Antenna Wilde

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

Antenna Wilde — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 20:49:04 +0000

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

Antenna Wilde — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 23:54:54 +0000

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

Antenna Wilde — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 00:58:57 +0000

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
Antenna Wilde — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 00:42:22 +0000

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
Antenna Wilde — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 05:36:15 +0000

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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Fran Dreshner Eyes Hillary Clinton’s Senate Seat
Antenna Wilde — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 08:01:59 +0000

Gross
Seriously, she wants it. Stuff me in a closet wrapped in duct tape, heat up a bag of llama shit and shovel it over me till I puke.  I’d rather see her team up with Gary Coleman—you know, the fuck-tard from Different Strokes—and make the most annoying porno ever before having to hear those horrendous vocal chords snotting through a microphone in the US Senate, “Aehhhh…. yeaaaaaaha, I’d like to make eh motion, eeaahh.”  
       


Job Hunting is Easy
Antenna Wilde — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 03:34:51 +0000

Recently I’ve been spending a LOT of time on Craigslist, trying to find a little part time work to supplement my income (something that pays more than 3.50 an hour and free day-old baguettes). Sometimes I find a post that sparks my interest, like this one:
Mascot Performer – Scuba Sam 
Aquarium of the Bay’s Scuba Sam mascot is a male scuba diver, and the costume has built-in robotics that allows the performer to speak. If you are a guy who enjoys working with kids and being the center of attention, try out for Scuba Sam.
This job is right for you if you are:

- Friendly, energetic & outgoing

- Reliable & team-oriented

- Physically fit (you will be constantly on the move)

- Between 5′7 & 6′ tall (to fit in the costume)

- A person who enjoys working outside on the waterfront
Send cover letter and resume with “Scuba Sam Mascot” in the subject line.
    * Location: Aquarium of the Bay at Pier 39

    * Compensation: DOE
I got really excited and wrote the perfect letter to land the job:
11/12/08
Hello,
	My name is Antenna and I’m applying to be your mascot, Scuba Sam. I understand the job description is to wear a scuba costume with built-in robotics that allows me to walk around talking to people. I’m not a scuba diver, but I don’t need to actually know scuba diving equipment because Sam is never in the water, correct? If so, this is the perfect job for me. I know you asked for a resume, but I think after you read this, there won’t be any doubts about my qualifications. My only question is regarding the compensation, which said: DOE or “Depends On Experience.”
Now I’m sure there’s a truck-load of guys out there experienced in walking around on dry land in talking robotic scuba suits, so I’m not sure what my chances are. I’m an excellent swimmer, but it seems that you’re just looking for guys who have experience walking around in scuba suits, and particularly those who are experienced in talking through a robotic voice amplifier while doing so? With the economy in shambles and all, I’m sure there’s plenty of experienced robot-like scuba divers looking for work at this very moment, and so I was wondering how I could fudge my resume’ in order to score big on the pay. At first I thought of telling you that, for the past four years on Halloween, I’ve worn a walking, talking, robot-like scuba diving costume, and that I’m probably the most experienced dry-land robotic scuba guy currently on the market in San Francisco. But my great grandmother (The Great Edna G. H. F. McGoodery) told me as a wee child, “Just be yourself.” Therefore I’ll go down your list to see if this job is right for me:
“Friendly, energetic & outgoing”  —check

“Reliable & team-oriented” —check (especially with teams at giant aquariums)

“Physically fit” — Well, there seems to be a large chicken burrito that lodged itself in my lower colon, right around the belly-button area. I believe it happened sometime over the holidays last year, but I think I could sweat it out in that scuba suit. Give me two weeks.

“You will be constantly on the move”  —check (I’m actually walking around my apartment while I type this —wearing a football helmet, incidentally— for practice)

“Between 5′7 & 6′ tall” —No, unfortunately I’m 6′ 1″  Damn! But wait, I could probably lose an inch if I shaved my head? I would also consider having a segment of my shins removed. So there, it’s settled. Now what’s left? Ah yes, “a person who enjoys working outside on the waterfront.” 
	I love working on the waterfront! Just call me Marlon Brando. Better yet, call me Scuba Sam. I’ll need 22 bucks an hour and a bowl of soup—clam chowder—when my shift is over. You know I think this will be really great, and kids love me by the way, so do their parents. I’m also quite knowledgeable in matters of the sea. I Tivo the Discovery Channel, own a copy of When Sharks Attack! and read Hemingway every chance I get. So I think it would behoove Aquarium of the Bay to hire me immediately. It may not behoove you, but I just love saying ‘behoove’ whenever possible. There’s just one more thing. Like Hemingway, I too am a raging alcoholic and would need to drink heavily on the job. Could we attach some kind of beer helmet on Scuba Sam’s head? The beer could go right in through the snorkel without raising suspicion, and I could wear a catheter or fashion some kind of “cock-hose” to pee in, as I imagine going tinkle isn’t easy for Sam. Is that why the last guy left? Anyway, back to my drinking. It’s best for me to start with a little whiskey at least a half hour before getting suited up, as we wouldn’t want Scuba Sam to get irritable, would we? Other than that I have no pre-conditions. I look forward to hearing back from you and will be checking my email over the next 72 hour drinking binge, which began shortly after reading your Craigslist post.
Sincerely,
Antenna Wilde
PS: I actually want an interview
So that’s it, there it is. I figured they’d appreciate my sense of humor and hire me, or at least have me in for an interview, no? I’m never sure of the odds on these things, but what do you think my chances are?


 UPDATE: As of 12/08/08, Aquarium at the Bay has not returned my email. What the fuck?
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Flittery Glitters!
Antenna Wilde — Sat, 17 May 2008 21:59:33 +0000

Flittery Glitters!

by Antenna Wilde
I was hit in the face by a fish today. It’s true! I was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, minding my own business, trying to catch the occasional bodysurf when a strange fluttering emerged from the sea. The first cluster was spread out like a mini-van, approaching from 10 yards away, then exploding in unison, arching themselves from the water in silvery glitters. A man behind me yelled, “Did you see those fish?”

“Yeah!” I said, turning in surprise. But when I turned back, another strange fluttering came, until the surface was breached and more silver, glistening dive bombers shot out in rapid succession, lobbing themselves at me,—I turned—but was hit! The slippery weight of a wet fish bounced off my cheek before careening back into the ocean.
It was a mullet. I checked with one of the life guards—who had been hit himself once, long ago—and he assured me that it was indeed a mullet. Then for a brief moment I wished I was a redneck who had a mullet haircut. Then I wished that, not only did I have a mullet, but that the mullet who hit me had hit the mullet instead of my cheek. And then I wished the mullet had been caught in my mullet, because I could have taken him home and had him for lunch.
That truly would have been my lucky day! But alas, I sit here eating tuna fish, wondering if I should go back out there with my fishing pole. I don’t think I will ever go swimming in the ocean again without thinking of those flittery glitters; those silvery shimmers, launching at me in defense of their playground. Or perhaps it was a game: maybe they were playing—like the dolphins—because after all, how do we know what a fish is really thinking? So if the fish was being friendly—giving me a kiss, perhaps—then I shall name him Flitter. Flitter the Mullet.
NEW UPDATE! Apparently flying fish are not uncommon, but I never thought they went THIS crazy!

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“FOX NEWS SUCKS” + “WordPress Rocks”
Antenna Wilde — Mon, 05 May 2008 04:20:40 +0000

It is unfortunate that media giants like CNN and Fox “news” dominate the “top posts” section of the wordpress global dashboard. I don’t understand why WordPress even allows it. I clicked on the Fox link to make a comment telling them how much they suck, and waited 2 minutes while my computer went ape-shit trying to deal with all the bullshit they load the browser with, including cookies and IP finders that sell your information to SPAMMERS immediately after collecting it.
WordPress, you rock. I truly appreciate freeware and free user sites like this, but FUCK the mainstream media! Like they don’t have enough control already? I’d like to see some of the top WordPress sites of REAL PEOPLE. I know I can find them, but why let the giant, ass-fucking corporations spew disinformation and propaganda all over a user-friendly, people-friendly site like WORDPRESS? I suppose you have to pay the bills, yes? But how unfortunate. I’d almost prefer a few advertisements, if I knew Fox would be DENIED from force-feeding what we get on the television every day already.
Am I alone in this opinion? I wonder what other WordPress users think!
       


Hooters : You Came for A Sandwich?
Antenna Wilde — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 05:53:20 +0000

by Antenna Wilde
Honestly, I’ve walked into two Hooters in my life, and it was the same cluster of sad, drooling losers trying to act like they’ve come for something other than booty shorts and fake tits. “But hey, the GAME is on!” Anyway, I walked by a Hooters last night—and yes, I had to peer through the window for an ogle because, let’s face it; Hooters doesn’t hire fatties.
Now isn’t this just the poor man’s version of a strip club? (Where Hooters girls end up, incidentally, if they don’t make it to the Annual Bikini Finals.) Personally, I prefer strip clubs. There’s something authentic about a strip club: the girls are whores, the guys are horny. But more importantly, nobody’s trying to pretend that they came for a sandwich. Check out Hooters website. Ah yes, there’s nothing like eating a Hogie with a boner.
Wow, look at that sandwich back there! I can almost taste the… uh, what is that, ham? It could be smoked turkey… legs… yes… definitely legs. According to this advertisement, the Hooter’s formula is: Hot chick + “makes you happy” = (can you guess?) Oh yeah, they also have sandwiches.
And Hooters sponsors sporting events too, like the NGA Tour. That’s right, it’s The Hooters Classic! I don’t know about you, but when I think golf, I think Titties! It’s likely the event will increase your handicap, but then again, you might not care.
Neither does anyone else. I did a google search on Hooters and found this: “Hooters Girls: The Finalists – 19841 views – 0 comments”
It’s shocking really, that 19,841 people viewed the page and NOT ONE took the time to say anything. Not even, “Hey, nice tits!”
A lot of people think Hooters should be sued for only hiring hot chicks with big tits. And actually, they have been. But oddly enough, the biggest lawsuit settlement went to men, who wanted to be, uh… “Hooters boys”? Weird. And here’s something else weird: in the Hooters girl handbook, one of the conditions of employment requires Hooters Girls to sign a statement recognizing they may be victims of harassment: “I hereby acknowledge…the work environment is one in which joking and innuendo based on female sex appeal is commonplace.” So you could say that, making a “nice tits” comment is not only appropriate, but encouraged. So come on girls, just show us your tits, because who ever came for a sandwich?


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