. A message left at the superintendent's office Saturday was not returned.
Kyle drew other pictures, including a skateboarder, King Tut, a ghost, a tree, and a Cyclops, the newspaper reported.
Last edited by Mr.Nipples; 10-20-2007 at 02:43 PM.
looking to purchase:big brother skateboarding magazine back issues. travis bean tb1000s electric guitars.
Looking for attractive people? Don't go to... Mon Oct 22, 10:55 AM ET
PHILADELPHIA (Reuters) - Philadelphia is home to the least attractive people in the United States, a survey of visitors and residents showed on Friday.
The city of more than 1.5 million people was also found to be among the least stylish, least active, least friendly and least worldly, according to the "America's Favorite Cities" survey by Travel & Leisure magazine and CNN Headline News.
About 60,000 people responded to the online survey -- at www.travelandleisure.com -- which ranked 25 cities in categories including shopping, food, culture, and cityscape, said Amy Farley, senior editor at the magazine.
For unattractiveness, Philadelphia just beat out Washington DC and Dallas/Fort Worth for the bottom spot. Miami and San Diego are home to the most attractive people, the poll found.
But Farley pointed out the results don't mean people in Philadelphia are ugly or the city is a bad place to visit.
"We were asking people to vote on attractiveness, not unattractiveness. Travel & Leisure editors believe there are a lot of attractive people in Philadelphia," she said.
"The relative attractiveness of its residents is only a minuscule factor in evaluating a city's merit."
Philadelphians' self-esteem has been undermined by national surveys showing they are among the fattest people in the United States. The American Obesity Association ranked the city in the top 10 for overweight people every year between 2000 and 2005.
And sporting pride in a city known for the fierce loyalty of its fans has been hurt by not having had a national champion in any of its four main sports since the 76ers won the National Basketball Association title in 1983.
2 oz blended whiskey
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 tsp powdered sugar
1/2 slice lemon
Shake blended whiskey, juice of lemon, and powdered sugar with ice and strain into a whiskey sour glass. Decorate with the half-slice of lemon, top with the cherry, and serve.
James Lipton: Pimp
I love James Lipton. Inside is one of my favourite shows.James Lipton, the host of U.S. talk show, Inside the Actors' Studio, once worked as a pimp in Paris, France.
The revered TV presenter, who has sat down with Hollywood's biggest names for in-depth chats about their life and work over the last 13 years, has revealed he once procured clients for French hookers.
He says, "This was when I was very very young, living in Paris, penniless, unable to get any kind of working permit... I had a friend who worked in what is called the Milieu, which is that world and she suggested to me one night, `Look, you'll be my mec... We would translate it perhaps... as pimp.
"We were earning our living together, this young woman and I, we made a rather good living, I must say."
Lipton reveals in his new book Inside Inside he would set up sex shows for clients of his lady friend.
He adds, "I had to accompany my clientelle to the Rue Pigalle, which is where these things occurred. And then I'd take them up to the room and I had to remain there because they were very nervous, they were young Americans for the most part... and they didn't speak French."
Bicycle, you're keeping me sane.
Vinyl May Be Final Nail in CD's Coffin
By Eliot Van Buskirk Email 10.29.07 | 12:00 AM
As counterintuitive as it may seem in this age of iPods and digital downloads, vinyl -- the favorite physical format of indie music collectors and audiophiles -- is poised to re-enter the mainstream, or at least become a major tributary.
Talk to almost anyone in the music business' vital indie and DJ scenes and you'll encounter a uniformly optimistic picture of the vinyl market.
"I'm hearing from labels and distributors that vinyl is way up," said Ian Connelly, client relations manager of independent distributor alliance IODA, in an e-mail interview. "And not just the boutique, limited-edition colored vinyl that Jesu/Isis-style fans are hot for right now."
Pressing plants are ramping up production, but where is the demand coming from? Why do so many people still love vinyl, even though its bulky, analog nature is anathema to everything music is supposed to be these days? Records, the vinyl evangelists will tell you, provide more of a connection between fans and artists. And many of today's music fans buy 180-gram vinyl LPs for home listening and MP3s for their portable devices.
"For many of us, and certainly for many of our artists, the vinyl is the true version of the release," said Matador's Patrick Amory. "The size and presence of the artwork, the division into sides, the better sound quality, above all the involvement and work the listener has to put in, all make it the format of choice for people who really care about music."
Because these music fans also listen using portable players and computers, Matador and other labels include coupons in record packaging that can be used to download MP3 versions of the songs. Amory called the coupon program "hugely popular."
Portability is no longer any reason to stick with CDs, and neither is audio quality. Although vinyl purists are ripe for parody, they're right about one thing: Records can sound better than CDs.
Although CDs have a wider dynamic range, mastering houses are often encouraged to compress the audio on CDs to make it as loud as possible: It's the so-called loudness war. Since the audio on vinyl can't be compressed to such extremes, records generally offer a more nuanced sound.
Another reason for vinyl's sonic superiority is that no matter how high a sampling rate is, it can never contain all of the data present in an analog groove, Nyquist's theorem to the contrary.
"The digital world will never get there," said Chris Ashworth, owner of United Record Pressing, the country's largest record pressing plant.
Golden-eared audiophiles have long testified to vinyl's warmer, richer sound. And now demand for vinyl is on the rise. Pressing plants that were already at capacity are staying there, while others are cranking out more records than they did last year in order to keep pace with demand.
Don MacInnis, owner of Record Technology in Camarillo, California, predicts production will be up 25 percent over last year by the end of 2007. And he's not talking about small runs of dance music for DJs, but the whole gamut of music: "new albums, reissues, majors and indies ... jazz, blues, classical, pop and a lot of (classic) rock."
Turntables are hot again as well. Insound, an online music retailer that recently began selling USB turntables alongside vinyl, can't keep them in stock, according to the company's director, Patrick McNamara.
And on Oct. 17, Amazon.com launched a vinyl-only section stocked with a growing collection of titles and several models of record players.
Big labels still aren't buying the vinyl comeback, but it wouldn't be the first time the industry failed to identify a new trend in the music biz.
