On their way back from a recent snowboarding trip to the French Alps, a group of friends from Ireland decided to prank their peacefully slumbering pal Adrian Byrne (AKA Juicy from Donegal, whatever any of that means) with a good ol' fashioned imminent death psych-out.
Long story short, RIP Adrian Byrne's ability to trust anyone ever again.
An NBC affiliate serving the Dallas-Fort Worth area was forced to apologize today after posting a shockingly tasteless write-up of a soldier's death on their Facebook page.
"BOOops," began the post about a Fort Hood soldier who shot and killed a fellow soldier after pointing his weapon at the latter's face in an ill-fated bid to "scare away" his hiccups.
After summing up the story, KXAS proceeded to invite readers to "SHARE your best solution for getting rid of hiccups below!"
Not surprisingly, the post did not go over well with normal people.
"It's not funny to make a joke about someone's death," wrote one user. "Especially a young soldier who died because of a stupid, stupid prank."
TVSpy says the post on the station's Facebook page for 40 minutes before being replaced with a statement apologizing "for the error in judgment."
[image via TVSpy]
America's deadly flying war robots are in the hands of users of the popular geek message board Reddit. And as with any profession in which Redditors can be found, U.S. Army drone operators have apparently taken to Reddit to chat about their controversial jobs with fellow users in the site's popular "Ask Me Anything" section.
On Wednesday, four people claiming to be U.S. Army Predator drone operators currently deployed in Afghanistan held a question-and-answer session with Reddit users using codenames. " We feel there is a big disconnect when it comes to UAVs and the general public," wrote one of the operators. "Our group, being redditors, felt we couldn't find a better venue to try and create some understanding."
In one particularly revealing exchange they discussed their thoughts on whether drone warfare alienates soldiers from the battlefield. Critics suggest drone strikes reduce war to a video game, but judging from the high levels of stress reported by drone operators the story is more complicated.
One operator who went by the initial "W" told Reddit users that shooting missiles from behind a computer screen didn't mean war was less real to them.
We understand that the lives we see in the screens are as real as our own. We are located in a combat zone. Although, we are not typical combat troops, so, for me to say that I can tell you the differences between how we feel and how an infantryman feels would be based on assumptions that I would make of an infantryman's feelings. That would not be accurate or fair to those troops. From our perspective we are not worrying as much about our own personal harm. We are usually not within harms way. I would not compare what I do as a job comparable to Call of Duty/any other video game, in any sense. It is very real and the seriousness of the lives on the ground is very real and instilled in all of our training. It is never something that we joke about. Very serious business.
The operators also discussed the U.S. drone reportedly captured by Iran last year ("I have no clue how it happened! We have SOOO many safe guards") and how they're not baby killers ("We are here to defend the constitution of the United States of America and to make sure our brothers in arms are safe from their surroundings"). The AMA didn't reveal much surprising, especially given recent media coverage of drone pilots, but the venue offered a rare, direct connection to the drone operator at war. (This wasn't even the first drone pilot AMA, though the previous one was conducted by an Air Force pilot who was not deployed.)
However, it's impossible to verify that these really were drone operators speaking. The group posted a photo of themselves at their base to prove their identity to Reddit, but quickly deleted it after other redditors expressed security concerns. A spokesman for United States Central Command (CENTCOM), which oversees Afghanistan military operations, told me there were not enough details to confirm whether the operators were legit. Deployed military personnel are supposed to go through designated public affairs officers if they want to do interviews, the CENTCOM spokesman said. But the fact these soldiers claimed to be drone operators posed no special security concerns.
If it's legit, then the AMA appeared to be a bit of guerrilla public relations by a Redditor named Predator226. Predator226 has been a Redditor for 9 months and frequently mentions his job as a drone pilot in his posts. The AMA's genesis can be traced to another thread in which Redditors discussed the question "what is combat really like?" Predator226 wrote he never hesitates to kill to protect his fellow soldiers in battle, but other situations are more ambiguous.
"There are times when we catch bad guys setting up to do damage while there are no friendlies around," he wrote. "For example, insurgents en-placing IED's or setting up mortar tubes. Once again I don't think twice, but the residual effect is different from the previous scenario. This situation weighs heavier on me. I really do not understand why and I'm not going to even try to. There is something about watching a missile vaporize a guy from the view of a close up camera."
This thoughtful response prompted another user to ask Predator226 if he would do an AMA and he soon responded that "I've spoken with the guys and everyone is one (sic) board to do an AMA." But there was a problem: "The internet we have at work is DOD internet and it won't allow us to login into an account. If anyone knows a way to circumvent this, [private message] me so we can get this AMA to Reddit!"
Apparently Predator226 and his buddies found a way around the limitations of the Department of Defense's internet. Although the discussion didn't appear to reveal anything sensitive, hopefully they heeded the warning of another user, Natybobo. "Careful on the DoD net man... It is being watched very closely, especially for people trying to circumvent things. Don't become another Bradley Manning :("
Reached by Reddit private message Predator226 would not provide any additional proof that he was a drone operator. He suggested that he did not personally participate in the AMA, but that the guys that did "were under a lot of pressure from the command so they couldn't answer like they wanted to."
[Image via AP]
Big weekend, guys, huh? The Super Bowl? Beyoncé's going to be there? And Jay-Z and Destiny's Child (but not Michelle) maybe? Also that guy. The one with the tattoos. He'll probably be there too, tossing the pigskin around and such?
I don't really have anything intelligent to say about The Big Game™, but I did want to address this: someone created a petition to make the day after the Super Bowl a holiday. That's pretty fucking stupid right? Like if you can't spend a whole Sunday drinking and make it to work Monday, maybe don't spend a whole Sunday drinking?
In the same vein, if you can't write an email that makes sense, maybe don't write an email?
Our best guess is this email is in reaction to this week's shooting at a Phoenix office building, but your guess is good as ours.
Subj: reaction
I have been a therapist for 45 years and know human. For anyone stupid enough to go into a crowded place is my first question. You have children who make decisions about their children. I pray that this kind of behaviour is going to stop. My heart acks for the parents. Mistakes are for learning but what a lesson for the world. I have been in show business and understand what goes on. MONEY is the greed of the game. For a few more pennies this could all not happened. SORRY SORRY SORRY.
Our first hate mail from Ke$ha. Proud moment.
LOL........you liberal dumba$$es really need to work on editing your news. You really think that people believe your liberal lies by not posting the ENTIRE hearing. It's so amazing people even listen to you or whatever it is you do. It's extremely clear how one sided the media is today and that may be the media's down fall.
Honestly, nothing riles people up like some good old-fashioned perceived anti-Semitism.
Subj: Ridiculously slanted article
To Mr. Read,
Regarding Seko's article:
"developed a remote-controlled bulldozer used to level Palestinian homes to remove their tactical roof-having and standing-up abilities."This is the kind of mendacious nonsense that characterizes BDS and indeed most of the Israel bashers. The fact is these supposedly harmless structure have covered entrances to tunnels used to transport arms and terrorists, used to store arms, and as bases of operations for terrorists. Human drivers are at risk from explosives and snipers so making them remote control is reasonable.
As far as Finklestein goes, he's profited from writing a conspiracy mongering, Israel bashing book that not even fellow Israel basher Chomsky found convincing. Dershowitz has no power to block Finklestein from a job. He has the first amendment right, as well as the scholarly obligation, to point out how full of BS Finklestein is. There's no shortage of job holding professors who are down on Israel, and somehow the Evil Dersh hasn't been able to send them packing, despite Seko's own conspiracy mongering.
And of course, Seko has to throw in some untrue and irrelevant stuff about creationists and conversion therapy to have the readers of this article form some factless, emotional association with Dershowitz just to destroy his image.
Finally, it's unclear why a site that describes itself as "the definitive news and gossip sheet for followers of entertainment, media, and business" is running an article on this topic, much less one full of unsubstantiated bile.
Dershowitz himself responded. But that wasn't enough, so his BEST FRIEND who he's TOTALLY HEARD OF had to write in as well.
Dear Mr. Scocca,
Alan Dershowitz forwarded to me a link to Mr. "Seko's" article and your email inviting comment. Dershowitz is my former professor and employer. I recommended that he not engage you — Dershowitz doesn't know what Gawker is; I do — but evidently I was too late, and he wrote the brief response that you have appended to the original post. Dershowitz is used to being smeared in articles such as this one. They roll off his back. But I'm not a public figure with thick skin, and it bothers me, as a guy who has a lot of affection for Dershowitz, when these blog posts go unanswered.
So Mr. Scocca, I'l be honest with you. This article is bad — even by Gawker standards. The very first sentence contains an ad hominem attack on the subject ("O.J. Simpson's lawyer") and an outright lie ("spit-shining the idea of institutionalized American torture"). Do you have such contempt for your readers that you think they see a hypertext link and assume it supports the stated proposition without reading the article for themselves? Anyone who actually read the linked article — I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you didn't — would see that Dershowitz was proposing a method designed to reduce what Dershowitz himself called "the ugly face of American torture." In other words, the article argues against precisely the position that Mr. Seko attributes to Dershowitz! And Mr. Scocca, this is just the first sentence!
I'm not going to go sentence-by-sentence, point-by-point. Mr. Seko's invitation to comment was disingenuous anyway — a gimmick intended to add a veneer of credibility to a political screed. ("Hey, if what I wrote isn't true, the subject totally could have refuted it!") You know full well that nobody would read a full defense.
Suffice it to say Mr. Seko's article is comprised almost entirely of errors, mischaracterizations, and plain dishonesty. And his tone of hatred is just astonishing. (Dershowitz is "indistinguishable from even the poorest mush-mouthed goober.") I'd ask where all of the author's anger is coming from — surely not merely from a dispute over the meaning of an academic department's endorsement of a lecture by two radicals — but Mr. Seko tips his hand when he calls Israel "fascis[t]" and later quips that "[g]etting called 'racist' for advocating a position critical of current Israeli policy is about as difficult as being called a 'hipster' for owning an old camera. . . ." Ah, there it is. Now we know what this article is really about. Mr. Scocca, I'm curious: are these quoted statements the considered opinions of Gawker or are they the personal opinions of Mr. Seko? I bet many of your readers would like to know as well.
If you or your readers are actually curious about Dershowitz's position on the controversy that Mr. Seko purported to cover, I'll refer you to this blog post:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/alan-dershowitz/brooklyn-college-politica_b_2582561.htmlThat's Dershowitz's position, plain as day, proudly and publicly announced. You can feel free to post this letter and the link. Or don't. I feel better for having written it.
All the best,
Mitch
[Image by Jim Cooke]
When former mayor Ed Koch died early yesterday morning, the accolades were quick to descend: he was a "a great man," who "did good," ebulliently pulling his city out of the worst financial disaster it had ever faced. Still, his incredibly long tenure also coincided with both the crack and AIDS epidemic, the latter of which, activist and documentarian David France writes in a piece for New York, he turned a blind eye to:
"To be fair, no mayor could have stopped the virus from its diabolical campaigns in the bloodstream. But in the days before cell phones and the Internet, when the New York Times still refused to use the word gay and the hometown gay newspaper sold just 6,000 copies - a time when it was impossible to reach the at-risk community outside of the mainstream - he could have shown leadership. He could have promoted risk reduction and community education. This is what was done in San Francisco, where Dianne Feinstein was mayor. The money and the bully-pulpit worked. The epidemic there, while devastating, was nothing like it became in New York.
Koch's failure in AIDS should be recalled as the single-most significant aspect of his public life. The memories of all we've lost deserve no less."
Koch ended up seeing France's Oscar-nominated film How To Survive a Plague, which chronicles activists' crusade to speed up research and spread awareness about AIDS, and wrote a review, urging the film to be shown in all public schools and recommending ACT UP for the Presidential Medals of Freedom. (Its archives, some of which we've republished below, are available at the New York Public Library.)
But now Koch is dead. For one of the most high-profile closeted gay men of the eighties, this after-the-fact turnaround does little to make up for the lives he could have saved, or the suffering and embarrassment he could have spared the gay community.
Two posters by the ACT UP-affiliated artist collective Gran Fury:
ACT UP poster:
Gran Fury poster at the base of a traffic light:
[all images via NYPL]
The King of the Groundhogs "Punxsutawney Phil" was awoken at the ungodly hour of 7:28 this morning, groggily emerging from his harem filled with lady-groundhogs ("Who are the lady groundhogs, anyway? Us? Are we the lady-groundhogs?"), and did not see his shadow, signaling to the absurdly-dressed array of Pennsylvanians that spring was well on its way.
His cousin to the north, Staten Island Chuck, agreed with him: "Who, Phil? Which Phil? I know a lot of Phil's." He ashed his cigarette on the ground and continued, "I didn't see nuthin'."
The groundhogs at the Weather Channel, however, foresee cold temperatures for much of the nation over the next couple of weeks. So back to the burrows for us all!
It is 4:26 in the afternoon on a Thursday and I'm fucking myself with my toothbrush. Oral B CrossAction. My toe knuckles are whitening with tension as the soles of my feet squeeze harder against one another. Almost—there—Miela is almost there, too. I have it timed perfectly. Her pussy is pink and tight and waxed, sweet like over-chewed Bubble Yum. The overhead lights glisten soft and circular on her perfectly tanned, cellulite-less ass. She runs her fingertips around the rim of her asshole and the rhinestones on her nails are fluorescent yellow. She is perfect.
It is 1:12 in the morning on a Thursday and I'm humping my foot. I've laid a wadded-up beach towel on the ground to prevent carpet burn and ease muscle cramping and my legs are arranged in the shape of the number four. I take off my bra and keep my underwear on, maintaining the friction created between heel and cotton lace. I'll have class in seven hours, I will not have done any of the required reading, and I will participate minimally in class discussion. I come for the seventh time during "C-Cup Joymii Miela Makes Love and Creampied" upon the third rewind of the opening scene, in which she writhes over her partner with exquisite demure force. I am soaked in sweat and my arms are sore from supporting my body weight. I notice that the blinds are open; I worry people can see me in the daytime.
It is 10:00 in the morning on a Saturday and I'm beneath a man who I am telling needs to fuck me harder. To fuck me like he'll never see me again, like I am a cancer patient whose final wish is one last, gutting orgasm—like I am his Miela. He is timid. His eyes are blue or green, he looks old. I ask him to squeeze my tits as hard as he can—I want them to bruise. When he doesn't I roll over and tell him that I have to get ready for work. I put my dress back on with no underwear because I can't find them and say, "Well, that was fun."
It is 10:23 in the morning on a Saturday and I'm shoving the middle and index fingers of my left hand up my vagina, breathing hangover plaque onto my laptop. Miela's co-star takes her bra off with his teeth and I hate him for it; the scoop of her backbone is flawless. She bites at the elastic of his boxer briefs, unsmiling. My phone vibrates on the bookshelf and GRAMMA glows across the LCD screen in bold Arial letters. I pull my comforter over my face and sleep for sixteen hours.
It is 9:36 in the morning on a Monday and I'm in a classroom listening to a lecture on Post-colonial concepts of recreation and leisure. A PowerPoint slide being projected onto the whiteboard reads Vacations do ideological work. When I open my laptop to look at pictures of people I've met at parties at parties and cat gifs to mute the droning, Miela's face is frozen across the screen mid-Creampie. I'm certain the people behind me notice before I slam it shut.
It is 11:00 at night on a Tuesday and I'm sucking the cock of a boy who is three years younger than me on his twin-sized bed. I'm holding my necklace away from his penis with my left hand. The veins in his forearms protrude as he braces himself.
"Tell me when you're gonna come," I say through a mouthful of flesh. He pulls himself out of my mouth and oozes onto my chest.
"I told you to tell me when you're gonna come."
"I know, so I just pulled out for you."
"I didn't ask you to pull out for me."
Confused, he apologizes and slides down my hips, spreading my thighs apart to press lips to mine. "I don't want that," I tell him, "Just finger me."
It is 3:00 in the morning on a Saturday and I'm naked at the end of a stranger's bed and in my old neighborhood and he is jerking off. I reach for my phone and compose a text message to my best friend, whats wrong w me?. I have my back turned to the stranger and he is talking. His hair is shaved at the sides and perfectly coiffed, he has a stick and poke tattoo of an upside down crucifix on his left bicep, the definition of his jaw line is ridiculous. His breath is hot and smells like the congealed layer of crust on cream of mushroom soup.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he asks insanely.
"…What?"
He tucks himself back into his houndstooth boxers and slumps over, whisky-dicked and pathetic. "I feel ugly," he says.
"Are you serious right now?"
He is. He falls asleep instantly and I call a cab as I get dressed. I remove three cigarettes from the pack on his kitchen table and drink his V8 Splash from the bottle as I wait for it.
It is 3:00 in the afternoon on a Saturday and I'm shelling pistachios in my underwear, reading back issues of glossy third-wave feminist magazines. I think about Miela's neon rhinestone nails and wonder how much they cost, then wonder where she got them done, and if the person who did them could tell she's an amateur porn star. I wonder how much she got paid for "Oily Ass Experience", and what kind of oil they used for it; I imagine that it smelled like jasmine. I wonder if she considers herself a feminist, if she feels sexually liberated, at what age she lost her virginity and if she was in love with the person she lost it to, what her workout regimen is like, if she consented to the release of her video on MyRealExGFs.com, how much a pair of her used panties would sell for on e-Banned.
It is 4:45 in the morning on a Sunday and I'm smashed into the wall next to my bed. There is a man sleeping beside me, snoring violently with his mouth open. I turn over and push him, he snorts. I smack at his feet and he doesn't move. I haven't slept all night. I strip the comforter off my bed and pour myself a glass of water. He does nothing. I whisper at him, "Hey". He smells like designer brand patchouli, it is suffocating. I yell, "HEY". Nothing. Finally I grab his balls.
"What the fuck?" At last, movement. "Couldn't wait ‘til morning, huh?" He slouches into me, smiling. I notice that he has a tattoo of a Latin phrase written on his shoulder in Papyrus font.
"Listen, you have to go now."
"What time is it?"
"It's morning. You need to leave."
He glances at his chartreuse Swatch, "It's like, not even five. I thought you said you don't have a job".
"Yeah, well, I need to sleep. Your snoring is insane."
He takes a century to put his pants on, my eyes are gummy and I am topless.
"You have the most amazing breasts, you know that?"
"Yeah."
"Well… can I get your number or something, can we do this again?" He is still only half dressed, searching for his precious lost sock.
"Sure, I'm like, really bad with my phone... You should just find me online."
It is 2:15 in the morning on a Saturday and I'm fumbling with my bike lock outside of a bar in an unfamiliar neighborhood. A man at the adjacent bike rack who looks like Justin Bieber but older and less showered laughs and smiles at me when I drop it for the third time.
"Are you okay?" he asks. I tell him I'm fine. His voice is deep and clear, the streetlamps carve his cheekbones. He pedals west towards the park before I manage to unhinge the lock; I watch his taillight dim as he nears the end of the block. I follow him and yell.
"Hey—come here!"
He pauses in the middle of the street, timid, intrigued. I call out again, "Come over here." I'm stopped in the bike lane, helmet straps dangling at the sides of my face. He turns around.
"Are you okay?"
I tell him I'm fine and that he is cute and I ask if he wants to make out with me. He fingers me in the alley and when he is done he looks at me and says, "I was totally gonna write a Missed Connection about you."
It is 3:00 in the morning on a Saturday and I'm walking across a frozen river wearing sweatpants and Doc Martens, high on oxytocin and amphetamine. The sky is gelatinous. I spread my arms apart and feel the cold air empty me. I think about blowjobs, deciding that I don't mind giving them anymore; I kind of like them, even. I think about regret, deciding ultimately that I have none because it is useless. I lie down on the ice and close my eyes, hoping secretly that someone would come rescue me, knowing that no one will. I think about Miela's eyes, remembering only her lashes, the color of her eye shadow.
