And sticking your dick in a flacid Santa hat won't make Christmas sexy. Please make a note of it.
My son Joseph and his girlfriend, Nicole, asked me to watch their dogs, Haley and Moose, a mother-daughter twosome, to give their landlord time to make fence repairs. They arrived a little late; they had already managed to get themselves pregnant. Mom had 10, and daughter had 12! My son and his girlfriend did great in finding homes for 20 puppies! There were two "runts" in Moose's litter, with the smaller of the two looking half the size of its siblings. The bottle-feeding we gave her saved her life, but she looked pretty homely and wasn't getting adopted. I ended up keeping both the runts—sisters. The bottle-fed runt was homely indeed, and I wanted her to feel pretty, so I named her Tiffany. Her sister I called Emma. Grown, Tiff sometimes stands as if she's posing in a Mr. Universe competition. She would stand in front of a grizzly bear for me; she'd get taken out by one swipe, but she would do it. They were born on Dale Earnhardt Sr.'s birthday: April 29. Tiff may yet see her ninth birthday; Emma will not....
Courtesy of Levi Pulkkinen at Seattlepi.com:
"Federal prosecutors contend registered nurse Angela Huffman’s painkiller thefts ultimately resulted in a young woman inadvertently receiving a strong dose of a stimulant moments before she was due for surgery."
Well, it's official. Some people just aren't very nice.
From a Department of Justice media email this afternoon:
WASHINGTON – The Department of Justice, the FBI, and the National Center for Disaster Fraud (NCDF) remind the public that there is a potential for disaster fraud in the aftermath of a natural disaster. Suspected fraudulent activity pertaining to relief efforts associated with Typhoon Haiyan should be reported to the toll-free NCDF hotline at 866-720-5721. The hotline is staffed by a live operator 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for the purpose of reporting suspected scams being perpetrated by criminals in the aftermath of disasters.
NCDF was originally established in 2005 by the Department of Justice to investigate, prosecute and deter fraud associated with federal disaster relief programs following Hurricanes Katrina, Rita and Wilma.
Tips for recognizing disaster fraud, and what to do about it, are below the jump. Most seem pretty self-evident, but you might want to forward this along to your batty, do-gooder cousin.
This email also puts the voices of certain relatives in my head—some lefty, some righty—and they're saying: "'Disaster fraud'? There's already a name for that. It's called insurance!" (But they're all romantic types who wish we were living in a society of free and equal yeoman farmers with no wages or bureaucracy.)
If you're up to getting your heart broken today, Slate.com has a (looong) thoughtful article that uses the case of Hana Williams, the Ethiopian girl fatally abused by her adoptive parents in Sedro-Woolley, as a launch point to investigate the trend of "American orphanages" in Western Washington (and in all probability, elsewhere). Families that adopt large numbers of orphans, often spurred on by their religious zeal, without understanding their new children's cultural background or social and emotional needs—to disastrous, damaging results. (Or maybe they're just sadistic shitbags who should never be put in positions of authority over any life forms, ever. Not even goldfish. Maybe mold, with good behavior.)
Whatever the case, the point is Hana's horrific home environment may not be an anomaly:
When he turned 12, problems grew worse and included what James describes as degrading and abusive physical punishment of Matt. There were sessions of sitting in place for as long as five hours, heavy chores, forced cold showers, and spankings with wooden spoons or belts. Matt says he was once duct-taped to his bed and was sometimes locked in his room or forcibly held on the floor by both parents, one sitting astride him while the other poked him forcefully in the chest—something he says the family called “Chinese torture” that may have been a form of “holding therapy,” a widely discredited treatment for attachment disorders that has gained popularity among some adoptive parents. During one such session, Matt says he blacked out and bit his mother; another time he leaped from his bedroom window and his parents had him hospitalized, claiming he’d attempted suicide. After he came home, Matt says he stayed locked in his room most of the time, eating little and excluded from the family, as his brothers and sisters weren’t allowed to talk to him. He fell into some bad habits in high school, had run-ins with the police over underage drinking and taking a friend’s car and sometimes “ran away” into the acres of land the family owned. Once, his father told him he wished he could kill him, and Matt ran away again. He says that soon thereafter, a judge removed him from the house for his own safety, transferring his legal guardianship to a friend’s mother. Yet another child, Tomas, left the family after their father asked him to reimburse the cost of his adoption.
Everyone seems to fail these children: their families, their adoption agencies, and the state.
Kelly O has a really good ghost story, from her excellent "Things I Remember About Detroit":
A Talking Cat
Move into a gorgeous brick brownstone called Phillips Manor—hardwood floors, fireplace, four bedrooms. My two roommates and I pay $110 apiece. The three of us are sitting and watching the huge Star Trek–looking TV I scored for $15 at the thrift store. All the remote controls are sitting in plain view on the coffee table. We're watching VH1. The channel changes itself to The New Dance Show—the local, low-budget version of Soul Train. This is the first of many times that the TV switches itself to another station. The radio randomly switches itself, too. And always to a black TV show or song. Seems to be a friendly ghost. Most definitely an African-American ghost. The only other thing living in that house, aside from the three of us, is my roommate's spooky black Persian cat. Always hiding somewhere. Can never pet it. Once, we can't find it for almost a week. My roommate leaves to make a "Lost Cat" flyer at Kinko's, thinking it somehow got outside. Boyfriend is sitting in the living room, and I'm at one end of the long hallway near the bathroom. The cat comes stumbling out of one of the bedrooms and just sits in the middle of the hallway, not moving, staring intently at me. I say, all sweet, "Kiiiii-teee, there you are!" The cat just stares. Then its mouth opens slightly and a very deep man's voice says, "Hello." With that, the cat walks back into the bedroom. Boyfriend says, "Who just said 'Hello'?" Not making this up. I scream and lock myself in the bathroom. For hours.
Tonight from 7 to 9pm at Town Hall, a panel of incredibly smart people are going to be discussing an incredibly complex and alarming subject: The takeover of secular hospitals by large religious healthcare groups, and how these mergers affect your access to comprehensive treatment and medical procedures—everything from birth control prescriptions and other forms of reproductive health care, end-of-life care, and respect for LGBT people's relationships and medical needs.
This issue affects everyone: Women, people who love women, people who impregnate women, elderly individuals, people whose parents are elderly individuals, people who some day hope to be elderly individuals, and the LGBT community and their loved ones. Even religious hospital employees can be discriminated against can be legally fired for stupid reasons, thanks to a religious exemption loophole in our state's antidiscrimination law.
Which is why tonight, experts from the ACLU of Washington, Compassion and Choices of Washington, Planned Parenthood Votes Northwest, Legal Voice and NARAL Pro Choice Washington will be explaining Washington’s public policy and law—which has historically protected access to services—and answering audience questions about how you can best protect your access to comprehensive healthcare.
The talk is free, doors open at 6pm. More info here.
Tomorrow at the Cinerama brings the commencement of Horror Week, which is exactly what it says it is: seven days of the world's best horror films—including Psycho, Alien, The Exorcist, The Omen, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, An American Werewolf in London, and more—projected onto the Cinerama's state-of-the-art screen. Tomorrow's special opening-night feature: Army of Darkness, preceded by a Q&A with the film's legendary star Bruce Campbell.
Meanwhile, the Grand Illusion kicks off a week of great, scrappy horror—Hellraiser!, Dario Argento's Deep Red! A triple-feature of classic horror compilations!—and Central Cinema screens The Lost Boys, The Cabin in the Woods, and a one-night-only extravaganza devoted to killer clowns.
(Sadly, Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave—featuring some of the most disturbing villains in cinema history—doesn't open till next week, but this week's citywide parade of horror should make for a good welcome mat...)
In the meantime, here is Kelly O's overview of the 30 scariest movies ever made.
I get emails begging me to plug Kickstarter projects all the time, and I rarely click through. And I sure wish I hadn't clicked through to this one either, because it's incredibly distressing. According to the page's authors, law enforcement officers shoot a dog every 98 minutes in the US, sometimes under the most casual and callous circumstances. It is a wave of underreported brutality that the authors hope to draw attention to with a feature-length documentary: Puppycide.