"Our numbers, at least, don't really point to a resurgence," said Jonathan Lamy, the Recording Industry Association of America's director of communications. Likewise, Nielsen SoundScan, which registered a slight increase in vinyl sales last year, nonetheless showed a 43 percent decrease between 2000 and 2006.
But when it comes to vinyl, these organizations don't really know what they're talking about. The RIAA's numbers are misleading because its member labels are only now beginning to react to the growing demand for vinyl. As for SoundScan, its numbers don't include many of the small indie and dance shops where records are sold. More importantly, neither organization tracks used records sold at stores or on eBay -- arguably the central clearinghouse for vinyl worldwide.
Vinyl's popularity has been underreported before.
"The Consumer Electronics Association said that only 100,000 turntables were sold in 2004. Numark alone sold more than that to pro DJs that year," said Chris Roman, product manager for Numark.
And the vinyl-MP3 tag team might just hasten the long-predicted death of the CD.
San Francisco indie band The Society of Rockets, for example, plans to release its next album strictly on vinyl and as MP3 files.
"Having just gone through the process of mastering our new album for digital and for vinyl, I can say it is completely amazing how different they really sound," said lead singer and guitarist Joshua Babcock in an e-mail interview. "The way the vinyl is so much better and warmer and more interesting to listen to is a wonder."
A MadCowMorningNews investigation has uncovered links between the ownership of the drug-running Gulfstream (Cocaine Two) and the other American-registered plane busted carrying a multi-ton load of cocaine in Mexico recently, the DC9 (Cocaine One) airliner caught with 5.5 tons of cocaine in Mexico 18 months ago.
Recently-released FAA records from the Gulfstream II business jet that went down in Mexico a month ago with four tons of cocaine reveal that before it was “parked” in the name of a New York real estate developer with ties to the Russian Mob, the plane was owned by a secretive Midwestern media baron and Republican fund-raiser, who had a business partner who, incredibly, owned the other American drug plane, the DC9, recently busted in Mexico.
Adams was in business with Miami attorney Michael Farkas, who founded SkyWay Aircraft, which owned the DC9 busted in Mexico 18 months ago with 5.5 tons of cocaine aboard.
Moreover at the same time the Bush Ranger extraordinaire Stephen Adams owned the Gulfstream (N987SA) in 1999 and 2000, he was personally buying over $1 million of billboard ads for George W. Bush for his 2000 Presidential election bid.
OLYMPIA, Wash. -- A Republican state legislator who repeatedly voted against gay rights measures resigned his seat Wednesday amid revelations he had sex with a man he met at an erotic video store while in Spokane on a GOP retreat.
In a written statement, Rep. Richard Curtis, of La Center, said that while he believes he's done a lot of good during his time in the Legislature, "events that have recently come to light have hurt a lot of people."
"I sincerely apologize for any pain my actions may have caused," he wrote. "This has been damaging to my family, and I don't want to subject them to any additional pain that might result from carrying out this matter under the scrutiny that comes with holding public office."
Three days earlier, Curtis had insisted to his local newspaper that he was not gay and that sex was not involved in what he said was an extortion attempt by a man last week.
VIDEO: Wash. Lawmaker Denies Sex With Man
But in police reports, Curtis said he was being extorted by a man he had sex with in a Spokane hotel room. The other man contends Curtis reneged on a promise to pay $1,000 for sex.
House Minority Leader Richard DeBolt, R-Chehalis, said that as more "troubling" details began to emerge "it has become clear that he can no longer effectively represent the constituents who elected him."
His resignation was delivered to Gov. Chris Gregoire on Wednesday afternoon. A Republican successor will be chosen by county Republican leaders, and will serve until the 2008 election.
Numerous efforts to reach Curtis or his lawyer, John Wolfe, by phone have been unsuccessful.
Curtis, 48, told police he was the victim of an extortion attempt by Cody Castagna at the posh Davenport Tower hotel on Oct. 26, search warrant documents said. Castagna, 26, of nearby Medical Lake, told police that Curtis had agreed to pay him for sex, then reneged.
Curtis is married and has children, according to his legislative Web site. Elected to the state House of Representatives in 2004, he voted in 2005 and 2006 against a bill that granted civil rights protections to gays and lesbians, and in 2007 voted against a bill that created domestic partnerships for same-sex couples. Both measures eventually passed the Democratic-controlled state Legislature and are now state law.
Curtis was among state GOP lawmakers in Spokane Oct. 24-26 for a retreat to discuss the upcoming legislative session. He went to the Hollywood Erotic Boutique early on Oct. 26 and met Castagna, who accompanied him to the hotel, police documents said.
The two arrived at the hotel around 3:30 a.m. and had sex, after which Curtis fell asleep, according to documents released Tuesday.
Curtis alleged Castagna took his wallet and later offered to return it for $1,000. Curtis said he only had $200 and left an envelope with the money at the hotel desk, the documents said.
Police reports said Castagna allegedly called Curtis and demanded an additional $800, and threatened to expose Curtis. But Curtis had already contacted police, who listened to the call and then met with Castagna.
There have been no arrests in the case. On Wednesday, Spokane County Deputy Prosecutor Larry Steinmetz said a decision about possible criminal charges in the alleged extortion case was weeks away.
Castagna, who appeared Tuesday at a Spokane news conference with his lawyer, David Partovi, said Curtis gave him his wallet to hold as collateral "for the money that he promised me." Partovi refused to let his client tell reporters what he did for the money, noting Castagna had already spoken voluntarily with police.
"Cody Castagna admitted threatening to publicly expose Richard Curtis' gay lifestyle to his wife unless Richard Curtis provided the disputed money," the police documents said.
Partovi refused to let Castagna respond to a question about whether he threatened to "out" Curtis.
The lawyer noted extortion "is a violent Class B felony" and declared that his client "didn't do anything wrong, at that level anyway."
On Monday, Curtis told The Columbian newspaper of Vancouver, Wash., that he did not solicit sex.
"I committed no crime," he said. "I did not solicit sex. I was trying to help somebody out."
Curtis, a former firefighter, declared, "I am not gay."
In his initial statement to Spokane police on Oct. 26, Curtis admitted having sex with Castagna, but said he did not offer to pay for sex. He said he gave him $100 as gas money, but said he did not consider that paying for sex, according to the police reports.
