I had some fun with therealblankman's queue last night...working on ant's pqueue now....that sumbitch has more pqueued than published...he's a frikkin MACHIINE!

Cheers, ant yer a pillar of the mound!

If there's grass on the mound, play ball.

No sir, I don't need to rationalize my tendency to turn on the asshole when its turned lose on me and I am not selling anything-AGAIN-Perception-My delivery reflects a frustration, true, but what is the one law of love as you see it? Is it based on ones ability to or willingness to suffer a particular subject or dialog until it satisfies a personal fancy?
I don't need to watch a video when I understand the mechanics of the delivery and the reasons why some chose to express a mundane and simplified world view by letting some talking head they identify with through years of detrimental and unhealthy programming do it for them. The constant posting of news clips and editorials that tend to all say the same goddamn thing, is a redundant, unrealistic, uninspiring, and uncreative way of expressing one's point.
I DON'T NEED TO BE CONSTANTLY HIT OVER THE HEAD WITH A POINT TO GET THE GYST! This describes the loop that some are in. A loop is a rut, a loop is a broken record, a loop takes you back to the same place over and over, and its a form of exhibitionism I detest. You see nothing but the "ravings of a retarded douchebag, because that is HOW YOU CHOSE TO REACT. I respond to bullshit as I see it with a similar methodology. My story does not change. Like a pitcher who has a particular set of strengths and styles of delivery, he rolls with what is handed him. Some batters are very predictable and can't adapt. I am lazy when it comes to trying to teach someone who is unresponsive sometimes, but I never tire in reminding the same over and over, with a view to finding some mutual understanding.
(choggie's response:)
Don't waste your brainpower on anything that does not suit your desire-RM represents in her livelihood for
me, someone who has sold her soul to the machine I despise. I could give a rat's as about her preferences, her sexuality, or her politics. She's a goddamn diversion, a puppet in the hands of a cancerous distraction for a nation of weak-willed, automatons. Again, MW, I don't need to be beat over the head with why FOX is a piece of shit news organization, and the same goes for MSNBC over any other. Major media, news, politics, are a broken, twisted mound of garbage, that shows no sign of doing anything but turning slaves into prisoners, into chum.

You don't like the user???.. I can live with that. Lazy would be to run and hide behind acerbic one-liners directed at a user and not the content of a user's posts. Admittedly, I have been guilty of the same, and probably will slip again. Ignore is the same beast as denial or self-indulgent public masturbation for me.

Douchbag? Check a mirror when letting fly with convenient labels.

No sir, I don't need to rationalize my tendency to turn on the asshole when its turned lose on me and I am not selling anything-AGAIN-Perception-My delivery reflects a frustration, true, but what is the one law of love as you see it? Is it based on ones ability to or willingness to suffer a particular subject or dialog until it satisfies a personal fancy?
I don't need to watch a video when I understand the mechanics of the delivery and the reasons why some chose to express a mundane and simplified world view by letting some talking head they identify with through years of detrimental and unhealthy programming do it for them. The constant posting of news clips and editorials that tend to all say the same goddamn thing, is a redundant, unrealistic, uninspiring, and uncreative way of expressing one's point.
I DON'T NEED TO BE CONSTANTLY HIT OVER THE HEAD WITH A POINT TO GET THE GYST! This describes the loop that some are in. A loop is a rut, a loop is a broken record, a loop takes you back to the same place over and over, and its a form of exhibitionism I detest. You see nothing but the "ravings of a retarded douchebag, because that is HOW YOU CHOSE TO REACT. I respond to bullshit as I see it with a similar methodology. My story does not change. Like a pitcher who has a particular set of strengths and styles of delivery, he rolls with what is handed him. Some batters are very predictable and can't adapt. I am lazy when it comes to trying to teach someone who is unresponsive sometimes, but I never tire in reminding the same over and over, with a view to finding some mutual understanding.

Don't waste your brainpower on anything that does not suit your desire-RM represents in her livelihood for
me, someone who has sold her soul to the machine I despise. I could give a rat's as about her preferences, her sexuality, or her politics. She's a goddamn diversion, a puppet in the hands of a cancerous distraction for a nation of weak-willed, automatons. Again, MW, I don't need to be beat over the head with why FOX is a piece of shit news organization, and the same goes for MSNBC over any other. Major media, news, politics, are a broken, twisted mound of garbage, that shows no sign of doing anything but turning slaves into prisoners, into chum.

You don't like the user???.. I can live with that. Lazy would be to run and hide behind acerbic one-liners directed at a user and not the content of a user's posts. Admittedly, I have been guilty of the same, and probably will slip again. Ignore is the same beast as denial or self-indulgent public masturbation for me.

