Why Men Shouldn't Write Advice Columns

Pedorobot

Father of the Year

Marker Pen! Legend!

They make their mark in mug shot history
By Mallory Simon, CNN
October 30, 2009 12:08 p.m. EDT
Source


Matthew Allan McNelly, left, and Joey Lee Miller, 20, still had the permanent marker on their faces when they were booked

(CNN) -- Police say guilt was written all over their faces.

Police received a call Friday night that two men with hooded sweatshirts and painted faces had tried to break into a man's home in Carroll, Iowa.

When police stopped a vehicle matching the caller's description blocks away, they were stunned by the men's disguises.

There were no ski masks or stockings pulled over their heads; instead, Matthew Allan McNelly, 23, and Joey Lee Miller, 20, streaked their faces with permanent black marker.

Carroll Police Chief Cayler told CNN the strange disguises made it easier for his officers.

"We're very skilled investigators and the black faces gave them right away," Cayler said jokingly. "I have to assume the officers were kind of laughing at the time. I've never heard of coloring your face with a permanent marker."

Cayler said police believe one of the alleged burglars targeted the home because he suspected his girlfriend had a relationship with the man who lived there.

"They probably were just not thinking straight and figured we'll go out and scare the guy or whatever," Cayler said. "[They were] being dumb and combine that with alcohol and it was the perfect storm."

Both men were charged with attempted burglary, and McNelly was charged additionally with operating a vehicle while intoxicated. Lawyers for the two men could not be reached for comment.

Cayler said he's been fielding calls about the case from news media outlets from all over the country -- mostly because of their funny-looking mug shots.

"I've been chief here almost 25 years, been with the department 28½ years and I've seen a lot of things that make me laugh and weird things but this was probably the best combination of the two -- strangely weird and hilariously funny all at the same time."

Kid Batman Impersonation

How To Dive

I Miss Being A Little Boy

Lovely Pianist

This is beautiful. Play it with your speakers up, even better if your boss or co-workers are in the room. Let everyone appreciate it

Boy Freaks Out

Chronologically

80s Dating Scene

Cute Little Old Lady

No fatties please

Yoga

One Night Stand Sleeping Positions

Inappropriate Barney Dance

Hide and go poop

Someone's Gonna Be MORE Pissed

I can think of a cheaper more enjoyable substitute

David Thorne - Spider Drawing Payment

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.19pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Overdue account

Dear David,

Our records indicate that your account is overdue by the amount of $233.95. If you have already made this payment please contact us within the next 7 days to confirm payment has been applied to your account and is no longer outstanding.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.37pm
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Overdue account

Dear Jane,

I do not have any money so am sending you this drawing I did of a spider instead. I value the drawing at $233.95 so trust that this settles the matter.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 10.07am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Overdue account

Dear David,

Thank you for contacting us. Unfortunately we are unable to accept drawings as payment and your account remains in arrears of $233.95. Please contact us within the next 7 days to confirm payment has been applied to your account and is no longer outstanding.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 10.32am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Overdue account

Dear Jane,

Can I have my drawing of a spider back then please.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 11.42am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Overdue account

Dear David,

You emailed the drawing to me. Do you want me to email it back to you?

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 11.56am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Overdue account

Dear Jane,

Yes please.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 12.14pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Overdue account

Attached

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 09.22am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Whose spider is that?

Dear Jane,

Are you sure this drawing of a spider is the one I sent you? This spider only has seven legs and I do not feel I would have made such an elementary mistake when I drew it.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.03am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Whose spider is that?

Dear David,

Yes it is the same drawing. I copied and pasted it from the email you sent me on the 8th. David your account is still overdue by the amount of $233.95.
Please make this payment as soon as possible.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.05am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Automated Out of Office Response

Thankyou for contacting me.
I am currently away on leave, traveling through time and will be returning last week.

Regards, David.

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.08am
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

Hello, I am back and have read through your emails and accept that despite missing a leg, that drawing of a spider may indeed be the one I sent you. I realise with hindsight that it is possible you rejected the drawing of a spider due to this obvious limb ommission but did not point it out in an effort to avoid hurting my feelings. As such, I am sending you a revised drawing with the correct number of legs as full payment for any amount outstanding. I trust this will bring the matter to a conclusion.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Monday 13 Oct 2008 2.51pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

Dear David,

As I have stated, we do not accept drawings in lei of money for accounts outstanding. We accept cheque, bank cheque, money order or cash. Please make a payment this week to avoid incurring any additional fees.

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 13 Oct 2008 3.17pm
To: Jane Gilles
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

I understand and will definitely make a payment this week if I remember. As you have not accepted my second drawing as payment, please return the drawing to me as soon as possible. It was silly of me to assume I could provide you with something of completely no value whatsoever, waste your time and then attach such a large amount to it.

Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles
Date: Tuesday 14 Oct 2008 11.18am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

Attached

Love in 2-D

By LISA KATAYAMA

Published: July 21, 2009

Link

Nisan didn’t mean to fall in love with Nemutan. Their first encounter — at a comic-book convention that Nisan’s gaming friends dragged him to in Tokyo — was serendipitous. Nisan was wandering aimlessly around the crowded exhibition hall when he suddenly found himself staring into Nemutan’s bright blue eyes. In the beginning, they were just friends. Then, when Nisan got his driver’s license a few months later, he invited Nemutan for a ride around town in his beat-up Toyota. They went to a beach, not far from the home he shares with his parents in a suburb of Tokyo. It was the first of many road trips they would take together. As they got to know each other, they traveled hundreds of miles west — to Kyoto, Osaka and Nara, sleeping in his car or crashing on friends’ couches to save money. They took touristy pictures under cherry trees, frolicked like children on merry-go-rounds and slurped noodles on street corners. Now, after three years together, they are virtually inseparable. “I’ve experienced so many amazing things because of her,” Nisan told me, rubbing Nemutan’s leg warmly. “She has really changed my life.”

Enlarge This Image

Masato Seto for The New York Times

Nisan had a real-life girlfriend who left him, something Nemutan isn’t likely to do.

Enlarge This Image

Masato Seto for The New York Times

Some of Momo’s doll collection. He also has more than 150 body-pillow covers.

Nemutan doesn’t really have a leg. She’s a stuffed pillowcase — a 2-D depiction of a character, Nemu, from an X-rated version of a PC video game called Da Capo, printed on synthetic fabric. In the game, which is less a game than an interactive visual novel about a schoolyard romance, Nemu is the loudmouthed little sister of the main character, whom she calls nisan, or “big brother,” a nickname Nisan adopted as his own when he met Nemu. When I joined the couple for lunch at their favorite all-you-can-eat salad bar in the Tokyo suburb of Hachioji, he insisted on being called only by this new nickname, addressing his body-pillow girlfriend using the suffix “tan” to show how much he adored her. Nemutan is 10, maybe 12 years old and wears a little blue bikini and gold ribbons in her hair. Nisan knows she’s not real, but that hasn’t stopped him from loving her just the same. “Of course she’s my girlfriend,” he said, widening his eyes as if shocked by the question. “I have real feelings for her.”

At 37, Nisan is already balding, and his remaining hair has gone gray. “I can’t eat meat because of my diabetes,” he said, chomping on a forkful of lettuce and okra. “I’m just an unlucky guy.” As Nisan and I talked, Nemutan stared demurely at her pumpkin soup. It was a national holiday, and the restaurant was packed with young families. Several mothers gave Nemutan inquisitive looks, but the majority seemed not to notice her.

Nisan told me that not long ago he had a real girlfriend, but that she dumped him. He carries Nemutan almost everywhere he goes, though he is more self-conscious about it than he may seem at first. “Some people don’t find this funny,” he said, “and it also takes up a lot of room.” He treats her the way any decent man would treat a girlfriend — he takes her out on the weekends to sing karaoke or take purikura, photo-booth pictures imprinted on a sheet of tiny stickers. In the few hours we spent together, I watched him position her gently in the restaurant booth and later in the back seat of his car, making sure to keep her upright and not to touch her private parts. He doesn’t take her to work, but he has a backup body pillow with the same Nemutan cover inside his desk drawer in case he has to work late at his tech-support job. “She’s great for falling asleep with on an office chair.” Nisan has seven Nemutan covers in total — he buys them at Internet auctions and at fan conventions whenever he finds a good deal (he paid $70 for the original). If one gets too faded and dirty from overuse, he layers a new one over it. On the day that I first met Nisan and Nemutan, Nisan was carrying a new Nemutan cover in his bag in case she needed to look fresh for a photograph. He knows it’s weird for a grown man to be so obsessed with a video-game character, but he just can’t imagine life without Nemutan. “When I die, I want to be buried with her in my arms.”

Nisan is part of a thriving subculture of men and women in Japan who indulge in real relationships with imaginary characters. These 2-D lovers, as they are called, are a subset of otaku culture— the obsessive fandom that has surrounded anime, manga and video games in Japan in the last decade. It’s impossible to say exactly what portion of otaku are 2-D lovers, because the distinction between the two can be blurry. Like most otaku, the majority of 2-D lovers go to work, pay rent, hang out with friends (some are even married). Unlike most otaku, though, they have real romantic feelings for their toys. The less extreme might have a hidden collection of figurines based on anime characters that they go on “dates” with during off hours. A more serious 2-D lover, like Nisan, actually believes that a lumpy pillow with a drawing of a prepubescent anime character on it is his girlfriend.

According to many who study the phenomenon, the rise of 2-D love can be attributed in part to the difficulty many young Japanese have in navigating modern romantic life. According to a government survey, more than a quarter of men and women between the ages of 30 and 34 are virgins; 50 percent of men and women in Japan do not have friends of the opposite sex. One of the biggest best sellers in the country last year was “Health and Physical Education for Over Thirty,” a six-chapter, manga-illustrated guidebook that holds the reader’s hand from the first meeting to sex to marriage.