Police reports said Curtis initially contacted a friend in the Washington State Patrol, in Western Washington, to investigate the case because he feared the Spokane authorities would talk to the media. But patrol officials referred the case to Spokane police.
The police reports added that Curtis told officers he only wanted his wallet back "and wanted to keep the incident as low key as possible." He did not want to pursue charges against Castagna, the report said.
The next day, police reports said, Curtis told a detective by phone that he was in Cle Elum because he had wrecked his car on the drive home.
Curtis also told the detective he "would have to tell his wife the truth and he would have to get a divorce attorney."
NICE! Dude beat up two cops and was justified by the court. Score!
Homeowner had 'a right to resist'
Judge acquits John Coffin on 5 felony charges; Coffin gets time served on 6th.
By TODD RUGER
SARASOTA -- John Coffin won't spend any more time in jail for beating up two sheriff's deputies inside his house, striking one in the head with a Taser gun he took from the other.
Circuit Judge Rick De Furia said at Coffin's trial Tuesday that he doesn't condone the violence against the deputies.
But Coffin, 56, had a right to defend his family and property because the deputies had no right to be in Coffin's house in the first place, De Furia said.
"Law enforcement was responsible for the chain of events here," De Furia said. "I think in situations like this, officers become so frustrated they go beyond what the law allows them to do."
The fight started when Coffin heard his wife screaming in pain, went into the garage and saw two deputies arresting her on the floor.
The deputies were trying to serve Coffin with civil papers that had been given five days earlier. They had entered the garage even though they did not have a search warrant or arrest warrant.
And they arrested Coffin's wife, Cynthia, 50, on obstruction charges even though she had no obligation to follow their orders to bring her husband outside.
"The most critical is the fact the officers broke the law by stopping the garage door from going down," and then entering the garage, De Furia said.
A jury was picked for the trial Monday. But the judge granted a motion by Coffin's attorneys, Derek Byrd and Brett McIntosh, and acquitted John Coffin on five of six felony charges Tuesday morning.
Coffin pleaded no contest to the remaining charge of taking a Taser gun from one of the deputies during the fight.
Before handing down the sentence, De Furia asked how long Coffin spent in jail after his initial arrest.
"You spent eight days in the Sarasota County jail," De Furia said. "That's your sentence. No probation."
Relatives applauded, and Coffin walked out of the courthouse with only a $358 bill for court costs. The sentence surprised even defense attorneys, who had suggested De Furia sentence Coffin to probation.
Prosecutors had asked for more than a year of prison time because of "the totality of the case" and the injuries to deputies James Lutz and Stacy Ferris, whose name is now Stacy Brandau.
The two deputies testified about their injuries Tuesday -- three blows to the head with the butt of the Taser gun knocked Lutz unconscious.
"I just ask that he doesn't get away with this," Brandau told the judge.
Assistant State Attorney Jeff Young told the judge the case "could have been over in five seconds" if the Coffins "had simply come out and cooperated."
"That is a man who took it upon himself to beat up two police officers," Young said.
De Furia said that while he believed the deputies' mistakes were not intentional, the Coffins had every right to lock doors, try to close their garage door and not cooperate.
"What took place in the house was unfortunate," De Furia said, "but Mr. Coffin ... had a right to resist."
I am bumping this thread to remind people it exists, if they want to post a link to an article but maybe don't want to clutter up the board with a million new threads.
Georgia ends state of emergency
Mikhail Saakashvili 16-11-07
Mr Saakashvili says he wants a fresh start
Georgia has lifted the state of emergency it imposed nine days ago amid a wave of opposition protests.
An interior ministry spokesman said the situation was "back to normal".
The move came as President Mikhail Saakashvili announced he was replacing PM Zurab Noghaideli, and appointing Lado Gurgenidze, a banker, to the post.
Mr Saakashvili accused Russia of inciting the recent unrest to oust him. Both Moscow and the opposition in Georgia deny the allegations.
The crackdown on protests drew international criticism of the pro-Western leader who has met a key opposition demand for early elections.
Announcing the change of prime ministers, Mr Saakashvili said in a televised address: "We are putting forward new tasks that must be implemented by new people."
His new PM, the 36-year-old Mr Gurgenidze, is chairman of the private Bank of Georgia.
Opposition supporters had called on Mr Saakashvili to resign, accusing him of corruption and authoritarianism.
The protests earlier this month were the largest Georgia has seen since the "Rose Revolution" that brought Mr Saakashvili to power in 2003.
The early election has been set for 5 January.
2011 Wishlist: Soviet Soviet, Swans, Heroin and Your Veins, Lower Dens, The December Sound, Scarlet Youth, Faunts, Bad Lieutenant, The Besnard Lakes, The Raveonettes, Screen Vinyl Image, Sway
Can you imagine that something like this is happening on the internet?
Online bullying a growing part of US teen Internet life by Glenn Chapman
Sun Dec 2, 4:10 AM ET
SAN FRANCISCO (AFP) - US researchers warn that bullies are taking their hurtful ways from real-world schoolyards to the "cyber" world by targeting teens with nasty e-mail, text messaging, and online chat.
The number of children ages 10 to 17 that say they were abused by "cyber bullies" climbed 50 percent, from six percent in 2000 to nine percent in 2005, according to a new report from the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
"One thing that stands out is that aggression perpetuated with technology goes far beyond cyber bullying," said Corrine Ferdon, one of the authors of the CDC report on "electronic aggression and youth violence."
"Technology is constantly evolving and if we focus on the Internet we will miss the show."
Instant messaging, including text messages sent to mobile telephones, is the most common way to send taunts, teases, threats, insults or other bullying messages, according to report co-author Marci Hertz.
Unlike in schoolyards where bullies have to face victims, the Internet lets abusers remain anonymous, Hertz said.
The majority of the self-described victims in the study said they didn't know who the "cyber bullies" were, Hertz told AFP.
"In the schoolyard you could defend yourself by speaking back but it is a completely different dynamic online," Hertz said.
"Some kids might be able to shrug it off, turn off the computer and move on. But some kids are more fragile."
A 13-year-old Missouri girl hanged herself with a belt in November after exchanging insults via her profile page at MySpace.com with a person she was tricked into thinking was a 16-year-old boy named "Josh."