Douchbag? Check a mirror when letting fly with convenient labels.
In reply to this comment by MaxWilder:
I don't buy that bullshit for a second. You are simply rationalizing you assholery. If you were really trying to follow the "one law of love" you would be trying to share the truth of the world as you see it, and you can't do that with curses and unintelligible gobbledegook. You would have watched the video, and made clearly related points about why Rachel is no more newsworthy than the filth that Fox News spews. I might agree or disagree, but that conversation would be one motivated by respect for the humanity of your fellow sifters. As it stands, I see nothing but the ravings of a retarded douchebag, and that's sad because obviously that's not who you really are. It's just what we see when you are being lazy. And I don't want to waste my brainpower on it.


In reply to this comment by choggie:
I offer a rebuttal in the form of a response to your allegations and observations on this post. I am through with trying to enlighten folks through the limitations of the written word.
Those who have figured me out on this site are allies, those who refuse to try to understand continue to, to their detriment and frustration. The same people who would see me gone forever are the same who find it most comfortable in a room full of people who process and dispense information in a similar manner.

I could use charts and graphs and examples but why bother? What will it profit me to change anyone's mind about a particular issue....My issue is about PROCESS and the filters otherwise reasonable people use because of the way they have been programmed.
You may believe me, that in the real world, I am an incredible humanitarian and lover of diversity. I love "humans", just hate the way most are "being"....the majority are incredibly gullible, controlled, meat robots with no stake in or say over their environment or their livelihoods, evidenced here on VS, by save but a very few. The few that won't write, well, I appreciate them all the more when they do.

I thank you for the constructive critique, and you are right. I do tend to overstate my opinion in way too many or too few course words. My opinion on the matter of Rachel Maddow regardless of the particular spew she is engaged in??? She represents a most reprehensible outlet for information/diversion/control. I pity the masses for settling for such bullshit cloaked as valuable information. I pity her for selling out to the Machina Babylonica.

There is only one law that mankind need follow. That of Love. Love under will. The others are there to keep monkeys` from throwing shit out of trees.

In reply to this comment by MaxWilder:
Ya know, choggie, if you bothered to take two seconds to state your opinion in a clear and concise manner, people might be enlightened. But no, you wander through these virtual rooms, wild-haired and smelling of shite, mumbling and rambling incoherent obscenities. We see in the post above that you can write meaningful sentences if you choose to, which makes the other garbage all the more despicable.

If you are not here to share your opinions with people, (and your opinion about the usefulness of non-news distractions is completely valid) then why the fuck are you here? Are you just venting? Or are the rest of us supposed to wade through your typewritten spew in search of your true meaning?

Bill O, Just doesn't get it...
It's like talking to a sawdust mound!

>> ^spoco2:
It's here Except... they've edited it now (there's a note on the top).
The original, moronic, quote was "People such as scientist Stephen Hawking wouldn't have a chance in the UK, where the National Health Service would say the life of this brilliant man, because of his physical handicaps, is essentially worthless."


Jesus, what sort of lies are they spreading out there? I mean, the actions of our utterly clueless government with their policies of neglect has over a period of what, 20-30 years? resulted in the NHS being dirty, understaffed and wasteful. But people talking about the NHS as though it's a place where people with a fag on (smoking a cigarette for my overseas brethren) condemn people to death or disfigurement over a heap of organs and body parts for any illness that can't be cured by tablets makes me a little bit agitated.

20-30 years ago, the NHS was an amazing system and i wouldn't have traded it for any other country's system. For the level of care and attention and competency you couldn't have been reliant on anything better.

The brutal fact is that we only moan about it so much because we're used to perfection. I'd still take the NHS over any other even today.

It's an horrific shame that politicians will lie so badly to their own people (in this case americans, but it happens all over the world). I could walk into my local hospital right now and get healthcare of an equal or better standard than the average american person with the average health insurance. It's still a brilliant service, it's just not perfect anymore.

I just had a wave of tragic angst that we haven't moved on. We're still like the tribes we used to be, with our great elected shaman stood on a mound in front of us, arms raised, telling us with religious certainty that the eclipse was because the sun god is angry and we must place more meat on the sacrificial altar tonight. Then later he has a lovely beef steak and his pick of the virgins. We haven't moved on, we're still being led around by lies and assurances from people who are as lost as we are.

So the shaman waves his hands and a million americans believe that the NHS is an evil boneyard.

While I also don't agree with some of the tone in the documentary it was nice to learn about these pyramids that I've never heard of. Also it was good to see the archeologists drop a theory that they invested most of their careers in, that's science for ya.
On the subject of this first civilization finding, it made me think. The documentary makes it clear that what all early civilization have in common is monumental architecture. I think this could be a research bias, because the monumental architecture is the only reason these civilizations were found in the first place. If it wasn't for those huge mounds, the Caral site would never have been found. The true first civilizations might not have had these architectural worship systems and might never be discovered because of that.

by the way, if you want an update to this fiasco, I went to the dentists who said he would try to crown it (in about 2 months) and see if it will stay together. If that doesn't work, it will have to come out and be replaced with a fake tooth (preferably made out of a miniature marble lion face) screwed into my jaw to keep the bordering teeth from collapsing inward.

