By Tatiana von Tauber
Sexy. Fun. Brilliant.
(Daily Mail article here.)
By Tatiana von Tauber
Sexy. Fun. Brilliant.
(Daily Mail article here.)
The United States Government hired DynCorp, a private “security contractor” to train the Afghan Police. That training requires DynCorp to show these local Afghan cops how to shoot guns, investigate crime, and how to fuck little boys up the ass.
Bacha boys are eight- to 15-years-old. They put on make-up, tie bells to their feet and slip into scanty women’s clothing, and then, to the whine of a harmonium and wailing vocals, they dance seductively to smoky roomfuls of leering older men.
After the show is over, their services are auctioned off to the highest bidder, who will sometimes purchase a boy outright. And by services, we mean anal sex: The State Department has called bacha bazi a “widespread, culturally accepted form of male rape.” (source)
Frontline has a full expose on the “bacha bazi” thing here.
Now remember, when you hear Mike Huckabee and Joe Lieberman call for Julian Assange’s death or the imprisonment of the editors of the New York Times, this is the kind of “national security secret” that Mr. Assange released. As the cable excerpt shows, below, the concern here was not that Afghanistan is rife with filthy old men who like to ass-bang little boys, but that word about it might get out.
Our taxpayer dollars supply 90% of DynCorp’s revenue. DynCorp put together the “boy party” to try and recruit cops. Then, our tax dollars paid for our Ambassador to work on the cover-up.
Atmar said he insisted the journalist be told that publication would endanger lives. His request was that the U.S. quash the article and release of the video. Amb Mussomeli responded that going to the journalist would give her the sense that there is a more terrible story to report. Atmar then disclosed the arrest of two Afghan National Police (ANP) and nine other Afghans (including RTC language assistants) as part of an MoI investigation into Afghan “facilitators” of the event. The crime he was pursuing was “purchasing a service from a child,” which in Afghanistan is illegal under both Sharia law and the civil code, and against the ANP Code of Conduct for police officers who might be involved. He said he would use the civil code and that, in this case, the institution of the ANP will be protected, but he worried about the image of foreign mentors. Atmar said that President Karzai had told him that his (Atmar’s) “prestige” was in play in management of the Kunduz DynCorp matter and another recent event in which Blackwater contractors mistakenly killed several Afghan citizens. The President had asked him “Where is the justice?” (source)
I wonder if this is what Rev. Wright was thinking about when he yelled “God Damn America.” I guess if that was the case, he’d have said “God DAAAYUM America!”
As much as I fought integrating into Southern living, I’ve managed to walk into terrains new to me and it brought unexpected happiness. After a friend came down with stage IV cancer, I suddenly got tired of trying to make “my” life good. From the looks of it, it was. I was breathing with no possible end in its near future unless I was hit by a bus. Within a weekend I went from trying to figure out which way to tweak my professional life to creating an international art show and charity event, a most humbling experience that’s way overdue.
To share, I’ve founded The Art Cure. When I thought I wouldn’t make it through life’s struggles and its confusing emotions I dove into art and discovered a perception never seen before. It bettered me.
I decided to help others through my experience with art and invited breast cancer survivors to paint with me while I documented the experience in a book, The Art Cure Diaries, which you can view and purchase. The paintings created during the art sessions will be up for a silent auction October 1 to 29, 2010. Online bidding is available. I’ve put my heart and soul into this for the past 2 and a half months and I’d love your participation.
I invite you to look at the fabulous project I’ve been a part of and the incredible messages you – we – should keep in mind as we go about our daily lives. National Breast Cancer Month begins in October. You might be tired of all that pink stuff in its over commercialized state but after my experience with The Art Cure, I embrace pink in ways I never have.
The Art Cure has 23 paintings by survivors, their daughters and friends – the majority of whom thought they weren’t artists until I offered the opportunity for them to discover what was hidden. The best of what and who we are is often in the shadows. So rarely we allow ourselves to enter that world. Many of these women have never painted before. Judging from the results, you’d hardly know. I’m so very proud of them. We also have works coming in from all over the world from other artists who wanted to be part of this event.
One hundred percent of all online silent auction sales will be donated to charity.
Below is my contribution to the silent auction and it’s up for bidding in October. Make me proud, boys. It’s for the boobies.
Don’t forget to view the exclusive final result of this entire project right here: The Art Cure Diaries book. Its 152 pages are packed with beautiful photos, paintings and stories about women who survived or are undergoing breast cancer. It’s a work of love and inspiration and recommended for anyone who has been touched by breast cancer in their lives.
In the LA Times, Richard Rodriguez laments the wall we have built on the Mexican border.
On patriotism-for-profit talk radio and television, the illegal immigrant is, by definition, criminal. She comes to steal the American dream. But in my understanding, the dream belongs to the desperation of the poor and always has. The goddess of liberty in New York harbor still advertises for the tired and the poor, the wretched refuse. I tell you, there is an unlucky man in the Sonoran Desert today who will die for a chance to pluck dead chickens in Georgia or change diapers in a rest home in Nevada. (source)
By Marc J. Randazza
I have a pretty awesome American Express card limit. If I decided to go on the lam, I could probably just buy a plane and worry about it later. I carry no balance on it, but it’s nice to know that if I gotta grab a car in a hurry, I can buy it.