I've long been outraged by reports of unnecessary dog shootings, and so this documentary seems like a worthwhile project to fund. But be forewarned in no uncertain terms: Do not watch the demo below unless you're willing to see video of innocent dogs being shot! Really. Don't come yelling at me later that I ruined your day. It's awful. Truly awful. And incredibly heartbreaking.
"EMOTIONAL RESCUE" BY THE ROLLING STONES
"Emotional Rescue" starts out so innocently. It's vintage Rolling Stones white-boy soul, the hi-hat tinging, the bass deep, Mick Jagger's harmless falsetto chiming in—it's catchy, and you can't quite understand the words, and you're ready to dance, aren't you? When I heard it on the radio as a child, it always fooled me with its innocuous beginning: "I was dreaming... last night..." Dreams are nice. Not like nightmares. I'm just a little girl, living life, listening to some rock and roll while playing paper dolls or whatever. No problem. "You could be mine, mine, mine, mine, all mine," the man in the song says. Okay, like "Be mine" on a valentine... okay.
Things that are horribly creepy are all the more creepy when you're not expecting them. Children are forgetful. "Mmmmmm," the man on the radio says with monstery relish, and the happy bounce of the bass falls away. "Yeeessssssss, you could be mine. Tonight and EVERRRRY night. I will be your KNIGHT in SHINING ARMOR, coming to your eeeeee-MO-tional rescue." Nooooo. Incantatory, casting a spell, now: "You will be mine you will be mine all mine..." over and over and over. The saxophone here sounds terrorized, like it's bleating a warning before it gets slashed with this monster-man's claws. Now, wait—no, stop—"I will be your knight in shining armor, riding across the desert, on a fine Arab CHARRRRGER." He inhales with a hisssss. NO NO NO NO NO. Run across the room, turn off the radio, heart beating fast. Even a girl can see that this is not a rescue, emotional or otherwise. This is a demon looking for a host.
Continue reading about all the other songs that scare the shit out of us! »
I knew when I started writing about horror movies for this issue, there'd be no way in hell I'd have enough space to include everything that's worthy... So I ask, what are YOUR favorite, scariest movies?
Here are some more categories I would like to add...
So you're afraid of... CAVES AND/OR CLAUSTROPHOBIA
So you're afraid of... IMMORTAL PEOPLE WITH THE POINTY CANINE TEETH
So you're afraid of... OUIJA BOARDS AND SEANCES
So you're afraid of... CLOWNS AND DOLLS
So you're afraid of... TELEPHONES!
So you're afraid of... ANYTHING BY THAT ARGENTO DUDE
So you're afraid of... YOUR PERIOD, AND/OR PEOPLE WHO TURN INTO WOLVES
Just kidding. This is not a poll about that. Although we can do a poll about that, too, if you want.
As Brendan cryptically mentioned earlier today, he and I were talking this morning about the timing of "preview" pieces. I kinda think Brendan worded his poll so as to favor his point of view, and since I wanna win that $2, I'm fighting back. Exciting behind-the-scenes background so you can help us settle this: The Stranger's arts coverage is a mix of previews (we haven't seen the thing yet but we think it's going to be interesting or not interesting for this or that reason, and here's when it is so you can check it out); reviews (we saw the thing and here's what we thought, and you can still go see it, or it's over and you missed it); and random beautiful fantasias not tied to any dates (like, I dunno, Jen's piece about Seattle being a giant work of land art).
OK, now: We're just talking previews here—previews of music shows, art shows, theater pieces, etc. When should previews appear in print? Let's say, for example, there's a hot-shit theater company in town called Satori Group known for staging plays for one person at a time (seriously! It was so cool!) and they've decided they're gonna use all their theater skillz to make a spooooooky haunted house for you, a person who wants to get the shit scared out of you. That sounds cool, right? By the way, it's true! They're using their theater skillz to make a spooky haunted house for you. It's called Spookhaus. And it's one night only, on Friday, November 1. And it will include this guy with a chainsaw and something horrifyingly called a "bed bug room."