In the meantime, he's basically filled the gap between the fragments with crazy-glue and built a large mound of putty around the busted tooth. This means that I have one abnormally large, grotesque tooth-shaped blob in the back corner of my mouth. It also means that I can't close my teeth together.

beedlebeedlebeedlebeedlebeedlebeedle
frown

Tulips on the mound?!?......3.......2.......1......OOOOHHhhhhhhhhhh! Hahaha...nice!

My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister - Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like, were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father's, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, "Also Georgiana Wife of the Above," I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine - who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle - I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.

Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things, seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain, that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dykes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond, was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing, was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.

"Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you little devil, or I'll cut your throat!"

A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.

"O! Don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it, sir."

"Tell us your name!" said the man. "Quick!"

"Pip, sir."

"Once more," said the man, staring at me. "Give it mouth!"

"Pip. Pip, sir."

"Show us where you live," said the man. "Pint out the place!"

I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.

The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to itself - for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my feet - when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high tombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread ravenously.

"You young dog," said the man, licking his lips, "what fat cheeks you ha' got."

I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my years, and not strong.

"Darn me if I couldn't eat em," said the man, with a threatening shake of his head, "and if I han't half a mind to't!"

I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn't, and held tighter to the tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it; partly, to keep myself from crying.

"Now lookee here!" said the man. "Where's your mother?"

"There, sir!" said I.

He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"There, sir!" I timidly explained. "Also Georgiana. That's my mother."

"Oh!" said he, coming back. "And is that your father alonger your mother?"

"Yes, sir," said I; "him too; late of this parish."

"Ha!" he muttered then, considering. "Who d'ye live with - supposin' you're kindly let to live, which I han't made up my mind about?"

"My sister, sir - Mrs. Joe Gargery - wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."

"Blacksmith, eh?" said he. And looked down at his leg.

After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine, and mine looked most helplessly up into his.

"Now lookee here," he said, "the question being whether you're to be let to live. You know what a file is?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know what wittles is?"

"Yes, sir."

After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a greater sense of helplessness and danger.

"You get me a file." He tilted me again. "And you get me wittles." He tilted me again. "You bring 'em both to me." He tilted me again. "Or I'll have your heart and liver out." He tilted me again.

I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both hands, and said, "If you would kindly please to let me keep upright, sir, perhaps I shouldn't be sick, and perhaps I could attend more."

He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped over its own weather-cock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright position on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:

"You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted and ate. Now, I ain't alone, as you may think I am. There's a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I am a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has a secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open. I am a-keeping that young man from harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what do you say?"

I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the morning.

"Say Lord strike you dead if you don't!" said the man.

I said so, and he took me down.

"Now," he pursued, "you remember what you've undertook, and you remember that young man, and you get home!"

"Goo-good night, sir," I faltered.

"Much of that!" said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. "I wish I was a frog. Or a eel!"

At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his arms - clasping himself, as if to hold himself together - and limped towards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the nettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people, stretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his ankle and pull him in.

When he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose legs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When I saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of my legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on again towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and picking his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into the marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy, or the tide was in.

The marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped to look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not nearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long angry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the river I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the beacon by which the sailors steered - like an unhooped cask upon a pole - an ugly thing when you were near it; the other a gibbet, with some chains hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life, and come down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a terrible turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their heads to gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I looked all round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of him. But, now I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping.

Open letter to people who think American could succeed in an invasion and occupation of the Dominion of Canada.



Dear loser,

I'd love to see America, launch an attack on Canada, and hold our vast country, which is flipping really cold for most of the year. Canadian Soldiers are well trained modern day combat troops. They train for winter warfare / survival. American soldier huddling in -45 degrees below.

American Soldier: "Hey guys, the unarmored humvee won't start!"
Dude: "Do you have a block heater? It's fucking cold outside."
American Soldier: "What the fuck is a block heater?"
Other Dude: "The thing our military couldn't afford to equip all our vehicles with before they sent us to fight here!"
American Soldier: "Mutha fucking economy!"
Other American Soldier: "Who leaked our massive military renovation of all our vehicles to be able to function in combat situations in a winter weather environment that we couldn't complete in time before we had to sell this war to the idiot public on the prevailing social and political winds??"
First Dude: "Probably someone working on the project that has friends who ARE CANADIAN!"