The final message sent by Josh, who flirted with the girl for weeks online, was reportedly "The world would be a better place without you."
It turned out Josh was an online persona created by the mother of a former friend of the girl. The woman told investigators she played the charade to find out what the girl really thought of her daughter, who was the jilted friend.
After finding out the mother's behavior didn't break the law, local politicians made it illegal to harass people on the Internet.
Police in Tennessee say that one teenage girl stabbed another over a comment posted at the Facebook social networking website.
School officials in some US cities restrict access to the Internet or mobile telephones on campuses.
"Some of this hysteria about bullying is just a way to try to regulate and surveil kids," said Nan Stein, a scientist at the Wellesley College's center for women, where she directs research on sexual harassment.
"We need to encourage kids to be citizens of the world. Being nice helps too, but we shouldn't be regulating."
The CDC performed its study of electronic aggression because it receives calls from "a lot of US schools" asking for advice regarding how to handle cyber bullying, Hertz said.
The report found that 64 percent of youths that said they were bullied on line contended they were not bullied at school. A separate US study concludes children bullied online are more likely to take guns to school.
It is vital for parents to be aware of their children's online experiences because electronic bullying is most likely to take place at homes or other places where teachers can't be alerted, researchers said.
As youth lifestyles increasingly involve the Internet and new ways to communicate it is understandable that bullying migrates from the real-world to the cyber arena, said University of California, Berkeley, researcher and sociologist C.J. Pascoe.
"It is the online manifestation of what they are doing in the schoolyard," said Pascoe, the author of a book on bullying titled "Dude, You're a ***."
"The issue is being overblown. We should be concerned with bullying and harassment in general, no matter where it takes place."
The popularity of social networking websites where people post profile pages packed with personal information and rosters of friends provide rich fodder for bullies, says Pascoe.
In contrast, online messaging and social networking can also be safe havens for shy children that have trouble making friends in the real world or get bullied in real life situations, according to Pascoe.
"We highlight in our article the benefit of technology," Hertz said of the published report.
"Kids are better able to make friends, maintain social connections and get accurate information. We really encourage more talking rather than blocking or prohibiting access to technology."
2 oz blended whiskey
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 tsp powdered sugar
1/2 slice lemon
Shake blended whiskey, juice of lemon, and powdered sugar with ice and strain into a whiskey sour glass. Decorate with the half-slice of lemon, top with the cherry, and serve.
As good of an explanation of the Juggalo lifestyle as I've ever read: http://www.viceland.com/int/v14n10/h...php?country=us
IN THE LAND OF THE JUGGALOS - PART 1
A Juggalo Is King
“What is a Juggalo? A dead body / Well he ain’t really dead, but he ain’t like anybody that you’ve ever met before / He’ll eat Monopoly and shit out Connect Four.” –ICP, “What is a Juggalo?”
With the possible exception of the Jews, no other group has eaten as big an amount of shit over the course of its existence as the Juggalos.
From the earliest reviews of the Insane Clown Posse’s singular brand of circus-themed swear-rap, the general contention has been that there is no way music could possibly sink below this point. This is the bottom. It’s almost as if ICP intentionally cherry-picked the worst aspects of goth, punk, gangsta rap, rave, nu-metal, and real metal to create a sub-culture so universally repulsive as to forestall any attempts at outside involvement. Basically, they trumped all previous claims of FTW, and then wrote a nearly unlistenable song called “Fuck the World” just to hammer the point home.
But while everybody else was busy acting like they were above gems such as “Bugz On My Nutz,” Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope were forging a media empire for their base of extremely devoted followers, the Juggalo Family—sort of like a rap-alliance between Deadheads and the KISS Army. The Family spread rapidly across the poorer swaths of the Midwest and established a huge and more or less self-sufficient underground with its own distribution network, porn, churches (seriously), charities, file-sharing services, anti-drunk-driving coalition (JADD), initiatory secret society, GLBT activist, pro- and backyard-wrestling circuits, and two MySpace variations (ninjaspace.net and the possibly defunct myjuggalospace.com).
If you want some scope of their national coverage, just plug the word “Juggalo” into google. Wait, actually I just tried that and it really wasn’t that impressive, but trust me, they are big and forever getting bigger. I know, because I just spent the weekend with a good 6,000 of them.
The Gathering of the Juggalos is like the horror-rap equivalent of the Hajj. ICP started it in 2000 as a two-day festival in their native Michigan to showcase the bands on their label, Psychopathic Records, but over the next few years it metastasized into a four-day-long acid-tit-and-rap binge, drawing thousands of Juggalos from across the country and featuring performances by outside rappers such as 2 Live Crew, Three 6 Mafia, and Vanilla Ice.
Except for a lucky three-year spate in northern Ohio, the Gathering has been forced to move every year due to crowd issues (the second one in Toledo resulted in a full-scale indoor police riot), and up until the third year, ICP had yet to make it through a complete set on account of audience overenthusiasm. This year’s was being held at a biker camp just outside the 350-person townlet of Cave-In-Rock right on the southern border of Illinois, an hour’s drive in all directions from anything approaching civilization.
I’d been hesitant to dive into the Gathering on my own, but at the last minute a Welsh Juggalo named Daff I’d emailed at juggalonews.com called me and offered to be my guide. I bought my tickets through ICP’s website, and two days later I was Juggalo-bound.
IN THE LAND OF THE JUGGALOS - PART 2
A Juggalo Is King
“What is a Juggalo? A fucking lunatic / Somebody with a rope tied to his dick / Then he jumps out a ten-story window / [slide whistle followed by breaking glass] Oh.”
I wanted to arrive by Friday afternoon, in time to get situated and catch Bone-Thugs-N-Harmony’s evening set, but shitty traffic caused me to miss the boat (like, literally—the last ferry across the Ohio River left an hour before I got there). After driving up and back down the river for two hours in search of a bridge I gave up and crashed in the back seat of my rental car next to a cornfield.
“What is a Juggalo? He ain’t a bitch, boy, / He’ll walk through the hills and beat up a rich boy / Walks right in the house while you’re having supper, and dips his nuts in the soup… bwoop.”