Most 2-D lovers prefer a different kind of self-help. The guru of the 2-D love movement, Toru Honda, a 40-year-old man with a boyishly round face and puppy-dog eyes, has written half a dozen books advocating the 2-D lifestyle. A few years ago, Honda, a college dropout who worked a succession of jobs at video-game companies, began to use the Internet to urge otaku to stand with pride against good-looking men and women. His site generated enough buzz to earn him a publishing contract, and in 2005 he released a book condemning what he calls “romantic capitalism.” Honda argues that romance was marketed so excessively through B-movies, soap operas and novels during Japan’s economic bubble of the ’80s that it has become a commodity and its true value has been lost; romance is so tainted with social constructs that it can be bought by only good looks and money. According to Honda, somewhere along the way, decent men like himself lost interest in the notion entirely and turned to 2-D. “Pure love is completely gone in the real world,” Honda wrote. “As long as you train your imagination, a 2-D relationship is much more passionate than a 3-D one.” Honda insists that he’s advocating not prurience but a whole new kind of romance. If, as some researchers suggest, romantic love can be broken down into electrical impulses in the brain, then why not train the mind to simulate those signals while looking at an inanimate character?

Honda’s fans took his message to heart. When he admitted to watching human porn at a panel discussion in Tokyo in 2005, several hundred hard-core 2-D lovers in the audience booed with shock that their dear leader had nostalgia for the 3-D world. Later, in an interview with a Japanese newspaper, Honda clarified his position, saying that he was worried 2-D love was becoming an easy way out for young otaku, who might still have a shot at success in the real world. “I’m not saying that everyone should throw away hopes of real romance right away. I am simply saying that guys like me who have gotten to a point of no return can be happy living in 2-D.”

In Japan the fetishistic love for two-dimensional characters is enough of a phenomenon to have earned its own slang word, moe, homonymous with the Japanese words for “burning” or “budding.” In an ideal moe relationship, a man frees himself from the expectations of an ordinary human relationship and expresses his passion for a chosen character, without fear of being judged or rejected.

“It’s enlightenment training,” Takuro Morinaga, one of Japan’s leading behavioral economists, told me. “It’s like becoming a Buddha.” According to Morinaga, every maleotaku can be classified on a moe scale. “On one end, you have the normal guy, who has no interest in anime characters and only likes human women,” he explained. “The opposite end, of course, is the hard-core 2-D lover.” Morinaga, a self-described otaku, didn’t have much luck with women until he became a well-regarded economist. Now he has a wife and a private office in a fancy apartment building near ritzy Tokyo Bay. “I’m a 2 — I still like human women better,” he said, a wide grin forming. “But there are many men who are on the opposite side of the scale. I understand their feelings completely. These guys don’t want to push ahead in society; they just want to create their own little flower-bed world and live there peacefully.”

For Nisan, who would probably score an 8 or a 9 on Morinaga’s moe scale, 2-D love is a substitute for real, monogamous romance. For others, just as fanatic as he, it can be a way of having more than one girlfriend at a time. Whatever a particular 2-D lover’s bent, there is a product made for him. Moe subculture has spawned a substantial market of goods centered on the desire to live in 2-D, from virtual girlfriends to body pillows to busty desktop-size figurines to cafes with waitresses dressed up as video-game characters. Every day, 2-D lovers come from all over Japan to Tokyo’s Akihabara district just to scour specialty shops and attend fan events in search of new character girlfriends to add to their collections.

I first met Ken Okayama one brisk and unusually windy Sunday morning in February, in front of a towering business hotel adjacent to Akihabara station. A tall and rather good-looking 38-year-old man, Okayama lives with relatives and works at a rural paint-application company in western Japan. He flies to Tokyo two to three times a year for the newest anime-related paraphernalia. “We don’t get a lot of anime in the boonies,” he said as he led me through a maze of nearly identical, unnamed side streets to the Gee! Store, sandwiched between a nondescript apartment building and a row of coin-operated lockers in a narrow alley. The walls were covered with kitschy posters, pillows and paraphernalia featuring wide-eyed, multicolor-haired anime girls in frilly panties and bikini tops. “There are two things you should be mindful of when buying a body pillow,” Okayama whispered as we combed the aisles, trying not to disturb the handful of other men perusing the merchandise. “First, there’s image quality. And then you have to choose one that feels good on the skin.” Polyester, for example, is less desirable than smooth knit.

Okayama was an early adopter of 2-D. He discovered anime about two decades ago when he was new to the work force and feeling suicidal. “I was having a lot of trouble,” he told me over coffee, making a slicing gesture with his hand by his neck. That’s when he encountered Sasami, a blue-haired, 10-year-old cartoon character from the anime “Tenchi Muyo!”

She lifted him right out of his misery. “It’s hard to explain in words, but it’s a feeling similar to romance. Sasami gave me the will to keep going.” Since then, Okayama has turned to 2-D for all his emotional needs — the desire to buy new anime helped him get through a period of unemployment in 2003, and his body-pillow girlfriends, whom he dates two or three at a time, consoled him when his first real-life girlfriend dumped him in 2007.

“I was steps away from getting married,” he explained earnestly when prodded about his experience. “You have to make sure you don’t hurt a real person; you have to watch what you say, and you have to keep your room clean. In Japan, it’s not O.K. to like another person if you’re already with somebody else. With an anime character, you can like one character one day and a different character the next.”

