I seem to get a few hits from this porn-type stuff, searches for tags I put on like fuck, sex, manatees and so on. Even my travel blog gets the occasional “Thai girls” search engine hits. So, being close to Xmas and all, I thought I better give something to these poor fat slobby sleazy fucks that are sitting there with four cans of coke poured into a vase, three meat lover’s pizzas, potato chip crumbs in their lap, sitting at the PC in a darkened room searching for “fucking” on WordPress. Here ya go ya fat fucks:

Fuck, lick, slap, suck, kiss, bite, push, hard, soft, sherpas in sheep costumes, fanny, doodle, NURSE (that bit isn’t part of it, that was just me typing out loud in my cell, it’s happy tablet time), where was I? Oh yeah, slide, poke, sweat, dick, lick, slappy mc slap, pull hair, rubber gimp mask, rubber chickens I dunno, what are you people into?

Work with me here. No pun intended.

OK, I’ll give it a bash. There’s this chick, right? She has these boobs and shit, so you’re like, sqeezing that shit, right? And she’s all like “ooohh yeah daddy, give it to me hard” in a stupid fake voice and then does one of those Beverly Hills 90210 girly giggles. You’re like “Hell yeah, bitch” and start going crazy, tearing her clothes off left and right, I mean that shit is flying everywhere. It’s all lacy shit too, HOW FUCKING HOT IS THAT? LACY SHIT! and then you pull out your 27 inch mega-wang and dust off the Oreo crumbs from your stomach and say “OK this is Captain Penetrator calling Naval Base, preparing to dock” and she just goes apeshit, OM NOM NOM NOM. BAM, you’ve slapped her in the face and say “Bad doggy” and she wimpers then cries, then plays a gnarly air guitar, fuck this bitch is mad hot.

So then you’re getting down to business, and you have one leg on her cheek, one leg on the couch (I forgot, there’s a couch, OK?) she has one foot in your ear, and the other on the curtain rail near the window. It’s the maddest sex position in the world, and you just invented it because that’s how fucked up you are, in a fully awesome way. Then after that bit, you’re like “Can we go missionary?” and she’s like “Hell yeah bro, I’m catholic, I LOVE that shit!” BAM, you’re going hard mish style. It’s SO lame that it’s cool. You’re hell cool at fucking. Now you’re like “Yo, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna… o… oh… ooHH… OOOOHHH” and she’s like “Oh YEAH I’m so HORNY” and you’re still doing your “O” face and AAAARRRGGGHH your mum walks in and turns the light on and it’s actually your aunty.

Suck shit you stinky perverts, fuck off somewhere else.

For those of you who yearn to slap someone in the face with a fat phlegmy eel, yearn no longer. Drag your cursor across the image on this page to give this guy the what-for, cartilaginous-fish stylez.

After Cape Town Mayor Dan Plato was slapped in Blikkiesdorp, the police have warned politicians not to enter the area without police backup.
Blikkiesdorp is a government built shack settlement on the barren sands of Delft, outside of Cape Town. With rows of tin shacks, razor wire fencing, invasive lighting and armoured vehicles at the gated entrance, it looks like a concentration camp. To his credit the local police chief describes Blikkiesdorp as a ‘housing time-bomb’ close to reaching ‘boiling point’. But, incredibly, Dan Plato says that he is ‘happy’ with Blikkiesdorp despite the fact that the residents are ‘ungrateful’. He intends to build more camps like it.

State officials refer to these camps as ‘temporary relocation areas’ in Cape Town, ‘transit camps’ in Durban and ‘decant areas’ in Johannesburg. All the major political parties see them as a useful way of expelling the urban poor from the cities and ending any political autonomy that they may have developed through self organised occupations without having to pay the traditional price of providing decent housing.

But, they are universally hated and widely disparaged as ‘amatins’ and ‘government shacks’. Across the country people have burnt them down, marched, thrown up burning barricades and gone to court in their attempts to avoid being dumped in these places. But despite the ubiquity of resistance, thousands of people have been forced into these camps unlawfully at gunpoint or lawfully by judges who tend to hold to the bizarre assumption that they are automatically better than shack settlements.