As I pulled up to the gates of the campground the next day, two well-dressed older men shoved a couple of Jack Chick tracts through my passenger window while a group of Juggalos super-soaked them from across the street. Based on my later run-ins with crowd-sprayers, it’s safe to assume that the substance being rained down on the preachers was at least partially Faygo, a Detroit-based bargain soda ICP has elevated to the level of Juggalo sacrament—arguably keeping the business afloat for the last decade). Starting right when I got there and culminating in several full-scale drenchings on the final night, I was personally subject to no less than eight separate Faygo showers over the course of the weekend.
In spite of their hosing, the two Christian guys stood their ground with strained smiles. During the month leading up to the Gathering, another minister led a campaign to ban the Juggalos from Cave-In-Rock which ended up doing little more than providing fodder for the local paper and turning its message board into a hilarious shouting match between residents, Juggalos, and Juggalos pretending to be residents. He also supposedly converted an Arizona Juggalo who accidentally showed up a week early and was stranded in the woods without any sort of vehicle, as the Southern Illinoisan dutifully reported.
Following a lax security check by a pair of girls in lawn chairs, I drove down a short gravel path and parked on a hill above a sea of early 90s Mercurys and minivans, makeshift tents, and luminescently pale skin. From my vantage point I was one of maybe two guys and three girls I could see wearing a top.
The creeping sensation of culture-shock reminded me of going to my first concert in middle school, but a lot more dread-y than exciting. Not only did I look nothing like anyone I had seen since I crossed the river, but I was also a good five-to-ten years older than most of the kids milling around, thereby abrogating my right to not have the shit beaten out of me should things turn ugly.
After finding a good plot to park and pitch my tent, I hopped back in the car and thumbed through the surprisingly well-printed festival guide. There were an ridiculous number of activities scheduled around the performances: Wrestling matches, autograph sessions, movie screenings, a magic show, a talent show, poker tournaments, foxy boxing, foxy wrestling, carnival rides, helicopter rides. Each day officially ran from 1 PM to 6 in the morning.
I decided to check out one of the hour-long “artist seminars” to get things started. On my way from the camping area to the seminar tent, I was overtaken by the Love Train, a tractor-drawn flatbed trailer which slowly circles the campground—essentially your typical hayride, but with more trash-throwing and tits. One of the passengers nailed me with an empty plastic bottle and shouted “Woot woot!” the call of the Juggalo, I quickly learned.
During one of our crackly phone conversations a few days earlier, Daff had told me he’d be hanging out with friends of his in the Detroit Hatchet Rydas Car Club. I figured that by canvassing the participants in that day’s car show, I’d have a fighting chance of tracking them down. As it turned out, their three cars were the sole vehicles in a huge cordoned-off field. Two of the Rydas, a heavily pierced kid named Kent and an older, spider-dreaded guy named Bill—both dressed in loose gangish reds—led me up to a pavilion where my host was seated at a picnic table with five other dudes playing a board game called The Quest for Shangri-La. It’s sort of a cross between D&D and Clue, but for Juggalos.
After wrapping up his game, Daff led me on a tour of “Hatchet Landing,” the official Juggalo name for this year’s campsite, and filled me in one what I’d missed so far. Not only had Bone-Thugs-N-Harmony played a mostly un-booed set (the traditional reception for non-Juggalo bands—the first to crack and leave the stage is the winner of that year’s “Bubba Sparxx Award”), they’d been followed by one of Psychopathic Record’s two ICP-led supergroups, Dark Lotus, who wear Sunn 0)))-style monks’ robes and are otherwise vaguely “mystical.” The other one, Psychopathic Rydas, is a 90s-gangsta-rap pastiche composed of roughly the same members. They played the other stage that night at two.
We caught the tail-end of a show by Liquid Assassin and Killa C, who were dead-on a rap version of Yogi and Boo Boo. Following the last song, C made some cryptic remarks about being tailed by “the feds” and hurried offstage, leaving Liquid Assassin to gush over their reception:
“I don’t know if you guys realize, but it touches us to know we’ve got so much support out there and that we’re all a part of the same Juggalo family—”
The fact he was saying this to a crowd of maybe 50 people in front of a park pavilion in the middle of the afternoon didn’t strike anyone around me as funny. Actually, the majority of them took the sincerity and ran with it, cutting him off by chanting “FAM-I-LY! FAM-I-LY!” It was the first of many, many, many times I’d hear that specific chant over the next two days. Then Killa C used his wireless mic to do a shoutout from the bathroom. That part was actually pretty classic.
Daff and I crossed a gravel path to a little tent compound where he introduced me to Scottie, a Texan ninja who runs Juggalonews’s chief competitor, faygoluvers.net. Scottie explained for me the difference between the terms Juggalo and ninja (ninja’s more casual and familiar, like dawg or *****—but there’s also a weird sense in which it refers to real ninjas) and then elaborated on the “real” meaning behind the J-word.
“For all the kids you see who are into it and are wearing the same clothes or face-paint or whatever, that’s not all being a Juggalo is,” he told me. “It’s actually more about having a certain mindset, and understanding who you really are without getting bogged down with what the rest of the world feels. Violent J has said, you don’t even have to be a fan of ICP to be a Juggalo.”
I got roughly the same answer from everyone else I asked about the nature of Juggalodom. As we left the tent, Daff remembered something he had been trying to tell me during Killa C’s set before a barrage of garbage from the Love Train broke his train of thought.
“A lot of the lyrics can seem dark when you first hear it, but if you listen to them in their proper context it’s really quite a positive message that ICP are trying to get across. There’s some cartoonish violence going on, but generally the people on the receiving end are the types of people who deserve it—racists, child-molesting priests, those sort of folks. Mostly though, the music’s all about unity, and looking out for the members of your Juggalo Family. Really more than anything, the feeling of being at the Gathering every year is like being at a reunion—except in this case it’s a family of your own choosing.”
I felt like this was sort of the same deal as with any fan-centric band, but then he clued me in to ICP’s central credo.
