This video demonstration of an artificial hymen...
For potential hymen purchasers worried about the mechanics of operating a hymen replacement, the site offers a helpful step-by-step guide. “Insert the Artificial Hymen into your vagina carefully. It will expand a little and make you feel tight. When your lover penetrates, it will ooze out a liquid that appears like blood, not too much but just the right amount. Add in a few moans and groans and you will pass through undetectable!”
...is the creepiest, saddest, and most depressing thing I've seen on the Internet in weeks. Jeremy Wilson at The Kernel unpacks the creepiness:
If ever there were a reason to be horrified at the tentacles of the historic patriarchal oppression of women’s stubborn hold on modern day life, this is it. In a world where we’re constantly being told of technology’s potential to drive positive social change, it’s galling to see it being used to appease the infantile fantasies of backwards cultures. Depressing, really.
But... wouldn't an artificial hymen that works in the palm of your hand also work in your someone's ass? Anyone's ass? Seems to me that a girl could subvert the shit out of the patriarchy by sticking one of these in her boyfriend's ass and pegging the shit—and just the right amount of a liquid that appears to be blood—right out of him. And any gay men out there hymen envy could order a few. And, hey, a couple—gay or straight—could order a crate and spend a long, sensuous evening busting all sorts of hymens. Pegging hymens! Blowjob hymens! Handjob hymens! Buttsecks hymens! Tittyfucking hymens! Wet-willy hymens! The patriarchy-subverting possibilities are endless!
When Samuel K. McDonough allegedly stole the Victoria Clipper this past Sunday, he was cranking one of two possible songs on the ship’s stereo. (The song has not been confirmed, because I’m completely making this up. Roll with me.) What song do you think it was? And hey, theoretically speaking, if you’re going to steal a boat to go to West Seattle, it might as well be the Victoria Clipper.
There's a new app, according to the AT&T Insider magazine-advertorial-thingie that came free in the mail last week. This app, Refresh, is designed to help you "make small talk":
I will never-ever-never need some cell phone app, to help me talk to my family. In fact, I played "pass-the-phone" with them just minutes ago. My family tree definitely has some nuts in it, but I can handle them just fine.
For This I Am Thankful.
...the fact that Seattle will eventually have a decent public transportation system. I'm also thankful that there are lots of transit nerds who are willing to fight to make that transportation system better.
I'm always thankful for Ke$ha.
I'm thankful that I don't work at Penny Arcade.
I'm thankful for all the retailers who aren't making their employees work today.
I'm thankful that Rob Delaney is such a great interviewee.
I'm thankful for Charles Schulz:
And I'm thankful for everyone who reads Slog. It was lovely seeing some of you folks at last week's Slog Happy, and to hear your stories about The Illuminatus! Trilogy, the reasons why you fell in love with Doctor Who, and your theories about why Goldy would be a better writer if he had a drinking problem. I hope you're all having a wonderful, doorbuster-free holiday. Happy Thanksgiving!
Yes, that's it coming 'round the carousel now:
Via Elite Daily.
Jason Lajeunesse—who, with business partner Dave Meinert, is reopening the beloved grime pit/venue after the previous owner abruptly closed the doors in early October—said he thinks the amount taken from the ceiling was close to $1,000. However, he says, "The value wasn't the issue, of course, it's the years of history attached."
George Zimmerman is out on bond, though he does have to wear a GPS ankle bracelet. In other Zimmerman news, Breitbart editor-in-chief Ben Shaprio dropped some Twitter-knowledge on us all today:
BTW, leftists, if Zimmerman pulled a gun on his gf (for which he should go to jail), that hurts your argument that Trayvon was race-based.
— Ben Shapiro (@benshapiro) November 19, 2013
Conservative logic! I feel like this tweet should've ended with Shapiro extending his arms and wiggling his fingers while shouting "Ta-daaaaaaah!"
Noting that he’s “disgusted” with homeless people, [Hawaii state Representative Tom] Brower told the Honolulu Star-Advertiser about his own personal brand of “justice”: “If I see shopping carts that I can’t identify, I will destroy them so they can’t be pushed on the streets.” Brower has waged this campaign for two weeks, estimating that he’s smashed about 30 shopping carts in the process.
It should be noted that Brower is a Democrat. Here's video of his crusade:
This is way flashier than, say, investing money in mental health programs, or making sure that Hawaii has plenty of low-cost housing. Maybe next Brower will address teen pregnancy by lighting fire to a big pile of tube tops.