Although the amatins look very much like a futuristic nightmare out of District 9 they have a long history in our country. The apartheid state used them to assert white control of cities by corralling blacks into contained and easily policed peripheral spaces — and by ensuring that its officials, rather than any popular process, would allocate access to these toeholds in the cities.

The apartheid state often justified its urban planning in the international language of modernisation and slum clearance rather than an explicit racism. But, of course, the function of that technocratic language was to mask the base fears and desires that drive oppression in the guise of scientific neutrality and necessity. That mask was torn from the face of oppression by a properly political language that named and denounced segregation and forced removal for what they were.

Some of the people that have been sentenced to Blikkiesdorp for being poor used to live in centrally located Cape Town neighbourhoods like Salt River and Woodstock. The parallels with previous rounds of dispossession and exclusion from central Cape Town are obvious.

But, Lindiwe Sisulu got the idea for these camps from India and not from apartheid. This fact offers an important insight into the mind of the political elites that are driving a violent programme of class segregation that literally puts the poor, be they shack dwellers, street traders or sex workers, in their place.

In India the rich have turned on the poor, driving them out of the cities and dispossessing them of rural land in a kind of internal colonialism that has produced ‘a world class India’ with its billionaires, IPL and glamorous film stars at the direct expense of the devastation of the poor.

It has resulted in a massive popular rebellion against elites, which is sometimes, as with the Naxals, armed. But it has also produced a turn to ethnic and religious communal violence, led by various factions of the Hindu right. The state is treating the rebellion against the elites as a civil war, but is, via local politicians, often actively complicit in fermenting the communal politics that directs the desperation of the poor against other poor people.

The great anti-colonial philosopher, Frantz Fanon, argued that the colonial world is a world of compartments. For Fanon, the creation of different kinds of spaces for different kinds of people was a key tactic by which colonialism divided a single humanity into different ’species’. He concluded that a key measure of decolonisation would be the degree to which space was democratised.

Post-apartheid South Africa has not sought to democratise space. On the contrary ‘development’ has been all about deracialising and further modernising elite space while simultaneously expelling the poor from access to that space and firming up class segregation.

It is a simple fact that the material reality of Blikkiesdorp, as well as plenty of the peripheral RDP housing developments, is more inhuman than that of the townships built under apartheid.

And life in these new ghettoes is not only compromised by a second rate material reality. There is also a second rate political reality. It’s not at all unusual for local party structures to regulate allocation of houses and for the police to treat the poor in these new ghettoes with systematic, enthusiastic and entirely criminal sadism.

The enormous popular opposition to attempts to cloak oppression in allegedly technical processes like ‘development’ and ‘delivery’ has not been taken with anything like sufficient seriousness in elite society. This has led to a situation where political elites actually believe their own propaganda and can only see resistance as criminality or conspiracy.

Neither Julius Malema’s buffoonery that seeks to cloak the interests of a predatory elite in the language of nationalism, nor the technocratic delusion of development as post-political and delivery as a mere question of managed efficiency offer us any route out of the new forms of segregation that produce Melrose Arch and private security for some and Blikkiesdorp and police harassment for others.

We need, again, to think politically about our cities and to give things their proper names,

But there are some encouraging signs that Dan Plato’s slap in the face has done more to jolt the middle classes from their dogmatic slumbers than the whole slew of human rights reports indicting the amatins and failed court cases aimed at keeping people out of these camps.

In an editorial titled ‘Blinker’s Dorp’ The Cape Times has denounced Blikkiesdorp as “a grim place where no one should have to live, a desolate settlement of one-room huts, where families share outside toilets and water taps, with little privacy, no trees and nowhere for children to play.” This is the sort of heretical language for which organised shack dwellers have been denounced as the Third Force, accused of opposing development and subject to all kinds of violent state repression. It is quite encouraging to see it making its way into the authorised general common sense of society.

By Richard Pithouse. Pithouse teaches politics at Rhodes University.

You know…. sometimes when you watch a movie trailer, it’s hard to imagine what was going through someone’s head when it actually got put into production. Sometimes movies are literally so corny and predictable that you just can’t fathom watching it, much less, paying for it to be made.

Fortunately for those of us who have some fucking sense, there are twenty other guys who would willingly throw away their money for our benefit. What a benefit it is! Although the script sounds ridiculous, I can’t argue with sweaty, perky, scantily clad breasts and I would hope that you can’t either. Especially when the breast’s arms are holding giant guns and creating huge explosions.

Hey, it was in cash!

Dude, that’s gross. A man from Thousand Oaks in California has been arrested for allegedly paying high school students to spit on him. See, I told you it was gross. It is also believed he paid them to yell swear words at him and slap him around. Despite some kids saying he also wanted them to piss and poo on him there is no evidence anyone did. The unnamed man has been charged with child annoyance. Happy Thanksgiving!

The Gap is clearly slapping Christmas in this video clip. I wonder what day the Gap and affiliate’s headquarters and stores will be closed in December? hmm? Let me see what days are Federal Holidays in 2009?

Why the speedy turnaround with a slip shot commercial? Well it’s too little, too late, and too bad for the Gap!

A new poll out today by the AFA shows there is no turnaround from the consumers.

Ho…Ho…Hmm?

La meilleure gifle du monde…

from nowhere, violente… et avec la morale qui va bien!

Je suis fan… Mon fils aura droit à la même au moins une fois dans sa vie… quelque en soit la raison!!

ahhhhh. I hate myself. Well, no, I love myself, but I hate myself for liking Jedward so much. :s

why why why why why? *cyber slap*

they’re actually keeping me sooooo entertained. I loves it. and i’m starting to think they might actually be getting good… GO JEDWARD!

urgh I’ve losted my phone… I realy hope it shows up soon. life without a phone is like a tree without a trunk… its actually suiciding me. I have no idea where it could be… I have no idea whos wireless I could be on at the moment either… :s that kinda worries me… everyone around here has protection so… ahh well… it means i can msn, and blog and ‘Weet. so lifes ok.

I think somethings wrong with my stomach, but I can’t realy say, because I’m not a doctor. Either way, its been making some pretty weird noises, and now, on top of that, it hurts. and not just a little bit, its realy, realy bad. its bareable, but it feels realy deep. like somebodys poking realy hard a couple of inches down from the center of my ribs.

I have some pretty amaising new ideas for a story… i’m considering turning them into a mini blog kinda thing… but i’m not to sure yet… either way, they’re pretty intense…

changed some bits around on here earlier, but i’m not to sure if i like them yet… i’ll see. you’ll know I don’t like them when they disappear…

Night… or untill later, anywasy, people.

Xx. Keep On Loving. xX

Delicious honey scent,
dizzy floral in accent,
that elusive air fumers long to match,
and the attraction,
a chemical burning certitude,
a wet contact stimulation,
visceral and raw,
an ignition–
in the body a motivation.

Earthly escape a mental illusion,
transcendental mystification futile pretense,
for beloved’s embodied manifestation a slick magic,
her measure a singularity pull–
it happens,
it happens,
it happens.

The particle and the wave,
the flavour and the taste,
are these coupled gravity things that present,
and presented accepted,
my darling now,
right now–
a slap,
and a smack,
the effect of divine odour on false meditation.

大自然，包括所有生物，亦都係所有生物既家。而我既小小自然動作，就係見到D細細地飛飛下既生物，好似D蚊子仔，烏蠅仔之類，就好想拍死佢。唔知係我厭佢地煩，覺得佢地樣衰，定係覺得佢地細細粒好好hup？大自然比得呢D飛飛下既野生存一定有佢既原因。其實我應唔應該拍死佢地呢？拍死左，又好似奪去左一條小小既生命，好衰咁。唔拍死，又好似比呢D遺害人間既生物又機會繁殖，唔見得好得去邊。

今日我係廁所又見到隻飛飛下既烏蠅仔，本能反應就梗係拍死佢啦。拍一次，拍唔到，拍多次，又拍唔中。拍下拍下，我就開始唸呢個問題.. 究竟拍定唔拍好呢？唸下唸下，隻烏蠅仔都飛左唔知去邊，變左大烏蠅囉..

hahaha i dont know why, but im freakin loving this song at the moment. its called Alone and its by Avril Lavigne. its fricken fantasmic! go listen!!!!!!!

so last night I was thinkin of a few new things to add to the blog, and ive got some now, i just gotta figure out how to make the barstools work. as soon as theyre sorted, wowy, in my oppinion, then itll be aweshome!

I feel pretty damn happy again this morning =D lifes good. slap happy and all that.

being me is pretty fricken aweshome. now, im not saying it doesnt have its fart sides, but im starting to realise every day is pretty much great for at least three minutes. and thats good.

i reallllyyyyyyyy need to get some new music! some of mines gettin pretty worn at the moment… except the bits that never get old. =D but then, i dont wanna wear then out…

busy day today people! lots to do.

laters ho’s!

x.

U.S. EPA takes enforcement action against the Wilbur-Ellis Company for 21 violations of federal pesticide law

National pesticide distributor and applicator fined nearly $100,000 following pesticide violations

SAN FRANCISCO – The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency has fined a California-based national distributor of agricultural products, the Wilbur-Ellis Company, $99,600 for 21 alleged violations of federal pesticide law.

The case was the result of investigations conducted by regulators in Arizona, Idaho, Navajo Nation, Ft. Mojave Indian Tribe, and EPA’s Pacific Southwest and Pacific Northwest Regional Offices.

“Through the cooperation of several regulatory agencies, we were able to bring to the attention of this large corporation some serious problems,” said Katherine Taylor, associate director of the Communities and Ecosystems Division in EPA’s Pacific Southwest region. “Failure to include personal protective equipment requirements on a label for a highly toxic pesticide is a serious violation of federal pesticide laws.”

Following a Fort Mojave Indian Tribe inspector’s discovery of a pesticide product with a single page copy of a label which appeared to be missing several key safety elements, the U.S. EPA requested that Arizona conduct an inspection of Wilbur-Ellis Company. In 2007, Arizona Department of Agriculture investigators found that the Wilbur-Ellis facility in Ehrenberg, Arizona was distributing and selling a misbranded pesticide, in violation of federal law. A separate inspection in 2008 by Arizona Department of Agriculture investigators found that Wilbur-Ellis was distributing a minimum risk pesticide with a label that failed to meet the regulatory requirements.

Navajo Nation EPA, Idaho Department of Agriculture and U.S. EPA inspectors found the following significant violations:

• Navajo Nation EPA found Wilbur-Ellis applicators on Navajo Nation were not wearing Personal Protective Equipment as required by pesticide labels.

• Numerous pesticides were found to be misbranded by Idaho Department of Agriculture and U.S. EPA Region 10 inspectors. Among the misbranded products was Vengeance Plus, a highly toxic pesticide which Wilbur-Ellis Company distributed and sold with a label that failed to include protective equipment requirements for applicators.

• U.S. EPA Region 10 inspectors documented distribution of a Restricted Use Pesticide by Wilbur-Ellis Company to a non-certified applicator at Yakima, WA

The Wilbur-Ellis Company has agreed to pay the fine to resolve this enforcement action. Before selling or distributing any pesticide in the United States, companies are required to register the pesticide with the EPA and include labeling approved by EPA that includes directions for use and other information necessary to protect human health and the environment. Federal law requires that pesticide applicators comply with these labeling directions during pesticide applications to protect their workers and the public. For more information on pesticide regulation and enforcement, please visit: www.epa.gov/pesticides … mogharabi.nahal@epa.gov

DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE . . . wow … with a mere slap on the wrist … Wilbur Ellis .. pay$ a token of less than $5,000 for each of 21 separate pesticide violations … and “we” are asked to see this as “justice” …?

The question we might choose to ask is … what would it look like when it’s fixed …?

Leaning toward the mirror with one hand on the vanity,  getting ready to go back “one more time” I inspect my face.  Applying concealer to the spot above my lip on the left side, right above my mouth from the crease of my lips, up about an inch…     Purple with dots of red and yellow - I blot it with a thick, creamy ivory concealer, I rub it in.  I see in the mirror a dark bruise, I realize from my reflection… I bruise easily.

I put on more eyeshadow and mascara to be consistent with the whorish amount of concealer and cover-up I have on as a mask.  Still wearing the brown T shirt and torn mini skirt I left his apartment in.  Like a flash i recall when  he asked me while we were still laying naked in bed if it hurt me when I leave him.  I said, “no, i just don’t think about you.”  He said, “I’ll have to try that trick.”  We drank our coffee and talked about books.  I got dressed back in the clothes I arrived in, only taking a pair of my panties out of his drawer that I left the time before.  As we walked to the door he took his camera off the tripod and became my paparazzi once again.  He kissed me simply and lovingly as I said, “I’ll see you later tonight, just one more time.” He smiled.  I told him good-bye and shut the door.

Battle wounds on my face, nicely covered up from his ravaging last night.  He was, as I told him would be the title of my book some day, Vulgarly Romantic.  I distinctly remember my most pleasurable moment:  We were on his bed, he on top, in the midst of our positions while reacquainting ourselves, our bodies - the physical and intimate fork in the road.  He repeatedly shoved his enormous and hard cock so deep inside me that I was in pain before pleasure, my organs were being pierced and pounded fiercely.  I was crawling up the bed on my back moaning from the rearrangement that was occurring.  The palms of my feet involuntarily found themselves pushing against the toppest part of his thies attempting to push this… this…  I don’t know, maybe Caveman… but push his thrusts backwards and my body upwards to ease this transaction.  He became a wild beast searching for prey, instinctively knowing from this action of mine that I was a wounded baby tiger.  He roared. laid his heavy, strong chiseled body on top of mine, quickly rolling over my feet and legs to straighten them so he could continue to consume his new victim.  Raping me, even tho I persisted.  The pain was so great I wanted him to cum, knowing this, he refused with empowering delight.  I could feel his kiss on my mouth, making me cum and soak his newly batchellored sheets. He looked at me and engulfed my mouth with his, then leaned back with his back straight, still fucking me… I put my hands on what I call his “fuck muscles” and focused on his eyes.  Completely submitting to him from this gesture more so than with the heavy slap to my face that made a trace of blood come about the crease in my mouth I touched his face and brought him to me.

I set my nude lipstick on the counter next to the sink and took a step back from the mirror pleased with my transformation.  I wash my hands and the make up I mixed on the back of my hand… seeing the colors go down the drain like the memory of last night.  I remove my war attire and get my suit out of the closet, carefully dressing so not to smear any prejudices on anything I take to work.  Wondering how I will go on with my secret as just my own, knowing I can do nothing other than that.  Guilty for giving in to Man, but content with being true to myself.

“SLAP BACK” Late night collaboration piece – The Roddler? & Mr.Inconnu 09

Tem sempre muita coisa boa aparecendo no Brasil quando o assunto é música, né?(vide post anterior)?E muita coisa ruim também, como sabemos. Mas hoje, continuaremos falando de coisas boas.

Maria Gadú

Maria Gadú é paulistana radicada no Rio, tem 22 anos e compõe desde os 10. A música Shimbalaiê, que foi parar na novela das 9, é dessa época. A cantora tem sido apresentada como a “revelação da MPB“, e lançou CD em julho desse ano pela Slap, selo de novos artistas da Som Livre.

Dentre as 13 faixas do CD, 9 são autorais de Gadú. E tenho (muita) dificuldade em apontar a que eu mais gosto. Cometeria injustiça se falasse de uma só. Altar particular, Linda Rosa, Laranja e Bela Flor são lindas, lindas. Ah, Dona Cila também. Emociona, sabe? Música da boa. A voz de Gadú, a melodia… Não consigo estabelecer comparações. É diferente, é bom, e vicia.

A surpresa fica pra última música. A 13. Justo a 13. Você começa a ouvir, identificar a letra e… Pera aí! Isso é.. Kelly Key??

Acreditem. Maria Gadú tem talento. Muito talento. Porque para transformar Baba Baby em música boa, gostosa de se ouvir… Haja capacidade, né? Tá, eu sei, você não tá acreditando, né? Então tá, veja ouça você mesmo:

Gostou da voz da menina? Posso recomendar que você assista outro vídeo, então? Posso?

Babababababababy babababababababy…

E bora reanimar o Gonzada, pessoas.

A few nights ago, I offer Noel $10 to put Phia to bed. Putting Phia to bed means brushing teeth, going to the potty, a new pull-up and pajamas, reading three books, then night-night kisses for everyone. $10 is a lot, I know, John gave me a funny look when I said it, but it was worth it. Noel didn’t know, but I could have been talked into $50.

But, as Phia heard the word bed, she got upset and started crying and yelling NO, NO, NO and I’m amazed at how she can cry and yell at the same time.

I was sooooo tired. Lilly has had diarrhea for a week. That might seem simple, but the impact was extraordinary. She was pooping so often that she got a bad diaper rash and we were changing diapers 20 times a day (it seemed like) and at NIGHT. That’s not all, at night, she would still upset after the diaper change, she kept crying and was agitated and deeply sad. I could see the deep sadness in her eyes even in the dark. So I breast feed her, something I haven’t done at night in a while. I don’t even breast feed her in the middle of the day (just morning and night), so my breast feeding days are opposite, I’m not sure what my breasts are thinking.

That isn’t all, though. After feeding, she is still upset, so I hold her in our big easy chair that reclines and I sing to her and rub her back until she falls asleep. This takes about an hour all together. It has been happening 2-3 times a night for about a week.

Only to make things more interesting, Phia has been having trouble with Night Terrors, we think, a mild version of them anyway. She will wake up at night and cry out for Mommy and Daddy and this is a whole other post, but Michael or I will go in, make sure she has her bear, cover her with her blanket and kiss her good night.

And they share a room. So, add to all of that, that they some times wake each other up.

I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I’m impatient. I’m cursing all day long. I live for the 2 hours after then go to bed, when they are least likely to wake up, when I can feel like a normal adult.

So, I really want the kids to go to sleep. I put Lilly down already. Just one more to go. I tell Noel I will get Phia started, since she is throwing a fit. I pick Phia up to take her to our room to talk and we get to the hallway and she slaps me in the face. Really, really, really hard. We are right outside the girl’s bedroom door and the sound of the slap wakes up Lilly and she starts crying.

There is something special about sudden and unexpected physical pain that happens when you are already tired, frustrated and impatient, while you have two kids crying during the two hours of the day that you count on to feel human.

I didn’t do anything. I waited.

Michael heard what happened and he knew he was needed right away, the same as if I was trapped atop a burning building and he knew how to fly. He came and took Fia. I went into the living room and sat down.

I’m tempted in times like this to believe in spanking. Such an obvious and hurtful action deserves a serious response. But I can’t get my head around telling her I’m hitting her because hitting is so wrong. I just sit.

Michael gives Phia a time out and she doesn’t get to read books before bed, which has never happened before and is pretty serious, in her world.  It doesn’t take her long to stop crying and fall asleep. I hold Lilly for a while, then put her down in the pack-in-play in Noel’s room. She cries, but I can’t do anymore. After 20 minutes, she is asleep too.

Lilly’s poops have started to look better and her diaper rash is almost gone. We aren’t in the clear though. I know I have created a monster. Last night, she woke up twice, when she hadn’t pooped, still wanting the extra special attention. I think I can wait for the crying-it-out part until Noel is sleeping at her Mom’s, so we can use her room, but probably not. I’ll put the pack-n-play in the living room tonight. I’ll still check her diaper, but then it is back to bed.

Maybe you can’t buy your way out of the tough parenting days and nights. Well, maybe you can, if you are really rich and you have daytime and nighttime nannies and cooks and maids. But, I wouldn’t really want it that way (except for the cooks and maids part).  I just say a prayer for good poops and more sleep. Good poops and more sleep. Good poops and more sleeeeeppppp. zzzzzzz.

‘Anything to help my career.’