“The biggest part of the Insane Clown Posse up until recently has been the six Joker’s Card albums, which are based on a revelation Violent J had when he and Shaggy first formed the band,” he told me. “The first card was the Carnival of Carnage, which established this idea of the Dark Carnival [kind of their personal metaphor for life or society]. Every few years they’d put out another Joker’s Card album revealing a new aspect of the Carnival—first Ringmaster who was kind of the Carnival’s overseer and a manifestation of people’s sins, then Riddlebox, The Great Milenko, The Amazing Jeckel Brothers, and then they announced that for the sixth and final card, there would be two releases.
“When the first one came out, The Wraith: Shangri-La, it was totally different from anything they’d released up to that point,” he went on. “There’d been hints of the direction in which they’d been heading if you followed the lyrics closely, but here they laid it all out straight and said, ‘The Dark Carnival is God, we’re not sorry if we fooled you—we’ve always followed God and want all Juggalos to find him.’ The second part took a while to come out, and there were rumors that ICP were sort of reluctant to make it. It was called The Wraith: Hell’s Pit and is all a warning about the perils of Hell.”
As I was digesting all this, we passed by a small, fetid pond in the middle of the site where several ninjas were lounging on a floating dock. There were about four or five large upside-down fish at the surface of the water near our end, and three more flattened and covered with flies in the surrounding grass.
“Every year there’s some sort of swimming hole at the Gathering,” Daff told me, “The guys from Twiztid dubbed it ‘Lake Hepatitis.’ I’m not sure what happened with the fish, but they weren’t floating like this the first day.”
Maybe runny face paint had thrown off the ph balance, I suggested.
“Maybe. Folks were slapping each other with them when they first started surfacing.”
I was having a bit of a hard time reconciling all the weird spiritual and individual-empowerment business with the general adolescent dumb I’d been basting in all day. The few people I’d talked to so far had been really well-spoken and thoughtful, but it seemed like everyone around me was inarticulate to the point of it being sort of endearing. Daff was able to put it into concrete terms:
“The thing with ICP is there are very few sort of ‘casual fans.’ I’d say people who like the music but don’t consider themselves Juggalos make up maybe five to ten percent of their overall fanbase. The rest are the type of kids you see here.”
I was momentarily distracted as we passed by a pavilion full of ninjas bouncing a beach ball to the strains of “Help Me, Ronda.”
“Oh, that’s Violent J’s Beach Boys Blowout Beach Blast, or some other alliteration,” Daff informed me. “He’s really into the Beach Boys.”
After I regained my composure, he resumed his explanation.
“Then there’s five or ten percent of Juggalos at the other end of the spectrum who are the sort of people I like to hang out with. They’re the type who really think about the whole Dark Carnival and are into things like the Quest for Shangri-La and Morton’s List.” He took a minute to choose his next words. “There’s sort of an opinion about Juggalos, that a lot aren’t very bright—”
There was a sudden eruption of cheering down the hill from us, where the Love Train had just rolled behind some trees.
“You know what that is, right?” Daff asked me.
“Titty-flash?” I hazarded as a guess.
Daff nodded gravely.
“What is a Juggalo? He just don’t care / He might try to put a weave in his nut-hair / Cause he could give a fuck-less what a bitch thinks / He tells her that her butt stinks, and all that.”
At around seven, people started migrating from the campground to the main stage en mass. There was a lot more face paint and fake blood than during the day, as well as costumes ranging in complexity from basic jester get-ups to Faygo Man suits improvised out of empty 12-packs to full-on ensembles of kids in matching face paint and blood-stained aprons with the Psychopathic Records “hatchet man” logo (sort of a reworked kokopelli with a meat cleaver).
As the evening performances began I started picking up on the nuances of Juggalo trash-pelting. It, like the Faygo drenchings, seemed to be more a measure of general audience enthusiasm than any sort of commentary on the target being pummeled. For instance, during Anybody Killa’s set, the throwing dwindled down to just a few wayward bottles and was replaced in some segments of the crowd by ninjas facing away from the stage while giving a backward double-bird—the apparent result of an old beef between ABK and the rest of Psychopathic’s talent pool. When Mushroomhead took the stage afterward, the fusillades began picking up steam, finally reaching a fever pitch by the time that night’s headliners, Twiztid, started playing.
Once the performances had ended, the herd made its way over to the wrestling ring for Bloodmania! a tournament pitting amateurs against professionals from ICP’s Juggalo Championshit Wrestling league.
By this point I’d grown more or less inured to the “Woot woot!”s and the “FAM-I-LY! FAM-I-LY”s and the “SHOW YOUR TITS! SHOW YOUR TITS!”s. I was even starting to get into the throwing shit. The guy in front of me was really giving it his all on this front, dropping to his knees after each lob to scrounge up more ammo. Even though it was massively interfering with all the matches I assumed everybody outside the ring was cool with the perpetual garbage shower. Suddenly, out of the blue, an anti-pelting contingent sprang up behind me and began chanting “STOP THROWING SHIT! STOP THROWING SHIT!” It was the first time I’d ever seen a crowd chastise itself.
The guy in front of me shrugged it off until one of the chanters singled him out and yelled, “Hey asshole, I just want to see some fucking wrestling, all right?”
Furious, the shit-chucker spun around and faced his accuser, bellowing, “And I just want to see some fucking wrestler get nailed with some fucking shit!”
I was certain someone was about to get clocked, but before punches could be thrown two dudes in huge shorts ran up panting like they’d just discovered gold.
“Dude! We’re going to go get a dead fish to throw up there!”
I didn’t catch the anti-throwing guys’ reaction to this announcement, but pro-throwing guy yelled louder than I’ve ever heard anyone yell in my life.
At around three, my exhaustion from a full day in the sun started to compete heavily with a burgeoning sensation of titlust. I held out for one last set from the girls who hold those number cards between rounds, then made my way back to the campground, where most of the surrounding tents were blaring hip-hop. I thought briefly of trying to make some night buddies, but I was way too zonked.
The second I zipped my flap shut, somebody came by and tried the doors of my car.
IN THE LAND OF THE JUGGALOS - PART 3
A Juggalo Is King
“What is a Juggalo? Well he ain’t a phony / He’ll walk up and bust a nut in your macaroni / And watch you sit there and finish up the last bit / Cause you’re a stupid-ass dumb fucking idiot.”