You couldn't even put protective blast shielding on your vehicles before you ran off to fight in a country that you knew might dissolve into a massive underground campaign of anonymous and sudden violence in close urban combat settings.

By the time that you attempted and failed to route our forces, as you have failed to route men with AK's out of hills in Afghanistan, although you have a much larger force stationed there than we currently have offered to assist you for some idiotic reason and sacrifice our blood for your former political policy, as well as trying to occupy a land mass second only to Russia, with harsh, inhospitable terrain, and a populace utterly hostile, betrayed, and proud people who would, don't get me wrong, some would, but depending on the severity of your attack and occupation of civilian centers, would not help you in any way, as nobody would work, and you would have to pacify all the young men that I know would resist such a thing.

Your country would have lost the domestic, foreign, and political capital to continue to wage war on an obviously peaceful, well liked nation of the world community. Germans, Japanese people, Brits, French dudes, South Americans, North Americans, and people who play on XBox Live would fucking hate you from every corner of the globe. It would be seen as a monumental error in human history, where two well build and structured, peaceful, healthy, and productive nations on this fucked up rock collide and utterly destroy each other. Your nation rich, but divided left and right to the point of riot and civil war, and ours waiting for you to leave and realize that a move such as war would constitute the birth of a new fascist state in the US of A, where occupation and domination are acceptable means of preserving your standard of living.

You think that the left wing half of the country would ever support a war like this? It's unthinkable. You'd destroy and destabilize what is your main trading partner, and sow chaos on the North American continent. With your military withdrawing from Iraq, and losing in Afghanistan, and with your bleak economy, you would become overstretched, your economy may fail, and you lose the ability to defend the territory you destabilized from an advancing Russia, intent on claiming your abandoned natural resources that we deny you access to through arson, sabotage, destruction of oil producing facilities (we could always drill for more in Alberta after everyone leaves our country). You would be forced to patrol and defend disputed territory from Russia, who would, by attacking Canada, promise the local populations freedom in exchange for support, and then conquer Canada themselves. Naturally American acquisition of a short fly over the bearing sea, and a boon of natural resources by force of arms would be seen as a provocative attempt to gain enough oil and space for a staging are to launch and destroy Russian forces while not risking American cities as strategic targets for Russian counterattack.

To operate our facilities, you would need to import skilled labor from the US to fill those positions, unless you hold us at gunpoint and order us to work. You presumably believe that controlling us would be easy after you kill our families and at LEAST take from us our loved ones serving in the military. Outrage and dissent would be rampant for a freedom stolen is a rage born. Name one country that you maintain physical and dictatorial sway over on this globe, with American administrators, and American military personnel patrolling the streets? can you? Iraq, the country you are leaving? Afghanistan, another quagmire for the American empire?

Another thing, While you stay in our cities, please feel free to find yourselves at home with our McDonalds, 7-11's, Suburban Houses, and mounds of Americanized consumer junk that you shovel down our throats. I'm sure the treasure's gathered will be worth it. I'm sure gaining more retail space and warehouses, more empty houses, more mouths to feed and policing our cities, and all those good things that come along with occupation would be worth it. Might provide some jobs though, eh?

Blockade:

America puts a blockade on Canada. Canada withers economically without US assistance. Canada eventually caves.

a: False.

America withers as Canada denies access to drinking water and electricity to large portions of the US, leaving millions of people high and dry in the dark.


"Alliance":
America forms a "security" pact with "Canada", something of a new world order conspiracy theory.

a: Either Or

America is ripped apart internally by Left Wing, and dissent over such a blatant display of the highly unpopular One World Government idea. America could also pull it off, given the state that television has left the brains of all the citizens in both our countries.




Peace

"Have you ever noticed that a lot of people are walking around these days using their 'feet'? Oh, you have? Well, have you noticed they wear clothes? Oh, you have and you think I'm an old crank whose long outlived his usefulness and will be known for nothing after his passing? Well, you little mound of mouse shit, have you ever walked into Buchenwald two weeks before VE day and seen the corpses stacked like firewood and be the first reporter to file a story on the atrocities there? You ever flown in a B-17 over Germany while the Luftwaffe was shooting the thing into flying Swiss cheese? Well, I have. So fuck you.

I'm Andy Rooney."

The Onion

OPINION
This New Toilet Paper Is So Soft And Absorbent!

By Ted Roman
Amazed Customer
May 3, 2000 | Issue 36•16

You probably won't believe me when I tell you that new Cushy™-brand bathroom tissue is the softest, most absorbent bathroom tissue you'll ever try. Heck, I was skeptical at first, too! Even after learning about Cushy's™ specially quilted "Moistu-Weave" inlay, I still thought, "Come on! How much better could one bathroom tissue be than another?" But once you've felt for yourself the heavenly sensation of a folded-up wad of Cushy™ sliding across your excrement-smeared anus, you're sure to agree: Cushy™ is the most luxurious tissue you'll ever wipe your ass with!

Wow! When it comes to getting your rectal opening clean as a whistle, removing every last trace of stinking, disgusting fecal matter from the puckered surface of the human anus, Cushy™ just can't be beat! Its patented, three-ply "Feces-Grabbing Action" has been specially designed by scientists to wipe away 30 percent more human dung from the anal region than the leading brand–even in those problem "hairy" areas where tiny balls of shit can get trapped for days! When it comes to making sure my asshole's been wiped right, I trust Cushy™. As the commercial says, "With Cushy™, I Know My Ass Is Clean!®"

And Cushy™ is more than just the most absorbent product ever designed, manufactured, and marketed for the purpose of wiping human waste from the rectal region; it's also the softest. I can't believe how good it feels pressed up against my asshole! Sure, I thought the leading brand was good, but after trying Cushy™, I could scarcely believe the difference! Compared to the sumptuous comfort of Cushy™, the leading brand feels like a portable electric belt-sander grinding my ass down to a chafed and bloody pulp! Wiping with Cushy™, on the other hand, feels as if the defecation residue between my legs is being spirited away on the back of a pillowy-soft cartoon cloud! It's enough to make a person open up a window and shout to the world, "Shit, I Love This Ass-Paper!®"

Cushy™ goes the extra mile to make sure my anus feels pampered like a dainty princess. That's because Cushy™'s not just about getting your ass free of shit particles. It's about treating your entire backside to a feeling of cushiony goodness. It's what the good folks at Global Tetrahedron Forestries, manufacturers of Cushy™, like to call "T.A.C."–Total Asshole Comfort.™ Doesn't your asshole deserve a little T.A.C.?

Your anal region, from your ass cheeks to your dilated sphincter to the interior of your anal column itself, works hard for you each day. Isn't it time you gave a little something back? With Cushy™, my asshole feels as if it's being gently wafted skyward on a freshly scented summer breeze! Try getting that level of comfort from those bargain brands!

Do the other brands offer patented three-ply quilted comfort? Are they lightly perfumed and softened with soothing aloe-based moisturizing lotions? Do they offer Cushy™'s exclusive "Complete Asshole Guarantee®"? Of course not. Whether you've got a thin, runny liquid, a huge, bulky chunk, or even one of those hard-to-wipe, viscous-sludge-type defecations, Cushy™ not only has the absorbency needed to wipe your ass completely free of sticky, after-shit smears and stains; it's gentle enough to make your puckered butthole feel like the King of Siam, reclining on a mound of the finest silk pillows in all of Asia.

Sure, Cushy™ costs a bit more than less ass-pampering brands, but my ass is worth it! Cushy™ is so soft, sometimes I want to take a shit even when I don't have to! Once you've seen for yourself how wonderful, how majestic, how truly awe-inspiring this new bathroom tissue is, you'll know why people say, "Cushy™... You're Gonna Shit Your Pants!©"

Thanks Radge,
That was very informative and gives an excellent description as to what is happening in this video.

In reply to this comment by radge:
See this report too:


http://ingaza.wordpress.com/2009/02/03/shooting-at-farmers-what-gives-israel-the-right/



I was fairly certain that one of us would be shot today.

This morning, farmers from Abassan Jadiida (New Abassan), to the east of Khan Younis , the southern region, returned to land they’d been forced off of during and following the war on Gaza. The continual shooting at them by Israeli soldiers while they work the land intensified post-war on Gaza. The Israeli soldiers’ shooting was not a new thing, but a resumption of the policy of harassment that Palestinians in the border areas have been enduring for years, a harassment extending to invasions in which agricultural land, chicken farms, and the houses in the region have been targeted, destroyed in many cases.

Today’s Abassan farmers wanted to harvest their parsley.

Ismail Abu Taima, whose land was being harvested, explained that over the course of the year he invests about $54,000 in planting, watering and maintenance of the monthly crops. From that investment, if all goes well and crops are harvested throughout the year, he can bring in about $10,000/month, meaning that he can pay off the investment and support the 15 families dependent on the harvest.

The work began shortly after 11 am, with the handful of farmers working swiftly, cutting swathes of tall parsley and bundling it as rapidly as it was cut. These bundles were then loaded onto a waiting donkey cart. The speed of the farmers was impressive, and one realized that were they able to work ‘normally’ as any farmer in unoccupied areas, they would be very productive. A lone donkey grazed in an area a little closer to the border fence. When asked if this was not dangerous for the donkey, the farmers replied that they had no other choice: with the borders closed, animal feed is starkly absent. The tragedy of having to worry about being shot once again struck me, as it did when harvesting olives or herding sheep with West Bank Palestinians who are routinely attacked by Israeli settlers and by the Israeli army as they try to work and live on their land.

After approximately 2 hours of harvesting, during which the sound of an F-16 overhead was accompanied by Israeli jeeps seen driving along the border area, with at least one stationed directly across from the area in question, Israeli soldiers began firing. At first the shots seemed like warning shots: sharp and intrusive cracks of gunfire. The men kept working, gathering parsley, bunching it, loading it, while the international human rights observers present spread out in a line, to ensure our visibility.

It would have been hard to miss or mistake us, with fluorescent yellow vests and visibly unarmed–our hands were in the air.

Via bullhorn, we re-iterated our presence to the soldiers, informing them we were all unarmed civilians, the farmers were rightfully working their land, the soldiers were being filmed by an Italian film crew. We also informed some of our embassies of the situation: “we are on Palestinian farmland and are being shot at by Israeli soldiers on the other side of the border fence.”

For a brief period the shots ceased. Then began anew, again seemingly warning shots, although this time visibly hitting dirt 15 and 20 m from us. Furthest to the south, I heard the whizz of bullets past my ear, though to estimate the proximity would be impossible.

As the cracks of gunfire rang more frequently and louder, the shots closer, those of the farmers who hadn’t already hit the ground did so, sprawling flat for cover. The international observers continued to stand, brightly visible, hands in the air, bullhorn repeating our message of unarmed presence. The shots continued, from the direction of 3 or 4 visible soldiers on a mound hundreds of metres from us. With my eyeglasses I could make out their shapes, uniforms, the jeep… Certainly with their military equipment they could make out our faces, empty hands, parsley-loaded cart…

There was no mistaking the situation or their intent: pure harassment.

As the farmers tried to leave with their donkey carts, the shots continued. The two carts were eventually able to make it away, down the ruddy lane, a lane eaten by tank and bulldozer tracks from the land invasion weeks before. Some of us accompanied the carts away, out of firing range, then returned. There were still farmers on the land and they needed to evacuate.

As we stood, again arms still raised, still empty-handed, still proclaiming thus, the Israeli soldiers’ shooting drew much nearer. Those whizzing rushes were more frequent and undeniably close to my head, our heads. The Italian film crew accompanying us did not stop filming, nor did some of us with video cameras.

We announced our intention to move away, the soldiers shot. We stood still, the soldiers shot. At one point I was certain one of the farmers would be killed, as he had hit the ground again but in his panic seemed to want to jump up and run. I urged him to stay flat, stay down, and with our urging he did. The idea was to move as a group, a mixture of the targeted Palestinian farmers and the brightly-noticeable international accompaniers. And so we did, but the shots continued, rapidly, hitting within metres of our feet, flying within metres of our heads.

I’m amazed no one was killed today, nor that limbs were not lost, maimed.

While we’d been on the land, Ismail Abu Taima had gone to one end, to collect valves from the broken irrigation piping. The pipes themselves had been destroyed by a pre-war on Gaza invasion. “The plants have not been watered since one week before the war,” he’d told us. He collected the parts, each valve valuable in a region whose borders are sealed and where replacement parts for everything one could need to replace are unattainable or grossly expensive.

He’d also told us of the chicks in the chicken farm who’d first been dying for want of chicken feed, and then been bulldozed when Israeli soldiers attacked the house and building they were in.

My embassy rang me up, after we’d managed to get away from the firing: “We’re told you are being shot at. Can you give us the precise location, and maybe a landmark, some notable building nearby.”

I told Heather about the half-demolished house to the south of where we had been, and that we were on Palestinian farmland. After some further questioning, it dawned on her that the shooting was coming from the Israeli side. “How do you know it is Israeli soldiers shooting at you?” she’d asked. I mentioned the 4 jeeps, the soldiers on the mound, the shots from the soldiers on the mound (I didn’t have time to go into past experiences with Israeli soldiers in this very area and a little further south, similar experience of farmers being fired upon while we accompanied them.).

Heather asked if the soldiers had stopped firing, to which I told her, ‘no, they kept firing when we attempted to move away, hands in the air. They fired as we stood still, hands in the air. “ She suggested these were ‘warning shots’ at which I pointed out that warning shots would generally be in the air or 10s of metres away. These were hitting and whizzing past within metres.

She had no further thoughts at time, but did call back minutes later with Jordie Elms, the Canadian attache in the Tel Aviv office, who informed us that “Israel has declared the 1 km area along the border to be a ‘closed military zone’.”

When I pointed out that Israel had no legal ability to do such, that this closure is arbitrary and illegal, and that the farmers being kept off of their land or the Palestinians whose homes have been demolished in tandem with this closure had no other options: they needed to work the land, live on it… Jordie had no thoughts. He did, however, add that humanitarian and aid workers need to “know the risk of being in a closed area”.