I’m not bragging. Any twit with a decent paying job who pays his bills can get that kind of credit. You just start early, never fuck them over, and agree to pay a somewhat outrageous membership fee. But, you see, I love the little privileges that come from getting “status” with companies. For the most part, it just allows me to cut in the front of a lot of lines. It may not seem like a lot, but flashing a card and getting escorted to the front of a line is just about the closest thing to super-powers that a human can have.
Its also nice to check into hotels, and have them say “here’s a suite instead, and you can check out at 4 pm if you like, Mr. Randazza.” When the regular customers are dragging their shit downstairs asking where luggage check is, I’m eating eggs benedict in bed, watching hotel porn.
I like it even better when I get on a plane and the stewardess has actually been studying a sheet so that she knows my name, knows what I want to drink, and knows about how often I want another one. She comes by ALL the time, and she smiles. She smiles the whole flight. She doesn’t wank at you. And she takes your coat and hangs it up for you before takeoff. Coach and Southwest suck.
Status is not cheap, but it’s not really that expensive. I love it. And I’m
a little wicked frigging spoiled and used to it.
So I get this email from American Express. The subject? Exclusive Invitation from DEPARTURES. Departures is the magazine they send you, which I always used to just throw in the trash, still in the plastic wrapper. My assistant at my last firm asked if she could have them for the office, so the staff could all look at cool places they wished they could go… and then she’d take a vacation that even I couldn’t afford. So go figure.
Back to the email. Who knows what it could be. Why, it was so majestic, that I won’t just quote it … I’ll reproduce it below.
Well, this looks AWESOME. The Departures ADVISORY BOARD? Okay, sure, I figure… I’m not rich enough that this is like “come stay in free resorts every day.” But, maybe I get a free night at a resort once a year? Or, maybe a free yacht rental or something. I’m a guy who they trust with about $1,000,000 in credit on four different cards. If I ever want to murder someone, I bet I can get away with it, because I could buy a plane, fuel, and still have money to bribe the guys in the Seychelles to let me stay. I use those cards so much that I earn enough points all year that I can’t remember what it feels like to fly in coach, but I pay the same amount for my plane tickets that you do — SUCKERS. You would think that being on the Advisory Board would get you something… right? Some perk?
They charge me thousands of dollars a year in membership fees. I get a special telephone number where I NEVER have to talk to some jagoff from the Republic of Nagheenanajar who can’t do anything but read “I am sorry that you are feeling badly about the service….” They just GIVE me first class plane tickets, which come with free booze, free pillows, and stewardesses who wouldn’t think of acting like the raging unionized fucking assholes on power-trips that you get back there in coach. I am a good boy, I pay my bills, and I could hire a live in maid for the cost of my membership fees alone. I could probably hire an English Butler who would politely dab my balls dry while telling me the latest financial news, if … well, okay, you’d have to be Jennifer Lopez rich for that, and so that’s a bit of a side track… because I’m not in THAT income tax bracket.
But anyhow, look, I’m special. American Express tells me that ALL the time. The two people I can count on being there for me no matter what I do, are my mother and Amex.
And being THIS special, they invited me to Join the Luxury Advisory Board!
“The Luxury Advisory Board provides DEPARTURES with key insights and information on style, real estate, culture, dining, travel and much more. Share with us what you are doing now and planning for the future.”
And so the LUXURY ADVISORY BOARD is just a bunch of schmucks who signed up to get junkmail? Jesus christ.
Maybe I am madder about this than I should be. Maybe its not such a big deal in the grand scheme of disappointments that life can dole out. But it pissed me off.
An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
Yeah, I love Gandhi as much as the next guy… unless the next guy is Saoud bin Suleiman al-Youssef. Mr. Saoud bla. bla. alphabet is a Saudi judge who is presiding over a battery case in which the victim was rendered paralyzed by spinal damage inflicted by the defendant. He has been asking around to find a hospital that would be willing to snip the defendant’s spinal cord right about the same place that he hacked his victim’s spinal cord apart with a meat cleaver. (source). Apparently, defendants in Saudi Arabia are frequently sentenced to “eye for an eye” punishments. One guy got his teeth pulled out because he smashed out another guy’s teeth in a fight, and some defendants have caused blindness in the victim, so they get their eyes burned out.
What I think would be better, and smarter, would be to sentence the perpetrator to serving as the other guy’s slave for the rest of his life. Somebody has to take care of him, and why have two cripples when the care of the victim can be provided by his attacker?
And if he fucks up that job, then he gets his spine cut. There’s a nice incentive to do a good job, eh?
H/T: Legal Blog Watch
“The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.” – Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan
And the more you pass stupid laws for the purpose of screwing with drunks’ fun “for their own good,” and the more you pass stupid laws because the authorities are too lazy to simply enforce the laws we have on the books, the more you will force the drunks to adapt and be resourceful — and the more idiocy will ensue.
