BAMF

A 75-year-old Bridgeport man has admitted impregnating a 10-year-old girl and is facing a lengthy prison sentence. Jimmie Kave pleaded guilty Tuesday in Superior Court to charges of sexual assault and risk of injury to a minor. [Story]

Now, my first assumption was that this guy is a sick fucker who should be castrated with a plastic picnic knife, have his kneecaps drilled (by spade) with a medium-sized masonry bit, have his toenails removed, and be forced to spend the rest of his life watching re-runs of the Golden Girls and poorly capped copies of Granny Gangbangs 4.

But, after reading the story in its entirety, I realize that maybe I was a little “quick to judge”. In his testimony to police, this child molester reveals a hidden darkside!

Kave admitted having a sexual relationship with the girl beginning when she was 10, but claims she enticed him, police said. Kave told police the girl would have sex in exchange for the new clothes and presents he gave her.

Now I can’t decide which is more fucked up—impregnating a 10-year old girl in exchange for pretty ponies and powerpuff girls® branded clothing, or being able to actually tell police that you were “enticed” by said 10-year old.

KLF?

Up until now, the name of this website has been living a filthy life in the language underworld of slang. Not that it hasn’t been a pleasant stay; the words “badass mofo” have kept us real, street-wise. Why, just today I told a meter maid that I was a “badass mofo” and that she needed to “step away from my ride.” She ignored me, but that’s not the point.

The point is, starting today, we’re going legit. Well, halfway..

It’s been uttered by movie stars, appeared on magazine covers and written into song lyrics.

Badass.

It’s just one of the words that has passed the test of appearing five times in five different places over five years and made it into the newest version of the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford University Press, $150, 3,984 pages). The newly revised fifth edition of the most definitive text on the English language includes 3,500 such additions and zero removals. The two volumes that make up the dictionary weigh almost 15 pounds and define more than a half-million words.

There’s two ways to deal with this. One way is for the BAMF crew to just lie down and accept our fate as slang has-beens, like “radical mofo” and “groovy mofo,” and start wearing slacks and wingtips to bed at night. The other option is to get more offensive with the site name, such as “cuntcuntcunt.com” or “sexwithjesus.org”; too bad those were former Stileproject network affiliates, so we can’t use the names.

Or, we could just stick it out and wait for our mothers to use “mofo” in a sentence over Sunday dinner.

Every now and again, there’s a glimmer of hope for the future. (from Larry F’ing Miller no less!)

The lead singer of every band that day had gotten huge cheers in between songs by shouting things like “ANARCHY!” or, “F— CORPORATIONS!” or just, “S—!” and all fifty thousand kids would scream their approval, whoop, and shove their fists into the air. Typical, I guess. Then, “Buzzcocks” came on, played their first song, and the lead singer stepped forward and shouted this (verbatim from Jack, he wrote it down) into the mike: “F— GEORGE BUSH! DON’T LISTEN TO HIM. WE HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING IN IRAQ, NO MATTER WHAT HE SAYS.” And here comes the good news.

There was a long pause, complete silence. And then they started. The boos. One here, one there. Then everyone. Everyone. Louder and louder. Jack told me how the puzzled singer blinked in surprise, looked at the rest of his band, and then stepped forward again to try to save the moment. “NO, NO, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I SAID F— GEORGE BUSH. F— HIM.” The boos grew even louder, and then people began shouting back up to the stage, “NO, MAN, F— YOU!” “YEAH, F— YOU, A—–E!” More and more, ceaselessly rising, until the shaken band caucused quickly and just blasted into their next song.

Although this isn’t exactly a glimmer of hope, it is reassuring to see that the Commander-In-Chief can rally up a bit more support from the troubled youth of today than Pete Shelley of the Buzzcocks. Funny to see the lil’ bastards cheering and giving hurrahs for “Death to big business” and “Anarchy” while paradoxically defending a Republican, big business backed President. That would be like being at an Ice-T concert, and cheering through a rendition of “Cop Killa”, then booing when he ends it with a rousing “Yeah suckaz, fuck da Po-lice!” Just a little bit stupid is all, and I know that’s how you MTV kiddies are these days so I’ll just pat you on the head and say “Good job, lil’ whitewashed punkers. Good job.” Let me know what you think of the current situation after you get a Goddamn job.

Punk is dead, by the way. Just filling in those of you who didn’t get the memo.

I bit the bullet and purchased the Danger Sidekick. I’m currently picking up a couple of DVDs in Blockbuster. I wonder if they’ll mind if I use their shitter to fulfill my aforementioned intent for this thing.

*Update* : They didn’t. Of course, it still counts if I didn’t tell them.

Some friends of mine built this game cabinet here in ole Hunstville, USA.

ONE BADASS MACHINE

Take a look and email him if you know someone who would want to buy one. I played on it. It owned my soul. Buy all you want, they’ll make more.