I awoke the next morning around ten to the sounds of fireworks and an argument between two groups of campers over whether or not Canada is stupid. Since activities didn’t start until one, I decided to drive into town and see if I could find something other than carnival food for breakfast.
Granted it was church-time on a Sunday, but Cave-In-Rock looked like the whole town had decided to take the weekend off. At least two restaurants boasted large, hand-lettered signs announcing that they would be closed for the exact dates of the Gathering, although the real prize I was searching for, a “Juggalos Not Welcome” sign I’d heard rumors of, had either come down or never happened in the first place.
When I got back to the campground, a mousy girl in glasses and a bikini top approached and cheerfully asked “Titties for a dollar?” I stuttered for a couple seconds trying to figure out the right answer, but she just shrugged it off and moved on to the next tent.
After checking on my stuff, I started to circle the grounds in search of Daff, but was waylaid by a pair of guys and a girl who looked like they were pushing maybe 14 and were offering titties for a cigarette. I took another pass (although I ended up scoring a freebie when some passing ninjas woot-wooted us), but did sit down for a little while to see how this year’s party was going for them.
“We all took some ecstasy the first night,” the guy without a shirt on told me. “Then me and her did some acid when we were coming down and now we’re just getting ready for ICP tonight, which is going to be amazing.”
“You can get absolutely anything you want out here,” the shirted guy added. “Acid, shrooms, K, opium—all you have to do is shout and people’ll come right up to you and offer it.”
“Yeah, everyone here’s so accepting and nice to each other,” the tit-girl said. “When I first got here, I was really shy.”
As soon as I left them I gave the acid-calling thing a try. Within seconds two Juggalos emerged from separate crowds offering to take me back to their tents. I have the feeling they were both on the level, but for some reason their eagerness totally triggered my sketch alarm so I pretended I’d left my wallet back in my car and fled.
Eventually I crossed paths with Daff, who had just won the Quest For Shangri-La finals and wanted to introduce me to a Tennesseean ninja named Brad who was deeply involved with another of the Juggalos’ more cerebral offerings, Morton’s List. The way Brad broke it down for me, ML is basically a mystical fraternal order as determined by an RPG-version of truth or dare. You roll a thirty-sided die three times, match your numbers to an entry in a big book of quests, and then have one hour to complete your assigned quest or at least give it a decent effort. If you’re successful you ascend to different degrees, like in Freemasonry. Brad had a bunch of the degrees he’d earned tattooed on his arm, and was going to do the rest as soon as he got the money together.
While he was showing me his quest-log and gear, a guy in basketball shorts and a t-shirt hanging from his head came up to us and asked if I worked for a magazine. I’d been upfront with everybody I’d talked to and was holding a tape-recorder in my hand, so I didn’t see any sense in trying to deny what I was up to.
“Oh man, I really need to talk to you when you’re done,” he said, with an unsettling smile on his face.
I thanked Brad for giving me the scoop on the List, then turned to face my new pal.
“We are the only two people who know the emperor isn’t wearing any clothes,” he whispered through his teeth. “I’m Brad Troemel. I’m a photographer from Chicago doing a project on the Gathering and you are the first non-Juggalo I’ve talked to in days.”
It was like I’d just run into Dennis Hopper’s in Apocalypse Now. After taking off my shirt so as not to “blow his cover,” Brad and I retreated to the corndog tent to swap notes. While I’d been more or less limited to a nerd’s eye view of the proceedings, Brad had been immediately accepted as a member of the Family and thereby given a more up close and personal perspective.
“I was stuck on the Ferris wheel with a girl simultaneously on PCP and acid,” he told me. “She kept alternating between quiet mumbling and lucidly threatening to hang me from my entrails. That was a little intense.”
He’d also been witness to two of the Gathering’s finest open-mic sessions, the first a band called the Jumping Ninjas whose deaf frontman rapped in sign language while dressed in full ninja gear. The second was a rapper from New Jersey named Daville, who after declaring his set the opening of “Krunk Fest,” proceeded to chuck full cans of beer point-blank into the audience, then ran through the crowd stealing people’s joints, returned to the stage smoking four joints at once, cried, barfed, then descended into the crowd one more time to brain people with a plastic folding chair.
The best I’d seen was a fat guy in clown paint who couldn’t think of anything to rap besides the line “You want fries with that?”
Per Brad’s recommendation, we went to ride the Tempest, a tilt-a-whirl variation being tended by a carny with a bent wrench and a can of beer. We stayed in our car for about five go-rounds—every new load of Juggalos who boarded instinctively turned to their right as soon as the ride started and began screaming “Yo, fuck the purple car!”
IN THE LAND OF THE JUGGALOS - PART 4
A Juggalo Is King
“What is a Juggalo? A Juggalo. Aks what it is well fuck if I know. / What is a Juggalo? I don’t know. But I’m down with the clown and I’m down for life, yo.”
ICP closes the festival each year, and from what I’d been repeatedly warned, their set is the Faygo shower to end all Faygo showers. Bearing that in mind, I changed into an oversized t-shirt with a bloody skull I’d scored the day before and borrowed a steak knife from my neighbors to convert my jeans into shorts. I was now all set.
A parade of Juggalos in their Sunday night best began making its way through the gravel trails leading to the main stage. For all the eyefucks I’d been dealt the previous days, nothing prepared me for this stream of amazement. There were clown and serial-killer-clown and serial-killer-victim costumes that must have taken hours to assemble. There were 15-foot-high wooden hatchet-men signs, tits of all shapes and sizes (though mostly pubescent-looking), and at least one naked guy painted half-green and half-red except for his dick. It was like some sort of creepy religious procession for poor Midwestern teens.
I met back up with Brad behind the soundboards and we began to work our way through the crowd. After doing makeshift keg stands from a water cooler full of “Juggalo Juice”, Brad and I met the acquaintance of a Juggalo named Pyro Blaziac, who decided to take us under his wing. Pyro had one of those ponytails where it’s pulled really tight at the top then shaved on the back and sides, as well as several thin patches of white fiber sticking out of his scalp that I think were either stitches or the remnants of a bandage. He also sounded exactly like they make teenagers sound in cartoons—right on the dividing line between surfer and Midwestern pothead. Basically, he was the living manifestation of Juggalodom as I’d experienced it.