It is 1:00 in the morning on a Friday and I'm spread across a bare mattress in the middle of an abandoned attic. It's cold and I feel hyper aware of my arm hair. The most beautiful man I've ever spoken to in real life is squeezing my breasts in handfuls. I realize that I'm wearing my period underwear. My nipples are hard and I can feel them bruising, but not enough. I think about apologizing to him for my recent weight gain but realize how unappealing that might seem. As he disappears between my thighs I try to determine whether or not I should feel proud for managing to sleep with such an attractive person. He tells me how wet I am and looks at me with an expression that says I don't have a condom. I decide it's worth it.
It is 8:30 at night on a Thursday and I'm applying mascara, getting ready to meet a grad student at his house to eat quinoa and watch a documentary about capitalism. I'm standing at the bathroom mirror, evening my eyeliner and listening to rap on Internet radio, sideways glancing at Miela as she performs fellatio in silence. I'm running late, which I decide is probably a good thing. I find my vibrator wedged in the crevice of my futon and rinse it off in the kitchen sink. I take my skirt off and text the grad student, sry i just have to finish this chapter - almost done.
It is 2:00 in the morning on a Sunday and I'm drunk in the backseat of a taxicab on the way to a stranger's house on the south side. He's wearing a vintage starter jacket and his mouth tastes like ketamine. He slides his hand under my skirt and I see the cab driver's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Wait ‘til we get to your place."
"C'mon, it's fine", he assures me, "I'm paying him."
I sit up straight and remove his hand from under me, grazing the fly of his jeans. I check the driver's eyes in the mirror; they look at me. I avert my gaze and continue stroking the breadwinner's penis with his own hand. He pushes my arm down and leans into me, slurring, "Your eyes are so, so pretty."
He slumps over to kiss me and immediately recoils, vomiting into the Yellow Cab carpet. The driver pulls over and argues with him about a one hundred dollar fine. I climb out of my seat and hail an oncoming taxi; I take it to my car and drive the rest of the way home drunk.
It is 1:00 in the afternoon on a Sunday and I'm watching reruns of Roseanne on YouTube. I have Miela paused in another tab. I wonder what she does on Sunday afternoons. I wonder how many sexual partners she's had, and if I've had more than her. I think that in real life, we would be friends. She wouldn't be conceited or insecure at all, and we would pee in the same bathroom stall together at bars and she would be a really good singer.
It is 12:45 in the afternoon on a Friday and I'm in a community garden sharing a cigarette with a thirty-year-old man whose bed I spent the night in. It is the day after my twenty-second birthday and he is making jokes about me being old and I'm kind of laughing. He's an interior designer, a former model for American Apparel. I ask him if he's gay, he says he's not. I ask him if he's sure he's not gay, he says he's sure. I tell him that sexual identity is just a social construct, anyway.
It is 9:00 at night on a Sunday and I'm painting my toenails a shade of yellow labeled "Lemonade Stand By Your Man". I haven't left my apartment in over twenty-four hours; my Internet is out because I haven't paid the bill in three months, I haven't managed to charge my cell phone in days. I wonder if Miela ever gets lonely-how often she checks her phone, how many times she's been fisted, if she's on Twitter, and what if any emoticons she uses most. I think more about our friendship—we would make dinner together on Monday nights and she would chop the onions, we would drink wine out of coffee cups and watch "The Real Housewives of New Jersey" and get really into it. We would go out together on weekends and men would look at her and I would feel resentful towards them. At the end of the night we would go back to her apartment and I would sleep over because I wouldn't want to walk home alone so late. In the morning we would make eggs in our underwear and talk about our drunkenness the night before and we would both laugh and say, "You're so crazy, I love you." Just like that.
Lenina Lilic is a writer and a college student. She writes a column for Whole Beast Rag and has a blog called P.S.A.
In a project overseen by contributing editor Kiese Laymon, Gawker is running a personal essay every weekend. Please send suggestions to saturdays@gawker.com.
How deep does the Super Bowl Illuminati rabbit hole go? As deep as all rabbit holes: straight into hell.
You remember, of course, last year's Illuminati-sponsored halftime show, after which Queen Kabbala Priestess Madonna took every firstborn American child to toil in the Backup Dancing Fields. What you may not know is that this year's performance is shaping up to be even more dangerous, Illuminatorily speaking.
In an interview with Bill Fawell, the founder of super-PAC "Elect a New Congress," U.S. News & World Report discovered the roots of the conspiracy.
"If you look at some of Beyonce's performances... it's like the military industrial police state," Fawell tells Whispers, noting that the pop star has previously performed surrounded by male dancers in protective helmets. "That's the subliminal message that will be spreading worldwide because everyone watches the Super Bowl."
Why does the New World Order want to encourage helmet-wearing among male dancers? Perhaps a better question is: what does Big Helmet stand to gain from this performance? Think about it. Football players wear helmets. Helmets cover the head. The head is where Thomas Paine kept his memory. The Persistence of Memory is a recipe book about how to make madeleines; Madeleine Albright was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Barack Obama, who recently declared that he frequently goes skeet shooting; Illuminati Prince Skeet Ulrich lives in the hollowed-out torch of the Statue of Liberty, where he controls the weather.
Mark Dice's YouTube video, "Beyonce's Illuminati Super Bowl Half Time Show Ritual?" goes into further detail. "Last year's Illuminati-themed Superbowl was so blatant and in-your-face that it made headlines around the world," he says. "The 'Father of American Football' was Skull and Bones member, Walter Camp, who created the sport to keep the population entertained and out of the way of the government."
Interestingly, Dice calls Jay-Z "one of the biggest Illuminati wannabes." Is Jay-Z's Illuminati application still pending? This could possibly mean that Willow Smith outranks him.
Now, the Illuminati does have one weakness: at this point, almost every professional singer, actor, author, religious figure and politician is a high-ranking member. At best, there are maybe 50,000 non-members left to control. But control them they (we? I'm not telling. Or am I? No, I'm not. You just told me. Don't you remember?) shall.
It's a very top-heavy organizational structure. Meetings are fairly chaotic; almost everyone has earned the right to wear the Bangle of Speaking so it's kind of difficult to keep everyone listening and on-topic. Once you're in the Illuminati, it's hard to stay content as an ordinary rank-and-file member, you know? People forget that the Illuminati needs followers, too.
Elect a New Congress has a suggestion for the few of you who aren't yet Illuminati puppets looking to enjoy tomorrow's game without exposing yourself to Mme. Beyoncé's powerful mind control magicks.