So let's say a Stranger writer is going to go to a Spookhaus rehearsal and maybe going to write a preview of Spookhaus, if they think, based on the rehearsal, Spookhaus is a thing The Stranger should preview. The question is: Should the Spookhaus preview appear in The Stranger issue that's dated October 30 (but isn't technically on streets in every neighborhood until October 31), giving you only one night, maybe two, to plan ahead? Or should the preview appear a whole week earlier, in the issue that's dated October 23, so that, if Spookhaus sounds cool to you, you have enough time to grab your kids, grab your wives, grab your tix, etc?
That's the question Brendan was getting at with his "When do you read The Stranger?" poll. Since it's crucial that you side with me here, let me make my bias clear: I would argue that the preview should appear a whole week earlier, because life is complicated and it takes time to make plans, and also because readers don't get enough time to learn about worthy shit if they have to read The Stranger the second it comes out in order not to miss it. Who wants to pick up the paper on Saturday, or Sunday, or Monday, or Tuesday, and read about an awesome thing they should've done on Friday night, and that they totally would have gone to had they known about it? That's a totally different question than what day of the week you like to read The Stranger. In summary, Brendan is a reckless, dishonest pollster who should be killed (and eaten!), and whose data collected so far is useless to solving the question at hand. But that's just me. It's up to you to settle this.
Now then, to the polls!
A 23-year old model named Amanda has gone, uh, "full black" for a 7-page fashion spread in the current issue of DList Magazine.
The spread is called "Goddess Adornment". It's featured on page 62 of DList (online, click up to 62 of 84 pages here). Some interesting commentary, and the lead image of the spread right here, on Facebook.
Just wow. Really, just wow...
I've had a few long investigative stories that I read this week stuck in open tabs on my computer for a bit. I keep thinking, I've got to put this on Slog. Then trying to post means I'd have to think about the story for more than four seconds, and they're horrible, so I just set 'em aside again. Now that it's afternoon and you've had some time to wake up—maybe you even had a cocktail at lunch—I've decided to just do a Horrible News Roundup. So enjoy! Or whatever the opposite of enjoy is.
First, have you seen Reuters' big investigation into people who trade adopted children on the internet as if they were puppies who just didn't work out? It will blow your mind:
The practice is called "private re-homing," a term typically used by owners seeking new homes for their pets. Based on solicitations posted on one of eight similar online bulletin boards, the parallels are striking.
"Born in October of 2000 – this handsome boy, 'Rick' was placed from India a year ago and is obedient and eager to please," one ad for a child read.
A woman who said she is from Nebraska offered an 11-year-old boy she had adopted from Guatemala. "I am totally ashamed to say it but we do truly hate this boy!" she wrote in a July 2012 post.
Another parent advertised a child days after bringing her to America. "We adopted an 8-year-old girl from China… Unfortunately, We are now struggling having been home for 5 days." The parent asked that others share the ad "with anyone you think may be interested."
Buzzfeed looks into a rape case involving multiple Vanderbilt football players:
It began with a broken door. On the second floor of the Gillette House dorm at Vanderbilt University, a door had been knocked off its hinges and bent in the middle as if it had been kicked open, seemingly the kind of run-of-the-mill collateral damage that results from drunken hijinks on campuses all over the country. But officials reviewing security footage from the night the door was broken saw something suspicious, even sinister. Multiple men went in and out of one particular dorm room. Then Brandon Vandenburg, a highly rated tight end who’d just transferred to Vanderbilt’s football team from junior college, emerged and threw a towel over the hallway camera, and it went dark.
Speaking of rape culture, try the National Journal's "How the Military’s 'Bro' Culture Turns Women into Targets":
Still, Williams was angry. When she told men in her unit about the incident, they said she'd joined a man's military and asked what she expected to happen. "It definitely made me feel guys who were sexually harassing me, who were violating the rules, who were doing the wrong thing—that guys felt they were more important as soldiers because they were men." Williams, now a Truman National Security Project fellow and the author of Love My Rifle More Than You, didn't want to be a victim, so she stopped joking around and came off as unfriendly, she says. It was a lonely decision with potentially steep costs. "It's hard to be in a combat zone when I'm expected to rely on these guys for my life, but [I] no longer felt I could trust them to not sexually assault me if I let my guard down."