Asheville N.C. Is beautiful. Saw Jerry Falwell when we arrived. He has lost 75 lbs! Looks great. Honestly, didn't recognize him!— Glenn Beck (@glennbeck) November 7, 2013
Oh, Lululemon Athletica: When you're not hosting murders, you're pulling your $100 yoga pants from the marketplace because they were accidentally see-through. Now, the company's facing a new round of pant-related complaints. Meanwhile, the company founder took to BloombergTV to share his revolutionary thoughts on the importance of taking deep breaths, and to identify the true culprit in last year's yoga-pants scandal. From Yahoo News:
Less than nine months after Lululemon came under fire for the "sheerness" of its yoga pants, the company's founder says that woman's bodies may be to blame for problems with the luxury workout attire. "Frankly, some women's bodies just don't actually work [for the yoga pants]," Chip Wilson said Tuesday in an interview on Bloomberg TV's "Street Smart" program. "It's more really about the rubbing through the thighs, how much pressure is there over a period of time, how much they use it."
Between this guy and Rob Ford, Canada's reputation is taking a beating this week. Video of BloombergTV interview below. (Pants discussion starts around 1:50 mark.)
But but but! I can hear you thinking. A column all about butts? Every Monday? Here on Slog? Is this real? It is. Just butt news? No, also news pertaining to butter, butterflies, and buttressing. Welcome. Have a seat.
• A man and his butt were seen hanging from a fence in Seattle's Cal Anderson Park earlier today (photo here) prompting Megan Seling to wonder, "Is his butt stuck to that fence? It looks like he somehow got his butt stuck to that fence..." His butt did not appear to be stuck to the fence. When told his butt was fine, Megan replied, "Oh, good. Thanks for the butt update," inadvertently birthing the idea for this column.
• Congressman Randy Neugebauer, who voted to shut the government down and then yelled at the employee at a federal monument because he and his friends couldn't come in because, again, of the shutdown, which he voted for, was called "an asshole" by Paul Constant today.
• The band Garbage tweeted earlier today, "Why are celebrities showing their bums via selfies on twitter??" This prompted Marina Diamandis of Welsh musical act Marina and the Diamonds to say: "We are living in a very bum-centric world right now". Moments later Diamandis added, "I don't particularly mind this trend." And then: "Remember when ribs and collar bones were in fashion? That was shite." And then: "Everyone's talking out of their arse."
• Lady Gaga's new single comes with a picture of her butt.
• The band The Blow is on its way to Seattle to perform at Neumos tonight. Multiple Stranger critics have weighed in positively about the band's latest. But it was unknown until recently how exactly Khaela and Melissa's butts were being transported to town. Let it be known:
@TheFrizzelle OUR BUTTS ARE GETTING PUMPED FOR TONIGHT IN A MINIVAN pic.twitter.com/oc8Y1V4a78
— The Blow (@thebl0w) October 21, 2013
• Critically acclaimed author Gary Shteyngart, the preeminent satirist of American cultural mores, "went bathroom today." Presumably via butt. He did not specify.
• Seattle writer and performer Wesley K. Andrews reports that as of this moment his butt's "a little cold but my car has a seat warmer so that's an option for later."
• Speaking of cars, Erstwhile Stranger staffer Kathleen Wilson and her butt went car shopping this weekend:
@TheFrizzelle My butt spent all Sat test-driving car I assured salesman I would def buy. Went to dealer across st at 5, bought diff car by 6
— kathleen wilson (@kathwils) October 21, 2013
• Illustrator Levi Hastings reports, "I worked my butt off to eat some serious poutine" this weekend.
• Comedian Rob Delaney, asked if he has anything to add to the inaugural Butt Update, said his "ass" will be in "tight dungarees" at this show. Get your laughs—while you still can!!
Send news of butts you've kicked, chairs you've sat in, people who are assholes, butter you've tasted, butterflies who've landed on you, and buttresses you have feelings about to me via twitter (or email if you're nasty) to be considered for inclusion in next Monday afternoon's Butt Update, Slog's Cheeky New Butt News Roundup™.
Yeah, That's right. A free friggin stump. Just dug this bad dog out. It weighs quite a bit. 200+lbs. The tree was some kind of Cottonwood. Like it matters.