Meaning, apparently, that it is OK with Jordie that Israeli soldiers were firing on unarmed civilians, because Israeli authorities have arbitrarily declared an area out of their jurisdiction (because Israel is “not occupying Gaza” right?!) as a ‘closed area’.

Israel’s latest massacre of 1,400 Palestinians –most of whom were civilians –aside, Israel’s destruction of over 4,000 houses and 17,000 buildings aside, Israel’s cutting off and shutting down of the Gaza Strip since Hamas’ election aside, life is pretty wretched for the farmers and civilians in the areas flanking the border with Israel. Last week, the young man from Khan Younis who was shot while working on farmland in the “buffer zone” was actually on land near where we accompanied farmers today. Why do Israeli authorities think they have an uncontested right to allow/instruct their soldiers to shoot at Palestinian farmers trying to work their land?

If Israeli authorities recognized Palestinian farmers’ need to work the land, Palestinian civilians’ right to live in their homes, then they would not have arbitrarily imposed a 1 km ban on existence along the border, from north to south. What gives Israel the right to say that now the previously-imposed 300 m ban on valuable agricultural land next to the order extends to 1 full kilometre, and that this inherently gives Israel the right to have bulldozed 10s of houses in this “buffer zone” and ravaged the farmland with military bulldozers and tanks.

Furthermore, what gives Israel the right to assume these impositions are justifiable, and the right to shoot at farmers continuing to live in and work on their land (as if they had a choice. Recall the size of Gaza, the poverty levels?)?

Nothing does.

See this report too:


http://ingaza.wordpress.com/2009/02/03/shooting-at-farmers-what-gives-israel-the-right/



I was fairly certain that one of us would be shot today.

This morning, farmers from Abassan Jadiida (New Abassan), to the east of Khan Younis , the southern region, returned to land they’d been forced off of during and following the war on Gaza. The continual shooting at them by Israeli soldiers while they work the land intensified post-war on Gaza. The Israeli soldiers’ shooting was not a new thing, but a resumption of the policy of harassment that Palestinians in the border areas have been enduring for years, a harassment extending to invasions in which agricultural land, chicken farms, and the houses in the region have been targeted, destroyed in many cases.

Today’s Abassan farmers wanted to harvest their parsley.

Ismail Abu Taima, whose land was being harvested, explained that over the course of the year he invests about $54,000 in planting, watering and maintenance of the monthly crops. From that investment, if all goes well and crops are harvested throughout the year, he can bring in about $10,000/month, meaning that he can pay off the investment and support the 15 families dependent on the harvest.

The work began shortly after 11 am, with the handful of farmers working swiftly, cutting swathes of tall parsley and bundling it as rapidly as it was cut. These bundles were then loaded onto a waiting donkey cart. The speed of the farmers was impressive, and one realized that were they able to work ‘normally’ as any farmer in unoccupied areas, they would be very productive. A lone donkey grazed in an area a little closer to the border fence. When asked if this was not dangerous for the donkey, the farmers replied that they had no other choice: with the borders closed, animal feed is starkly absent. The tragedy of having to worry about being shot once again struck me, as it did when harvesting olives or herding sheep with West Bank Palestinians who are routinely attacked by Israeli settlers and by the Israeli army as they try to work and live on their land.

After approximately 2 hours of harvesting, during which the sound of an F-16 overhead was accompanied by Israeli jeeps seen driving along the border area, with at least one stationed directly across from the area in question, Israeli soldiers began firing. At first the shots seemed like warning shots: sharp and intrusive cracks of gunfire. The men kept working, gathering parsley, bunching it, loading it, while the international human rights observers present spread out in a line, to ensure our visibility.

It would have been hard to miss or mistake us, with fluorescent yellow vests and visibly unarmed–our hands were in the air.

Via bullhorn, we re-iterated our presence to the soldiers, informing them we were all unarmed civilians, the farmers were rightfully working their land, the soldiers were being filmed by an Italian film crew. We also informed some of our embassies of the situation: “we are on Palestinian farmland and are being shot at by Israeli soldiers on the other side of the border fence.”

For a brief period the shots ceased. Then began anew, again seemingly warning shots, although this time visibly hitting dirt 15 and 20 m from us. Furthest to the south, I heard the whizz of bullets past my ear, though to estimate the proximity would be impossible.

As the cracks of gunfire rang more frequently and louder, the shots closer, those of the farmers who hadn’t already hit the ground did so, sprawling flat for cover. The international observers continued to stand, brightly visible, hands in the air, bullhorn repeating our message of unarmed presence. The shots continued, from the direction of 3 or 4 visible soldiers on a mound hundreds of metres from us. With my eyeglasses I could make out their shapes, uniforms, the jeep… Certainly with their military equipment they could make out our faces, empty hands, parsley-loaded cart…

There was no mistaking the situation or their intent: pure harassment.