So I guess they’re making a movie about the Napster fiasco. I know, who gives a shit, right? But the movie apparently marks the triumphant return of Alex “Bill S. Preston, Esq.” Winters. That’s right, the guy who must cry like a little bitch every time The Matrix comes on HBO is finally getting his shot at the big time! Vengeance and fury, motherfuckers, because Bill is getting his big break!

Yeah, you’re right, who gives a shit. Well, you did enough to read this post, didn’t you. And on your weekend, your precious, precious weekend. Just sad is all I’m saying. *shakes head*

I’m not going to get into the nitty-gritty “right or wrong” aspect of women’s freedom of choice. It’s not my prerogative. But seriously, isn’t it a bit morbid to wear red panties for a day supporting the right to choose? That’s like wearing yellow boxers for National Bed-Wetters Appreciation Day.

I took a few rolls of film for processing this week, and instead of getting the standard “you are a cheap bastard” regular service, I opted for the premium service which includes (I am not making this up) a premium cardboard picture case, negative sleeves, and hosting for your photos on-line.

Yesterday, I get my pictures back, and not surprisingly the only noticeable difference was the word “premium” stamped across the photo paper on the back (though the negatives were indeed sleeved). Fair enough. In addition, there is a card with instructions on how to view my on-line pictures. Standard goto wwwdot stuff, but it also included a number that looks much like the following:

roll id: ddiek33930fjkelldpexolkdjd9303830fifo909303039
pick up code: 438494005958859505059

Only the actual numbers were much longer. (I trimmed it down here to keep us within our bandwidth quota). Remember this is for a single roll. I think that somehow the roll id and pick up code are hashed together and converted to binary forming 24 640 x 480 jpegs, making it so the images do not actually have to be stored on the server. Or something. Naturally the first thing that pops into my head when I see this is “Please lord don’t make me type that.” Now, I am a horrible typist, and lazy on top of that. My rule is if it can written once, it can be cut & pasted twice. I somehow think that this roll id has something to do with pi but I can’t exactly prove it (mostly since I do not have any idea what pi actually is).

I finally get the roll id and pick up code entered, and given my “I am willing to do a small amount of work for reward” personality, I felt OK enduring a little heartache to get to my goal. Well, I guess I didn’t quite realize how bad it has gotten.

It seems that our parents, grandparents, in-laws, and exs, as well as the in-bred dipshits these companies hire, have forced us to take the term “user friendly” to exorbitant and outlandishly extreme levels in order to accommodate the less competent among us. To demonstrate, here is a “tip” I extracted from this site:

Since I wasn’t quite to the “I am ready to smash the usability design committee over the skull with a crowbar” stage yet, this made me chuckle.

On to finding my pictures and download them.

I click on the first roll, and 20 seconds later thumbnails for the first 6 images show up. I click one, and 20 seconds later, a 50% size single image shows up (about 400 x 400). Now, It seems simple enough to think “20 seconds” and be done with it, but in this day and age 20 seconds of waiting is a veritable lifetime. I haven’t felt loading pain like this since my days of searching for porn on my 486 windows 95 machine over a 14k modem (type yahoo.com into address bar and search for “pussy”—interlaced, motherfucker, do you speak it?). Those days also provide me the notoriety of being one of the few suckers in the world who has actually paid for an Internet browser, but that is another story that should never, ever be told (Netscape 3.0 gold off the shelf).

Anyway, I am ready to download this roll, so I click download. Apparently downloading multiple images is way too difficult for the average user, but I don’t think even the goatse man himself could have prepared me for the shock I received trying to download using this 2-step process:

*loads gun*

*shoots self*

The whole process to download a single image takes roughly 3 minutes, door-to-door, from my T3. Elementary math (windows calculator, cause I suck at math): 3 rolls at 24 exposures each, 3 minutes each exposure. About 3 and a half hours to download all three rolls, not including the time it takes to run 72 self-extracting executables.

Even since I tapped into the sickening power of the Internet, I have vaguely realized its potential which has somewhat prepared me for many things I have experienced, including (recently, since I have shit for memory) beej, TBA (both of whom I have learned to love and appreciate), furies, LARPs, and many other things I don’t even feel comfortable talking about over the anonymity the Internet provides.

But I never imagined I would be offered an executable to download a single 400k image.

It brings a whole new meaning to the term “lowest common denominator.” Welcome to the Internet, 2002.

Wang Jiaxiong from northwest China’s Shaanxi province falls to his death while trying to jump over the Great Wall in Tianjin, China, on October 2, 2002

…Wang tried to clear the wall on his bike after riding down a 35-metre high, 76-metre long runway. Picture taken October 2…

Um. Yeah. More pics with hittage of the linkage. I’ll be expecting plenty of “what does a wang sound like hitting asphalt” jokes.

Senate candidate blue — literally

Stan Jones,a 63-year-old business consultant and part-time college instructor, said he started taking colloidal silver in 1999 for fear that Y2K disruptions might lead to a shortage of antibiotics…He does not take the supplement any longer, but the skin condition, called argyria, is permanent.

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHA…ahahahhah *puuuuuke*…*wipes* HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA