The Death of David Carradine : NOT the Way of the Grasshopper

What would Master Po say? I’d like to know, because I’m a little speechless about this hanging incident. Was there foul play? The Bangkok police say there was no evidence of assault, but the “evidence” was obtained through a preliminary investigation. Carradine was shooting the film “Stretch” on location when he failed to appear for a meal with the cast and crew. Officer Teerapop Luanseng, investigating the death, said they went to his suite at the luxury Swissotel Nai Lert Park Hotel. “I can confirm that we found his body, naked, hanging in the closet,” said Teerapop.

This is NOT the way of the Grasshopper!

David Carradine was 72 years old—and looking pretty good for his years, I mean, the man got puntang. So then why… WHY, when he was doing what he loved, had the world as his oyster; had friends, fans and loved ones, did something prompt him —something so strong and persuading— to strip naked, wrap a curtain cord around his neck and hang himself in the closet? (Reports now indicate it was a shoe string). But still; so odd, so disturbing, so unlike Kwai Chang Caine.

The latest reports are indicating the cause of death was autoerotic asphyxiation, yet Chuck Binder, Carradine’s manager, said he was found “with his hands tied behind his back”. This contradicts a newspaper report from Thai Rath which includes a photo of the actor with his hands tied behind his back.
But check out the photo: looks like the body of a female hooker to me. What gives? I don’t buy it. Rumors are circulating that Carradine was in the process of uncovering some Kung Fu underground, a claim stated by his attorney on Larry King Live, but this sounds to me more like a family’s attempt to create controversy and uncertainty around an otherwise unsavory fact: Carradine was kinky, and whoops—he fucked up. Two of his ex-wives have stated that he enjoyed a little S & M now and again, including bondage, but the jury is still out as to what the The Grasshopper’s real fate was. What do YOU think?

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Banana Leaf Tamales: A Letter to the Chef

Dear Chef,

I tried very hard to control myself, managing only to leave the house before devouring all but the last of those delicious, banana leaf tamales, which only got better as they sat in the fridge overnight, longing to be consumed. I even tried to eat the leaves themselves, as they were calling to me, or perhaps it was the hungry gnome who lives in my stomach (he also likes, and requires, tequila). Please tell me what corn paste, chicken/chili foodstuffs you need to create more and I will buy them immediately. I know you are busy this weekend, but sometime soon thereafter—and before I wrap a towel around my head and explosives to my chest, demanding tamales in retribution for… uh… for a lack of tamales, that is—could we make more? And when I say could I mean, really, God damn it, we need more fucking tamales! —sorry, that was the gnome, not me. ANY hoo, back to the tamales; would it be possible to make a few more, when convenient; and by more I mean many, and by convenient I mean, as in ASAP? I could be an assistant of some kind, in a bartender-like capacity perhaps, or at least a dishwasher thereafter. We could videotape the event and post it on uTube, and then, when you’re famous like Martha Stewart (minus the whole tax-evasion/sent-to-jail “thing”) I could receive a stipend for my services, in the form of seven tamales a day, for example. Why seven? I don’t know, seven came to mind… but then again, how about nine? Alright, great, it’s settled: nine tamales in exchange for a uTube video of you making tamales,—and of me then eating the tamales, I think that would be fabulous. I’m pretty sure there’s a Top Chef on the horizon here… so then, what else… there was something else… did I mention the tamales?

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Bankers Eat Babies

It was a shock—at first—to see James L. Dimon, CEO and Chairman of JP Morgan Chase, feasting on the flesh of a new born baby girl, but after getting a small loan from Chase last month, the cannibalism seemed mild in comparison. Dimon, known for ass-raping small boys during JP Morgan’s “Fuck the Little Guy Festival” in Bangkok, Thailand, has been a strong proponent of theft since he was a youth, when his Greek grandfather taught him how to steal from the Turks in 1962. Although many bankers deny the eating of babies at such reclusive events as the semi-annual, “Raping of the Citizens” at Bohemian Grove in Guernville, California, some admit to the practice without hesitation.

JP Morgan Chase stock has fallen in recent times, but Dimon (pronounced Demon) recently assured his shareholders that profits would increase by intensifying time-honored traditions such as the increasing of fees, initiating arbitrary late fees, charging interest on the fees after the fact, falsifying records, a sudden changing of terms and the indiscriminate increasing of APRs. At a recent press gathering, JP Morgan Chase big shot Austin A. Adams added, “And we will not stop eating babies!” Reporters seemed unsure what relevance the comment had on the banking industry. One reporter asked Dimon if William B. Harrison was really worth 7 billion dollars, to which Dimon replied, “You’ve never eaten a baby, have you?”

If any of this seems obtuse and confusing, you need only read through the terms (but don’t bother) it’s much easier to eat a baby. And maybe that’s the point. After all, banking—like larceny—can’t be easy. And after all the legalese, a fresh newborn might just calm the nerves, who knows, but that’s Satan’s philosophy (And Satan heads the Illuminati, which all bankers must join before being assigned to their baby-eating, ass-fucking positions).
I’m trying to understand how the minds of these strange and foreign entities work. As you may have already suspected, bankers are not, in fact, human. But the question remains: what planet are they from, and how can we get rid of them? :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

The Real Story of Saint Valentine

You may already know that the story behind St. Valentine’s Day is precarious at best, and I think we have all asked ourselves, at some point in our lives, Who was Valentine, and why was he the cause of so much trouble? Some say we celebrate Valentine’s Day because Claudius the Second started beheading Roman priests for marrying Christians, while others simply attribute it to the writings of Chaucer in the fourteenth century. But none of these people know about the very real and politically active Valentine living in Brussels during the late thirteenth century; Baron Archibald Fellini Valentine.

Baron Archibald Fellini Valentine, or “Val” to his closest friends, became deeply immersed in the Sexual Renessance that was taking place in Belgium at the time. Repression of the Christian faith had caused an adverse reaction among the people, and soon wild stories began to circulate about the raw and unpredictable sex-capades taking place in bathhouses after hours. Through external forces Valentine was thrust into the heart of these sex-capades, although his politics, personality and endowment alone were enough to catapult him to historical infamy.

Valentine was very well-hung, in fact, and it was said that he once lifted a full-grown pumpkin—still on the vine—with a powerful erection one night outside of Rodderdam.
Rumors circulated, the press became involved, and at some point during a cunnilingus competition/tea-bagging festival on the 14th of February, 1381, he was arrested for buggery with a Llama. Although there was no specific law against buggery with a Llama in 1381 Belgium, Valentine was imprisoned by the Duke of Burgundy, Philip the Bold.

Legend has it that Valentine’s execution was ordered to take place one year from the date of the offense, February 14th, and the Duke himself was there to witness. The Duke was a suspected homosexual and evidence suggests that he was jealous of Valentine’s sexual freedom and massive love muscle, prompting him to—at the moment of Valentine’s beheading—hold a chalice under the flow of blood in hopes of somehow obtaining some of Valentine’s favorable attributes. Many believe this is where we get the robust flavor of burgundy wine.

So there it is. And now that you know the truth, remember to celebrate this Valentine’s Day in the way it was intended; by having a gay Duke drink the blood of a lubricious priest in hopes of getting invited to an orgy, or growing a big dick, or both. Chocolates are optional, the red wine essential.
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CNN Needs Editor, Nobody Cares

Can somebody help me with this one? Here on WordPress, CNN recently posted a blog regarding Harry Reid’s criticism of President Bush:

“Reid pointed to Bush’s failed plan to privatize the Social Security program and also said Bush “has done his very best to destroy Medicare” in order support his assessment of Bush’s presidency.”

“in order support his assessment”? I’ve read that line four times and still don’t get it, but I guess it’s just a rush job. And it seems that CNN, FOX and the other major networks are “blogging” for the sole purpose of extending their already-monopolized influence over WordPress and every other blogging community on the web. Excuse me, but FUCK the major networks. The “article” is two paragraphs long, the essence of which can be distilled into one sentence: Harry Reid said Bush is the worst President we’ve ever had. And big deal, because about a billion people on the planet have been saying that for the past eight years, but the disturbing point is that the “article” is followed by over 300 comments.

In fact, the comments had to be disabled due to the number of people commenting. Why? “I got my name on a CNN thread,” he said. They’re vanity comments, because what’s the point of the “story”? What real “news” is CNN providing us with? It’s a damn shame to have so many educated people spending their time making slave-like slobber-comments on a blog whose sole purpose is to monopolize and control the online stream, gather marketing information and distract you whenever there’s a story that the power-players don’t want you to know about.

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