Okayama’s flings were unconsummated, but for others 2-D love is a full-fledged alternative sexual lifestyle. Several hours after parting with Okayama in Akihabara, I met Momo at a fan convention. Momo, who makes X-rated body-pillow covers and sells them through his one-man club, Youkouro, which translates roughly as Furnace of Child Love, was there on business. The convention was being held inside a stuffy warehouse filled with boxes of 8-by-10, pamphlet-style, home-brewed manga and swarmed with thousands of anime fetishists, mostly men. Many 2-D lovers are unsatisfied with what the market has to offer, so they custom-make their own fantasy goods and come to conventions to barter and socialize with the like-minded. We left the warehouse and made our way to a fancy shopping mall, where we sat down on a bench. Momo began to flip through a catalog of more than a dozen prints of prepubescent anime characters with giant doe eyes in erotic poses. I flinched when a 5-year-old girl and her father plopped down behind us, but if Momo felt uneasy, he didn’t show it. On the contrary, he seemed giddy from the great sales he’d made. “I sold four pillow covers today,” he said proudly.

Momo, whose real name is Toru Taima, has more than 150 body-pillow covers at home. His current favorite is Karada-chan, a copper-haired sixth grader from the anime “A Direction in the Day After Tomorrow.” She’s fully clothed in the cartoon, but in Momo’s imagination and thus on his pillow cover, she appears naked, her cheeks flushed, her prepubescent nipples hidden by her forearms, her white panties rolled down to her ankles. A translucent square etched onto the pillow cover censors her hairless vagina.

Every night, Karada-chan and at least two other animated preteens, drawn with large pink nipples and exaggerated labia, share a mattress with Momo, one on each side and another on top. “They’re so cute, I can’t stand it,” he said shyly. “It’s like my favorite girl comes to marry me every night. I just can’t stop thinking about them.” When Momo talks about Karada-chan, his mousy face lights up like a kid opening Christmas presents. “Her existence to me is like daughter, younger sister and bride all put into one.” Does he have sex with her? “Yes.” Is he interested in real women? “It’s not like I’m completely uninterested. But the last girl I really liked was when I was 12 years old.”

Momo told me he never looks at child porn. He lives with his sister and his 3-year-old niece, whom he insists he has no sexual feelings for. “I am not doing anything to harm anybody,” he said adamantly. “To me, these are works of art. They’re cute girls that live in my imagination.”

Momo says he hopes that one day soon, there will be a 3-D version of Karada-chan. In March, Japan’s National Institute of Advanced Industrial Science and Technology unveiled a 5-foot-2, 95-pound girl robot made “for entertainment purposes,” with an anime face and human proportions. The robot girl walked, batted her eyelashes and spoke basic Japanese. Momo is hopeful and confident that, in the very near future, this technology will be marketed. “I don’t care if people understand or not,” Momo said. “I just want them to leave me alone. I don’t have any nostalgia for reality. I’m happy living in the 2-D world.”

But not all 2-D lovers, as Toru Honda recognized, are ready to cast reality aside entirely. I couldn’t help remembering what Nisan told me, Nemutan held tightly in his left arm, as we walked out of the restaurant to the parking lot. “Of course I want to get married,” he said as we drove back to West Hachioji station listening to his favorite Eurobeat CD. “But look at me. How can someone who carries this around get married? People are probably wondering what psychiatric ward I escaped from. I would think the same thing if I saw me.” He widened his eyes in self-ridicule, then, the next moment, his expression became somber. “I’m pretty conflicted inside. People say there are some otaku who don’t want to get married, but that’s not true. Some have so little confidence that they’ve just given up, but deep inside their souls, they want it just as much as anybody else.”

If he ever does find true three-dimensional love, Nisan said, he hopes that his wife will accept Nemutan for who she is: “She is my life’s work. I would be devastated if that was taken away from me.”

Boy drank gasoline to copy his TV heroes

Link

A 14-YEAR-OLD boy drank gasoline for five years to obtain "energy" - just as his idols "Bumble Bee" or "Optimus Prime" do in "Transformers," the Sichuan-based West China Metropolis Daily reported yesterday.

After the boy, in Yibin City, southwest Sichuan Province, had watched the animated TV series, he began to drink gasoline to become a "valiant fighter" like "Optimus Prime," his father told the newspaper.

"He began to drink gasoline five years ago, when we found he liked smelling lighter fuel," he said.

The boy's mother owned a grocery stall, selling small goods such as lighters. 

In 2004, she often found lighters missing two or three days after she'd bought them. She later found that her son had been stealing them. 

The parents talked to their son and asked him not to do it again. "But afterwards we found our motorcycle's gasoline was always disappearing, and one day when we found the boy had drunk a half bottle of gasoline stolen from the motorcycle, we were too shocked to say anything," the father said.

IQ dropped

They locked the motorcycle away after that but the boy began to steal gasoline from neighbors and was drinking more and more - two or three bottles at a time.

"Since my son started to drink gas, his IQ has dropped sharply and now he can't figure out simple addition and subtraction," the father said.