Do anything you want with this thing. Have an art project? Many uses. Burn it, shoot it, paint it, make a coffee table, whatevs dude.
The listing is from the weekend, BUT THE POST IS STILL UP, so the stump is prolly still available. DO NOT SIT ON THIS OFFER, folks.
Watching this Democracy Now! segment, I thought of the Shawshank Redemption, which I recently re-watched. If you haven't seen it (you should rectify that, it's great), the movie is about a man wrongly convicted of murder who gets stuck in a hellish prison run by a twisted, evil warden. With extraordinary fortitude, the man survives repeated assaults on his dignity and person, including long, vindictive stints in solitary confinement. Despite all this, he manages to better his fellow prisoners.
That's practically the actual story of Herman Wallace, except the ending playing out now is far more sad than the movie's. Wallace was released from Louisiana State Penitentiary (also known as Angola Prison) on Tuesday after a judge overturned his murder conviction and ordered his release. He'd been in prison for more than 40 years. The warden, according to DN!, flippantly told the judge he was off from work already and wouldn't be releasing Wallace that evening. So the judge issued another ruling, ordering the prison system to release him immediately.
Wallace, who is frail and dying of
leukemia liver cancer, was rushed from an ambulance to a New Orleans hospital, where the ambulance drove past a throng of cheering supporters.
As he was released, Wallace told Robert King, "I'm going to hold on." Wallace, King, and Albert Woodfox are what many call "the Angola 3." The three former Black Panthers were sentenced in 1972 for the killing of a prison guard, even though there was little evidence tying them to the crime, Wallace's lawyer says. King's sentence was overturned and he was released ten years ago, after 29 years in prison, many in solitary confinement. Woodfox remains in solitary in Angola and is subject to regular anal searches for who knows why.
The most befuddling part of this video, for me, is when "Obamacare" greets lizard-faced Jones with "How's your hernia? How's your homosexuality?"
This morning a Page Six reporter outed herself as the woman behind 300sandwiches.com, the blog that documents her efforts to make her boyfriend 300 sandwiches in exchange for an engagement ring.
The story begins (emphasis mine, because WTF?):
My boyfriend, Eric, is the gourmet cook in our relationship, but he’d always want me to make him a sandwich.
Each morning, he would ask, “Honey, how long you have been awake?”
“About 15 minutes,” I’d reply.
“You’ve been up for 15 minutes and you haven’t made me a sandwich?”
To him, sandwiches are like kisses or hugs. Or sex. “Sandwiches are love,” he says. “Especially when you make them. You can’t get a sandwich with love from the deli.”
I started with the easy things. My second sandwich after the turkey and Swiss was a two-second ice-cream sandwich constructed from Anna’s ginger thin cookies and blackberry currant ice cream. My early thinking was quantity, not quality.
Ten sandwiches or so in, I did the math. Three sandwiches a week, times four weeks a month, times 12 months a year, meant I wouldn’t be done until I was deep into my 30s. How would I finish 300 sandwiches in time for us to get engaged, married and have babies before I exited my childbearing years?
I made sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert. I made sandwiches to get myself out of the doghouse — like No. 67, a scrambled egg, smoked salmon and chive creation that combined some of Eric’s favorite things to make up for my being 45 minutes late for dinner the night before.
Even after covering movie premieres or concerts for Page Six, I found myself stumbling into the kitchen to make Eric a sandwich while I still had on my high heels and party dress.
Sigh. I know worse people have gotten engaged for dumber reason, but this is insane. I love cooking food for and with my husband. I certainly don't think a woman can't prepare her partner a meal without first considering whether or not she's supporting archaic gender roles, but to take the stupid "Get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich," quip and turn it into a "cute" little game with the reward of something as serious as marriage at the end is just gross. (As a counterpoint to this madness, please see Jessica Hopper's "This Is What a Feminist Cooks Like" in the most recent issue of Lucky Peach.)
Although, I do wonder what happens after she gets the ring. Will she have to do 300 loads of laundry for a honeymoon? Or maybe she will have to clean 300 toilets to earn a baby! So many possibiities!
I'm not worried about this sandwich woman, though. I'm sure if she doesn't end up with a happy marriage she will at least get a book deal, a (made-for-TV) movie deal, and plenty of money on the talk show circuit. How many carats does baloney buy, anyway?