As the farmers tried to leave with their donkey carts, the shots continued. The two carts were eventually able to make it away, down the ruddy lane, a lane eaten by tank and bulldozer tracks from the land invasion weeks before. Some of us accompanied the carts away, out of firing range, then returned. There were still farmers on the land and they needed to evacuate.

As we stood, again arms still raised, still empty-handed, still proclaiming thus, the Israeli soldiers’ shooting drew much nearer. Those whizzing rushes were more frequent and undeniably close to my head, our heads. The Italian film crew accompanying us did not stop filming, nor did some of us with video cameras.

We announced our intention to move away, the soldiers shot. We stood still, the soldiers shot. At one point I was certain one of the farmers would be killed, as he had hit the ground again but in his panic seemed to want to jump up and run. I urged him to stay flat, stay down, and with our urging he did. The idea was to move as a group, a mixture of the targeted Palestinian farmers and the brightly-noticeable international accompaniers. And so we did, but the shots continued, rapidly, hitting within metres of our feet, flying within metres of our heads.

I’m amazed no one was killed today, nor that limbs were not lost, maimed.

While we’d been on the land, Ismail Abu Taima had gone to one end, to collect valves from the broken irrigation piping. The pipes themselves had been destroyed by a pre-war on Gaza invasion. “The plants have not been watered since one week before the war,” he’d told us. He collected the parts, each valve valuable in a region whose borders are sealed and where replacement parts for everything one could need to replace are unattainable or grossly expensive.

He’d also told us of the chicks in the chicken farm who’d first been dying for want of chicken feed, and then been bulldozed when Israeli soldiers attacked the house and building they were in.

My embassy rang me up, after we’d managed to get away from the firing: “We’re told you are being shot at. Can you give us the precise location, and maybe a landmark, some notable building nearby.”

I told Heather about the half-demolished house to the south of where we had been, and that we were on Palestinian farmland. After some further questioning, it dawned on her that the shooting was coming from the Israeli side. “How do you know it is Israeli soldiers shooting at you?” she’d asked. I mentioned the 4 jeeps, the soldiers on the mound, the shots from the soldiers on the mound (I didn’t have time to go into past experiences with Israeli soldiers in this very area and a little further south, similar experience of farmers being fired upon while we accompanied them.).

Heather asked if the soldiers had stopped firing, to which I told her, ‘no, they kept firing when we attempted to move away, hands in the air. They fired as we stood still, hands in the air. “ She suggested these were ‘warning shots’ at which I pointed out that warning shots would generally be in the air or 10s of metres away. These were hitting and whizzing past within metres.

She had no further thoughts at time, but did call back minutes later with Jordie Elms, the Canadian attache in the Tel Aviv office, who informed us that “Israel has declared the 1 km area along the border to be a ‘closed military zone’.”

When I pointed out that Israel had no legal ability to do such, that this closure is arbitrary and illegal, and that the farmers being kept off of their land or the Palestinians whose homes have been demolished in tandem with this closure had no other options: they needed to work the land, live on it… Jordie had no thoughts. He did, however, add that humanitarian and aid workers need to “know the risk of being in a closed area”.

Meaning, apparently, that it is OK with Jordie that Israeli soldiers were firing on unarmed civilians, because Israeli authorities have arbitrarily declared an area out of their jurisdiction (because Israel is “not occupying Gaza” right?!) as a ‘closed area’.

Israel’s latest massacre of 1,400 Palestinians –most of whom were civilians –aside, Israel’s destruction of over 4,000 houses and 17,000 buildings aside, Israel’s cutting off and shutting down of the Gaza Strip since Hamas’ election aside, life is pretty wretched for the farmers and civilians in the areas flanking the border with Israel. Last week, the young man from Khan Younis who was shot while working on farmland in the “buffer zone” was actually on land near where we accompanied farmers today. Why do Israeli authorities think they have an uncontested right to allow/instruct their soldiers to shoot at Palestinian farmers trying to work their land?

If Israeli authorities recognized Palestinian farmers’ need to work the land, Palestinian civilians’ right to live in their homes, then they would not have arbitrarily imposed a 1 km ban on existence along the border, from north to south. What gives Israel the right to say that now the previously-imposed 300 m ban on valuable agricultural land next to the order extends to 1 full kilometre, and that this inherently gives Israel the right to have bulldozed 10s of houses in this “buffer zone” and ravaged the farmland with military bulldozers and tanks.

Furthermore, what gives Israel the right to assume these impositions are justifiable, and the right to shoot at farmers continuing to live in and work on their land (as if they had a choice. Recall the size of Gaza, the poverty levels?)?

Nothing does.