After the jump, a video of adorable baby cheetah cubs at the Dallas zoo to cleanse your brain. (But also, saaaaad when they snuggle a big fake mama cheetah!)
Bookmark this New York Times excerpt from a the book Twelve Minutes of Freedom in 460 Days of Captivity, and read it on your lunch break. The scene that Amanda Lindhout sets of being held captive in Somalia is, at turns, horrifying and engrossingly mundane:
It wasn’t until later that day, when a new man arrived, introducing himself as Adam, that it became clear they were after more money than we had in our pockets. Adam looked to be in his mid-20s, thin and serene. He wore an orange-striped polo shirt and Ben Franklin eyeglasses. He asked for the phone numbers for our families and told us that he no longer believed we were spies. “Allah,” he said, “has put it into my heart to ask for a ransom.”
... Was there some way out? There had to be. Nigel told me he had been studying the window in the bathroom we shared and thought we could climb through it. I, too, had looked at that window plenty of times, seeing no option there. About eight feet off the bathroom floor, recessed far back in the thick wall up near the ceiling, was a ledge maybe two feet deep, almost like an alcove. But what was at the end of it hardly counted as a window. It was rather a screen made of decorative bricks with a few gaps, serving as ventilation holes for the bathroom. The bricks were cemented together. And then, as if that weren’t enough, laid horizontally in front of the bricks was a series of five metal bars anchored into the window frame.
“Are you crazy?” I said to Nigel. “It’s impossible. How would we get out?”
A dozen popular performers—including Hyon Song-wol, a singer rumored to be an ex-girlfriend of Kim Jong-un—have reportedly been executed by firing squad. From the Telegraph:
The reports in South Korea's Chosun Ilbo newspaper indicate that Hyon, a singer with the Unhasu Orchestra, was among those arrested on August 17 for violating domestic laws on pornography. All 12 were machine-gunned three days later, with other members of North Korea's most famous pop groups and their immediate families forced to watch. The onlookers were then sent to prison camps, victims of the regime's assumption of guilt by association, the reports stated. “They were executed with machine guns while the key members of the Unhasu Orchestra, Wangjaesan Light Band and Moranbong Band as well as the families of the victims looked on,” said a Chinese source reported in the newspaper.
Full report here. Below, video of Hyon Song-wol in ostensibly happier times, extolling the virtues of North Korean factory work in her 2005 song, "Excellent Horse-Like Lady."
Oh I am so sorry to be out of town for this:
Director and producer Megan Griffiths may be one of the most respected names in the Seattle film community, but she also knows her way around some seriously trashy films—as evidenced by her legendary VHS movie watching parties. We invited Megan to bring her party to the big screen at the SIFF Film Center!
"Laser Mission" (1989) brings together the unbeatable team of Brandon Lee (mercenary) and Ernest Borgnine (Laser Master!) to take on bad guys from pretty much everywhere (Russia, Germany, Africa), all with the assistance of a buxom CIA agent in a VW van. With a muddled single-song rock soundtrack by David Knopfler (brother of the other guy).
The Barbarian Brothers, aka twin body builders David and Peter Paul, were given their first star vehicle with 1987's "The Barbarians." The film starts out as Conan X2, but then inexplicably turns into a dark ages surfer dude comedy (excellent!). No surprise, we guess, since the Barbarian Bros went on to explore full on comic hijinx in such straight to video classics as Double Trouble, and the truly unforgettable Twin Sitters.
It's an evening of debaucheries, testosterone, and unabashed bad-movie-love, and projected on our big screen with state of the art 2K digital projection - via used VHS tapes played through a shoddy old VCR. Only $7 for both films!
This is the scariest thing I've seen all day. And I don't even have a penis! SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS...
This story, awfully, has it all. Slog tipper Jill in Columbia City says:
The news helicopters just left after about an hour. And the firefighter request for cops is horrible-sounding.