Try the Animal Planet's Puppy Bowl during the Half-Time show. http://news.yahoo.com/photos/puppy-bowl-ix-starting-lineup-revealed-slideshow/puppy-bowl-photo–1840315841.html It will only take 20 minutes, then you can go back to the start of the 2nd Half.
This was suggested to me by radio personality friend and comrade in the pursuit of Liberty, Louie B Free. I thought it was inspired by genius and the perfect foil to our ruling elite to bend peoples minds.
Which raises the obvious question: If the Illuminati is powerful and far-sighted enough to infiltrate our most halved of time-shows, would it not be child's play for them to do the same to Animal Planet's Puppy Bowl? Look at the name: Animal Planet. Not "Human" Planet. Not "Peacefully Coexisting Species" Planet. A planet where beasts totter on two legs and a strange light gleams in their eyes, a planet where men are everywhere enslaved.
In thinking you have escaped, you have only tightened your own bonds.
"Mark Dice" is a clear anagram for "Gawker" in the Hebrew numerical system. "Gawker" is an anagram for "Gay Baphomet Stab America." Follow the money. Follow it into Nick Denton's sea-cave, glistening with strange and obscene rubies. Follow it back out of the cave. It's Ke$ha, holding hands with Agent Cooper from Twin Peaks. They're laughing at you. But now you're Ke$ha. You're the Illuminati, and you're not laughing anymore. Your mouth is stretched back in a gaping, wordless bellow. You will swallow the world.
[Image via AP]
In an interview last week with The New New Republic, President Obama revealed that "we do skeet shooting all the time" at Camp David. Not everyone believes him. In response to these "Skeet Truthers", the White House released a photo this morning which shows President Obama shooting a shotgun last August. There is smoke coming out of the barrel, an indicator that the shotgun has just fired something, which, we can assume, was a bullet shotgun shell. Or maybe he did nothing at all.
(Maybe the bullet shell is going back into the gun because Obama hates guns so much he's invented a gun that un-shoots itself. What about that, guys?)
Obama, who is pushing Congress to enact sweeping legislation against assault rifles and high capacity magazines, professed in the TNR interview that he has "a profound respect for the traditions of hunting that trace back in this country for generations."
But this photograph is not proof enough for some news outlets. The Washington Post's Fact-Checker is not so sure Obama shoots skeet "all the time." Fox News admits that maybe Obama shot skeet once, but definitely not all the time.
So Obama has shot a rifle shotgun, but not near enough times to get in with the cool kids at the NRA:
"He clearly doesn't get it," said Chris Cox, the chief lobbyist for the National Rifle Association. "But in his effort to pursue a political agenda, he apparently is willing to convince gun owners that he's one of us, that he's a Second Amendment supporter." Mr. Cox said no one was fooled. "Skeet shooting, whether you've done it or not, doesn't make you a defender of the Second Amendment."
Obviously, there's just no point in getting down with guns unless you're down with guns that can stop a small army. Even Rambo thinks that's a bit outrageous.
Some incorrect gun terms have been corrected.
In case the news-cycle warped right past it, just a quick reminder that there is still a Vietnam vet holding a child hostage in an underground bunker in Alabama. After five days, no progress has been made towards freeing the 5-year-old, who was abducted on Tuesday afternoon.
The kidnapper has been identified by police as Jimmy Lee Dykes, 65, a retired truck driver who moved to Midland City, Alabama about five years ago. Dykes took the child after boarding a school bus and demanding that the driver hand over two children. Charles Poland Jr., 66, was shot dead after blocking the aisle while 21 children escaped out the back emergency door. There is apparently no connection between Dykes and the abducted child, whose identity has not been released.
Negotiating through a 60-foot-long plastic ventilation pipe, authorities have been able to send down coloring books and medication to the child, who has Aperger's Syndrome and ADD. Dykes has been described by the Southern Poverty Law Center as a "survivalist" with "anti-government" views. A neighbor believes he has been preparing for this stand-off for some time.
The memorial service for Poland, the slain driver, will be on Saturday night.
The world is not a safe place. You are, we trust, already doing what you can to protect yourself against the regular flu, but while you've been washing your hands until the skin on your knuckles begins to crack, the flu has been busy reinventing itself.
A new strain of norovirus is causing intestinal illness outbreaks across the country, the CDC confirmed today. CDC officials also reported a rise in outbreaks of sickness caused by drinking raw milk.
The findings appear in the Jan. 25 issue of the Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report.
Are you drinking raw milk? Did it cure your allergies and eczema, or did it kill you?
If you have not yet died from your raw milk habit but you are trying to treat your flu symptoms, be sure not to ruin your liver in so doing.
Fathia Gibril, M.D., M.HSc., a supervisory medical officer at the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), explains that consumers looking for relief from a cold or the flu may not know that acetaminophen comes in combination with many other medications used to treat those symptoms. "So if you're taking more than one medicine at a time," she says, "you may be putting yourself at risk for liver damage."
Symptoms of acetaminophen overdose may take many days to appear, and even when they become apparent, they may mimic flu or cold symptoms.
"With over 600 medicines containing this drug," a related article in Forbes points out, "it is pretty easy for people to inadvertently take daily doses of it in excess of the recommended 3,000 mg/day threshold."
And this morning, CNN ran a terrific, in-depth look at recent efforts to eradicate "river blindness," or onchocerciasis, an affliction that gives Dracunculiasis a run for its money as the most painful skin disease ever.
Unlike malaria, river blindness is not fatal, but it causes a "miserable life," said Moses Katabarwa, senior epidemiologist for the Atlanta-based Carter Center's River Blindness Program, which has been leading an effort to eliminate the disease in the Americas and several African countries.
Some strains cause blindness, while others come with more severe skin disease. With time, generally all strains of the disease can lead to rough "lizard" skin, depigmented "leopard skin" and hanging groins. Another big problem among patients is itching, which happens when the worms die inside a person.
Many of these patients go blind after the disease attacks the optic nerve; some of them see their skin harden to such a degree that needles cannot penetrate it.
The World Health Organization believes that around 18 million people suffer from river blindness; there are 18 million people in the world who, when they itch, know it is not a temporary affliction; it is happening because there are dead worms inside of them.
Before you go to sleep tonight, hug someone tenderly.
[Image via AP]
France, hotbed of infidelity, has taken one step closer to allowing same-sex couples the privilege of having extra-marital affairs. This morning, the National Assembly, which is the lower house of France's parliament (it is much like our Congress, but different in that it appears they vote on things), voted 249 to 97 in favor of gay marriage.
This comes after months of divisive debate, as well as compromises by the French left, dropping parts of the legislation that would offer medically-assisted reproduction for lesbian couples. Last Sunday, 125,000 supporters of gay marriage marched in Paris to support President François Hollande's promise of legalizing gay marriage within a year of taking office. Three weeks ago, a much larger demonstration opposing gay marriage made apparent the strong divisions between the ruling Left and the hard-line, very Catholic conservative base. France's Muslims have supported the measure.
