Sick of Being Shut Up and Shut In

Julian Assange will leave embassy ‘soon’

By Justin Moyer; The Washington Post; August 18, 2014

“…Assange, whose organization facilitated the publication of materials leaked by Bradley Manning (now Chelsea Manning), has been in exile at the Ecuadoran embassy in London for more than two years…”

Although banal, Assange has been compiling data for a Wikileak on the embassy’s going-ons. He has released a few excerpts of the revelations:

–“Manuel never washes his hands after using the bathroom. GMWAS.”

–“Maria tells EVERYONE to have a nice day, but everyone knows she’s just a big phony.”

–“Hugo has re-gifted 3 times since I’ve been here. And I’m sure the gift certificates he’s given me are invalid b/c I can’t go out and VERY FUNNY assh*le!”

–“There are hardly any rapeable women here. WTF, Ecuador?!!!”

Ti-ti-tit for Ta-ta-tat

Local researchers get in on Ice Bucket Challenge to raise money, awareness for ALS
By Meredith Cohn, The Baltimore Sun, August 13, 2014

“…Sattler dumped ice water over her head Wednesday to help Packard, which had raised about $25,000 in the past few days from the campaign, which involves taking the chilly bath within 24 hours of being challenged or making a donation to an ALS cause…”

To reciprocate, hypothermia researchers have started their own baseball league.

Old Friends

I’ve written on this blog before about my buddy Mike, my older buddy who got booted from the Marines for selling pot on base. Here’s part of our conversation from this morning:

“You’re never gonna’ make that one, son.”

I am not good at real basketball, but I love trying to make shots of litter into the trashcan. The trickier and more difficult the attempt, the better. I have come up with some good ones.

“Oh yeah? I’ll take it up a notch.”

I made a behind-the-back attempt from a ridiculous distance. The empty plastic jar of instant coffee was off by five feet.

“Nice try,” commented another down-and-outer who fritters away his mornings in the federal plaza. He laughed when I said that my specialty was empty vodka bottles.

“Good,” Mike joked as I returned to our bench, “now that you’re out of coffee maybe you’ll chill the fuck out!”

Like all my friends, Mike hates to see me wasted. But I also bug him out when I’ve got too much coffee in me.

“Actually, the term of my generation, or Generation Y or some shit, is ‘Chillax’.”

“‘Chillax?’ As in, ‘Take a break from chopping wood’?”

“Nice try, but it’s a combination of ‘Chill out’ and ‘Relax.’ Because, you know, they save two syllables with that neologism.”

“And then you go and waste ’em right back with whatever that last word was.”

“Yeah, but these stupid kids only use words that can be texted.”

“No fucking shit. They do that shit more than they actually talk. I was at my ex’s last month, and she’s on the front porch, texting my son who’s in his old room. I’m like, ‘Why don’t you actually walk to his room’?!”

“Are they fat? Or scrawny fucks like you?”

“They’re in shape, you know. It’s just a stupid thing.”

“Speaking of stupid things, I had lunch with that lady yesterday. She’s straight-laced herself, but her daughter is 21 and already an alcoholic. I don’t know if she really is or if it’s just the normal drinking of someone that age.”

“Could be either.”

“That’s basically what I said. But–you’ll love this–she said that she was doing fine until she went to that Otakon shit.”

Otakon is one of three or four conventions that entail that Baltimore has several Halloweens each year. People dress up like anime characters and you’ll see people dressed up like the characters throughout downtown. Everyone else laughs at them.

“Fuck, if my kid was into that shit, I’d become an alcoholic myself.”

He instantly laughed when he realized what he’d said, since we’re both drunks.

“I know you say you’re from a redneck area of Bawmore, but I’m from the edge of Pennsyltucky. And my dad was from pure redneck stock. But when I went through my freaky, skate fag stage, he had no problem with that. When I wore shit like a pink sock and a yellow sock to school, my refined mom worried that I was gay.”

“One of my boys went through a Grunge thing, with like black nail polish and a little light make-up. I was cool with that.”

“I could see you taking him aside and saying, ‘Son, I don’t care if you’re gay or what, but stay the fuck away from that goddamn Otakon shit. And if you look for more than two seconds at a My Little Pony horse [a Bronycon reference], I’ll fucking kill you’.”

“‘Here’s a bottle of Jack. Take that costume off and drink it. Want me to get you some coke’?”

“‘How about some whores, son?’ You’d get a call at four in the morning: ‘Mr. Lykens, we’ve got your son down here at Central Booking.’ ‘What’d he do?’ ‘Sir, he attacked an officer so we had to kick his ass.’ ‘Did he have a costume on? Did he really assault them or did he use a toy sword?’ ‘He just kept yelling, “Fuck you all”!'”

“That’s my boy!”

I Know Why the Caged Rat Has the Munchies

Colorado ad campaign tests new message to prevent teen marijuana use

Crew members Andrew Willey, left, and Brian Houchin with Proctor Productions in Denver finish assembling large cages on Friday, part of an advertising

“…The campaign is called Don’t Be a Lab Rat.’ The idea is to suggest to kids that Colorado has become a testing ground on the consequences of marijuana legalization — and they will be the test subjects if they use pot…”
 
And remember, kids, that if you’re busted with weed in most of the country, you will likely end up in a cage like this.

1+1=A Bigger One

Within several minutes of each other recently, I saw an odd pair of TV commercials.  The first one was one of those “Look at these poor starving children; for 50 cents a day…” ones.  The second one followed the same format but the subjects of our heartstrings were animals.  And this one set the price at 60 cents a day.

I’m an animal liker and all, but two thoughts occurred to me:

1)  How does it cost more to care for an animal in America than a human in the Third World?

2)  Why don’t we send the animals to these starving people?  I had a cat that lived to be about 17 years and obviously had affection for him.  But I sure as hell would have eaten him if I had to.