"Before that, he was a very smart boy, and he could even repair the television. But now he does not know the answer of 7 plus 17."

The worried parents finally took their son to hospital where they were told the boy had a mental disorder and a strong "gasoline dependence."

"The gasoline contains a lot of lead, which can do harm to people's brains. To make thing even worse, the boy is in the physical development stage, and the lead has caused serious damage to his body," Peng Houquan, a doctor from a hospital in Yibin, said.

"Transformers" is now a Hollywood blockbuster movie franchise and the second live-action film is currently breaking box office records in China. 

"Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen" has gained 400 million yuan (US$58.4 million) in the country, breaking the record set by "Titanic" 10 years ago. 

Prediction way off

Banned Sprite Commercial from Germany

Crazy TMNT Fan

Great for a laugh

Great site. Spent quite some time here

http://www.dontevenreply.com/

My daughter, 13, got pregnant by swimming in hotel pool, claims mother

Link

By MAIL FOREIGN SERVICE
Last updated at 3:52 PM on 09th July 2009

A mother is suing a hotel claiming her teenage daughter fell pregnant simply from using a hotel swimming pool.

Magdalena Kwiatkowska says the 13-year-old conceived after coming into contact with 'stray sperm' in the water of an Egyptian resort.

Hazard? Mrs Kwiatkowska is suing the Egyptian hotel where she claims her daughter got pregnant (file picture)

She is demanding compensation.

'The mother is adamant that her daughter didn't meet any boys while she was there,' a travel industry source said.

'She is determined to go ahead with the case.'

The Polish tourist board has confirmed they have received a complaint from Mrs Kwiatkowska.

Wife blows MI6 chief’s cover on Facebook

From Times Online

From Times Online

Link

Times Online

July 5, 2009

Sir John Sawer on the beach in one of the family photos

The wife of the new head of MI6 has caused a major security breach and left his family exposed after publishing photographs and personal details on Facebook.

Sir John Sawers is due to take over as chief of the Secret Intelligence Service in November, putting him in charge of all of Britain’s spying operations abroad.

But entries by his wife Shelley on the social networking site have exposed potentially compromising details about where they live and work, their friends’ identities and where they spend their holidays. On the day her husband was appointed she congratulated him on the site using his codename “C”.

Lady Sawers had put virtually no privacy protection on her account, making it visible to any of the site’s 200m users around the world who choose to be in the open-access London social network on Facebook.

The extraordinary lapse exposed the couple’s friendships with senior diplomats and well-known actors, including a leading character in The Archers, the BBC Radio 4 drama, and revealed that the intelligence chief’s brother-in-law, who holidayed with him last month, is an associate of David Irving, the controversial right-wing historian.

Once the Foreign Office had been informed of the faux pas all the material was removed from the internet. The move suggests that MI6 or the Foreign Office had not vetted the information the Sawers family shared over the internet.

Foreign Office staff are warned about using social networking sites when they join but MI6 advises its agents to maintain even tighter secrecy, telling them to reveal their true role only to their closest family.

Last night Ed Davey, the Liberal Democrat foreign affairs spokesman, told The Mail On Sunday: “This type of exposure verges on the reckless. The prime minister should immediately commission an internal inquiry as to whether this has breached the security of the incoming head of MI6 too seriously to allow him to take up the post.”

The Tory MP Patrick Mercer said the MI6 chief had left himself open to blackmail. A Foreign Office spokesman was unavailable for comment last night.

Can't Bet With Bud, Bud

He sure took that hard

The ORIGINAL Everyday Normal Guy

Remember Jon LaJoie's Everyday Normal Guy?



Here's the original, and he's genuine about it too

"I wash myself with a rag on a stick"

Remember this famous Simpson episode?



Now you don't have to! Here's the comfort wipe!

Vegetarians

Hate it when this happens

Bodybuilding Event canceled after competitors flee

BRUSSELS -- The Belgian bodybuilding championship has been canceled after doping officials showed up and all the competitors fled.

A doping official says bodybuilders just grabbed their gear and ran off when he came into the room.

"I have never seen anything like it and hope never to see anything like it again," doping official Hans Cooman said Monday.

Twenty bodybuilders were entered in the weekend competition.

Cooman says the sport has a history of doping "and this incident didn't do its reputation any good."

During testing of bodybuilding events last year, doping authorities of northern Belgium's Flanders region found that three-quarters of the competitors tested positive.

Link
Copyright 2009 by The Associated Press

News Blooper

Supposedly this is a standard position for snipers, but.....

Anal Fissure Bob

Most entertaining read today.

Link

Anal Fissure Bob, part 1

After lurking about in the wings the required 2 months I have felt the need to tell you about my anal fissure Bob.

It all started about two years ago in Thailand. I had just fired a round of green chile liquishit down the hole that the Asians call "toilet" when I noticed an odd sensation just inside the rim of my sphincter accompanied by a blasting spray of rich red blood.

After living in Asia for six months I thought that I had experienced nearly every digestive tract malady known to man. Worms, burning and colonic liquidity on a huge scale. Butt (hehe) this was something completely different.

