Dynamite Napoleon, Dynamite

This is one case that makes you wonder if attraction is relative. I'm sure this geezer didn't want to hunch over some 60-year-old woman in a nursing home bathroom when he was 20. But that's what he was left with, so he went for it. Enjoy...

"SCOTT TOWNSHIP, Pa. --A man in his 90s is accused of sexually assaulting a woman in a nursing home.
Court papers show a nurse's aide walked in on the assault.
According to the court papers, police charged Louis Napoleon, of Mount Lebanon, with indecent assault and aggravated indecent assault.
The aggravated part comes into play because the victim had slight injury after the alleged attack, and she has a mental disability. She has advanced Alzheimer's disease and had been staying at the Kane Regional Center in Scott Township.
The victim is in her 60s. Napoleon is 92."

It continued:

"A nurse noticed her door was open, but, she didn't see the patient. Then she realized the woman was in the bathroom and that someone else was in there with her. At first, she thought Napoleon was helping the woman use the toilet.
That's a job usually done by two people. She went in to help. That's when police say she witnessed Louis Napoleon sexually assaulting the woman."

On the commode, huh Napoleon. Classy. That's the kind of thing that makes you sad for these twisted, geriatric bastards -- like the old man in The Family Guy. Comes across as aesthetically appealing as an evening of Mexican television and Spam.
That's going to look good on a report Napoleon. Kudos my man. Kudos.

My hero is a cannonball

They shot the Good Doctor out of a pyrotechnical marvel today on the grounds of the Owl Farm. A sense of closure for a man I looked up to, his body peppered across a valley in Colorado. But as much as I amdired him, I was left with a sense that I didn't get enough from him. A sense that I was robbed of some knowledge, precious documents shredded by a large-calibre hangun. But I guess that is how it goes. Fitzgerald. Poe. Fitzgerald. They never stay around long enough to give up their secrets and get old. They are our philosopher kings, and they don't like to meet their successors. Farewell and Gonzo-speed, Dear Doctor. The world will miss the clacking of your keyboard.

Coolest site of the week

This is a handy little device that can add some snap to the most benign little phrase. I think it was invented by the numb-nuts at the advertising department at Mentos. Anyway, just plug in any old phrase, like ass monkeys, and watch it do its thing.
It henceforth gives birth to such gems as:

«Food or ass monkeys? I'll have ass monkeys.»

Give it a try:
http://www.sloganizer.net/en/

Not for the faint of heart

Don't worry, I wont be like the fucker who e-mailed me this link, failing to mention that it mighdoom me to hell. I'll give you the warning that I was denied; YOU WILL GO TO HELL FOR WATCHING THIS.
With that out of the way, now that we've weeded out the weak and moral, you budding Dante's can pop some corn and scratch yourselves openly as you get ready for the freak show of your life. It is my pleasure to introduce Hollywood's best-known polio-stricken transvestite midget. (And thats saying a lot.)
Thats right ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the Goddess Bunny, Sandie Crisp.

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/videos/bunny_tapdancer.html

Worst visual image ever

I found this story while I was surfing on the Phat Phree website, and I seriously wish I never read it. This story jarred my brain loose--and my stomache with it. There is no option but to drink it away, swizzling cheap beer until I kill enough of my brain to erase the feeling that I am covered in pea soup.

(READING RAINBOW song starts to play)

But you don't have to take my word for it.


http://chicago.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/51760058.html

Change of plans

I've been tooling around with the idea of turning this into a sort of blog news network but I'm not quite sure what kind of content I want to keep up with. I could turn this thing into a freak show or a news program, either one. Feel free to offer any suggestions.

Say it ain't so Raffy, say it ain't so

Looks like Rafael Palmeiro should run for the presidency.
After all he knows how to lie to Congress; and he can follow it up with a good spin to boot.
The most believable guy in baseball (so I thought) sat in front of Congress this March and apparently lied to a national audience when he said he never did steriods. Period.
In reality the juice was probably flowing through his twisted heart the very moment he was adding an asterisk to his legacy.
But his balls weren't too small from the juice to muster up the courage for one of his biggest lies, maybe even two.
After he was given a 10-day suspension for testing positive for 'roids he followed it up with a statement that he "never intentionally used steriods." Yeah right.
All emotions aside baseball took a big hit, enough to reverse the poles.
Palmeiro's mouth imploded, and he will probably die of the aftershock. And his original accuser Jose Canseco, who I personally wanted dead for the saying in his book "Juiced" that he personally saw Master P dosing, seems the most credible ballplayer involved in the Steriod Puppet Show. After the book Canseco was labeled a liar and chased into the realm of reality TV to die a tragic death underneath the hot studio lamps of Hollywood. In the end Palmeiro may have wanted to go out that way, beats the heat of getting blocked at the plate in Cooperstown.

All in the family

My whole life I thought my family was stunting my development.
I remember as a kid I used to get so mad at them, their idiosyncrasies used to wear on my nerves like a dripping faucet.
But time has since mellowed those feelings--even adding a little dash of nostalgia into the mix of emotions. Now--when life has drained me with its constant barrage of bills and mind-numbing routines--my family serves as my oasis; they are the one constant in a world of unpleasant change.
And for that I feel saddened. Not because they are the same, but because I am different. I used to be so full of youthful bravado, that sense that I was going to deliver a swift kick to the balls of the Outside World. Yet, I am the one with bruised pant plums and my family--that I once detested--is the one welcoming me back with unconditional love. They don't mention of all those birthdays I missed and phone calls that I didn't place, they only seem to be glad that I came around when I did.
A lot has changed in my family since I stopped living at home, a generation has almost been erased and a new one has taken its place, filling it with innocent notions of how things work and a constant barrage of questions. And us survivors are pushing on: trying to fill the kids in on how great those people were they will never meet, and quietly tending to our own hearts that break a little whenever we talk about them.
But now we are all beginning to realize that we're in it together. And I can't believe that I hated that idea for so long.