63% of the French support the bill, which would allow same-sex couples to adopt, although only 49% particularly like that part of the legislation. Votes in the higher houses will take place over the next two weeks.
This is great and all, besides the fact that the French don't really give two shits about marriage in the first place.
This week sees the release of three new horror movies: Warm Bodies, Girls Against Boys (both in theaters) and The ABCs of Death (on demand). But it is not enough anymore merely to be a horror movie — now horror movies, in conversation with what came before them in their respective subgenres, must add something new to the conversation, or at least purport to for the sake of "angle." All three of these attempt to do so, with various yet decided degrees of success. Let's explore.
Template: The zombie movie a la Dawn of the Dead, 28 Days Later
Variation: This one has heart. Literally. In one of Warm Bodies director/screenwriter Jonathan Levine's most gratuitous moves, we see the illuminated heart of our protagonist, emo zombie R (Nicholas Hoult), through his shirt. In terms of content and format, Warm Bodies is the teenage rom com reanimated.
Is it worthwhile?: There will always be post-apocalyptic zombie movies that involve surviving humans having to transport one thing or another, putting themselves in the way of brain-munching undead. Any radical spin on this is a welcome break from the inevitable, deadening monotony. The ideas that love conquers all, even zombiehood (R becomes more human with love, even passing at one point) and that maybe all outcasts need to thrive is some understanding and affection, is ultimately trite and Warm Bodies ends up erring way more on the side of rom com than horror. It is, after all rated PG-13, and the level of gore is lower than even a boring walking-around-doing-nothing segment of The Walking Dead. That said, this movie has a way of gnawing at you, infecting you with its optimism in the process.
Warm Bodies makes lemonade out of rotting lemons and tons of references. As R rescues Julie (Teresa Palmer) from am ambush of his fellow zombies that he initially takes part in (eating the brains of her boyfriend and absorbing his memories), we in turn absorb shades of Beauty and the Beast, King Kong, perhaps Twilight. There is a balcony scene and parental disdain a la Romeo and Juliet and a scene in which R is made over to the tune of "Oh Pretty Woman" that recalls Pretty Woman and Ally Sheedy's de-freaking in The Breakfast Club. Julie holds a Blu-Ray of Lucio Fulci's Zombi 2 up to R's face for the sake of literal comparison, so at least there is some cred there, in case you were doubting.
The sunny approach to the undead would be harder to stomach than your typical gut-buster if Warm Bodies weren't so sharp. Adapted from Isaac Marion's novel of the same name, the film sports clever inner narration from R, who can barely mumble at the start but who learns to communicate more effectively over time. There's satisfying irony when R tells himself, "Don't be creepy don't be creepy don't be creepy," on a forced "date" with Julie, and when he talks about his post-life memory being wiped clean: he can't remember his name or his job "although my hoodie would suggest I was unemployed." The soundtrack, largely hits of the ‘80s, is a little too on the nose (John Waite's "Missing You" features prominently, and the "There is no doubt you're in my heart now" line of Guns ‘n Roses' "Patience" rings through the theater after we've seen R's heart illuminate), but overall this movie is smarter beyond its obligation as first-quarter popcorn entertainment. When R faces a moment of romantic adversity in the middle of the film, he laments, "It's easier not to feel. Then I wouldn't have to feel like this." It's a human sentiment that transcends genre; exactly Warm Bodies' point.
Template: The horror anthology a la Creep Show, Trilogy of Terror, V/H/S
Variation: Usually anthologies contain a handful of short films at 10 to 20 minutes a piece. ABCs of Death squeezes 26 films (one for each letter of the alphabet) into about two hours, so that they average less than 5 minutes a piece. There's a real momentum in each to get immediately to the point (which is always death, per the title), even more so with last year's V/H/S, which in the best-case scenario (i.e. Ti West's "Second Honeymoon") didn't let little things like context and deep character development get in the way of brutality.
Is it worthwhile?: Yes. If nothing else, it's a fun interactive experience: only after each short do you find out its title but if you keep track of what letter you're on, this becomes a guessing game. For example, I initially thought that "A" stood for "adultery," unaware that it would veer dramatically into an unpredictable turn (I won't spoil it here). The game is sometimes maddening (especially when the letter's word isn't in English), but always engaging.
The shorts themselves range widely in tone and medium – most are funny, a few are scary. There are some drawn and clay animation examples. Some are linear, others are abstract. Modern horror tropes abound (POV, self-consciousness), as does a deep understanding of the shock value of animal abuse. Now, we don't see any actual animals die (it's all fictional depiction) – this isn't Cannibal Holocaust, but you get the sense that quite a few of the directors involved admire Ruggero Deodato's influential 1980 grindhouse flick.
ABCs of Horror is so packed with twisted imagery and fucked-up ideas (a jerk-off contest to the death that tortures its contestants with some can't-unseeable shit, death by fart, Nazism by way of a cat with a human body) that what is truly frightening about it is its unpredictability. You never have any idea what wild turns the next segment will make. Despite its title, it feels alive and risky, the ultimate commoditization of death as a blur of carnage zooms by for a breathless two hours. It's kind of the antithesis of Amour. You could even call it breezy.
Template: The rape-revenge fantasy a la I Spit On Your Grave, Ms. 45, The Last House on the Left
Variation: Rape-revenge movies are unsettling for reasons deeper than the obvious – when the abused female protagonist finds her voice through vengeance it can feel like a feminist triumph...except first you have to sit through often gratuitously long scenes of her getting raped, which almost always linger enough to feel pornographic and make you wonder just who the intended audience is (it could be actual rapists). Girls Against Boys is a little gentler on its protagonist Shae (Danielle Panabaker), as the rape that spurs her into action takes place briefly and in a background blur (director Austin Chick focuses on a innocence-invoking San Rio key chain stuck in the door of her apartment that she almost made it into on time).
This is still an exploitation movie and it's still going to feel fucked up and unsavory and has no shot at summing up the societal oppression of women (not the least of the reasons why being that a man wrote and directed this), but Girls Against Boys is more sensitive than the average flick of this sort. It argues strongly for female solidarity (when Shae splits from her wild-child friend Lu, played by Nicole LaLiberte, she finds herself in trouble). It at least attempts to portray the atmosphere of casual misogyny that Shae and Lu withstand in order to exist in the world — we see men leering, attempting to get Shae's number as she bartends, wielding their authority like it's a giant cock. After Lu sets off this vengeance rampage in which Shae participates not just willingly but giddily, it also accounts for why Lu is capable of such fucked-up shit in a bit of satisfying, slyly humorous subversion to victim clichés.