It was a singularly unique feeling that I know now to have been the actual tearing of my rectum. It was Bob making himself know to me.

At first Bob wasn't so bad. Occasional itch and discomfort. Nothing that I couldn't handle. A mint flavored suppository now and again seemed to do the trick.

But then about a year ago my cruel master Bob began requiring more and more from me. Itching on a scale that can only be desribed as "hellish" was the order of the day. I had a permanent brown stain on my index finger from trying to scratch the inside of my colon through my troubled anus.

I had lost all sense of decorum. I no longer cared what people thought. I often walk around in public with my hand down my pants, finger firmly implanted, trying to appease the evil God Bob.

In my spare time I would daydream about modifying various farm impliments to deal with the overwhelming itch. I even went so far as to order a tined hand trowel.

Finally, I went to see a doctor. He made a quick diagnosis of hemmorhoids and let me go with a perscription for some industrial strength hemlube (tm.) The doc never saw Bob, who had retreated into his tear in fear of his only natural enemy, the medical practioner.

This only made Bob more angry and he visited wanton terror upon me. I began babbling to myself and have conditioned myself so against shitting that it is only with a great nashing of teeth to I make my approach to the bowl. As the chocolate tube steak descends I feel my rectum tear assunder like the curtain of the holy tabernacle. Bob laughing. Bob laughing.

Now, I have finally found a doctor that can help me. She made the diagnosis with a flashlight clamped firmly in her teeth. I had met her in a bar and Bob was not expecting a midnight diagnosis on my living room floor. "No problem" she said.

I have since been scheduled for surgery on October 29th to exorcise Bob from my most tender of parts. He seems to have accepted his fate and has been more peacefull as of late. We spend our time singing and reminiscing about our last two years together. We talk about the life after this one and I comfort him with rectal salve and oatmeal.

I will post details of the operation, and details about the demise of Bob.

I hope that he will be brave.

Anal Fissure Bob, part 2

Some of you may remember my previous post regarding my anal fissure, Bob.

The surgery that had been scheduled for October 29th has been postponed until December the first. Bob has had a stay of execution or a reprieve if you will.

Bob has become a holy terror of an anal fissure and my surgeon has informed me that the most effective way of dealing with Bob is a form of surgical exorcism that is know to the medical profession as; VIOLENT ANAL DILATION. I am not making this up! They are going to anaesthetize Bob and I and then dilate my asshole to a diameter that until that moment it had never known.

My greatest fear is becomming conscious and out of the corner of my eye seeing the medical staff zipping up their trousers.

Semi tasteless: I have met a man named Ream. This is his name. Word of honor. It just seems so appropriate that I meet him at the stage of my life when violent anal dilation is required. Maybe I should spare myself the trauma of surgery and spend more time with Ream.

Anal Fissure Bob, part 3

As you know, my anal fissure Bob and I were due to be separated today. By that most tasteless of medical marvels, violent anal dialation, Bob was to be no more.

The hospital scheduled the dialation over a week ago. They had sent me some medicine that I was to take the night before, and the morning of the procedure. It consisted of an overdose of some kind of laxitive pill and two suppositories the size of a sputnik.

Yesterday evening I had ingested the pills and inserted the Grogan Buster(tm) industrial strength stool liquifier. Around ten, I began to feel the need, and by 10:15 I was sitting on the throne enjoying one of the most massive squats of my life. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING that was not original equipment that came with my digestive tract was madly scrambling for the exit.

Sound like fun? Well, for a while it was. Then things began to go wrong.

I had evacuated myself from stem to stern. Enough allready I thought. Things slowed down, and I showered off.

This morning, I awoke at 4:00 am and as according to my physicians instructions, inserted the remaining suppository. Mistake. By 5:00 I was fully in the throes of the colonic "dry heaves." There was nothing to shit, but my colon was recieving a chemical message to evacuate at any cost. What had started out as a good time was rapidly turning into a nightmare.

I arrived at the hospital at 9:00. I was greeted by a nurse who looked as though she belonged in the WWF. I surrendered my trousers and at her command was treated to not one, but two enemas. There was some kind of chemical added to "help clean you out." I once again began desperately trying to expell the contents of my digestive system. Alas, it had been empty since the night before. I sat on the bowl, my sphincter twitching in and out as it tried to pass the phantom grogan that it thought was there. It began to hurt. Bad. For the next half hour I was in such terrible pain. My asshole felt as though it had been beaten with a baseball bat. Eventually, the pain began to subside.

I was led into an ajoining examination room. A doctor that hadn't seen or fingered me before was there. He explained that my surgery was postponed for a week because they had decided that one final test should be performed.

I should stop here to tell you that I am an American living in the country of Finland. Yeah, I speak some Finnish. But it's limited to things like "Gee, those are nice tits." So I wasn't too hep to the terminology of Finnish speaking proctologists.

If I knew what was about to happen, I never would have laid down on that table.

THE SCOPE! OUCH! OhJeesusOhJeesusOhJeesus.

Never do this! No matter what they tell you! No matter how hard they plead and cajole. Believe me, death is preferable.