The city has been saying awesome things to Megan Seling lately. Me, I'm biking along the Elliott Bay Trail, crossing a narrow bridge over the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railway yard, and this is what the city says to me:
It's a nice trail, though.
I am sorry that I break Slog on the regular.
I am one of those people who needs a techretary.
I am not going to get a techretary. Therefore I am still and always sorry.
Thank you for your kind patience.
Now while we're here, is there a damn trick for sliding my finger upward on the home screen of the iOS7 and predictably making that nice new layered display thingy involving a flashlight occur? Because the next time I meet a bear in a cave, the bear is not going to wait for me to slide my finger upward a million times until my screen decides I have done it just exactly precisely goddamn right. Techretary.
Such are the subject lines of my life. Sent to Last Days, enjoy.
Last week, on a balmy evening after a record-breaking 93-degree day, I took a friend to dinner at one of my favorite summertime Hill haunts—a little outdoor cafe. While we sipped our chilled adult beverages and munched on cool appetizers, an older man seated at the table directly behind me (elbow-bumpingly close) made an atrocious noise and proceeded to throw up some of his food, to his left, over the patio railing, on the deck and onto the sidewalk.
I and everyone else seated outside froze. Conversation stopped. I looked over my shoulder, thinking perhaps the poor thing nearly choked to death (I can tell you from having a family member nearly choke to death, that vomiting afterward is not unusual), but he appeared fine. I moved my chair further from him and my friend and I continued eating. After a very few moments we were again assaulted by the man's horrifying display of loud throat-clearing followed by spitting/vomiting food onto the patio/rail/sidewalk! At this point I announced I was moving, grabbed my beverage and appetizer, and bolted across the small patio to a vacant table. Meanwhile, the frightening old goat continued to assault the other patrons with this behavior, sometimes pausing to rinse his mouth with water and spit it at the street as well. I do not know what horrible affliction he suffers from, but it should not be inflicted on innocent diners.
I am equally appalled that the wait staff said nothing and did not either ask him to take the rest of his dinner to go or compensate other patrons. Perhaps they were too stunned by this disgusting behavior to react, but it went on through his entire meal. I have never seen anything so revolting.
Condolences to all.
The Seahawks' Pete Carroll may be a great football coach. But according to Deadspin, that doesn't mean he isn't fucking crazy:
Is Seahawks coach Pete Carroll a 9/11 truther? ... Late last spring, retired general Peter Chiarelli, who had just finished his term as the Army's vice chief of staff, visited Carroll at the Seattle Seahawks headquarters. ... Chiarelli, who commanded the American forces in Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom II, talked about the brain injuries he had seen there. But Chiarelli's mention of Iraq sent Carroll in another direction: He wanted to know if the September 11 attacks had been planned or faked by the United States government.
In particular, Carroll wanted to know whether the attack on the Pentagon had really happened. Chiarelli—who was the top-ranking Army official inside the Pentagon when American Airlines Flight 77 crashed into its western side—explained that it had. He said he had lost many colleagues. But Carroll didn't stop there. He ran through the whole 9/11 truther litany.
"Every 9/11 conspiracy theory you can think of, Pete asked about," said Riki Ellison, the former NFL linebacker who now runs the Missile Defense Advocacy Alliance and introduced Carroll to Chiarelli. Ellison, along with Seahawks offensive line coach Pat Ruel, was at the meeting as well.
Not that it takes away from Carroll's coaching prowess or anything. But oy.
We've made sport of some of the dumber 9/11 tributes today, but I do honestly encourage you to read Megan Amram's 10th anniversary post about 9/11. It's just as good today as it was the day she published it.
They are both ophthalmologists. No real point here. I just found it weird.
(Also an ophthalmologist, L. L. Zamenhof, the creator of Esperanto.)
At 8 and 10 pm, the beloved video torturists light up the Central Cinema screen with their latest works, "Everything Is Terrible Does the Hip Hop" and "Comic Relief: None." Trailer below, ticket info here.
Comedian and Parks and Recreation writer Joe Mande has been busy today, retweeting all the awkward corporate remembrances of 9/11 that are happening on Twitter. Here's a screenshot:
It's not just Twitter! It's happening in meatspace, too:
You can find more screenshots after the jump, or you can just do the right thing and follow Joe Mande on Twitter.