The Whale’s Vagina isn’t really a drunkard’s town. You rarely see overly inebriated toolbags on the street — unless that street happens to be in Pacific Beach. But, that’s what Pacific Beach is there for — every city needs a neighborhood where you go to drink, puke, piss in the street, and act like you’re between 19 and 29. If you go to Pacific Beach, you ought to be looking for that kind of a good time. If you move there, you know what you’re getting into.
A few years back, a few idiots who bought property in Pacific Beach started whining, and the city council decided that since a few teenage meatheads couldn’t hold their liquor, they would just ban all alcohol on the beaches of the entire city. That means no bringing a bottle of wine to the beach at sunset and no six pack next to your chair on a nice day.
The average drinker and the sunset wine-sippers complied. Booze ain’t that important to them.
But the hard-core drunks were not to be deterred. As drunks are more resourceful than sober people, they came up with a solution. They started “Floatopia.” Floatopia is a party in which you drink your booze on anything that floats, from rubber rafts to inflatable sex dolls to canoes. Everyone ties the floating devices together, a few feet from shore, and you have your work-around the stupid alcohol ban.
I haven’t had a drink in three months (I’m not quitting… just taking a health hiatus), but when I start drinking again, I can’t imagine that I would want to go to Floatopia. It looks like a few thousand of the dumbest fuckers you can find, all concentrated in the same place. In short, it doesn’t look like fun.
But I certainly wouldn’t vote to ban it — nor would I have voted to ban drinking on the beaches in the first place.
Councilman Tony Young got it right:
“I believe those who act like adults should get adult privileges,” he said. But now, he says, there is a domino affect taking place as a result of the booze ban. “When you start taking these things(Freedoms) away these are the types of things that are happening. You get Floatopia and who knows what’s going to be next,” he questioned. (source)
But … but … Tony… you’re talking about c…c…common sense! There goes your political career.
On my flight yesterday, I had the good fortune to meet the world’s leading expert on the art of barbecue cooking, Steven Raichlen. In addition to being a hell of a fascinating guy, he is a hell of a nice guy. (There was only one milk left on the plane, and he gave it up to Natalia — awww).
by Charles Platt
In West Virginia, you can lose your license for a year even if there’s no proof that you were driving, or there’s a possibility that you might have done all your drinking after driving. Being near your car while drunk is enough.
“The decision came in the case of Eric R. Cain who was found lying passed out on in front of his car on Route 19 by Marion County Sheriff’s Deputy Todd Cole at around 2:30am on June 2, 2007. The car had been safely parked and there was no key in the ignition. Cole arrested Cain for DUI after a breath test estimated Cain’s blood alcohol level at .15. Six days later, the state filed an order revoking Cain’s driver’s license for a full year.”
I wonder how close to your car you have to be, to be found guilty. Six feet? Ten? Twenty?
By J. DeVoy
Around age four, I had great anxiety about black holes and their ability to destroy the planet. Some parents have to convince their children that they won’t be eaten by monsters; mine had to constantly reassure me that I, along with the rest of the world, wouldn’t be torn apart on an atomic level and sucked into a gravity well at faster-than-light speed.
On the advice of her priest, my ass.
New Jersey resident Biurny Peguero said she was visciously gang-raped by three men in a van after a night of drinking in upper Manhattan. Her testimony sent William McCaffery to jail despite a lack of DNA evidence linking him to the crime.
Now, on the advice of her priest, Peguero has admitted it was all a hoax. (source)
I wonder if Hallmark makes a “sorry I’m a lying piece of shit who got you sent to jail for four years for gang rape” card.
The court papers say she invented the rape to cover for a fight she had had with some of her women friends. The fight had been so fierce that one of the women kicked and broke a window in a car, according to the papers.
The next morning, Ms. Peguero went to Christ Hospital in Jersey City, saying she had been raped. Officials notified the police in Manhattan, and soon Mr. McCaffrey was in custody. (source)
The prosecutors say that this explains why the rape kit came back negative. Gee, ya think? It turns out that it wasn’t even a circumstance of consensual sex being reported as a rape. Nope. There wasn’t even sex. Just a bat-shit-crazy bitch who decided to lie. I’d like to understand how the hell a guy can go to jail when there wasn’t a shred of physical evidence that she even had sex, let alone suffered through a gang rape.
The New York Times reported in August that the evidence conclusively showed that he was innocent.
Last year, after he had served 2 years of a 20-year sentence, a new DNA test showed that bite marks on Ms. Peguero’s arm and shoulder the morning she reported that she had been attacked could not have been made by Mr. McCaffrey — the genetic material lacked a Y chromosome, meaning it could not have come from a man. (source)
Biurny Peguero Gonzalez faces 7 years in prison for perjury. I don’t think that’s enough of a punishment. She sent a guy to jail on a false claim of gang rape. She ought to have to serve those 7 years in the sex offender wing of an all male prison. When she gets out, she should have to lick her victim’s toilet clean every day for the rest of his life.