What happened to me next was this: A doctor snaked a 60 cm fiber optic hose up my fundament. It had a viewing scope on one end, and a device to pump air into my colon on the other. As he manipulated it up my rectum I could feel the head move through the colon. I could imagine the bright light moving through the labyrinth of sphincters and valves. It reminded me of a motorcyle headlight racing through the Holland tunnel.

The searing pain was intense. At one point in time, I felt as if the thing was pressing on my lungs. I definitely felt it try to enter something that I was sure was some kind of door to my stomach. At that moment, I began to sweat profusely. The world began to spin. My stomach tried to retch, but again, nothing to barf. There I was, lying naked on a cold table with a scope up my air filled colon trying to spew when a plan for revenge crept into my mind. With all my might I pressed my diaphram down into the pressurized shit chamber. A tremendous wet fart sang around the hose and out my asshole. It was accomponied by the overwhelming stench of impacted fecal matter. A small smile crossed my lips. The doctor and nurse pretended as though nothing had happened. It was only seconds later though that the tube was retracted and the nurse had to wipe my liquishit smeared rectum.

Needless to say, a good time was had by all.

Next week: Violent anal dialation.

Anal Fissure Bob, part 4

My anal fissure Bob and what happened.

It's been a while since violent anal dilation.

I'm afraid that I have neglected my duties by not telling you about it sooner. But I have been at some loss for words about it.

My anal fissure Bob who had plagued me for the last three years is in the process of dying.

After the violent anal dilation I had expected to awaken from my anaes- thetized slumber to find that Bob had been completely destroyed. Annihilated by modern medicine in a small sterile room of a hospital in Seinajoki Finland. A rich heritage of blood and pain wiped out in minutes by strangers in mask and gown.

It all started a couple of Mondays ago at 7 am. I hadn't slept much the night before. Bob was quiet, but I lay awake thinking about what was to come the next morning. I was a little worried. I was about to experience something called violent anal dilation and I was a bit concerned. I found out later that my fears about the procedure where in fact pretty close to reality.

I arrived at the hospital in good spirits. I was shown my bed and given the button up the back surgical minidress. Even though the procedure wasn't scheduled until 1:30 I was required to change into the garment. I suppose that it's a manditory indignity to humiliate and degrade potential trouble- makers. Maybe word had gotten out that I had been asking questions about the procedure. What kind of drugs that they would be giving me, if my physician had performed many of these procedures etc. Medical personnel here don't like being quized by foriegners with anal fissures. It had taken lots of explain ing just to get permission to have a video taped documentary of the procedure made and released to me. I had to get my local practitioner to request it. It has since been explained to me that most procedures are taped anyway. They just don't release the tapes to the public.

I was in bed dozing when I felt a sharp pain in my ass. I whirled my head around in bed to see a rather stern and matronly looking woman with a large enema bag. Presumably it was her and her nozzle 'o fun that was causing the distress. I admired her technique. I was asleep. She probably figured that I would sleep right through it. What, and miss all the fun? Not likely. Besides, she was about as gentle as a bull elephant. Anal fissure Bob let out a sharp cry of pain. And so did I. She smiled and patted my head like a lap dog as she filled my rectum. As I looked around the room, I realized that we were not alone. Not 10 feet away was the wife and 2 teenage daughters of the vericose vein strip down in the bed next to me. They were all checking me out. I smiled my best grimace and tried to enjoy myself.

At 1:00 my doctor dropped by for a chat. The first thing that I noticed about him was that the hand that he extended in greeting had a slight palsy. Actually, it was more of a tremor. This is true! "Halloo" he said with a poorly forced smile that revealed his large yellow teeth." I spake anglish warry badney." " Uh....hi" I stammered "I speak a little Finnish; we will try to talk;" "OK" he agreed. We chatted about the usual stuff.....pain.... etc. I'm trying to ask the guy about the procedure when out of the blue, he looks up and says "We will tear you a new asshole." I am not making this up. By this time, I am not feeling very confident about what's going on and am giving some serious thought to just getting up and leaving. I knew about A.F. Bob. He was something that I could understand. I could live with him. This surgeon was something else. An unknown X with a license to dilate. He gave me two tiny white pills to swallow. "For made you relax" he said. Hmmmm this guy was starting to speak my language, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Seee yuuu in da operashunn place" he said and was gone.

I began feeling a little light headed from whatever drug it was that he had given me when two orderlies came in. They spoke low and softly to me in Finnish. Who knows what they were talking about. I just kept nodding my head stupidly. I couldn't have answered them anyway as my toungue was stuck to the roof of my parched mouth. As they rolled me down the hall I tried to count the number of acoustic tiles in the ceiling.

Eventually, we arrive at the big swinging doors of the operating room and are met by two others in surgical greens. It was like a prisoner exchange at the Rhine. They greeted each other. The two that transported me there wish me a happy dilation, hand over my file to the others, then turn and leave me with the dilation team.

As we enter the operating theatre I begin to feel quite aprehensive. My toungue is thick in my mouth. I am transferred to the main operating table. The anaesthetist walks in and without so much as a hello started tapping my forearm to find a suitable vein. I try to greet him but all that comes out is a horrible sqwak.