The part where
four pit bulls (and a mixed-breed dog pit bull mix and, possibly, a Pomeranian) surrounded the firefighters' truck, preventing medics from treating the victim, and they had to call SPD for backup... yes, horrible-sounding, indeed.
UPDATE: They've updated the story at KOMO since this post was written, so I have now updated it here, but thanks for yelling at me in comments anyway! I think you're still right, though, commenter JimmyCap—Dan's gonna love this.
UPDATE-UPDATE: Headline changed to reflect changed headline of KOMO story. That is all.
Tulsa, Oklahoma, deserves to host the 2024 Olympics because, you know, Tulsa is the "real" America:
Tulsa, its boosters argue, offers something that big-ticket American rivals like Los Angeles, Boston and Dallas can only dream of—the vast frontier of America. This part of the country produced Woody Guthrie and Jim Thorpe. Neon signs still glow along Route 66. J.... “The larger cities aren’t truly representative of what the real America is,” said Jennifer Jones of the Tulsa 2024 bid committee. “The real America is the midsize cities, and we want people to see America.”
And what do some people in the "real America" want to see?
A Tulsa man who was arrested on allegations that he watched a woman and her 7-year-old daughter from underneath a White Water Park toilet near the Keystone Dam could face felony charges. Kenneth Webster Enlow, 52, was arrested about 5 p.m. Sunday after being found covered in human waste inside the holding tank beneath a permanent outhouse at the park, which is west of Sand Springs. The woman told sheriff’s deputies that she looked into the toilet and “saw the water move,” according to Enlow’s arrest report. “As she looked closer, she noticed that there was a man looking up at her,” the report states.
Lord knows we've got shit-covered perverts right here in unreal America. But I've never heard any of our shit-covered perverts describe America's small towns as less authentically American. (Shit-covered pervert story via Gawker.)
Did you know Dee Dee Ramone had a brief rap career under the name Dee Dee King? Are you familiar with Lou Reed's rap song "The Original Wrapper"?
I'm having trouble deciding which one is bestworst. Please help me decide.
The fiction-writer has a piece of memoir in the new New Yorker involving being hit by a car, drunken jealous rage, and assault with a hammer. It is gruesome and hilarious, like everything else Shteyngart writes. And it's true—it reads like fiction but you know the New Yorker fact-checked the shit out of it.
Rumor has it it's an excerpt from a forthcoming book-length memoir (!!!), Shteyngart's first book of non-fiction. "I've lived this troubled life so others don't have to," he's said.
I hope you will celebrate accordingly.
Hide yo' kids, hide yo' wife... THEY'RE coming! Soon Seattle will be crawling with the foot soldiers of a very powerful and evil army. Here is your official Wicked Clown Countdown™ that you never wanted, nor asked for, SLOG.
You have only 4 days to prepare.
Clown'mageddon Helpful Hint #1: You can buy Faygo at Ezell's Chicken on 23rd. Stick to Rock & Rye, or Redpop. They look the most like blood.
...but sometimes I can't help myself. An ongoing email exchange:
Hope you get AIDS Fagget
Best illiterate than a cock sucker with AID. Hope you get AID fag.
Let me help you with that: "Better illiterate than a cocksucker [one word!] with AIDS. Hope you get AIDS, fag."—Dan
An American mom in Britain, prevented from adopting a fourth child, forced her eldest adopted daughter to impregnate herself with syringes of sperm bought on the Internet.
The daughter was forced to artificially inseminate herself seven times over a period of two years. When she was 16, she became pregnant and gave birth when she was 17. Caregivers became suspicious of the child-adopter/life-ruiner sociopath "because she was trying to prevent her daughter from bonding with the new baby."
We don't want any of that attachment thing," the mother said when a midwife suggested that the girl might want to breastfeed. After several such incidents the midwives alerted social services and police got involved in July 2011.
And just to cap off this most fucked-up tale, the child-adopter/life-ruiner wanted the unborn child to be a girl, and therefore subjected the adopted daughter/surrogate mother to "acid douches containing vinegar or lemon juice in the belief that this would influence an unborn child's gender."