After introducing us to his crew, Pyro laid out what we should expect once the music started.
“OK,” he said. “You want to be looking to the front and to the back the whole time. You’re going to be getting slammed with bottles of Faygo from the stage and shit from the rest of the crowd behind you at the same time, and people are going to be riding up on top of you. It’s pretty much going to be a full-on warzone.” He was literally dancing in place with excitement.
Within seconds of the band’s opening notes, I was coated in a film of sugar that left me and my glasses residually sticky for days after the festival (I just hucked all my clothes). I’ve been to any number of intense shows, but never have I felt so completely at the mercy of the crowd as I did that night. It was like being adrift in a churning ocean of skin and soda and fake blood. Onstage, ICP and a small army of clown-costumed assistants fired off two-liter after two-liter of Faygo root beer into the audience, drawing their ammo from huge gallon drums brimming with somehow more bottles. As Pyro had warned me, the onslaught came evenly from both sides. In addition to a steady stream of people, anything too large to fling toward the stage was crowd-surfed in that direction. I ended up getting hit square in the face with boots, fists, chairs, bare tits, other people’s faces, and an empty cooler. I also think I gouged some poor girl’s nipple with my thumb while trying to push her overhead. I feel bad about that one.
Following the longest 20 minutes of my life, I gave up and extricated myself from the maelstrom. I finally broke lose at the far edge of the stage by the space between the barricade and the stage where the crowd surfers were deposited after making it to the front. The folks who came out of this exit-chute did so in full, trance-like rap-dance. It was sort of like a filthy version of the Soul Train Line.
I walked to the back of the field and sat down next to a passed out kid as ICP launched into “Juggalo Homies,” the closest of their songs to a mainstream jam (it sort of sounds like Smashmouth doing rap). A woman swinging two glowsticks on ropes came up and screamed at me “Why are you sitting there like that!?” I pointed to each of my eyeballs, and she nodded and walked away.
After changing/removing shirts, I met up with Pyro and his crew at the Spazmatic Hang-Out tent, named for ICP’s new energy drink. Pyro inducted us into the Midnight Wanderers, reciting the group’s mission statement:
“Every year, at the Gathering, at Sunday, at midnight, we come together and wander until the sun comes up, annoying the living bullshit out of everyone we meet! WAN-der-ERS!” The last part was sung the same way five-year-olds sing “SU-per-MAN!”
It was a succinct and well-rehearsed speech I’d hear at least a dozen more times that evening, as we collected new members and followed the changing bearer of the “Wandering Stick” to bonfire after bonfire, through campsite drug dens, through other campsite drug dens being broken up by security, past the ICP foam party, and for one trying hour, onto the floating dock in the middle of Lake Hepatitis.
As the Midnight Wanderers marked their course for a pizza break, Brad and I broke away to check out the tent with the Juggalo pajama party, which had either devolved into or always been a stripping contest. To our amazement, the contestant who got completely naked the second the music started and spent the whole song bent over facing away from the audience didn’t win. The tall girl did.
I left Brad to check in on Daff at the Hatchet Rydas tent, but found him crashed in a lawn chair while the rest of the Rydas were scrambling around in a near panic. Kent stormed into the tent trembling with rage and began dousing his hands in sanitizer.
“The camp owners said we’re this close to losing this site for next year because of all the trash,” he said. “Psychopathic’s people asked us if we’d help with the cleanup, because our spot is so neat, but dudes keep kicking over trash cans and being like, ‘Yo, why are you picking up all that garbage?’”
I started to look around for scraps, but then the Wanderers crested the nearby hill and, momentarily torn between helping out the Juggalos’ five-percenters and reveling in the absolute, undistilled essence of adolescent vacancy, I rejoined the ranks of the dumb. At the bottom of the hill three of the Wanderers kicked the living shit out of a garbage can.
By 4 AM, we’d made it back to the original Wanderers’ campsite where Pyro, who had run ahead, was busy filling a tent with gas-soaked trash (and a table).
“The guy who owns this asked me to get rid of it for him, so we’re going to set it on fire.”
He unspooled an entire roll of toilet paper, we thought to use as a fuse, then bunched it up, lit it, and shoved the whole flaming mess under the table. The tent was fully ablaze in a matter of minutes.
As the flames and awful-smelling smoke rose into the night, a large SUV pulled up behind us and the tent’s owner rolled down the passenger window.
“Man… that’s tight.”
Oh man, the title of this article was just too fucking funny to me.
Female suicide bomber dies in Pakistan
Attacker died near Christian school in failed attempt on military post
PESHAWAR, Pakistan - A female suicide bomber, apparently aiming to attack a military post, blew herself up near a Christian school in the northwestern city of Peshawar on Tuesday, officials said, in Pakistan’s first known case of a suicide attack by a woman.
Police officer Ashraf Khan said the woman was walking near a Christian missionary school and a military checkpoint when explosives strapped to her body went off, killing her instantly. There were no other casualties.
Interior Ministry spokesman Javed Iqbal Cheema said the bomber, who was wearing a burqa, tried to approach the military post but was stopped by troops.
“On realizing that she cannot approach the security personnel, she exploded herself,” Cheema told a weekly news conference at the ministry in Islamabad.
“I think this has been the first suicide bombing by a woman,” he said.
Peshawar police chief Tanveerul Haq Sipra told reporters at the scene that an initial examination of the woman’s remains indicated she may have been in her 30s.
Dozens of police and soldiers sealed off the area, which was splattered with blood and body parts
Pakistan has been hit by a rash of suicide bombings in recent months, but this is the first known case in of a woman carrying out a suicide attack.
In October, authorities initially said a suicide attack, which killed 14 other people in Bannu, was carried out by a woman. They later reported the bomber was a man wearing a burqa.
On Nov. 24, two suicide bombers hit a bus carrying intelligence agency employees and a checkpoint near the headquarters of Pakistan’s army, killing at least 16 people.
Cheema also said security forces had arrested a man suspected in a bomb explosion that killed six students Monday at an Islamic school in southwestern Baluchistan province. He did not disclose the suspect’s identity or motive.
.............. huh? I don't get it, Andrew--what's the funny in that title? Not that I don't like laughing at people dying and everything, but I'm missing the joke here.