Language itself is a barrier.
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| Poetic Justice by Joey T. |
The following was reported by Julian Borger of The Guardian today:Ya gotta love it. President Bush, the arm chair psychopath who fancies himself God's Personal Warlord, and Vice-President Cheney, the brains of the smarmy operation, scuttled to their bunkers today to protect themselves from what proved to be a cloud. There is poetic justice in that.
"President George Bush was bundled into an underground bunker, Dick Cheney was evacuated to an "undisclosed location" and heavily armed secret servicemen took up defensive positions when a fast-moving cloud scudded towards the White House, it was reported yesterday. Such false alarms are common, triggered by clouds, flocks of birds or private aircraft wandering off course, but the White House confirmed yesterday that this was not the first time since September 11, 2001 that the president has taken refuge in the hi-tech bunker beneath the building, the Presidential Emergency Operations Centre. It was not clear yesterday what it was about Wednesday morning's cloud that created such havoc. It was moving at about the speed of a helicopter, disappearing and then appearing again on the radar screen, but the same could be said of many clouds."
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| Louie |
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| Crow Woman and Lilth |
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| Crow treats |
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| Rat Woman, Hagwar and Buug Invisible Theatre |
For more information, please visit KentuckyFriedCruelty.com.What is done to chickens would be illegal if it were done to dogs, cats, cows, or pigs. However, chickens are excluded from the only federal law that protects farmed animals, the Humane Methods of Slaughter Act. An undercover investigation at a Moorefield, W.Va., slaughterhouse that supplies chickens to KFC revealed that workers were kicking, throwing, and stomping on live birds. Recently, PETA released the findings of an undercover investigation of a slaughterhouse operated by KFC'’s number one supplier, Tyson Foods, and found that workers were ripping conscious chicken's heads off, slaughter machinery was systematically mutilating chickens, and thousands of birds were being scalded to death after entering the defeathering tank while they were still conscious.
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| Dickhead Republicans |
"skyrivizzle poetry chillin' poems, underground wanna be gangsta indie publish'n...
Ashabot Night Crew ... Ashabot tech C-R-to-tha-izzew. Ladybug Ladybug Collaborizzle Deconstructizzle Cairo The lovely Cairo as a cunn'n pup . Throw yo guns in the motherfuckin air. ... "
The Pope died today. I heard about it at the casino where I went for lunch. The bathroom attendant was discussing it with a customer who was crapping in one of the stalls. I think the poor woman had eaten bad shrimp. Anyway, they were shouting back and forth, comparing Nevada time with Vatican City time, trying to zero in on exactly where they each were when it happened. They were very excited to be in on such a big event. I had to tap the attendant on the shoulder and squeeze past her mop bucket to get to a toilet. They were still talking when the customer finally came out of the stall. She ran her oxygen tank right over my foot but didn't seem to notice. She must run over stuff all the time because when the wheels hit my boot she gunned the tank without even looking down. She had some dribble on her velour jogging suit and was scrubbing at it furiously and still talking about the Pope when I left. I came away proud. No matter what people say about Americans living in a bubble, it obviously just isn't true.
Isn't death supposed to be part of "god's" plan? Judging by the fervor of all these so-called religious people, death is the worst thing that can happen to somebody. Isn't Terri Schiavo supposed to "go to heaven" when she dies? Isn't that what's suppose to await all good Christians? Instead evangelical politicians have hijacked the government and overruled her wishes, as bequeathed to her husband. They have violated one of their own sacred principles, the sanctity of marriage. They are not doing "god's" work. They are doing their own (political) work. If "Terri's" Law, stands, what's next? Bush is on a roll. Obviously, he believes the law is under his thumb. Why wouldn't he? He gets everything he wants. Terri is an incidental; a tidbit for the congregation; a way to bring little brother Jeb onto the bully pulpit. In fact there are rumors today that Jeb plans to rush the hospital and kidnap Terri if the courts don't appease the evangelical fever to keep Terri out of heaven. If he does that, perhaps he'll name her his vice president when he makes his move.
Some say the issue is "oil shipping route independence." They point out that bringing oil to the West Coast from the north could save us a few trips through the Panama Canal. Nice sentiment but shipping route independence is not real independence. It's another fantasy. It doesn't matter which direction oil comes from. Using oil is the problem. Using oil deepens our already crippling dependency on oil. We must devote our attention, talent, time and resources towards developing alternative forms of energy.
Tyke never had a normal life. In the wild, she would be part of a close-knit herd. She would walk by her mother's side until well into her teens. The herd would be her family. She and the other members of the herd would eat, play, and take baths together, and protect each other from danger. They would roam over hundreds of acres of varied terrain, and sleep under African skies. When she got older, she would share in the child-rearing and have a calf of her own.For a few elephants, their circus life has a happy ending.