I had been relieved of my meager garment and I lay there, alone and naked. I look down in horror to see that my penis and testicles have completely withdrawn into my abdomen. Perhaps they had seen it first and were trying to warn me because there, on a stainless steel tray, nestled amongst strange looking devices is the object of my aprehension. It is some sort of anal battering ram. It is stainless steel and is about a foot long. It has two handles bolted to it. And for all the world it looked like one of those Stanley thermoses.

By this time, a vein had been found and been hooked up to the Anaesthetist. He still hasn't said anything so I find my voice. "How about a little valium to get thing started." He surprises me by speaking perfect English. "Here;" he said,"Try this" and injects something into the hookup that *IMMEDIATELY* makes me feel secure and right at home. No more problems. I chuckle at the prospect of the stainless invader.

As this all was happening, the nurses were quite busy. They had stainless steel poles that they were affixing to the sides of the operating table. On top of these poles were large plastic blocks that were deeply indented to accomodate what could only be my thighs. A more compromising version of the stirrups that doctors often use to examine women. And truly, the video has born my theory out. My buttring is bright, exposed, and nearly eye level to the weilder of the dilation tool.

The chief dilator strolls in, and nods at the anaesthetist. The latter hooks up a large syringe full of what looked like vaseline to my I.V. line and says "See you later." I remember trying to fight it just to see if I could. I couldn't. I remember having a monster head rush and trying to speak. That's the last thing that I remember.

It's only now that I review the video tape that I realize the horror of what actually happened to me.

It's strange to see yourself lying on a cold slab, your penis retracted falling unconcious. Right after I go out, a nurse puts a black rubber mask over my face. Two attendants raise my thighs into the "stirrups" and scrunch me down so that my ankles are bent straight back towards my head. The camera angle is from straight overhead, so you get a weird out of body feeling watching the whole thing. One nurse manipulates what's left of my genetalia out of the way while another unceramoniously paints my asshole with some sort of red tinted disinfectant.

The doctor wastes no time and before you can say "Is he asleep?" has two of his fingers deep into my ass. He checks around and durring the examination gives my prostate a mighty push. I swear that I shoot a load of something straight onto my belly where it just sits there through the rest of the procedure. The doctor gives a grunt of satisfaction and reaches for the dilator.

Nurses squirt some kind of lubricant from a large syringe into and around my ass. The surgeon then inserts the end of the dilation unit ino my ass and begins rotating it left and right. Soon he had my poor asshole fully dilated. And I mean *DILATED*. There I am out like a light with a stainless steel thermos up my ass. Every thirty seconds or so the doctor does a 360 with the thing.

Everyone is looking pretty bored, especially me.

After about 1/2 hour of this, the doctor removes the dilator and PUTS HIS ENTIRE HAND UP MY ASS. This is the best part of the video. If you have had a few drinks and squint a little it looks for a moment like some kind of bizzare bondage/fisting film.

A satisfied nod and the nurses move in for the clean up. Someone has the presense of mind to wipe the manually ejaculated fluid off of my belly. Someone swabs the shit and blood from my ass.

I get another syringe of something in my arm. The mask comes off my face. A nurse shakes me gently and my eyes flutter open. "Is it over?" I ask with wonderous shining eyes. Lots of nods around the room. "I dreamed" I say. "Wow, I feel fine!"

End of video.

They wheel me into the recovery room where I try to sit up. I carefully reach down in a cautious exploration of my asshole. It is confounded with a giant tamponlike stuffing. "Uh oh" I think to myself and try to ignore it. It's only later when they pull the stuffing out do I realize the full extent of what's happened.

Anyway, a little later I eat some soup and vomit it back up right away. The vomit is a vile green.

The next day, I took the first effortless shit that I had in sometime. Oh joy! Oh nirvana.

After the surgery, Bob was still his usual self. In fact, he was more terrible than usual. He had expected sudden death and when he awoke, believing that he had survived a professional ass (hehe) ass (hehe) ination attempt he was even more pissed off and motivated then before. He had felt betrayed, and had amused himself for the first several days after the procedure by visiting a torturous itching upon me, his host.

The hard part about his slow strangulation is that I can feel him dying. He groans and complains like any other terminal patient. I must take him with me wherever I go. We are like the Siamese twins Chang and Eng. Can I survive without my symbiotic buddy?

Well, at least fire and blood won't shoot out of my ass every time that I try to pop a stubborn grogan. I will no longer know the joys of crying real tears when I shit. For a long time I was told that painful elimination was unnatural. Now, I truly understand.

Now, two weeks later Bob is only a faint echo of his former self. He is still hanging onto life, but only just. He is still there, and ugly slash of an anal fissure. But no longer red and pusy. The occasional itch. That is all. And even that is fading rapidly.

And oh yes....my butthole has sprung back to a more managable size. Your asshole really is an incredible machine.

I had a small dinner party on Christmas day. After dinner I put on the video. It took about twenty minutes before anyone realised that it was me. I guess they thought it was Nova or something. Ho Ho Ho.