Is it worthwhile?: I think so. Lu and Shae ultimately use societal expectations to their advantage – the men they kill have no idea what's coming for them because they just see a pair of girls standing before them and girls are weak and harmless, right? Girls Against Boys is endlessly conversant with the tradition it operates within (Shae almost gets raped a second time, in a turn reminiscent of Abel Ferrara's masterpiece Ms. 45), but it uses nuances to create a more responsible statement. It is aware of its potential status as a discursive lightning rod (these things tend to be), and accounts for that as well: the film opens with Shae in a college lecture about the work of Japanese visual artist Aida Makoto, during which her professor explains the "a fine line between post-feminist critique and blatant objectification." If any subgenre could use some on-the-nose awareness, surely it is the rape-revenge one. The subgenre doesn't necessarily deserve Girls Against Boys, but it's better for having it.
Officials at the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service are trying to include wolverines as threatened members of the Endangered Species List (there are only about 300 remaining in the lower 48 states), and they have five excellent reasons.
They are the tiniest known enemy of bears:
[They max] out at 40 pounds and [are] tough enough to stand up to grizzly bears.
They resemble bears themselves, but on a smaller scale, and eat fruit. They are tiny, fruit-eating bear manqués:
Fewer than 300 wolverines, solitary creatures said to resemble small bears with bushy tails, are believed to exist in the lower 48 United States, where they mostly inhabit the high country of Idaho, Montana, Wyoming and Washington state.
The reclusive animals, which eat everything from birds to berries, build their dens, reproduce and store food in areas with snow deeper than five feet in high-elevation environments unoccupied by humans and undisturbed by snowmobilers and skiers.
They are hungry and they are angry and they are non-stop runners:
Wolverines...are known for their cranky dispositions and voracious appetites.
They may cover more than a dozen miles a day across rugged terrain in search of food, believed to be the primary factor driving the animals' movements and explaining the vastness of their home ranges, according to the Fish and Wildlife Service.
Wolverine pups are nurtured in the icy bosom of snow caves:
Females give birth from mid-February through March in dens they excavate in alpine snow, typically using them until late April or early May.
There is exactly one wolverine in the entire state of Colorado:
While reintroducing the animals further south might seem counterintuitive, Inman said Colorado's abundance of 14,000-foot mountains would make it well suited as a refuge for the animals as warmer temperatures set in at lower elevations.
Only one wolverine currently inhabits the state, a male that wandered down several years ago from northern Wyoming's Teton Range, about 500 miles away.
[Image via AP]
Last October, billionaire hedge fund manager Paul Singer tracked the course of a Argentine navy ship, Libertad, as it crossed the globe. When it docked in Ghana, his firm, NML Capital, convinced a judge there to hold the ship in port until Argentina could pay its 1.3 billion debt to him, debt still owed from when the Argentine economy completely collapsed in 2001.
In short: You no pay? I take your fuckin' boat.
Argentina claimed it was the victim of "a sneak attack of the vulture funds." After 2001, with no possible way to actually pay off their bondholders, Argentina worked out a deal where they would pay them 30 cents on the dollar. Everyone took a loss, but it was widely understood that the only way Argentina was ever going to get out of its financial bind was by clearing its debts once and for all.
But Singer was unconvinced. He would settle for nothing less than complete satisfaction. Filing suit against Argentina, U.S. District Judge Thomas Griesa ordered the still-struggling nation to pay off its over a billion dollar debt to Singer, opening the door to other bondholders asking for the same treatment under the law. Singer's claim won't put Argentina back out of business again, but this ruling definitely makes it a distinct possibility.
This morning Argentina presented its final briefing in front of an appellate court in New York City. It presents a case against having to pay Singer his money and the economic chaos that could ensue if they did.
As to the fate of the Libertad, Argentina argued successfully in front of the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea (Sea Law would make a pretty great show, btw), and the ship arrived back home on January 9th.
As to the $7.6 million dollars it cost to hold the ship for so long in a foreign port? Ghana is looking squarely at the billionaire pirate, Mr. Paul Singer.
After voting to legalize the sale of the dankest of herbs last November, Washington State is looking to fill the position of Marijuana Consultant. Qualifications for the job include: three years of experience, knowledge of demand cycles of marijuana, as well as a commitment to product quality control and, of course, testing. The starting pay is $100,000 (or 5,000 White Castle Crave Cases).
Does this sound like a job for you? Is it time to make this recreation an occupation and become something? Are you the chosen one, ushering in a new morning in the Evergreen State, 420 years of golden sunshine?
This Sunday, millions of Americans will watch two siblings square off, blood against blood, as they attempt to achieve the single most important goal of their lives.
That's on E!, which will be airing a marathon of Kourtney and Kim Take Miami reruns. The Super Bowl is on too. Here's a guide to what else you can watch if you get bored with those two things.
Note: The Super Bowl will begin at 6:30 p.m. on CBS. The Beyoncé Super Bowl Halftime Experience Starring Beyoncé Featuring Beyoncé should start around 8 p.m.
Bob's Burgers; The Cleveland Show (7:00 p.m. & 7:30 p.m. on FOX)
Maybe you also enjoy football "for the Thanksgiving"? For reasons that are unclear, FOX is airing the Thanksgiving episodes of Bob's Burgers and The Cleveland Show opposite the game.
Bring It On: All or Nothing (6 p.m. to 8 p.m. on ABC Family)
Psych yourself up for Beyoncé's halftime performance by watching her little sister Solange in her star turn as a hood cheerleader who takes no guff from Hayden Panettiere in the third installment of the Bring It On film series. Featuring guest appearance by Rihanna as an alternate-universe version of Rihanna who is eager to cast high school cheerleaders in her music videos.
High School Musical, High School Musical 2 (5:00 p.m. to 9 p.m. on the Disney channel)
Buzz Bissinger's gritty chronicle of one year in the life of an economically depressed Texas town's high school football team, set to a kicky pop beat.
Rugrats in Paris: The Movie (8 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. on Nick)
In which a Japanese baby is added to the regular cast. Not to be confused with The Rugrats Movie, which had a superior soundtrack.
100 Greatest Kid Stars (Countdown) (5 p.m. to 10 p.m. on VH1)
Bow Wow is #100. Gawker correspondent Danny Tamberelli is #50. Justin Bieber is #1. But who is #2?
(Macaulay Culkin. But who is #3?)
Home Alone (8:00 p.m. to 10 p.m. on ABC Family)
The haunting story of a child, abused by neglect, who lashes out at every adult he encounters. Featuring #2 Greatest Kid Star Macaulay Culkin.