But Tyke never experienced any of that. She was trapped and taken away from her family when she was a baby. She was shipped to the circus. There, she was confined to a concrete room and beaten over and over, to break her spirit. Circus trainers hit her repeatedly with a sharp metal "bullhook," which made her cry out in pain. They struck her in her most sensitive areas: behind her ears, on top of her toes, in back of her knees, and around her anus. They wanted to hurt her and frighten her so she would be obedient.
She spent most of her time in chains, doing nothing. Her bones ached from no exercise. Her diet was monotonous. She stood in filth and excrement. She was deprived of every aspect of normal elephant life. She hated it.
She was in the Hawthorn circus, which had a track record of animal cruelty violations. In 1988, according to USDA documents, Tyke was beaten in public to the point where she was "screaming and bending down on three legs to avoid being hit." The trainer said he was "disciplining" her. By April of 1993, she had had enough. She tried to escape during a circus performance. She didn't make it. In July she tried to escape again; she was unsuccessful. Hawthorne should have retired her right then and there, as she was an obvious threat to the public. But they didn't.
For the next year she performed in the circus and lived in a barren concrete barn, chained, between shows. The bullhook beatings continued. Her life stank. She vacillated between terror and boredom. She was not really an elephant.
In August of 1994 Tyke reached a breaking point. She had been in the circus nearly 20 years. She was tired of being beaten, whipped, and kicked. She could no longer take the pain and the confinement. She was angry and wanted to be free. At an afternoon performance at the Neal Blaidsell Center in Honolulu, it all came to a head.
At some point during the show, she veered from the script. Circus staff tried to beat her back, but no bullhook or whip could stop the rage that had been building inside her for two decades. She crushed her trainer, Allen Campbell. She attacked two other people. She panicked the crowd. She ran into the streets. It was rush hour. She was disoriented and no idea where she was. She charged at bystanders and smashed cars as she made her way through several city blocks. Onlookers screamed. The police were called out and started shooting at Tyke with rifles.
She slowly fell over, then awkwardly stood back up. The police kept firing. Her head swayed, and her legs buckled. She got up again. The spray of bullets continued. She rocked her head violently from side to side. Her legs gave way once more. She was on her knees and could not right herself. Her eyes were fully open and confused. The shooting went on for several more seconds. Finally, she fell, very slowly, onto her side.
This was Tyke's final performance. The price of freedom from the circus was steep. She was shot 87 times.
I got a paper prayer rug in the mail today from a church. Their letter starts out, "Dear... Someone at This Address". I guess that's me. After all, I am someone. They explain that the rug is "anointed with God's holy power" but they're "loaning" it to me for ONE NIGHT ONLY. They said that I can trust that Jesus sees my needs because if I "stare at His eyes on the Church Prayer Rug, I'll notice they are closed but if I relax and continue looking straight into His eyes, I will see them slowly open and He will begin looking back at me." I tried it but His eyes didn't exactly open. They did turn into big, cool, blank zombie eyes though.
They promise that God is going to bless me spiritually, physically and financially if I do four simple things. First off, they want me to send the rug back first thing in the morning. God's a busy man and wants it back ASAP. The other thing I have to do, of course, is pray on the rug. It is prayer rug after all. The good news is that I don't actually have to get down on my knees. proof they are indeed wise men. They know most real true believers are obese. The instructions state that for the magic to work all I have to do is touch the paper to my knees. It has to be on both my knees, like a napkin I imagine, but how hard is that? Then I fold the rug up and slide it into my bible or under my bed and leave it there overnight. Good thing I can stash it under my bed while God does His Work because I don't have a bible. No matter my bed is just a mattress on the floor.. God can squeeze under it. He is God, after all. The fourth thing I have to do before I send it back to the church is be sure to fill out the questionnaire. I have to tell them where to tell God to direct His Blessing.
The God Squad is everywhere these days. Flipping through radio stations recently, I caught the last few minutes of a caller complaining about people who support both abortion rights and animal rights. She just can't get her head around it and writes us off as troubling heathens who shamelessly prefer dirty animals to human babies. Another boob from the rights are only for humans bunch. She probably eats eggs (embryos) and occasionally downs a tasty veal or lamb cutlet (baby flesh) and votes for 3 strike legislation to imprison those same, precious babies when they start acting out in the hood. Well lil' lady, I suppose I am a heathen. I don't respect scriptures, philosophies or people that celebrate human or animal sacrifice (including the crucifixion of your Lamb). I also pity the star struck martyrs playing "holy" war (whether Armageddon or Jihad). They aren't "saints". They're brainwashed glory seekers. I, for one, am sick of being dragged along in this arcane argument between a bunch of Middle Eastern pundits (Christians, Jews and Muslims) arguing their blood soaked politico-religion. Screw the whole lot.
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