The new documentary on J.D. Salinger is scheduled to open in Seattle this Friday, with local critics scheduled to get a look at the film at a press screening tomorrow, but the screening's been abruptly cancelled. Maybe this is all in the service of "not spoiling the secrets!," but according to almost every critic who's seen it, the biggest "secret" about Salinger is that it stinks.
Organized like a cheap reality show that excitedly rips the lid off of the mysteries of ancient alien civilizations, padded with hilariously embarrassing re-enactments (Salinger is writing on a stage, so frustrated with all the phonies! Salinger is meeting with literary agents, so frustrated with rejection! Salinger walks in the woods and carries a log, so frustrated with logs!) and heightened into a fake-suspense frenzy with a histrionic score, it's a movie that tells you very little a decently-written biography couldn't (and already has, for that matter).
[W]hat’s staggering about Salinger is how completely it misunderstands—or more often, simply ignores—what made its subject matter, well, matter. Salerno (and his interviewees, at least as he edits them) seems obsessed with the figure of the writer as celebrity, as recluse, as reluctant guru, and—in a creepy section on Mark David Chapman and John Hinckley Jr.’s Catcher in the Rye fixations—as supposed inciter to acts of violence. But there’s virtually no attention paid to Salinger’s language, the finely wrought prose and keen ear for the American vernacular that made him stand out among midcentury writers of fiction.
And, for God's sake, Peter "I love everything" Travers at Rolling Stone:
[M]ake sure you bring a barf bag when you watch this doc's tacky re-enactments, hear its cheeseball score and endure literary posturings so florid they'd embarrass the Baz Luhrmann of The Great Gatsby.
Salinger opens here Friday! Stay tuned! And in the meantime, go see these movies which are already running and that we love: Adore (Naomi Watts and Robin Wright as sun-baked MILFs!), Short Term 12 (serious indie-drama goodness with an amazing Brie Larson), and Drinking Buddies (the latest and greatest from mumblecore auteur Joe Swanberg).
Prosecutors asked for 20 years. What did he get? Billings Gazette:
A Yellowstone County district judge Monday ordered a former Senior High teacher convicted of raping a 14-year-old female student who later committed suicide to spend 30 days in jail. Judge G. Todd Baugh sentenced Stacey Dean Rambold to 15 years in prison, with all but 31 days suspended, for sexual intercourse without consent. Rambold, 54, will be given credit for one day already served. He was handcuffed and led to jail at the close of the hearing.
The judge's sentence was not received well by the girl's mother, who repeatedly screamed "You people suck!" and stormed out of the courtroom. Auliea Hanlon testified earlier at the hearing that her daughter's relationship with Rambold was a "major factor" in her suicide, and she begged the judge to order Rambold to prison.
Rambold had a "deferred prosecution agreement" with prosecutors that barred him from having contact with minors and required him to complete a sex offender treatment program. But Rambold got kicked out of that sex offender program and had contact with minors. More appalling details here—including the judge's contention that Rambold's victim was "older than her chronological age," and Rambold's lawer's contention that his not raped, not dead client is the real victim because he has to wear the "scarlet letter of the Internet."
In this week's Last Days:
TUESDAY, AUGUST 13 Speaking of idiots wreaking havoc with guns, the week continues with a story out of Ohio, where this past weekend 26-year-old Michael Piemonte was attending a concealed-carry gun class with his wife, Alison. "Such classes are required for anyone wanting [to] carry a concealed weapon in the state," reports CNN, describing a lecture-type class attended by 29 students, with Piemonte and his wife sitting in the front row. "While the instructor was demonstrating self-defense techniques, the gun went off. The bullet struck Piemonte in the arm." "It took me a couple of seconds to realize that I had been shot," Piemonte told CNN, which reports the shooting has been classified by police as accidental. "I'm just glad my wife did not get hit." Us, too. (Dear everyone: Please complete this thematically apt Mad Lib–type situation and e-mail the results to firstname.lastname@example.org: "Getting shot by a gun-safety instructor is like getting [BLANKED] by a [BLANK]!!!" Best entries here next week.)
Entries have been streaming in, most of them good and generally factually accurate (e.g. "Getting shot by a gun-safety instructor is like getting fucked by the pope.") But there's a world of next-level detail to be mined, along the lines of Zoe Isadora's "Getting shot by a gun-safety instructor is like getting knocked up by your abstinence-education teacher."
Amatuer, professional, and semi-professional comedians: Go nuts.