Puppy Bowl IX (3:00 p.m. – 5:00 p.m., repeating until 3:00 a.m. Monday on Animal Planet)
The Puppy Bowl continues its annual tradition of growing exponentially more ridiculous, this year to the 9th power. In 2013, the broadcast will feature tutu-clad hedgehog cheerleaders and a puppy hot tub. If watching the two hour Puppy Bowl and then watching it again and then watching it again makes you feel a little empty inside, consider that, perhaps, just as on the field being adorable is ultimately not a substitution for athletic dexterity, so is "enjoys adorable things" likewise is not a substitution for a personality.
Iron Man 2 (5:30 p.m. – 8:00 p.m. on FX)
The weird thing is, you didn't even think you would be that into Iron Man 2. You just started watching it to kill time until the Super Bowl. But then it was actually pretty decent. Did you know Don Cheadle was in it? Like, maybe it wasn't as good as—WAIT WHAT TIME IS IT?!
Downton Abbey (rerun at 8:00 p.m.; new episode at 9:00 p.m. on PBS)
Laura Linney stars in the introduction to this soft-spoken British period drama that examines the complex social hierarchy of the inhabitants of a fictional Yorkshire country estate. Set in the post-Edwardian era.
Sex and the City 2 (5:00 p.m. to 8 p.m. on TBS)
Carrie loses her passport and, briefly, her groove; finds both. Montages interspersed.
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (7:30 p.m. to 10 p.m. on Bravo)
A romantic comedy in which a journalist (Kate Hudson) prompts a man to break up with her by making him watch a poorly-reviewed 2003 movie on Bravo during the Super Bowl.
The Golden Girls (9 a.m. to 3 a.m. on Hallmark AND 12:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. on WE)
Always don't not be watching The Golden Girls.
Frontier House (6:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. on the DIY Network)
This reality series follows three families as they attempt to live as homesteaders facing a harsh winter in the state of Montana on the frontier in 1883. Based on the production notes printed on Wikipedia, it sounds like a ton of stuff went wrong during filming. The families competed, cheated, and fought with each other and among themselves. There wasn't even a prize! So why were they competing?
Here are summaries for two of Sunday night's episodes from TV Guide:
The families face a huge challenge; the Clunes continue to break the rules.
The children prove their worth; lions, coyotes and bears frighten the pioneers.
This show sounds incredible. It originally aired on PBS.
Snooki & JWoww (6 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. on MTV)
Via TV Guide:
8:00 p.m. "Last Call at Club Uterus": Snooki goes into labor early; JWoww's dad hits on one of her friends at a family barbecue.
Mother, May I Sleep with Danger? (8:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. on the Lifetime Movie Network)
A TV movie so bad even Lifetime is forced to market it as a "cult classic." Stars Tori Spelling as a girl with an eating disorder. AND A BOYFRIEND WHO WANTS TO MURDER HER. 1996 at its finest.
[All listing information via TV Guide // Image by Jim Cooke]
Chris Kyle, a former Navy SEAL whose book American Sniper detailed his over 150 confirmed kills, was shot dead at a gun range in Texas on Saturday afternoon. Kyle, 38, who had recently appeared on the reality show Stars Earn Stripes, was allegedly shot by Eddie Ray Routh, 25, who also shot another person before taking Kyle's truck. He was arrested a short time later after a chase with police.
Kyle, whose book was a bestseller last year, was focusing his time helping soldiers who were struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder. Multiple outlets are reporting, but it has not yet been confirmed (UPDATE: Confirmed), that Routh was a former Marine who was struggling with PTSD, and that Kyle took him to the gun range to help him deal with his condition. Routh then shot both men before fleeing the scene.
Kyle's reputation among Iraqi insurgents led them to dub him "the devil" and place a bounty on his head. He was most recently embroiled in a legal battle with former Minnesota Governor Jesse Ventura after writing in his 2012 book that he punched Ventura after he said unpatriotic remarks.
Appearing on Fox News this morning, NRA CEO Wayne LaPierre reiterated his organization's claim in a recent ad that all American children deserve the same amount of protection that the President Obama's daughters receive. Fox News host Chris Wallace responded, "That's ridiculous and you know it, sir." Throughout the interview Wallace continues to be critical of LaPierre, refuting his claims that inner-city gangs are the problem, and pointing out the insanity of putting armed guards in every public place.
So, America, at this point, even Fox News is calling the NRA crazy.
[TPM]
This evening's Super Bowl, which pits the Baltimore Ravens against the San Francisco 49ers, raises an obvious question: if a real Corvus corax fought a real 19th-century California gold panner, who would win? We talked to experts and did some research to find out.
It's an important thing to think about, given that this is the first bird-human Super Bowl matchup since 2009's Steelers-Cardinals game. The Steelers won the football version of this match, and it seems likely that human steelworkers could have beaten cardinals in a fight, since steelworkers are well-fed and strong and cardinals are stupid, and small. But ravens? Ravens are bigger, smarter, and more vicious; they eat meat and solve problems, while the 49ers were ill-fed and overworked.
Let's break it down.
| 49er | Raven | Advantage | |
| Photo |  |
 |
|
| Occupation | Gold panner | Bird | |
| Nationality | American | Northern hemisphere | |
| Weight | 140 lbs | 2.3 lbs | 49er |
| Height | 5'9" | 2'2" | 49er |
| Reach | 69" | 55" | 49er |
| Special Skills | Gold panning | Flight | Raven |
| Weapon | Shovel | Talons, beak | Raven |
| Final Tally | 3 | 2 | 49er |
Seems like a clear 49er victory, given the size advantage.
As part of our extensive research for this piece, we reached out to experts in the field, asking them to weigh in on this hypothetical matchup, and received intriguing answers like "I have no answer" (Bob Ringer of the Maryland Ornithological Society) and "I'll have to take a pass on this one" (Dr. Malcolm Rohrbough, Professor Emeritus of History, University of Iowa and author of Days of Gold: The California Gold Rush and the American Nation).
But one professional was brave enough to give us an answer: Dr. Richard Kopley, an English professor at Penn State University, who reminds us that the raven of the Baltimore Ravens is no ordinary Corvus corax but rather a literary figure, and the question requires a literary analysis, which we've reproduced below:
If ‘The Raven' is prophetic, then perhaps the Ravens will win. For Poe's raven is an emblem of "Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance," That would make the 49er the poem's sorrowful narrator, forever in the bird's shadow, to whose hopes the only word spoken would be "Nevermore." Yet we should also note that, according to the Poe scholar T. O. Mabbott, the occasion for Poe's 1849 poem "Eldorado" was the Gold Rush. If "Eldorado" is prophetic, then perhaps the 49ers have a remote chance — if they're able to "Ride, boldly ride" "Over the mountains/ Of the Moon,/ Down the Valley of the Shadow" to find Eldorado.
It's anyone's call.
